bbyhoneybee-x - Tumblr blog

bbyhoneybee-x · 8 days

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sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

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bbyhoneybee-x · 18 days

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Tim: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?

Toby, standing in the middle of a destroyed kitchen, covered in water: I couldn’t open a jar and had… A moment.

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bbyhoneybee-x · 18 days

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Tim: [Fully immersed in his work, doing paperwork and writing mission reports]

Toby, upside down on the couch: Do you think ducks have feelings?

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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This game will always hit me straight in the heart.

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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The Farmer (prologue)

The smell of mold was thick, and permeated the room you had so dreadfully woken up in.

The back of your head ached in dull pain, that wouldn’t allow you to remember it’s origins. Your chest was heavy as if the wind had left you and your lungs had been squeezed empty.

Your skin felt greasy and stiff. You wanted to shower. You needed to shower. But you couldn’t move. You didn’t know where you were. Was there even a bathroom to shower in?

The rotting wood and rusted windows made it seem unlikely. Though you could hear the buzzing of flies and croaks of frogs from behind the wall. Most likely, wherever you were, was next to some kind of lake or pond.

The itch of your skin was making you want to jump in, regardless of what might be lurking inside.

When the door creaked open, it’s hinges scratching against each other unpleasantly, you only found the ability to glance up from where you head had slumped against your shoulder.

Dark, sunken eyes that looked ill fitting, like the skin sagged over a face that wasn’t meant to be there. Scratchy stubble littered his chin. Greasy, unkempt hair that looked to be self maintained, if the jagged edges weren’t telling enough.

His clothes looked like they needed a few washes. And the smell that followed him was…mostly unpleasant. Like stale water and must. Not the most offensive smell, but it made your nose scrunch just for a moment.

The man, who you could guess was a farmer of some kind, stepped forward into the room, nearing the faint light the spilled in from the filthy window panes. Just enough, to where you could see the odd grey hue of his skin.

“mornin’…”

Your shoulders scrunched involuntarily, folding the skin of your back as your ears took in his voice.

Deep, monotone and a bit gruff. Like the voice of a man who never slept a day in his life. But it echoed. Like two voices speaking as one, and it rang in your ear like a quiet siren.

You supposed your lack of response made this man uncomfortable, as his eyes darted to the side for a moment, and he stepped forward. Closer.

It was now you noticed the plate of food in his large, calloused hands. It was now, as he sat down beside you, that you noticed the stiff bed you had woken up on. It was now, as the memories flooded through, that you realized the predicament you were in.

Your car was busted. Your friends were missing. You, were stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the company of a stranger who offered to help you.

and a voice in the back of your mind told you, that you were being chased.

The shift of the bed and squeaking of old springs led your eyes back to the face of the farmer infront of you, who looked just as lost in thought as you were.

He mumbled incoherently to himself, brows narrowing as if he was in the midst of an argument. Fingers fiddled and curled around the saggy fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, it seemed as if this episode had ended.

Before he looked up at you. And suddenly his brows furrowed deeper and his lips set into a deep frown.

“Your car…’s not gonna start anytime soon. You might be stuck here…’a while.”

Your chapped lips pursed, uncomfortably. “Can’t you call some repair men?”

He mimicked you, glancing away almost guiltily. “Ain’t no-body around here for miles. No land lines neither.”

Of course there wasn’t. You seemed to remember having lost connection of your phone sometime before your car broke down.

“…what about my friends? I gotta find them.”

“If they passed through here…I don’t think you’ll have much luck…”

What a comforting response. The farmer acknowledged your glare with an embarrassed clearing of his throat. “I’ll…take care of ya’ till you can get back on the road…”

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

The way he looked at you made you sick. Like dread had been poured down your throat and was slowly filling you the brim. His gaze was intense and foreboding, warning you that you did not know what you were up against.

“It ain’t just the animals out there you gotta worry about…it’s best of you to stay here. At least for a while.”

And how long is a while?

-1-

You learned very quickly, that a while was more than three days. And you learned even quicker, that sometimes it was better to not ask questions.

That was one of the rules here.

1. Don’t go out at night

2. Don’t open the shed

3. Don’t ask questions.

That last rule kept you sane.

Don’t ask why you couldn’t go out at night. Don’t ask why you can’t go in the shed.

