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cherubgore · 1 month

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Gibson Girl

3k words, pnv sex, pussy eating, dubcon, and dead dove. Rj doesn't have the same rancid vibes as Otis, and he loves eating pussy more than he loves himself. crossposted on a03.

She’s been chained to the radiator so long that she’s surprised she hasn’t melted yet. A fine little puddle of forgotten womanhood. Bare naked under her nightgown, Denise still felt like she was covered in thick wool layers. Scratchy with sweat and heavy against her shoulders, just like the sweaters she used to wear in the winter. She was removed from Tiny’s domain a little over a week ago, and she almost missed him. Tiny was a gentle giant. He never bothered her unless he wanted to apply more makeup or brush out her hair; his most favorite dolly in the collection, with her flexible ball-joints, so fragile she can barely move at all.

Maybe that's why he got bored with her, or maybe he just was very good at sharing with his older brother. RJ was an unsettlingly quiet man, but his touches weren’t quiet — or soft. His heavy hand fisted in her long hair, twisting delicate strands around his thick fingers, tugging and pulling; making sure she knew who was in charge. Usually, RJ lurked around the house like a sulky cat unless he had to work. Today, he planted himself on his bed, a beer in hand, watching whatever was on the TV. With one massive finger, he cracked open the beer and explained, “A hardworkin’ man needs some time off.”

Denise didn’t know what to say to that. Wetting her dry lips, she found it was better to agree with him. “You deserve it.” Her voice, hoarse from thirst — and neglect, startled her. RJ didn’t seem to care, he only smirked in response. He seemed to like things quiet. He was a busy man, getting up before the sun was out, and often getting home late into the night. Denise supposed that was something good about him.

His grimy, thick nails dug deep into her scalp like he was trying to dig her hair follicles out one by one. Denise watched him like a hawk would a mouse, trying to gage the reaction he wanted from her. Tiny was simple, he wanted a pretty doll to play with. RJ didn’t want a dolly, he wanted a dog. Something loyal and alive to welcome him back home after a long day, he didn’t want a doll; he wanted a woman. Something warm to stuff himself inside off when he felt that certain itch.

Denise was a crumpled, sweaty mess chained to his radiator. It wasn’t like she had a choice. Escape was a fantasy, a bitter, apathetic fantasy. Denise didn’t know why she clung to it; or her memories. She replayed them like worn home movies in her mind, especially the ones of Jerry. She missed him so much that it felt like someone whipped welts against her heart. It hurt so badly to think about him, to think about them. The ache felt so bad, like the exposed nerves of a rotten tooth in a mouthful of nothing but sugar.

Denise forced apart her dry lips again. “It must be very hard.” She went on, unable to stand the silence. Jerry didn’t believe in working for the “man.” Jerry wanted to be a freedom child, a love product of the sixties who still held ironclad to his parents' beliefs, a pair of old timers who Peter Panned through life and instilled the same ethics in their only son. Denise wondered if they even knew he was missing, if they even cared.

“Been a lot of work lately.” RJ grumbled. “Assholes need to learn how to drive.”

“I can’t drive,” Denise blurted out. “No one ever taught me.” As if he would care. She was only some plaything for him until he got bored, which would be soon. Denise could taste her impending death like she could the grits on her teeth from yesterday's breakfast. The fingers in her hair paused, and relief rushed through her, hoping he was done petting her; but RJ only trailed his hand down her neck, rubbing in circles with the pad of his massive thumb at the base of her neck, jolting her body forward with every motion he made.

His rough hands must’ve broken a lot of toys growing up, seemed like he traded in breaking toys for breaking bones. He could easily snap her neck like a bendable straw, and feel just about that the same for her as he did the straw.

“Mama don’t drive, either.” RJ mused. “Lotsa ladies don’t drive. Spaudlin’ taught Baby, I think.” He chuckled to himself, “Tried too, anyway. Girl ran his truck into a wall.”

Maybe that’s why the bitch has scrambled eggs for brains. “That sounds very scary.” Her daddy never wanted her to drive. He was just trying to keep her safe, like he always did. She should’ve listened to him better, that he was right; he did know more, he knew better than she did. The world was a cold, disgusting place waiting to chew on you and spit you out, bones and all. He was right about it all, even Jerry. He was just some hippie going nowhere, even if his heart was in the right place for everything he did. Denise wouldn’t have gone out with him. She wouldn’t of loved him so much if he was a bad person; he was just misunderstood.

Even when they fought, Denise never thought he was an evil man. He just didn’t have the same upbringing that she did. Jerry always told her that she’d choke on that silver spoon one day. Be true to yourself, baby, he’d say to her; then grimace when she did. Denise Willis was not a hippie chick, she was not a freedom child, and she knew that about herself. She believed in justice; Denise believed in soap and aspirin — she didn’t want to live on some community convent like Jerry grew up on; she wanted a spacious little apartment on Hollywood and Vine.

Don’t frown like that, Dee. Jerry used to say. Don’t be such a square, Dee. It’s just a road trip. Don’t do this, Denise, Don’t do that. He almost reminded her of a father in that way, always needing to be in control of what she was doing, thinking, feeling — at least RJ didn’t do that. Under his touch, at her own grotesque thoughts, Denise shivered. She shouldn’t think like that, couldn’t think like that. RJ was not some reluctant hero under the heavy foot of his overbearing family, if anything, he was the pure muscle that made sure they got their evil deeds done.

He was nothing to her, nothing but her captor, an enormous bear guarding the stolen princess.

“Naw. Baby thought it was funny. Now, she ain’t ‘loud to be in the drivers-seat. Me’n Otis gotta drive them everywhere. Don’t mind though, love my mama.”

Denise loved her mother, too. She’d give anything to see her again. “That’s nice.”

RJ shifted on the bed, dipping his hand down the back of her dress, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “You’re nice.”

His hand was warm and damp against her skin, the rough skin scratching an itch Denise didn’t know she had. “My boyfriend used to say I could be a real bitch.”

RJ scoffed. “That hippie sonbitch’ didn’t know his ass from his mouth.” He paused his hand. “Ain’t nothing bitchy about you. Maybe your friend with the braids, but not you.”

Mary. She missed Mary. She was just so excited about starting a new life. Some good that did her. “Mary wasn’t so bad. She had a hard life,” Denise whispered. “But, thank you.”

“Rich girls don’t have hard lives.” RJ said nonchalantly. “Maybe bad days, but not hard lives. Did you have a hard life?” It was the first time he’d ever asked her a question, or bothered to hold a conversation with her.

“No.” Denise admitted, reluctantly. “I had a good life. Until Captain Spauldings.”

RJ laughed at that, too. Finally, bored with petting her, he withdrew his hand from the back of her dress. “Suppose that coulda been a bad day for you.” He took the last swallow of his beer and reached for her again, taking her chin in his massive hand. “Wasn’t such a bad turnout for me. Always thought you was pretty.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. Did he want a “Thank You”? His words felt like maggots burrowing under her skin, eating away at the last bit of humanity she had left. He brushed his thumb against her lips, filling her nose with the faint remnants of sour beer and tobacco. Denise watched him watch her, with half-lidded eyes and a sloppy smirk. He pushed against her clammed lips, demanding entrance into the soft warmth of her mouth. He would keep pushing until he broke teeth, and she’d rather keep all her teeth while she could; So, Denise opened her mouth for him.

“Tiny didn’t know what to do with you. Not like I do,” RJ went on, sliding his thumb gently against her tongue. “Otis is too rough. He likes to break pretty things. I don’t break things.” He paused, laughing. “Well, I don’t try to make a habit of it. Sometimes pretty things are so damn breakable.”

You won’t break me. Denise thought, even with her lips locked around his thumb, she was too stubborn to be broken. Denise wasn’t brave like Mary was, but what was that old bible passage? The meek would inherit the world? All she had to do was bide her time until she was found; and she would be found, Denise was sure of that.

RJ moved this thumb in and out, swirling it around in her mouth, “You like this, don’t you?” He panted. “Gettin’ me all worked up really does something for you, don’t it, mama?”

If that’s what you want to tell yourself. Denise could taste him all over her tongue, and it made her want to retch. But she looked up at him through her lashes, watching the faint blush crawl across his nose, from their interaction or the alcohol — she wasn’t sure; maybe both. She lapped her tongue around his gargantuan finger; Denise was no seductress, she was just an awkward tomboy, something Jerry always made sure to remind her of during their own lovemaking.

“Don’t be so cold, Dee. Can you try to be sexy?” He’d complain. Usually when the fault was undoubtedly with him. Daringly, she wrapped her slender hand around his huge wrist, watching him like a cat would their favorite mouse. But, whatever she had, whatever she was doing; it was good enough for RJ, and that excited something treacherous inside her.

RJ’s chest rose and fell in hurried breaths, his eyes never leaving hers, and something dribbled traitorously against her thigh. RJ jammed his finger deeper into her mouth, and she stifled a gag, his thumb creasing the bottom of her chin. “Let's see how well you do with the real deal, baby.” He said, breathlessly. Sliding his finger free from the wet warmth of her mouth, RJ fumbled over his own belt buckle. “Got me so hard already, baby.”

Drool dripped from her chin onto her nightgown. In her haze, Denise nodded. She’d given head before, though Jerry told her she gave it like a decapitated fish. “Show me,” she rasped, the demand tasting funny in her mouth, like it shouldn’t be there at all. “Show me how hard I make you.”