Don’t ask why the farmer talks to himself. Don’t ask why his bedroom is never used.

Don’t ask why the cattle go stalk still when he’s nearby. Don’t ask why the crickets stop singing and frogs stop croaking when he’s outside.

Don’t ask about the smell. Don’t ask about the lumps in the ground.

Don’t ask why your neck is wet and sticky every morning. Don’t ask about your car. Don’t ask about your friends.

Don’t ask how long you’ll be stuck here.

Live ignorant while you’re here. Don’t think. It’s safer, to stop thinking. You’ll lose yourself if you think too much.

Those weren’t your words. You weren’t sure who’s they were. But they worked. They were comforting.

So you didn’t think. You no longer wondered where your friends were. You no longer wondered how long you’d be stuck here, or how long it’d take to fix your car.

The farmer took care of you. He said he would, and he did. You ate well, you slept okay and you smelled better then you had when you first woke up.

You paid little mind to the lingering touches or intense stares.

Or the moments you swore you heard something growl when you passed by.

Nothing was perfect. But it was safe.

Because you followed the rules.

Until you didn’t.

The mistake of needing the toilet late at night. The mistake of leaving the farmhouse into the pitch dark land around you. The mistake of opening the shed, thinking that it had been the outhouse you were looking for.

The mistake of asking questions, when a dark mass of oil and flesh stared back at you.

“What the fuck is that?”

You didn’t feel so safe anymore.

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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Continuation of the first Rufus post with Rufus biting the fuck outta the reader?

This is a continuation to this post

Rufus deciding to keep someone PART 2

Rufus Firefly x GN reader

TW: Stockholm syndrome/lima syndrome, biting in a non-sexy way (though I guess that depends on who's reading this).

Days passed and things didn't seem to be looking any brighter for you. But you were alive, and that was more than anyone else could say, the Firefly'd killed your friends, you knew that for a fact now. But you —like everything in Rufus's garage— were off limits.

That only worked if you stayed in the garage, Rufus was very clear about that. But you couldn't live in a garage, not in the conditions it was in when you arrived at least, and you voiced your discomfort to him. So, in the passing days, he made an attempt to make the space more inhabitable. He cleaned, putting things away and making the place smell less like– well, a garage. Now there was a mattress with pillows, no sheets or blankets though, because apparently you weren't the family's first pet, as you'd heard Otis call you when he was outside the garage, trying to convince Rufus to let him "have fun"– you didn't want to find out what the other brother's idea of fun was. They were experiences criminals, they knew what people might attempt to do if put in this situation. You could only think of one thing people could do with sheets and blankets that would be an inconvenience to the Firefly, and it made your blood run cold.

You wanted to live. You wouldn't be making any attempts on your own life. But your word wasn't enough to convince Rufus; just enough to get him to leave that bear pelt of his behind each night. It wasn't a blanket, but it was something.

It smelled like him, you realized on the third day. Despite how his appearance made him be perceived as the wildest of the siblings, he was much calmer than the others, cleaner too, and so you found yourself horrified yet comforted by his scent on that bear pelt. It brought you a small sense of security, at least until four days later, when you were shaken awake in the middle of the night.

The man that'd managed to sneak away from the family and into the garage was not one of your friends. He was a complete stranger, bloodied and with a crazy look in his eyes that told you he was not the most emotionally stable person– you couldn't blame him though, considering the situation. He spoke rapidly, almost too fast to understand, but you got enough of what he was saying to know he'd heard you and wanted to get you out of there. He also wouldn't stop muttering about how "the doctor" couldn't find him again.

You didn't make it far. He led you by the arm through the overgrown field by the house, his motions frantic to the point you had to stop him from moving away from the shadows. Thinking that you'd both be safer if you stayed away from the moonlight. You were wrong.

Ahead, and from the same shadows you were sticking close to, a hulking figure emerged: it was a bald man, taller than even Rufus but not quite as tall as Tiny, wearing an oxygen mask and heavily disfigured no matter what part of him you looked at. He reached out, grabbing the man who'd attempted to help you by the head and lifting him like he weighed nothing, the man struggled and screamed as the man held him up, you were unsure of what he was doing until you watched him crush the man's head with his bare hands, his body going limp after a sickeningly wet crunch noise. He dropped the now dead man, shaking his hands as if to get the blood off, his fingers covered in burns–

It was then that you remembered the story Mrs. Firefly told the first night, before things turned awfully bad for you and your friends. She said her husband, Earl, wasn't a bad man, but that he heard voices that once made him burn the house with Tiny inside. This had to be him.

The giant lifted his head and you saw your own terrified expression reflected on his goggles as he stepped forward, reaching you before you could do more than start turning, and grabbing you the same way he grabbed his previous victim. However, before he could lift you off the ground, another large body pushed his way between the two of you, a large hand seizing your wrist.

"No," Rufus growled, bringing you forward and holding you against his side, his hand moving from your wrist to your chin like he had the first time. "This one's mine."

His statement didn't deter the giant. He gave another step forward and reached for you, missing you only because Rufus moved away. What happened next was a blur, your shoulder was abruptly exposed to the cold night breeze, and before you could register why, a sharp pain tore through your nerves as teeth tore through your flesh. It was a quick bite, just enough to leave a bloody mark behind, enough to make a statement.

"Mine!" Rufus growled to the taller man again, and this time, the giant must have been convinced because he turned, picked up the man's body, and headed for the barn.

Tears of pain and fear streamed down your face as Rufus pushed you to start walking towards the garage again, his body tense and his eyes snapping in every direction in a way that you couldn't tell if it was possessive or protective. It was hard to tell with him.

"I told you not to leave the damn garage," he growled, not meeting your gaze as you sobbed.

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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OH MY GOD

Rufus deciding to keep someone?

- Lily

Rufus deciding to keep someone

Rufus Firefly x GN reader

You were nice to Tiny. You didn't have to be, but unlike the people you happened to fall into the Firefly's trap with during a road trip to a place none of you would be getting to, you didn't flinch or stare with disgust when the masked gentle giant appeared and sat at the table with everyone else, staring at each one of the members of your group only for your friends to look away, before he stared at you and you held his gaze. When he went to wake up grandpa, you smacked one of you friends on the arm for saying something Rufus didn't quite catch. But it was enough to make him make a decision.

Things went on as usual, there was a show, Baby got the guys's attention, much to their girlfriends's anger. One of them reacted to the blonde sitting on her man's knees, pushing her off and calling her names that worked to get a reaction out of Baby. Rufus never understood how she managed to hide a knife in that wig of hers but she did, and just as easily, she pulled it out, threatening the previously entertained audience.

It was then that Rufus barged in, getting everyone's attention, yet his eyes focused on you.

"Car's done," he grunted, and moved out of the way to watch you be pulled out of there by one of who, he assumed, were your friends.

None of you would be getting far. He fixed the car, yes, but only for it to take you so far: not far enough to leave the Firefly's land, just enough to give them all a fake sense of safety. It was something he and Otis'd agreed on, both enjoying the thrill from watching relief turn to panic.

The driver was caught first, soon as he got out of the car to see what was wrong, he was snatched away by Tiny, kicking and screaming. His friend followed, pulled out of the car by Otis himself after yanking the door open despite it having been locked; Otis went for the ones on the back seat, laughing and making almost animalistic noises as they kicked and screamed for help fruitlessly. You ended up being pulled out of the car by the arms, your friends trying and failing to grab onto your legs as the adopted Firefly held a knife to your throat, only for his wrist to be seized by a large hand and for him to be shaken until he let go of you.

You scrambled to your feet and tried to run, but a hand held onto your chin with enough force to stop you in your steps, yet causing no harm beyond an ache against your cheekbones where his fingertips pressed.

"This one's mine," Rufus growled to his brother, and Otis —despite being known for liking to test the patience of each member of the family— lifted his hand in defeat before he dived back into the backseat, blood splattering the glass as his knife found flesh to dig into.

That's how you ended up in the garage, curled up in a corner surrounded by parts of vehicles that, you guessed, had once belonged to previous victims, as Rufus worked on the car that had been your friend's. He wasn't facing your way, and he seemed focused enough on fixing the ignition system that you thought you might have a chance. You moved slowly, not daring tear your eyes off him ever for a second as your hand reached for a wrench on the wall to your left.