RJ laughed, giving himself a few eager strokes. “You like what you see, mama?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Denise sleezed, forgetting herself, forgetting she was bleeding in shark-infested waters. He was bigger than Jerry was, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. RJ could either be the best or worse lay of her entire life.

“Yeah, you do.” RJ boosted. “I saw the way your eyes got wide, bigger than that hippie, huh?”

Denise bit into the fat on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to talk about Jerry now. It was bad enough he plagued her thoughts like some omen. "Does it matter?"

“Yeah. It does, and I am. Bigger than most,” inhaling, RJ worked his giant fist down his cock, smirking at her. “Most girls are scareda’ me.”

Regrettably, her cunt clenched around nothing. “Maybe I’m not most girls.”

“Naw. If you was, you wouldn’t be here right now.” He rubbed his thumb over his reddening tip, “Come on, then.”

Denise edges closer, the chain dragging behind her against the worn floor boards like some fat, slow snake.

substituting his larger hand with her smaller one — which barely encompass his entire shaft. She twists her wrist upwards against his sweaty skin, and RJ groans, bucking his hips against her hand. Maybe it had been awhile. She pumps him downwards, running her thumb along his length, she watches his fingers curl into the dirty sheets below him; was he itching to get those hands on her? Was she itching to let him? Her cunt was aching to be teased, and that disgusted her.

Denise gathered saliva in her mouth, and spat, earning a head tossing moan from RJ. Working, and twisting her wrists, Denise watched his hips twitch, and his fingers dig deeper into the sheets, she couldn’t imagine what he’d do once she had him in her mouth. He might explode.

“You like this?” Denise asks. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” RJ says, breathlessly. “It feels so fucking good.”

Good. It made her feel powerful in a situation that gave her little power at all. Without warning, Denise bowed her head and swirled her tongue around his head, trailing along his meatus. RJ bucks his hips again, forcing more of himself into her mouth, and Denise gags at the sudden invasion. One hand braces itself against his wide leg, and the other grabs at his shaft.

“Gotta warn a man, angel. Shit feels too good.” His heavy hand comes up to collect a wad of hair between his fingers, forcing her down on his dick further. “Take it, baby. I know you can.”

The lack of air causes her throat to constrict around him, her jaw aches, and the tears blur her vision — but she was no quitter. Denise bobs her head up and down along his length, like the good slut she was becoming for him. She didn’t have a fucking choice. Despite that, she has to squeeze her thighs together at his hot, vile words, and the downright nasty noises he was making at her touch. They shouldn’t be making her feel so good, they shouldn’t be lighting a fire under her ass. Still, her tongue laps at him eagerly, teasing him with her little love flicks. Her tongue kisses the parts of him she can’t explore with her hands. Slipping one hand away from his shaft, she dares to tug on his balls, testing the waters to see how far was too far with him.

“Fuck. You keep this shit up, and I’m gonna cum.” RJ growls, fingers digging into her scalp. “Don’t fucking stop. Come on, take all of me baby, please.” He thrusts up into her mouth again, desperate.

Her throat constricted tightly around him again, and this time she can taste the bile rise in the back of hr throat. Without a second thought, Denise spits him out from her mouth and coughs a few times before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I can’t,” she whined. “I can’t breathe when you do that.”

“That’s fine baby. I want to take you for a spin, anyway.” RJ moves fast for a man so large. He makes quick work of the heavy chain around her ankle, but Denise has no time to be relieved when she’s hosted up from the ground. RJ lifted her with ease. He was a behemoth, she probably felt like nothing to him. His wide chest rose and fell under her palms. Was he nervous? His breathing was so fast — excited? Maybe he just wanted her to take control, and that was almost comical. He was such a large man, an imposing man; he could crush her with the raw strength of his thighs. But he wanted her to get on top and ride him.

“You look good like that,” he mused. His large hands coming to rest on her hips, softly rocking her against his waiting, hot, heavy erection. “Feels good, too.”

“Thank you,” Denise forced out, her voice strained. The sensation of him against the small of her back was maddening.

With a smack, RJ's large hands pressed down on her folded thighs, tenderly squeezing them hard enough to bruise. RJ smirked and pulled her forward without waiting for a response, “let's go for a ride.”

“I can’t sit directly over your face,” Denise said. No one had ever offered to eat her out before. Figures the first time some psycho would be the one. “Won’t you suffocate?”

RJ howled with laughter. “Death by eatin’ pussy? What a way to go. I wouldn’t mind that on my tombstone.”

Denise couldn’t help but blush. “I’ve never done this before.” She told him, like it mattered at all to him.

“What? That hippie never took you for a spin?” RJ scoffed. “Fuckin’ idiot. Get up here, I’ll show you what a real man does with a woman.” He pulled her forward, raising her up over his face, “I won’t suffocate.” He added, “Swear it.”

Maybe she should want him to. This shouldn’t be this…cozy, or fun. It was dirty, nasty, and wrong. Denise gasped as her sweat-drenched body lowered onto his waiting mouth. She trembled as he playfully teased her with gentle licks, as if she tasted like some kind of candy. With eager, but slow flicks of his tongue. He dragged it along her folds, not giving her a moment to collect herself before he found her clit with his teeth. He pushed his face harder against her, hands gripping tightly against her thighs, burying himself in all her sticky, wet, glory.

“Fuck,” Denise moaned, planting her hands firmly against the wall. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god.” She couldn’t help but grind down against his tongue. The heat building in her belly was killing her. She could imagine it boiling her organs and frying her heart; killing her before she could reach her feverous peak. His teeth nipped at her labia, like he wanted to make it bleed, make it hurt — and it did. It hurt so good. “RJ, fuck I’m gonna cum.” She tried to peel herself off him, the pleasure building, making her thoughts hazy, only to be slammed back down against his face. Below her, he growled against her cunt, a warning: Do not do that again.

“Shit,” rocking her hips forward into him, Denise clenched her thighs on either side of his head, feeling his low moan erupted from his mouth, and it sent shivers down her spine. Grinding down, Denise threw her head back — her teeth bit hard into her lower lip, and for a split second she hoped that she tasted like acid against his lips. Her orgasm ripped through her like a goddamn freight train, shockwaves of pure, unbridled heat raced through her body, arching her back as far as she humanly could; Denise howled like some lost wolf looking for the light of the moon.

RJ loosened his grip against her thighs, leaving delicate temporary tattoos of his fingers along her skin. He allowed her to slither from his mouth and crumble against his chest in a spent heap. RJ wiped at it with the back of his mouth with his hand. “You cum real pretty, baby girl.” He reached behind him, tapping her lower back with his still hard cock, “Daddy’s turn now, hop on it.”

“I-I can’t, at least give me a break,” Denise whined. Jerry never had her so tired out. There was no way that she could go another round with him like this. “Please, Rufus.”

“I like when you say my name,” He tapped her again, “I want you to scream it.”

Whining, Denise raised her weak body up, rubbing her drooling cunt against the head of his dick. Hating how much she ached to feel it hollow her out, slowly, she forces her tired, puffy cunt down over his red, angry head, sighing at the sensation of being so damn full. She hates how stupid he’s making her, but he is good at making her forget everything; and Denise hasn’t felt this good in weeks. Maybe longer, when was the last time she came that hard with Jerry? The curve of his cock brushes against somewhere that bubbles a moan up from her parted lips; potentially, it wouldn’t be so bad to get fucked this stupid if he blocked everything else in the world out.

RJ groans, bucking up into her warm, wet, eager hole. “Better dick than that hippie, isn't it?”

“God, yes,” Denise moans, voice discombobulated — like she’s been chewing on a ball of cotton. “Rufus, please.” RJ grunts, thrusting his hips up, hitting that same spot from earlier, and phosphenes danced behind her eyes. Denise tries to move her hips, tries to match his pace, but she’s too fuckstupid, too far gone to have any sort of rhythm; she braces her hands against his chest and peers at him through heavy eyes darkened by her own lashes. He’s smirking at her. His hands find her hips, and he guides her along with him, grinding her down against him like a pretty dolly that she is.

Denise rocks back onto him, and each desperate thrust squelches sticky and wet. Anger blooms next to her own arousal. How dare she allow this to happen? What would her friends think of her now? What would her parents think of her? Her inner walls constricted and RJ grunts. Suddenly, it didn’t fucking matter; her brain turned just as sloppy and wet as her cunt and nothing else seemed to make sense.

“You got another one for me, baby?” RJ groans, “I know you do. Come on, let me feel you cum again.” The rusty bedsprings squeaked loudly in time to the two tightly entwined bodies struggling wildly against each other. The sounds of deep, straining grunts and groans filled the hot, stifling air of the room. Mingling with the noise of sweat soaked flesh smacking sharply against sweat soaked flesh and the wet, viscous slurp of his pile driving cock going in and out of her cunt.

Denise gasped, her hips ground uncontrollably against his. Soft mewling animal sounds escaped pitifully from between her passion clenched teeth. “It hurts,” she whimpered, through bared teeth, suddenly, with a deep throated groan, her body began vibrating uncontrollably.

“Y’like it when it hurts, baby?” RJ groans. “Tell me you like it when it hurts.”

“Fuck,” Denise's body felt itself coming to life now. The pain was receding and was slowly giving way to a maddening electric tingle that began deep within her womb and seeped relentlessly through the raw nerve ends of her flesh. “I like when it hurts, Rufus.” Her orgasm rippled through her cunt, dancing like fire across her thighs, up the full length of her legs and circled around inside her toes, curling them tightly against the bottoms of her feet. She can feel RJ pulse inside her. Through her lidded eyes, she watched his jaw tighten at his own impending orgasm. It almost looks painful, but he drew his hips back and gave one final slam into her abused cunt before draining himself deep inside her.