"Don't," Rufus spoke, making you freeze on the spot. He didn't even turn to look at you, cleaning the grease off his hands with a cloth that was too dirty to really clean anything.

A pained scream outside made you jump enough to lose your balance and fall back on your butt, back to square one: curled up in the corner with your back against the wall. It was then that Rufus turned to you, and you could have swore there was a hint of concern and pity in his eyes. But the lighting was awful in the garage.

"If you leave, you're fair game," he said, and after that scream you didn't need him to explain what being fair game meant. "You could try to outrun my family, or you could be useful and pass me that wrench you planned to hit me with."

There was a long minute of silence where you considered your options, thought back to what you'd seen the family do. Otis was dangerous, so was Baby, so was Tiny because he listened to his siblings. Rufus didn't seem all that interested in hurting you, if he was, you were sure your screams would have joined the others's by now. You stood, getting a hold of the wrench and doing the opposite of what you'd wanted to do the first time: you handed it over to him, a content hum leaving him as you did.

"Good," he praised. "You're smarter than those folk."

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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Backseat and booze. (18+!!!)

Rufus Jr "RJ" Firefly x Transmasc! Reader. (Pronouns used: he/him/they/them. I'm going to alternate.)

Warnings: the reader hasn't had bottom surgery so there will be the use of the words "cunt, pussy, clit, etc." I apologize in advance if it's a trigger..., cursing, alcohol use, SMUT, dirty talk, drinking while driving (even if it's just Rufus driving on the farm land.)

Summary: you're riding with in the cop car with Rufus on Halloween night, drinking and having fun. Things get a little spicy so he shuts the car off and you two move to the back for some fun before the second half of the ritual starts 😉

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N watched as Rufus replaced the lid on the coffin, sealing the fate of the two bunny suit clad people who were laid inside. Lowering the coffin back down into the hole, Otis watching with a deranged smile on his face.

The trap doors were closed, the lantern and tape player were lowered through the hole in the door, calling the ghouls that dwelled down below.

Once that job was done all they had to do was wait for baby to come back with Mary. Otis and Mama didn't notice when Rufus slipped away, or when Y/N decided to head back to the house in search of more booze, wanting to get even more fucked up before the night was over.

They managed to locate the 6 pack of beer they had drunkenly stashed away a few days prior, hoping to hide it away from Hugo (who drinks like a fish). Pleased with themselves, Y/N made their way outside to see Rufus uncovering the stolen police car. "Taking the pig mobile out for a spin, sugar?" He called to his boyfriend, a playful tone in his voice. RJ looked up and nodded, flashing them a smile as he tossed the camouflage to the side. "You wanna come?" He asked, hoping they would say yes.

Of course they said yes.

Now Y/N was in the passenger seat, beer bottle in hand, laughing and urging Rufus on, enjoying the recklessness. Rufus loved it when Y/N encouraged him like this, both horrible influences on eachother.

The alcohol and the adrenaline were a wonderful combination, driving both of them out of their minds. Rufus continued the reckless driving, jerking the wheel slightly in surprise when he felt Y/N's hand slowly snake across his stomach, sliding up underneath the bloody uniform of the former Sheriff Wydell. "You know I love it when you wear your shirts open like this~" they purr, grazing their fingers up his chest before slowly lowering their hand to remove the handgun from the waistband of the already tight uniform pants. They were gentle, being sure to keep their fingers away from the trigger, though the danger was enough to drive Rufus up the wall. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, now feeling Y/N start to palm him through his pants, earning them a nice, deep, frustrated groan from the man. "Y/N..." he warned, trying to focus on his driving, but their hands made it very difficult. They didn't let up, in fact, they pressed on, this time slowly undoing his belt, stopping every few seconds just to tease him. RJ's frustration grew with every second Y/N's hands were on him, the sensation of their touch almost enough to push him over the edge.

He brought the police car to a full stop, turning off the engine.

He turned to Y/N, pulling them into a passionate kiss which quickly turned heated. Rufu's hands found their way to Y/N's thighs, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, eliciting a muffled moan from his partner.

The next thing Y/N knew they were on their back in the back seat of the cruiser, the door standing open, Rufus standing there, looking down at them with his deep brown eyes full of lust. His hands were quick to undo the button and zipper on their pants, pulling them off along with their underwear in one swift movement.