“You don’t disappoint, you know that?” RJ said, breathless, running his fingers along her back. He made no moves to remove himself from her, despite how soft he was growing inside her.

Thin rivulets of sweat rolled down her forehead. Collapsing against RJ’s chest, Denise gasped like some sort of fish out of water. “I’ve got a lot to live for,” she muttered, too spent to think about what she was saying.

“I knew you’d be a good pick,” RJ mused, not paying any attention to what she was saying. “Knew you’d be the type to bring home to mama, but know your way around the fuckin’ bedroom. Hate havin’ to train bitches.”

Denise shuddered at the implication of his words. The haze in her mind was clearing, and she didn’t want to think about what he meant.

#house of 1000 corpses #minxie writes*#RJ firefly #Rufus Firefly Jr #Denise Willis #dead dove do not eat #dubcon #I hate this but its the best I can do

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oldfashionedmorphine · 2 months

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this au is taking over my brain

#and my internet browser…have 7 tabs for research open now lmao #signed up for the rj big bang too which means i got 5 months to write it #yeah i can do it #this’ll be fun <3

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 9 months

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Hyunjin keeping check that your eyes stay open and focused on his painted nails going in and out of you and he will stop the minute you get too carried away from how well they stroke at you 💅🏼

You're so sick for this. What is wrong with you?????? I'm supposed to be getting ready to go out and you send me this?????????? The fuck is your problem??????

And he's such a little shit that he would do something like this. "Look how much better my nails look covered in your juices, baby. Ah ah ah, no closing your eyes, or I'm going to stop."

#throwing myself down a flight of stairs #setting myself on fire #i hate you and him #you can never write for stray kids btw #i saw your masterlist update and i am pre-emptively spraying you with water #elv <3 #ask #rj's inbox #hyunjin hard thoughts #stray kids hard thoughts

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druidgroves · 11 months

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Chapter 10: So Much to Do and So Little Time

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 7,556 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready, Preston Garvey, Original Characters Notes: finally in the double digits of chapters ! also say hello to even More minutemen ocs <3 pls enjoy ! read on ao3 ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7 / ch. 8 / ch. 9

The next three days had gone by in a blur.

Mac had spent most of his time hanging around Curtis after the impromptu meeting with Georgia, despite the man’s somewhat unsettling personality. He also had quick, passing introductions to the friends Curtis had mentioned, as well as a few other Minutemen he was amiable with, but they kept quiet about their plans around them. A lot of them did seem like the “see something, say something” types Curtis had described to him, but they proved to be good people just trying to do right. Even if Mac couldn’t quite put his heart into it the way Georgia did, he could see the organization for what it was trying to be: change.

For all his newly established friendship with her, Georgia’s goal with the Minutemen—the whole Commonwealth, working together to protect itself in some semblance of unity—was ambitious any way you split it. Ranks appeared to be growing like weeds only when compared to the waning numbers before the betrayal at Quincy, but they were still so much smaller than they were in their heyday, or so he heard Ronnie say. For the members the Minutemen did have, most were recruited by Preston and Georgia during their early days giving aid to settlements, who in turn spread their involvement by word of mouth and so on. They must’ve been doing something right, Mac thought, if the life teaming and walking around the once abandoned fort was anything to go by.

During one of the mealtimes Mac and Curtis had with his friends, they got to offer them the opportunity to join them at the interchange. As promised, the four of them—Collins, Hollow, Gonzalez, and Buckley—were very receptive to the idea. Like Curtis, they all seemed to have some sort of beef with them, so that only made greasing the wheels of their operation easier.

Collins didn’t have much to say other than she was happy to wipe out another stain on the Commonwealth, while Gonzalez and Hollow had quickly started chatting between themselves before the conversation was even over. Buckley had listened to the proposal intently and had appeared to seriously consider his options before finally agreeing.

That very day, they all put in various leave requests, staggering the dates as they did.

While grateful and a little bit surprised by their willingness to help and not wanting to look a gift brahmin in the mouth, Mac did have his own reservations about the militia’s fighting prowess.

“I thought the Minutemen were just a bunch of backwoods farmers and stuff?” he asked Curtis afterwards.

“Well, yeah, some of us are. Actually, a lot of us are, but not everyone on board is from an allied settlement, or anywhere, really. The General likes to pick up strays, it seems,” he said, giving Mac a pointed look. “Besides Colonel Garvey and Ronnie, we’re basically taking two thirds of the Castle’s trained soldiers for this stunt, but we’ll make it work.”

While hanging around Curtis over the intervening days, Mac got to know him a little better as well. He talked about as much as Georgia did, which given their back and forth the other day, he could see how the two could get along. Even if Curtis was possibly the most unhinged man he’d ever met.

They talked a lot about the Gunners and their time with them whenever there weren’t many people around. Mac told him he only joined because he was new to the Commonwealth and hard up for caps (didn’t have to explain himself further than that, and Curtis didn’t ask). Curtis had told him he followed a friend in, but the friend didn’t get to follow him out. Mac knew not to broach that subject.

“Since you’re trailing behind General T these days, how’d you leave?” Curtis asked him during breakfast the next day, in between bites of his mirelurk stew. Unfortunately for Mac, with the Castle’s proximity to the sea, mirelurk seemed to be an ever-present menu option.

“Told them I wanted out and negotiated the rest of my contract down to three more jobs before they let me leave. I did my part, then they cut me loose. It was a clean break, but obviously they’re still not happy about it. You?” Mac explained with a lazy shrug, pushing around the bits of mirelurk in his bowl.

“Faked my death,” Curtis replied with an equally lazy shrug, like it was a normal thing to say.

“What.”

“Yeah, real easy to dress up any random corpse those fuckers made in your old clothes and then drop a molotov on it,” he said, then pointed his fork towards Mac’s bowl. “You gonna eat that?”

As for Georgia, the two didn’t get to see much of her in those few days. Ronnie and Preston had kept her busy in spite of her foot with updates on the armory, the rebuilding progress of the Castle, and trying to make heads or tails of the artillery schematics they’d found. In the brief moments Mac had caught her without something to do, she’d told him she honestly didn’t think there’d be so much paperwork involved in being General. Despite it, she seemed to be putting her nose to the grindstone with everything she did.

She had started by alphabetizing the armory write ups Ronnie had given her, typing up everything on an old typewriter that first day after her injury (“If no one organizes it now, it’s never gettin’ done, and then where would we be?”). She identified a group of Minutemen with advanced technical skills and temporarily pulled them from the fort’s repair crew to assist herself and Ronnie with the artillery. When she got too “stir crazy” as she called it, sitting in her quarters hunched over papers full of lists and diagrams, she sat in a chair and helped Preston run training drills in the courtyard. They held them in the early morning, the two working as a team in their efforts to fashion the newer recruits into model Minutemen. At some point early on, someone had even put together a crutch for her when they noticed she’d been hopping along on one foot around the Castle, using its crumbling walls as support in pursuit of her next task. If Georgia was one thing, it was stubborn.

At one point, Curtis and Mac had managed to find her as she was making her way in the direction of the bathrooms, crutch under one arm with her pack hanging off the other. They had wanted to keep her apprised of any updates to their personal mission, but ran into the issue of her free time getting taken up by Being the General of the Minutemen. As such, they’d found her in the one spare moment she could steal for a shower.

She looked between the currently vacant bathrooms and the two of them before saying, “I don’t have a lot of time right now, so either it can wait or we’re about to get real comfortable with each other.”

Which was how they ended up holding council in the bathroom, Curtis and Mac sitting outside her shower stall to “maximize time efficiency”, as she put it. Curtis was posted up in front of the door to make sure no one walked in on their scheming, while Mac had pulled up a chair, the both of them pointedly facing away from Georgia’s stall at her request. Something about “still having manners” and something called “decorum.”

On their way to the bathrooms, she’d made a point to tell them that once they’d found the showers, her first priority had been getting the pipes fixed. They had a whole pump system and everything, plus a few old water heaters pulled from apartment buildings further inland. It meant the bathrooms were buzzing with the sound of a generator and steaming pipes whenever it was in use, but it aided them in their need for privacy.

The shower stalls had rickety patchwork doors and rose up above Georgia’s shoulders, and if Mac turned his head even the slightest amount, he could see her soapy head peeking over the walls as they conversed. He made a concentrated effort to keep from reflexively turning back whenever she talked. They’d only just defined themselves as friends, so Mac was in no rush to get that personal with her, even with the stall between them.

Meanwhile, Curtis had been relaying information about his friends to Georgia, talking up their talents and specialities.

“Lieutenant Collins has a fondness for explosives, she can make things go boom if necessary. She’s on your little artillery team, so whether or not that’s done by the time we head out, she’s coming with,” Curtis said. He was completely unbothered by their choice in location, in contrast to Mac who had been anxiously tapping his foot on the ground the moment they got there. “She’s also useful in a pinch if we find ourselves in a tight spot.”

“And Corporal Hollow?”

Mac stopped himself from looking back at Georgia as Curtis replied, “Crackshot specializing in mid-range combat. Used to be a merc like your guy MacCready here. He’s not afraid to get in there, but he’s good for covering fire, too.”

“Sounds like he’ll be with me,” Georgia said as she rinsed her hair, the smell of homemade hubflower-scented soap wafting over the shower stall. “Since you and Mac have long range covered, I mean. Who else?”

“That leaves us with Privates Gonzalez and Buckley. They’re new, but show a lot of promise. Gonzalez’s got light feet and her own silencer, so I figure she could be our scout. Buckley is a big, versatile son of a bitch, so if we run into any problems we can usually throw him at ‘em,” Curtis finished. “How’s that sound?”

“Conveniently well-rounded,” Georgia supplied with a laugh. “What about you, Mac? What’re your thoughts? …Mac? Hellooo?”

“Huh? Oh,” Mac started, turning his head automatically to see Georgia peeking at him over the shower stall, wet hair plastered to her forehead. Water dripped down her freckled nose, and he could better make out the scar running through her left eyebrow, and the other, smaller one marring her chin. She squinted at him a little bit, waiting for him to respond.

“Uh, yeah. Well-rounded,” he agreed hastily, turning back around only to meet Curtis’ shit-eating grin.

He’d been distracted, and not only because he was trying hard not to focus on the physical space of the conversation at hand. He had started having trouble believing that this was actually happening—the whole operation, that was. Things never fell into place like this for Mac, that was just a general rule he’d learned in life. With not one, but two willing hands and a squad of volunteers, the winds seemed to be favoring him for once. It felt…strange. Like taking a shot and not hearing the bullet casing hit the ground, waiting for it to fall.

“Great listenin’ skills,” Georgia laughed, flicking water at him. “I’ll take a look at those leave requests on my desk later. In the meantime, Mac, d’you think you could find somewhere nearby for them to hole up in for a day or two while they wait? And take Dogmeat with you, he’ll help you scout a place out.”

He ended up finding an abandoned house outside of the Minutemen patrols by that afternoon, stashing a bag of food Curtis had pilfered from the kitchens for the rest of the now formed squad. Hollow and Buckley would be there that night, followed by Collins the next morning, and Gonzalez and Curtis the day after. Once the squad was out, Mac and Georgia would follow—she just had to come up with a good cover.

From what Georgia had told him as he was sticking her with another stimpak for her foot, she had been trying to stagger the leave requests quickly, but still have them spread out enough for people not to notice much out of the ordinary. She mentioned something about Preston and Ronnie and “plausible deniability.” Even so, Mac had caught the Minuteman’s eye more than once around the Castle, like he knew something was afoot. Every time Mac would just duck his head and make to avoid him.

Mac had waved off Curtis and Gonzalez when they left, Curtis dragging out the entire affair by going around and shaking the hands of everyone in the courtyard. Georgia and himself would follow suit the next morning after testing the newly constructed artillery she, Ronnie, and their little team had been busy with. Even with her still-healing foot, Georgia insisted on following Ronnie around like a student following their teacher, looking for the older woman’s approval wherever she could.

Once Curtis had finally left, Mac turned to go find Georgia to let her know, only to be met with Preston himself walking up. The man carried himself with purpose, taking long strides in his direction, indicating he was heading for absolutely no one else. Mac couldn’t even pretend he didn’t notice the Minuteman before he was standing in front of him.

“MacCready,” he said, nodding his head in greeting and Mac froze. Preston took notice, because his next words came out softer, “Can we talk for a minute? It won’t take long.”

“Uh…sure, Garvey. What do you need?” he replied with no small amount of hesitation.

“Just follow me,” Preston said, gesturing over his shoulder where his laser rifle was strapped. Curious and the tiniest bit suspicious, Mac followed.

Preston led him through the Castle’s halls and up a set of stairs to one of the bastions. An artillery piece sat completed before them as they came up, ready for testing the next morning. A Minuteman tipped their hair to Preston, walking past them to go down the stairs, and Preston mirrored the gesture. Once they were alone, he turned to Mac.

“Now,” he started, voice quiet and even enough that it calmed Mac’s nerves somewhat, “I don’t claim to know whatever it is you, the General, and Captain Campbell seem to be doing, and I don’t want to know. I trust the General’s judgment, and Campbell is a good captain. You, on the other hand, are an unknown.”

Preston already knew too much for him to try lying his way out of it, but he didn’t seem angry, so that was a win. Mac arched an eyebrow at him, unsure of where this was going.

“But the General said she trusts you, and I want to believe her trust isn’t misplaced. She told me you saved her life,” Preston continued, and met him with a speaking look. “Is that correct?”

Images of Georgia falling flashed through Mac’s mind for a moment, making a chill run up his spine. He nodded.

“So, once this secret operation of yours is complete, the Minutemen will still have their General afterwards, right?” Preston pressed, and Mac could see what he was getting at.

After spending a few days within the Minuteman HQ, he’d picked up a bit of their history, and they didn’t have the best luck when it came to the longevity of their leaders. He couldn’t blame Preston for getting worried, especially considering how familiar he and Georgia seemed to be with one another.

“Don’t worry so much, Garvey. She watches my back as much as I watch hers,” Mac conceded. “Plus, she’s able to take care of herself. You wouldn’t have made her General otherwise, right?”

“You got me there,” Preston agreed, but he didn’t seem quite finished. “But I’m also worried about how this will affect more than just the General. I saw the leave requests. She’s not the only one we want back safe.”

“The goal is to get everyone back in one piece,” Mac said, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what would happen if their little mission went sideways. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of more innocent people.

“Good. I’m glad to see she’s been traveling with someone like you that’s able to watch her back in my place. Someone with a good head,” Preston nodded, and Mac had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be saying that if he really knew anything about him.

“She told me she used to run around with you before she hired me,” he said, then suddenly remembered something. “Wait, question: has she always been bad at using stimpaks?”

A smile cracked through Preston’s serious expression, obvious fondness coming through as he nodded, “Ever since I’ve known her. When it comes to that, she’s not as gentle as you’d expect her to be.”

“I’ve learned not to make many assumptions about her,” Mac told him with a slight laugh. “She’s too full of surprises.”

“More than either of us knows for sure,” Preston agreed, smile faltering somewhat, then sighed. “For whatever it is you’re doing, good luck. I hope it’s worth it.”

With that, he reached out to pat Mac on the shoulder, giving a firm nod before going back the way they came. Mac let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hoped it would be worth it, too.

-----

Later that night, after palling around with a few of the other Minutemen that Curtis had introduced him to over the last few days, Mac had gone in search of Georgia. He debated over whether or not to tell her about his conversation with Preston as he walked around trying to find her, and couldn’t help but speculate on the relationship between the two.

Despite Preston’s worries fixating around the Minutemen, Mac picked up the vibe that even if that weren’t the case, if Georgia were just some regular person and not the General, he’d still be upset if something happened to her. Mac had to remember that by helping him, Georgia was being pulled into danger, and that she had friends that would hold him responsible if that danger proved fatal.

After checking her quarters, the common area, and then finally the kitchens, a Minuteman with a pair of dark shades that he had passed by several times figured he must have been looking for the General, and pointed him up the stairs to the bastion. Mac nodded his thanks and walked up, greeted by the smell of salty air and a wind strong enough to make him pull his scarf tighter around him. Along with the sea, a minty, smoky scent blew over him.

Sitting near the edge of the bastion was Georgia and a pack of cigarettes, staring out onto the water. Her hair was loose, blowing freely in the wind around her head, and she had the thick blanket from her quarters wrapped around her. She hadn’t noticed him coming up the stairs, and Mac hesitated in the stairwell for a moment, wondering if she had purposefully wanted to be left alone. Then, he wondered why he’d even come to find her in the first place. He hadn’t even had a reason, he realized, just followed the urge.

In his hesitation, a stiff breeze blew over the bastion, knocking over the crutch Georgia had left leaning against the stairs.

She whipped back when it clattered to the ground, cursing into the wind as she jumped with a start. When she saw him standing there, however, she visibly relaxed.

“Jesus, you about gave me a heart attack,” she called out, putting the hand that wasn’t holding her cigarette to her chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mac replied as he righted her crutch, then crossed the length of the bastion to meet her.

As he got closer, he could see several other cigarette butts and matching ash stains on the stone next to her, her open cigarette carton half gone. She patted the space to her left for him to sit upwind from her smoke. He leaned back to rest on his palms, looking at her from an odd angle. As he got comfortable, Georgia picked up the carton beside her, offering him a single cigarette poking out amongst the rest. He took it with a nod and she flicked open her lighter, attempting to light it before the wind put out the flame. She leaned in close to him to block the breeze, her blanketed shoulder bumping gently against his. When it finally caught, she took her lighter away and didn’t make to move back.

Mac brought the cigarette up to his mouth and inhaled, mint coating the inside of his throat and making him cough.

“Didn’t take you for a chain smoker,” he said as he cleared his throat, leaning back to let his smoke be carried away on the wind behind her.

“Neither did I, at first,” she shrugged after a long drag. “I didn’t start smokin’ until I was a teacher, actually. I got real good at findin’ the right time to sneak off and light up.”

Mac was caught off guard with how freely the fact of her past left her mouth. He didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering if she was going to keep talking. When she didn’t, he realized she was waiting for him to respond, almost like asking for permission to keep going. He shifted next to her, putting his cigarette back to his lips and inhaling.

“You were a teacher?” he asked, gently trying to prompt more out of her.

“In another life, yeah. Twenty-eight seven to eight year olds versus me,” Georgia nodded, and he could feel the tenderness in her voice. “They could’ve eaten me alive and ran that classroom if they wanted. Surprisingly, they didn’t.”