Rufus dropped to his knees in front of them, the wet grass soaking his pants legs (not that he cared, his mind was on other things anyways.) He allowed his hands to trail up their legs, enjoying the sight of his partner squirming beneath his touch.

"Spread 'em, darlin'." His voice came out like the purr of a lion, making Y/N's heart skip a beat and the butterflies in their stomach to start fluttering around. Y/N and RJ had been together for a while (and this was definitely not their first play time) but the nervous excitement Y/N felt whenever the two got down to doing the dirty was still strong.

Y/N obediently spread their legs, allowing RJ access to their sensitive areas. Without hesitation, Rufus licked a long stripe up Y/N's pussy, earning a moan from his boyfriend.

That moan caused all of RJ's self control to disappear.

He buried his face into Y/N's crotch, beginning to eat him out like a starving animal, the taste of his partner's juices driving him wild. Y/N's hands tangled themselves into Rufus's hair, their legs over his shoulders, both pulling him closer, urging him to keep going.

"Rufus! Fuuuck! Keep going baby!" They moan breathlessly, their legs tightening around him, body starting to shake with pleasure. RJ happily obliged, his tongue now targeting Y/N's clit, not one to deny his boyfriend what they want. Y/N arched their back, their moans becoming so loud they were almost screams as they felt the knot in their stomach beginning to tighten. "Fuck! Please don't stop, baby! I'm so fuckin' close!" Y/N begged, almost pleading for release.

Again, RJ obliged, continuing to attack Y/N's clit with his tongue, eating him out desperately, wanting to bring his partner to their orgasm. He kept it up for a minute or two more until he pushed Y/N over the edge, a blissful moan coming from deep within them, their body shaking and spasming from the sheer pleasure. He happily lapped up all he could before Y/N moved away, leaving him wanting more.

Now Rufus was sat in the back seat of the cruiser, the door now closed, keeping the two inside. He undid his own pants, pulling them down, allowing his dick to spring free. Y/N was going to return the favor but RJ stopped them, shaking his head slightly. "Not this time, sweetpea." He didn't want oral, not this time atleast, right now he wanted to sink his cock into their pussy.

It would be uncomfortable for Rufus to be on top since he was so tall (6'10"), so he sat back while Y/N climbed ontop of him, lowering themselves onto his dick. They had only managed to get a few inches in, but Rufus's size (6 inches but very thick) made it hard for Y/N to take. Tired of waiting, Rufus placed his hands on their hips, roughly bucking his hips up, ramming his cock deep into Y/N's pussy, letting out a deep growl when he did. Y/N tilted his head back, letting out a loud moan, digging their nails into RJ's shoulders to brace themselves. Y/N began to move, starting to bounce on his dick, slowly picking up the pace with a bit of urging from Rufus, his hands guiding their hips.

Rufus started getting pretty rough, much to the excitement and pleasure of Y/N, who loved it when their usually sweet and gentle boyfriend got more primal and rough. His fingers dug into Y/N's hips, pulling them down onto his dick while bucking his hips up to meet his boyfriend, getting more and more desperate for his own release. Y/N grabbed the back of Rufus's head, taking a handful of his hair, using it to pull him into a rough and passionate kiss which pushed him closer to his end.

His movements got harder and sloppier, his breathing sped up, his soft grunts and growls got louder and more desperate as he got closer to his edge. He broke the kiss for air, tightening his grip on their hips, he roughly pushed them down to the base of his cock as he came. Throwing his head back, letting out the loudest, euphoric moan that dissolved into higher pitched whimpers and moans, repeatedly thanking his boyfriend. Y/N panted softly, gently caressing Rufus's face, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

Rufus quickly wrapped his arms around their waist, pulling them into a tight hug, burying his face into their neck. "God I love you, Y/N.... I don't fuckin' deserve you.." RJ whimpered, causing them to chuckle softly. "Yes you do, Darlin'.... you deserve to be happy and loved." They kiss his shoulder. "And I love you so fuckin' much."

They managed to get cleaned up and back to the ritual without any issue, though, they were sure the whole family knew what they'd done.