Mac nearly balked. The tunnels in Little Lamplight were expansive, but they’d never had more than fifteen to twenty kids at a time, at least when he was there. There had been about seventeen when he left. Even when he was young, he knew adding any number of kids to an already sizable group of children became even harder to manage, much less twenty-eight of them. He knew from experience.

“I do not pity you there. Back in Little Lamplight, I kept up with about twenty, more or less,” Mac said, shaking his head. Sure, it was a revolving door of children within that range, but with the way he ran things, it never flew too far off the handle.

“Twenty? Oh, that’s child’s play. Beginner shit,” she teased with a breath of a laugh. “I would have loved to have a classroom that small when I started. But those extra eight were always sweet.” She paused, taking another drag and letting it out with a heavy sigh. “I remember each of their names and faces. I think about them a lot.”

Mac had to wonder where she had taught. Where had she been that she had a classroom of twenty-eight children, all of whom survived the first few years of life in the wasteland with no accidents of birth or disease preventing them from attending altogether. There had been plenty of epidemics that swept through their little cave system, leaving most Lamplighters with the side effects. Lucy and the others had done their best to keep everyone healthy, but there was only so much they could do by themselves.

“What I’m tryin’ to say is this,” Georgia said, turning to face him, “in case it isn’t obvious, I have a soft spot for kids. Always have. When you told me about Little Lamplight, I guess I got a little upset imaginin’ you and all those kids livin’ like that. I mean, underground? By yourselves? Really?”

Mac breathed a sharp laugh through his nose, “I didn’t pick it, I just grew up there.”

“And I guess you turned out alright,” she said, and he saw a grin ease its way back onto her face, “for the most part.”

“Hey, watch it, now,” he warned, wagging a finger at her, “you’re talking to the former mayor.”

Georgia’s eyes went wide and a startled expression came over her. “Mayor? So not only were you in charge, you were the mayor?”

“Crazy, I know, but can’t say it didn’t do me some good,” Mac shrugged, putting his cigarette between his teeth to mimic looking down the scope of an imaginary rifle. “I’m completely self-taught, y’know. Picked up a sniper rifle at age ten and never looked back. Impressed yet?”

“Impressed and maybe just the tiniest bit concerned about your childhood development,” she laughed. “So did the other kids just…vote for you?”

At that, Mac felt the back of his neck flush with heat. He let his eyes dart out over the sea as he took another drag.

“Well, it didn’t go exactly like that…”

“Oh god, Mac, what did you do?”

“Listen,” he started, holding his hands up in defense, “if Angela hadn’t appointed herself mayor and insisted everyone call her ‘Princess’, I…wouldn’thavehadtopunchher.”

Georgia pushed a few pieces of hair behind her ear, cupping her hand around it, “Come again?”

“I wouldn’t have had to punch her in her stupid nose!” Mac relented, throwing his hands up as she descended into a fit of laughter. “Seriously, I mean, she would have run that place into the ground. Everyone should’ve been grateful I took over when I did–there was an issue with rickets again not long after, and I don’t think—”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on, rickets?!” Georgia balked, eyebrows quickly furrowing in disbelief.

“Not a lot of fresh food in a cave,” he pointed out and she seemed to collapse under her blanket, burying her head into her hands. “If I hadn’t been in charge and put Lu—” He choked on her name, then cleared his throat. “If I hadn’t put our best doctor on rickets research, that could’ve been it for Lamplight.”

“Jesus, Mac,” came her muffled reply. “You can’t tell me stuff like this–you’re takin’ years off my life with the stress. Pullin’ at my heartstrings like a guitar.”

He couldn’t help but shrug, “It was tough, but we pulled through. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Georgia turned to look at him, taking in the entirety of him in one quick glance before nodding, “You certainly have. I’m glad you did.”

Mac wasn’t sure how to respond to that, her habit of being far too earnest during moments like these. Where he was quick to laugh off a serious moment, she seemed to cherish them, make them last longer than they should’ve with a bigger impact than expected. It made his insides feel like a molerat was burrowing inside his chest.

Quiet fell between them for a moment, save for the waves washing against the shore and the faint sounds of Radio Freedom carried over by the wind. They smoked in silent tandem until the ends of their cigarettes flickered out into ash.

“So, you ready to head out tomorrow?” Georgia asked after a while, putting her cigarette butt with the rest of them while he flicked his off the side of the bastion. She tutted at him as he did, “Litterbug.”

“Don’t think littering has mattered in about two hundred years,” he shrugged to her pursed expression. “But yeah, all my stuff’s ready. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Ronnie wants me to stay long enough to test the artillery, so that’s gotta happen first. After that, we’ll head out and meet Curtis and the others, then go on down to the interchange,” she explained. “If we stick to the main roads, we can make it there in about a day and a half, I think. I suppose we’ll come up with a plan of attack when we’re closer.”

“You know, when you lay it all out like that, it almost seems reasonable, and not the craziest idea in the fu—freaking world,” Mac said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this. I didn’t think one person would agree to help, let alone six. We might actually stand a chance.”

“Hey, if you need my help, I’m there,” she said, reassuring in a way that came easy to her. “You can ask for help, you know. We’re friends now. That’s what friends do.”

“And I still don’t know what to say to that,” he replied, unable to hide his exasperation. “Truth is, I haven’t been able to rely on anyone since I was a kid. Everyone has either tried to rip me off or plant a knife in my back. But you…you’re different. We see eye-to-eye on almost everything.”

“Except you still won’t admit that the Silver Shroud could beat Grognak in a fight.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s why I said almost, and second, I can’t believe how dedicated you are to being wrong.”

“On the contrary, your argument makes it so easy to be right—”

They went on until they covered every feasible argument they could manage on the subject. When Mac helped her limp back to her quarters later, he still wasn’t sure who won, or if one of them even did. The discussion was tabled until they could gather more evidence for their respective sides. He’d have to find more issues of Grognak soon.

-----

The next morning, after helping Georgia administer one last stimpak, Mac opted to hit the showers before they had to leave, finally able to take advantage of the Castle’s facilities. He cleaned and sharpened his boot knife as well, finding a quiet corner and a cracked mirror to clean up the scruff that had begun to get a little out of control in the past few weeks. It had started coming in patchy on the sides and made him look younger than he was, so it had to go. His hair would have to wait—he didn’t have the scissors nor the skill to fix it up just then.

As he was shaving around the curve of his jaw, however, a second, less muffled explosion than the one from a few days before sounded from the other side of the Castle.

“Shit.” Mac let a string of curses out under his breath as his knife slipped across his jawline, a small cut now bleeding freely.

He sighed, wiping away the blood with the cuff of his sleeve before finishing the rest of the job. At least the artillery seemed to be working. He held his sleeve to the cut until it stopped bleeding, then picked up his knife again. After he was done, he cleaned and slid his knife back into the holster on his boot and made his way to the courtyard. Over by the entrance to the armory, he saw Georgia talking with Preston, all geared up with Dogmeat sitting patiently beside her.

“—back to the city for…personal business. With Mr. Valentine,” he heard her say as he quietly approached. “I don’t know when we’ll be back this way, but you know how to get in contact if you need me. I’ll try to keep you updated on how it goes.”

“Please do,” Preston said with a serious nod.

So that’s the cover we’re using, Mac thought, stopping just short of the two of them as they talked. Considering she had let the detective know when she’d be back in town, he figured she had some sort of business with him. Mac just wasn’t sure exactly what kind of business. Still, he’d always heard the best lies had a little bit of truth in them.

“And would you mind keepin’ Dogmeat for a few more days? I think he deserves a little bit of a rest since he’s been with me for a few weeks straight,” Georgia said, and Dogmeat whimpered, looking up at her with the closest thing to a pout Mac had ever seen come from a dog. It was more likely she didn’t want to risk him getting hurt or in the way with a plan as delicate as theirs was. “Oh, c’mon, boy, don’t be like that. Put those puppy-dog eyes away!”

Preston laughed and grinned down at the hound, “I’ll watch over him. He can help train the recruits with me in your absence.”

“Thanks, hun. At the very least he can chase ‘em around while they’re runnin’ laps,” Georgia laughed, crouching down to give the dog a good scratch before looking back up at Preston. “I’ll try to swing around when I can. Might make a trip back to the old neighborhood soon, see how things are holdin’ up there, but I gotta head out in a bit. I’ll see you later, Preston.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there. Until next time,” Preston nodded. “Good luck, General, and stay safe out there.”

The Minuteman caught Mac’s eye over Georgia’s shoulder as she pulled him in for a hug, giving him a speaking look that said all he needed to know before they pulled apart. If it came down to it, Mac would make sure Georgia made it back at least, as harsh as it sounded. He knew how to spot the big players, and as General, she was the biggest piece on the board.

Preston tipped his hat to the two of them before leaving with Dogmeat at his side, and Georgia turned around, only to be surprised to see him standing behind her.

“Jesus, Mac, I’m gonna have to put a bell on you,” she said, startled, then she paused, eyes darting around his face. “Oh. You shaved.”

He reflexively reached up to itch at his remaining facial hair, arching an eyebrow at her, “What, did I miss a spot?”

“...No, just noticin’,” she said, shaking her head quickly and letting her fingers drum against the straps of her pack. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, but how’s your foot feeling after that last stimpak?” Mac asked, gesturing to her feet. It had been an hour or two since he’d administered the stim, but she’d been so eager to test the artillery that he didn’t get to completely check her over.

“Feels good as new thanks to you,” she said, sticking out her boot and rolling her ankle around. “Let’s go.”

“Now hold on a minute.” Mac moved to stand in front of her, stopping her from walking off. “No aches or pains? Sharp stabbing feelings?”

She rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, “I’m fine, Mac. I’ve been able to walk on it alright, I promise.”

Mac bit the inside of his cheek, “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to take one more day if you need it—”

She reached out, her hand falling to squeeze his arm through the sleeve of his duster, cold as every other time she’d done it despite the warmth of her words, “We’ve got people waitin’ on us, Mac. People that wanna help, so it’s probably best not to keep them waitin’.”

He sighed as she took her hand away, “Fine. But if you start slowing down, I’m not carrying you.”

She smirked, leading them out of the Castle, “You would if there were enough caps in it.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but that’d be a stupid waste of caps on your part.”

She laughed as the Minutemen on gate duty closed it behind them, waving their goodbyes to their General. She waved back and threw him a smile before turning to the road ahead of them.

They got to the house Mac had scouted out about an hour later, the sun high in the sky above them.

“This one here,” he said as they came close. Its faded yellow siding and once vibrant red door had been an easy identifying feature when relaying directions to the rest of the group.

“How quaint,” Georgia said as she walked up the steps.

She held up her hand to knock on the door, only for it to swing open to Curtis’ wide grin before she could.

“Nice of you to join us,” he greeted them as Georgia jumped back with a small yelp. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

“That’s not how you greet people at the door,” Georgia muttered as Curtis moved back to let them both through the door.

Inside, the rest of the team were sprawled about the remains of the house’s living room. Collins sat on a sagging couch and was bent over something in her lap, while Hollow and Gonzalez were playing cards in the middle of the floor, Buckley sat in a chair across from them just watching them play. When Georgia entered the room, Mac watched all of them scramble to present themselves for their General.

“Oh, please, you don’t have to do all that,” Georgia said, holding her hands up and going a bit pink in the cheeks. “Technically we’re all off duty, anyways.”

“Oh, thank god you’re cool,” Gonzalez said, relaxing back into the slouched posture she’d had before. She had short, shaggy black hair and seemed to positively ooze cool from every pore.

Collins, a tall, gangly woman with dark red hair and freckles, snorted but didn’t look up from whatever she was tinkering with, “Told you.”

From behind them, Curtis clapped his hands together, “So, General T, what’s our first move?”

Georgia slung her pack off her shoulders, sitting it on a nearby chair to fish out her Pip-Boy.

“I’ve mapped out a route for us to take, and we could be there sometime tomorrow afternoon if we keep pace,” she started, tapping her nails against the screen. “We can follow the Turnpike for a while, but I was thinkin’ about turnin’ off once we’re closer so we can come at the Interchange sideways. From what I know about ‘em, the Gunners probably have the roads covered, right? When we get there, we can scope the place out before we decide how we wanna play it. How’s that sound?”

“Good thing I put on my walking boots today,” Hollow muttered, gathering the deck of cards off the floor. He was a stocky man with dark, tawny skin and broad shoulders, and wore his Minuteman hat tilted back on his head. Mac half wished he had nabbed one of the ridiculous hats before they left the Castle.

“Sounds like a plan,” Buckley said, speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the house. Curtis hadn’t been lying when he said the man was big—he had to duck his shaved head to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling. “Hopefully one that means we come back alive.”

Georgia smiled, a hint of uncertainty in the slight waver of her voice, “Well, that’s the goal.”

“It’s a good plan,” Mac nodded, catching her eye and watching her smile grow more confident. “For now at least. The rest can come later. Now, are we ready to head out?”

-----

They made camp when the last rays of sunlight faded over the horizon, the first leg of their journey done. Georgia showed Mac whereabouts they were on her Pip-Boy map, somewhere near where the railroad tracks crossed with the Turnpike’s main road. With her skill in sneaking through the city by way of old shops and side alleys, they were apparently right on time with whatever schedule she had come up with in her head. The Interchange wasn’t too far down the way.

After a collective vote proposed by Georgia, the group took to settling down for the night in a house near the river. It was a suitable shelter after clearing out a small host of rad roaches that Georgia hadn’t been too pleased to encounter. Most of the living room was largely intact save for a wall of broken windows facing the water and a few pieces of barely damaged furniture scattered about the room. Once inside and settled, everyone began to claim their spots. With seven people, they decided to do the night watch in groups.

Before everyone else turned in—Georgia had offered to be part of the first watch group and Mac had volunteered right after—Mac made an attempt to get their attention by standing up from the chair he’d claimed and clearing his throat. He felt nervous, and not from having everyone’s eyes on him. When you grew up trying to wrangle a colony of kids your age who knew exactly how to bust your balls, public speaking wasn’t something Mac had issue with. It was what the group before him was going to help him do that he was anxious about.

“I’ll try to make this quick,” he started, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting. He spared a glance at Georgia, who had been studying the map on her Pip-Boy but was now listening with rapt attention. “This is anyone’s last chance to back out. If you’re having second thoughts or feel like this isn’t something you wanna risk your life for, I get it. Won’t hold it against you. You’re, uh, free to go, I guess.”

The first person to react was Collins, who snorted, “Like hell I’m missing out on giving those Gunner bastards their due. You’ve got your reasons for going after them, and so do we.”

“Plus, it’s one hell of a hike back to the Castle,” Curtis chuckled, pulling snatches of laughter from the room.

Gonzalez huffed out a breath from where she’d been cleaning her gun, the silencer next to her kit. “The Gunners don’t care about finding a reason for half the shit they do. What’s a better reason than just wanting to knock a group of assholes down a few pegs?”

“Having your brother caught in their crossfire might be a better one,” Collins said with a shrug that belied hidden bitterness. “Not to one up you or anything.”

Gonzalez made a face while Hollow gave a shaky laugh and pointed toward her, “I don’t have a much better reason than this one does. When I was still a merc, I had more than a few contracts taken from me in favor of the Gunners. Maybe it counts for something when you need the money, I dunno.”

Mac agreed with the man there; he knew that feeling all too well. He had remained quiet, however, not wanting any of them to start further prodding him for his own justification—no need to get into the nitty gritty of it, of why the Gunners were after him. They had simply told them that the Gunners wanted Mac, who was now apparently a “good friend” of Curtis’, gone. Curtis had almost made it sound like an unjust bounty the way he’d explained it, Mac letting him take the lead and half hoping the man’s mystifying charisma would be enough to carry them through the rest. It had worked well enough to get the group to agree to help, and for that Mac was grateful.

“I’m with you, Cath,” Buckley spoke up, staring at Collins across the room. He took up the whole door frame he’d been leaning on, a wall of muscle between the wood. “Lost some friends in Quincy. I’m here because of them.”

All eyes then turned to Georgia, who had remained quiet in a room full of people for the longest amount of time Mac had noticed since he’d met her.

“What about you, General?” Gonzalez asked, hands still working over her weapon. “Can’t say I wasn’t a little surprised that you signed off on this whole thing.”

Georgia looked up at Mac from where she had been sitting on her sleeping bag and Mac had to fight himself from looking away from the sincerity in her expression.

“My friend Mac here saved my life,” she said simply and he swallowed thickly, “least I could do is help him out, y’know? Only coincidence we found others with a similar goal.”

“Pays to be a friend of the General then, huh?” Collins piped up with a pointed look towards Mac. “Good to have someone like that at your back.”

“It has its perks,” he shrugged, and held Georgia in his gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“What can I say? I’m useful like that,” she laughed, then stood up from her sleeping bag and stretched. “We should start turnin’ in soon, get an early start tomorrow so we have some time to scope the Interchange out.”

The rest of the group called out their various agreements. As they began to get settled for the night, she picked up her shotgun and slung it over her shoulder. Attached to it was the leather strip that had previously been on the rifle that now stayed strapped to the side of her pack. Her new weapon was covered in scuffs and dings from the various altercations they’d been in since Mac had given it to her.

Once she was ready, she came to stand next to Mac, and put a hand on his arm, cold as ever despite the fabric between them. “You and I have a hot date with first watch, can’t keep her waitin’.”

Mac breathed a laugh through his nose as she led them out to the porch, their only plan for the rest of the night to keep an eye out for any perceived threat that would come to harm them. Compared to what they had hoped to do the next day, he could manage as much. They had numbers and strategy on their side and for a moment, he dared to hope it was enough.

#fallout #fallout fic #fallout 4 #fo4 #rj maccready #fic: best laid plans #eeeep i'm finally glad this is Out #it always takes me a long time to force myself to edit bc i need most of the words to Leave my brain & forget them so i don't get bored rer #*rereading #bc i often reread it every time i open it to write if the chapter isn't finished #so i can Maintain the Vibe #but it does make it harder to edit without being like 'ugh i've read this part 102394 times already' a;dflkj #but it's out & im happy i hope u all enjoy ilu

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sadhorsegirl · 1 year

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i DO think it's peak comedy that elayne nynaeve and birgittes big circus road trip living situation ends up feeling a lot like mac and dennis move to the suburbs

#u ever ride in a car with a group of ppl for one hour too long? THAT is the vibes these girlies are cultivating #genuinely insane but also highly sophisticated comedy move i have to tip my hat #rj rly said these broads cant STAND each other if u pack em in tight enough!!!#but for real his understanding of group dynamic and how it shifts depending who is in a combonation of ppl is rly interesting #and remains one of the strong points of his writing imo #can u tell im reminicising abt stuff from prev books bc im stuck on a white cloaks chapter lol #wheel of time #wot books spoilers #ish but just to be safe #elayne trakand #nynaeve al'meara #birgitte silverbow

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sycamoretrees · 1 year

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i don't have multiple wrestling WIPs so i can't join in on the game but i do have an eddie/mox/garcia thing that i would LOVE to finish @ god pls

'you think you can just - what, just get down to it? You ain't gonna, like, seduce me or something? Maybe I don't wanna fuck Moxley, you ever thought about that?'