End.

~~~~~~~~

Hope this was okay! I want to write some more smut so there might be another one later tonight. Also I hope everyone liked RJ's post nut clarity at the end lol.

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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bbyhoneybee-x · 22 days

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What positions do you think are the slasher's (particularly Thomas and Lester) favorite positions would be and why?

ahh thank you so much for this ask! I am doing my best since I tbh don't know a lot of positions or their names so be patient 💀

Warnings: Mentions of different sex positions, face sitting, gender neutral, Bubba is gender fluid, light mentions of choking and knife play, light mentions of bondage, swearing, I think that's it.

Slashers and their favorite position(s) with their S/O(NSFT):

Thomas Hewitt:

Missionary. He is very into the intimate positions, and this one has to be one of his favorites. It allows him to keep eye contact and watch your expressions. Plus he can feel your body a lot better from this position. He also finds it traditional, and that adds to the intimacy of it for him. A bonus is he gets to kiss you a lot in this position.

Cowgirl. Save a horse, ride a cowboy Tommy. If you ride him he'll simply pass away. He loves it so much. He's very much into visuals, and this visual is outstanding for him. Not only does he love the views, but the ability to touch you, and allow you to take care of him. He could die this way, honestly. He would have zero complaints.

I don't know the name for this one. He'd enjoy putting your legs over his shoulders while he has sex with you. Not only does it give you another angle, that you seem to enjoy. But he feels like he's able to go deeper within you. Plus, this man has a breeding kink and would love this position since he feels like it fills you full easier, and keeps you full until he lays you back down. Even if he is cumming into a condom, or you're on the pill/can't get pregnant, it's the thought that keeps him going.

Over the counter. If he's in a wild mood, and you do something to tease him in the basement and he's sure the two of you won't get caught. He isn't opposed to bending you over the counter so he can pound into you. He goes extra crazy when you reach back and touch his thighs or arms. And if you hold his hand he's swooning.

Bubba Sawyer:

Missionary. Like Thomas they would be really into the intamacy from missionary, plus the traditionalism to it. I think they'd enjoy being able to keep eye contact with you, and the ability to hold sweet kisses with you. Plus their hands can wander and feel your soft skin in contrast to their own.

Cowgirl. Again... RIDE THEM. They will be an absolute babbling mess underneath you. Especially if this is your first sexual experience, they might prefer it even. Since they do know they're rather strong and they don't wanna hurt you. So this is ideal for the both of you. It allows you to set the pace, plus then they kind of have a better idea on how to treat your body when they top the next time. Plus they love being able to hold your thighs while they watch you bounce up and down on them. And do not fret, if you get tired they'll grab your hips and help you out.

OG Michael Myers:

I don't know the name for this one. He'd be into standing in front of the bed, with your hips in his hand while he fucks into you. Something about towering over you in such a vulnerable position really gets him going. Plus, watching your body inch further away from the end of the bed with each thrust, before he's pulling you back to the end of the bed is exhillerating to him.

Over the counter - or any surface, really. Whether you be on your stomach or on your back he doesn't mind. He just loves fucking you on surfaces that aren't meant to be fucked on. Like the counter top when you go to get a glass of water, or the washing machine when he catches you doing laundry. He's not picky.

I don't know the name for this one. He enjoys having your back against his body while you're kneeling on the end of the bed. He's slid between your legs pounding up into you with his hand around your throat. If you're up to it, his other hand might even have his knife dragging over your bare skin. If not his hand just has a death grip on your thigh.

Doggy Style. He loves this position because then he's able to shove you down into the mattress. It gives him the dominance he craves. The ability to pull you up by your hair or chest so you're snug up against his chest. Or to just push you further into the matress while he screws you silly.

RZ Michael Myers:

Stradling. He wouldn't be into it at first, you would definitely have to warm up to him with the idea, but he winds up loving it. He enjoys having you on his lap while the two of you are on the couch watching TV. Whether you ba facing him ot the TV is up to you. You start grinding, and his grip tightens, and soon his hands are ripping your pants/skirt/shorts/whatever you're wearing away so he can slip himself inside of you. He likes this better than cowgirl though because if you try and tease him with slow movements he can position his feet, grab your hips, and set the pace for you.