'he's got a point, Eddie,' Mox says, all fucking smug stretched out on the bed. 'maybe he doesn't want to fuck me.'

Thinks he's so funny. Eddie flips him off.

'you don't want to fuck Mox, then?' he asks, and suddenly the kid gets real interested in his own boots.

'I didn't - i mean, I didn't say that,' Garcia says, not looking anyone in the eye. Eddie raises his eyebrows at him. Kind of wild to watch him put the ego back on, puffing his chest out and jutting his chin, finding the street in his posture. Fronting up to Eddie again to say 'I just -'

'you just what?' Eddie bounces back, getting up in his space. Can't give him time to think he needs to act any type of way about it, not if he wants it, which he does. 'just talking to talk?'

'no, I'm -'

'you sure? Cause your mouth's still open, and I ain't even put anything in it yet.' there's that zingy electric spark, tingles Eddie's ears and gets his blood going. try it, his pulse chants, try it.

'do you do all this every time you get laid?' mox asks. 'it's exhausting.'

#technically i have a renee/mox/rj city thing but i can tell you rn that's going nowhere #it's more of an aspiration than a WIP #writing #wrestling #st.post

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varuunsith · 7 months

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everytime i read or hear someone say they hated TLJ because it took away the hopeful aspect of star wars I'm – I'm? Did we watch the same movie? It's there. The thing is that sometimes hope stumbles and fall. We get weary and sometimes fall down a rabbit hole and it seems that there's no way out – but there is. Hope always prevails. Hope and love and the will to do good by each other. It's all in the movie. Just... put your neurons to work and truly watch the narrative? It's all there. It's barely subtle. It's also the middle movie of a trilogy in which, narratively, is when characters are supposed to stumble a bit.

#not gonna tag this as star wars bc sequels haters are annoying as fuck #and blaming rj for the luke thing is kinda stupid too #like. the previous movie literally opens up to “luke skywalker has vanished”#it wasn't rj's doing. he just had to figure out what the fuck could be seem as such a crippling failure that would luke of all people #to give up #and personally i think he did a great job out of the writing bind jj layed out without thinking #plus the fact he had to cram +6 story arcs in a single movie at the same time #RoS is another thing completely #anyway all of this to say that i am in jj abrams' walls and i will shove my arm inside his ass when i can #imagine being so childish that you undo all the work layed out before bc you don't like who did it

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sirmanmister · 11 months

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Wip Wednesday!!

Tysm for the tag @dont-set-the-world-on-fire!

I’ll tag @twosides--samecoin @oldworldwidgets @irradiatedrosegarden and anyone else that wants to join! :D

Get it over with, MacCready chanted to himself, forcing the words to loop through his mind as he worked his way West. Get it over with. It’ll be better this way.

It didn’t feel like it would be better. It felt like he was walking straight towards Deathclaw fucking Sanctuary, on some morbid final march that would mark the end of his life for good. Part of him wanted to slow down, to wait just a little bit longer, savour the last journey he would probably ever take while sane, but another part of him wanted to run, to get it all over with faster, to plunge himself into the misery and hopelessness that had been lapping at his consciousness for the past week, succumb to the despair that made his hands shake whenever he held his rifle.

MacCready just wanted things to be different.

He closed his eyes to keep them from burning, --he wasn’t sure if it was tears welling or because he had been staring straight ahead unblinkingly for the past several minutes-- and very promptly tripped over a rock.

His arms jolted out for balance for half a second, just long enough to recover his footing, and then they instinctively came up and around the ratty blue backpack that he had slung backwards over his chest, holding it closer to himself.

MacCready let out a sharp puff of air, eyes closing again briefly with relief, and then turned his attention downwards, carefully peeling back a soft grey blanket to peek at the ten-month old infant within.

Duncan grumbled quietly, shifting a little like he did whenever he was about to wake up, but his expression smoothed after a moment, and he made a cooing sound that had MacCready struggling to breathe.

Something awful and heavy choked out the adoration that sang through his entire body, drowning it beneath a thick, dark dread that simmered in MacCready’s chest like hot oil. It spilled past his ribs, dissolving his insides like flesh beneath a centaur’s spit, smoke curling away black and dirty. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he tasted something bitter and metallic.

MacCready clenched his jaw, wavering in place for a moment as he fought the desperate pleas that started up in the back of his mind. He gently moved the blanket back into place and continued to walk.

Little Lamplight was only three more miles away.

#tysm for the tag!!#wip wednesday #serenade writing #rj maccready #duncan maccready #I keep just adding stuff from around the starting scene and I’m SORRY I SWEAR THERES MORE #there’s not #I have to write it first #BUT I WILL WRITE IT I STG I just need to actually sit down for a day and I know I can get past the beginning l #in the meantime tho I hope everyone has been enjoying me repeatedly throwing this angst at u

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alectology-archive · 1 year

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also this fandom is soooo funny and normal about elayne and egwene. L + ratio + disliking them is a popular opinion + your opinion is tired and boring.

#how many of egwene's flaws are irredeemable and how many of them are a consequence of rj being unable to recognise that depictions of abuse #with a humorous tone is not. a good thing. lol.#<- his writing of it is also informed by the time he lived in and his background so! you can map out how that influence him.#text #*influenced

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onlyseokmins · 1 year

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The masturbation ask 💀💀💀 please I snorted so loud

Same here, good thing I was sitting down already or I would've fallen on the floor 😭

#I mean to each their own at least my content is doing smth for everyone 😭 ❤️#Tbf I read smut just so I can get in the sexci enough mind set to write outrageous scenes 😭#W/o cringing #Shhsjsjs #rj 🍒#hwanghyunjinenthusiast #ez.mootz #ez.inbox

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keerysquinn · 1 year

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guys

writing is actually happening

get excited?

#seriously though #I've got one scene left to write and then this first chapter is done #rj and I have been screaming about this for almost 5 months you don't even know #and if I finish writing tonight I can make graphics after work tomorrow and maybe get it posted?#it's finally happening and I am being so normal about this besties #she speaks

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 7 months

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#today is probably the best day I've had in a very very long time #i took a long shower did some pretty thorough skin care which are my favourite self care activities #finally restocked my toiletries #actually started the book i need to do for my essay #i haven't felt this good in probably a concerning amount of time lol #and now I'm going to tap out #I'm hoping I have enough energy to work on this fic #I'm a little disappointed that i didn't post it today like i would have liked to but hey i made significant progress in other areas of my #life today #it feels nice and it's also nice reminding myself that i can do these things without wearing myself thin #rj talks #also i think everyday i grow more and more grateful that i chose to take a gap year #lowkey it's the main thing pushing me through this last stretch #just the thought of finally getting a break #I'm so excited for all the writing plans i have ontop of the gap year plans you guys have no idea #you're going to be sick of how much i post lol #not to jinx things but

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druidgroves · 2 months

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fifteen minutes.

fandom: fallout 4 pairing: rj maccready/f!sole survivor words: 2,544 rating: explicit (18+) summary: early bird gets the worm. happy valentine's day. have some smut. read on ao3

Just like it did every morning, the Pip-Boy on Georgia’s nightstand jolts the both of them awake at exactly 5:45 am. And, just like every morning, Georgia reaches a hand out from under their pile of blankets to turn it off while Mac buries his face in the back of her neck in an effort to get her to stay. Just fifteen more minutes.

5:45 had been their compromise after settling into Sanctuary in between making the settlement circuit. On the road, Mac could stand getting up at the crack of dawn to beat the heat, the raiders, or the pests. He just hadn’t expected sun-up to be Georgia’s natural alarm whenever they were settled down. Her, the forever earlybird, and him, a man prone to relaxation when the surroundings allowed it. Tucked into a warm, cozy bed with the woman he loves at his side allowed that kind of relaxation. So much so, that he’d hold onto her a little tighter every morning on the off chance she’d give in and allow him just a little more of her time before the residents of Sanctuary took up the rest of it.

This time, when he snakes his arms around her waist and pulls her against his torso, he can feel her relax into him. She’d spent the day before leading the construction of a new house in the neighborhood from sun-up to sun-down and her aching muscles must still want to melt into the mattress with how she barely moves to leave it.

“Is today the day I finally get my fifteen minutes?” he whispers next to her ear, breathing in the lingering smell of her hubflower soap.

“If only,” she says like she means it, but still doesn’t try to leave his grasp. “There’s a couple’a generators that need fixin’, patch a few roofs, that leak in the greenhouse…” Her voice trails off, nearly falling asleep again before she catches herself. She yawns. “Lotsa stuff.”

She definitely still needed sleep. Mac breathes a laugh against the back of her neck and he can feel her shiver from it. When her back arches just a little, enough to shift her backside against rapidly forming morning wood, an idea begins to form inside his hazy, half-asleep mind, thinking of several ways to keep her in bed just a little longer…

“Stuff can wait,” Mac tells her and kisses her bare shoulder. “C’mere.”

“I can’t, I gotta get up.”

“You’re exhausted. I’ll make it worth your while. Fifteen minutes.”

This grabs her attention. She rolls over in his arms and in the faint blue morning light that makes its way into the bedroom, he can see her raise an eyebrow at him.

“Fifteen minutes, huh? What’re you up to this mornin’?”

He gives her a lazy grin before kissing the corner of her mouth. “If you stay you can find out.”

She seems to seriously mull it over for a second, even looking over her shoulder at the time on her Pip-Boy. When she does, Mac makes a split-second decision and puts his mouth to her exposed neck in an effort to convince her. Georgia gasps, goosebumps rising all over her skin, and very quickly she appears to put his scheme together.

“Robert Joseph, you are sneaky,” she says, but does nothing to imply she’d want him to stop the way he leaves wet kisses down her neck, nor does she stop him from adjusting their position so he can trail them across her exposed collarbone.

“Just how you like me,” he replies between kisses, his chin resting at the neckline of her tank top, pulling it down just enough to press his lips to the light freckles on her sternum. She shifts her legs to where he can lay between them.

“I can think of a few other ways I like you,” she mutters when his hands get under the fabric. The rough calluses of his fingers are feather-light over her skin and make her shiver again, arching her back into his touch.

“Now you’re starting to get it,” Mac says, and takes her breast in his hand, running his thumb across the nipple.

He pushes the hem of her shirt up past her breasts and wastes no time in taking her other one in his mouth, making her suck in a sharp breath. His tongue flicks along the sensitive nub in his mouth as he tweaks the one in his hand, fluttery, staccato gasps making their way past her lips.

Sneakily, his free hand goes under the blankets and rests on her hip, thumb toying with the weak elastic of her underwear. He ends up leaving a light bruise on top of her chest, one easily covered up, and starts to think of other places he can leave them.

“Thirteen minutes,” Georgia reminds him, then takes the hand he has on her hip and moves it under the waistband and into the bush of dark blonde curls there.

“Impatient,” he tells her.

“Realistic,” she counters.

Her breathing stutters again when Mac’s fingers move downward to slip inside the wet heat of her. She was already soaked for him, walls clenching around two fingers the moment they’re inside her. His thumb finds her clit and as he slowly starts to swirl it around, he draws out more of those fluttery little gasps and this time they go straight to his dick. He can feel his erection growing with her every sound and he endeavors to pull more from her.

Mac pumps his fingers in and out, quickening his pace around her clit but keeping the pressure consistent. She starts to squirm against him but he keeps her in place with the weight of his body on top of her. He situates himself to where he can take in the beauty of watching her eyebrow screw up in pleasure while also being the cause of it. Rather quickly, his name becomes the frequent subject of her mouth.

“Oh, RJ,” she breathes, breasts heaving with every breath. Her hands that had previously started to grip the sheets come up and cup his face, bringing it closer to hers so that she can place frantic, needy kisses against his mouth.

Mac obliges happily, their tongues tasting the familiarity of each other as she deepens the kiss between them. She kisses him like it’s the only way to cope with the current running through them, desperate and wanting, and wanting, and wanting. Georgia moans into his mouth when he moves his fingers in a come-hither motion, her own finding purchase in his hair. Her nails on his scalp make a chill of his own run down his spine, and he channels it in the hurried movement of his fingers in her cunt, adding a third for good measure. Her gasp is severe enough to break them apart. She tenses under him, thighs squeezing around his hand while he continues his work. Even so, her eyes flicker over towards her Pip-Boy and his follow. They haven’t much time left, and they were only just starting.

In response, Georgia wraps her legs around where Mac was still laying between them, pulling him close. “I need you,” she tells him, her walls flexing around his fingers. “Now.”

“Are you sure? We haven’t—” He’s cut off as he starts to slow down his movements, which is apparently the wrong thing to do, because she gets a frustrated look on her face and makes a low whining sound.

“Not enough time,” she says quickly and shudders when he pulls his fingers out of her. Mac, ever the tease, decides to take the time to lick her slick from them, making her face flush even in the low light.

She swallows but doesn’t allow him to waste anymore time, and slides down the hem of his underwear. His aching cock springs out and she takes it into her hand, giving him a few strokes and running her thumb over his leaking tip. She doesn’t even take the time to take her own underwear off the rest of the way, instead pushing it to the side just enough for him to line up against her and slide between her folds, making them both sigh together. She’s tighter than usual, having blown past their usual foreplay in favor of a passionate quickie. Mac tries to keep this in mind as he slowly presses into her, but the way she clenches around his cock, legs wrapped around his waist, he nearly bottoms out in her anyway.

Inch by inch she takes him, her hips meeting his once he has her fully stretched around him. They don’t stay like that for very long, just long enough for her to get comfortable as he twitches inside her. Now that they’re this far, it takes everything in him not to screw into her like an over-eager teenager.

“Ready?” he asks, mouth dry. She nods and he begins to rock into her, rolling his hips gently into hers.

“Fuck,” she swears and just hearing the curse fall from her perfect, pouty mouth, one he would kill to have his cock in later, almost does him in.

“Keep going,” he says, encouraging her. “Tell me.” Once he got her going, her dirty talk knew no end until she herself was pleasantly satisfied. In turn, it did a lot in reaching his own climax.

“Faster,” she demands first and Mac acquiesces, picking up the pace. When he does, her eyes roll back and her lips form a perfect O before stammering out, “Oh, ah, RJ, RJ, RJ. Oh, honey, yes, just like that.”

Her words have some profound effect on him, because he thrusts into her with a specific kind of need now, pulling out only to thrust right back into her again and again just as she asked him to. She’s hot and slick around him, wet enough that he can slide in and out with relative ease. Still, he spits into his hand and lets it move down his fingers before bringing it down to add a little more lubrication between them. He eats up any moans that make it past the lips against his, mouths sloppy and passionate and electric against one another while she rolls her hips to meet him again. They move together in sync, her mouth never stopping all the while.

“Oh, fuck me,” she says with particular emphasis when he pulls out almost entirely only to thrust into her again. One hand ends up in his hair, pulling, while the nails of the other dig into his shoulder. Her heels press into his back, every part of her squeezing against him like she wanted to fuse their sweating bodies together.

“RJ, baby, please, I want you,” she cries into his mouth, “want more of y–Oh, God.”

“How’s that?” Mac rasps, his hand reaching down between them to start playing with her clit again. She throws her head back against the pillows in response, eyes screwing shut the more he screws into her.

A repetition of “you’re so good to me” and “faster, RJ, honey, please” come from her between thrusts. If she cares about the time anymore, she doesn’t bother to let him know in the mixture of praise and begging she heaps onto him, breathless. When she asks him to go deeper, to fuck her harder, it takes all his strength not to finish right there. He pauses only to take one of her legs from around his waist and hook it over his shoulder before picking back up again, faster and deeper than before.

The new angle does wonders for the both of them; more of her clenching around him and more of him managing to hit just the right spot inside her that makes her turn to putty in his hands. All the while his finger is circling her clit in ways that only fuel the fire within her. Her words go incoherent and her hands struggle to keep their hold on his hair, his back, plush thighs squeezing boney hips.

Mac pulls back just enough to get a look at her face during this moment, his favorite part. Her freckles stand out against the red flush across her cheeks and her hair, loose and tangled from sleep, is sprawled out on the pillow. When the first rays of daylight filtering in through the curtain hit it, it looks like a golden halo around her. Her eyes, closed in a concentrated effort to meet her anticipatory orgasm, flutter open just enough to let her look at him half-lidded, mouth parted in the shape of his name. She’s beautiful, just like this, and Mac wants to sear the image into his mind forever.

“Ro–Robert,” she moans and her voice catches, burying her face into the pillow while he fucks her near brainless enough to make her words slur together, “oh, RJbaby, you’regoodtome, so goodtome.”

His name strung together with the endearment breaks any sort of restraint he has left. Mac pounds into her with everything he’s got, the sounds of skin slapping against skin intermingling with the words she can only just get out. “Sogoodtome, so good,” she repeats like it's the only thought that can make it out of her, but what she says when he feels her tense around him does him in.

“I’m gonna, ah–Bobby, hun, I’m—”

And that’s all it takes. One version of the many nicknames she’d bestowed unto him, but the one that makes him come so hard his vision nearly whites out, every time.

“Oh, God, Georgia,” is all that he manages to get out before he thinks to pull out in time.

He manages to replace the emptiness inside with four fingers this time, allowing her to ride out the rest of her orgasm before falling limp beneath him. He lets her leg drop from his shoulder after they manage to collect themselves. She pulls her tank top back down and he stuffs himself back into his underwear and they settle down beside each other.

Unsatisfied being apart now, he lays down with his head between the valley of her breasts, and she rests her arm on his back. From his angle, he can see the hickey he left behind peeking over the stretched neckline, already darkening into a nice bruise. Her other hand finds itself in his hair again and his head rises and falls with her breathing before the post-orgasmic haze clears from his mind enough to speak.

“How was that for making it worth your while?” he asks, catching a glance at her Pip-Boy. “And hey, right on time.”

“Mhmm,” he hears her mutter faintly in response, “so good to me…think I might stay…a couple more minutes…”

He glances up at her and her eyes are drooping, threatening to close completely. When he shifts beside her, she moves to wrap herself around him, legs and all. Her head ends up pressed into the hollow space between his neck and shoulder and it doesn’t take long before she’s out like a light. A smug, but soft, smile works its way onto his lips. Mac opts to catch a few more winks himself and relaxes into her grasp.

#fallout #fallout fic #fo4 #rj maccready #FINALLY...i have finished a smut fic for them. now i know i can actually fuckin write it.#ship: you're not my first love but you're my last ( georgia x maccready )

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