Over anything. Like OG Michael he likes fucking you on surfaces not meant to be fucked on. He especially loves countertops and desks. You both may have broken a few desks because of this. It's kind of his first resort when the two of you first have sex, since it was messy and an in-this-moment type deal.

Spooning. When the two of you are further in the relationship, he warms up and leans a bit more away from the rougher sex to the more tender stuff(though it's considered tender by him, you'd beg to differ 90% of the time). He likes slipping behind you while you're layng on your side, hands feeling you up, preventing you from turning to face him so he can start grinding up into you until you get the idea. Or he tells you what he wants and waits for you to agree. He likes being able to hold you without you being able to see his face, able to burry his face in the back of your head/neck while he has sex with you.

Lester Sinclair:

Face Sitting. Please, sit on his face. He'd be pretty open to asking you too. He ain't beating around the bush, and he doesn't care about your side, because damnit, he loves it. He enjoys being drowned by everything you. Your flesh, scent, your hands tugging at his hair. The ability to look up and lock eyes with you. He loves all of this.

Cowgirl. Fuck, he's a whore for you taking care of him, so this is one of his favorites. Absolutely loves it when you praise him in this position too, he's a whimpering mess while he paws at your body and begs for you to move faster.

Straddling. He's a fan of this since he'll have you go with him when he goes out driving. So if the two of you get a little hot and heavy you can just slip into his lap, and he's lovin' it.

Missionary. He's kind of simple like this and enjoys it. It may not be too interesting, but if you bring up bringing something into it he's willing to try it out. Whether it be bondage, or knife play. He does love just plain Missionary though since he likes the intimacy of it. He's a whore for intamacy and you cannot change my mind on that.

If he's feeling a bit wild, he enjoys bending you over things. It could be anything, back of his couch, the table, his tailgate, anything. He just loves being able to push you down and take control every so often. He's a Big SwitchTM.

Bo Sinclair:

Knees to Chest. Something about it he just loves. Bending you in half to not only reach that perfect angle for you, but the perfect view for him. Plus he can hold and squeeze your thighs, and he loves the bruises he leaves behind from just that, alone.

Anything with bondage. I really think he has a big bondage thing goin' on. He would like tying you up and having his way with you. And, if he really feels comfortable and you ask nicely, he might even let you tie him up. Though it would take a lot of pleading, and maybe even a deal of sorts.

Blowjobs. I don't know if this counts as a position, but I really feel like he's into them. Especially if they're in public. He's in his shop, and you drop to your knees. He shoots you a glance, but you know he's not gonna tell you to stop. He's definitely making it up to you later.

Wall sex. He loves shoving you up against the wall and taking you there. He likes the control he feels from it. This is also a big go to for him when hate fucking. The feel of having you cornered while he fucks you makes him feel like he won whatever you two were fighting about.

Vincent Sinclair:

Cowgirl. Like his baby brother, he's very much into you taking control, and taking care of him. He loves watching your body bounce on his cock while your hands rest on his thighs or his chest. Plus the ability to touch you in this position. He loves it. Also the fact you can lean down and smother him in kisses. He feels very loved in this position.

Head between your thighs. He loves giving you oral a LOT. He enjoys you lying on your back while he takes care of you since he feels like the both of you are more relaxed, and then you don't worry about hurting him if you sit on his face - which he doesn't really care anyways. You could crush him, he wouldn't complain. He'd like this position though because after he makes you cum until you're shoving his face away from overstim he can easily climb up and cover your body in kisses and love bites.

I don't know the name of this one. He likes hooking your legs over his shoulders, too. Whether it be one or both of them. He likes the view of your body and the faces you make when he hits your G-spot.

Brahms Heelshire:

Missionary. He likes the simplicity of this, plus he can get all the kisses he wants and cover you with marks from his mouth. Plus, as a tit guy, he can suck on your chest while he fucks you. Not only that, but if he's tired right after he can just lay on you and hold you in his arms. He might not even pull out right away.

Cowgirl. This man loves being taken care of. So you ontop of him?? He's deceased. Someone call a doctor. He's got his hands everywhere on you while you're riding him though. One hand between your legs so he can watch your expressions and hear your noises. Reaching up to squeeze your chest, letting them fall to your thighs. He loves it.

Straddling. If you sit on his lap at all he's automatically gonna expect something out of it. Especially if you grind your hips, even accidentally. He likes this position though because he can rest inside you while you read to him, and move to throw you off and lose your spot, like the little shit he is.

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