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#HEAD IN HANDS 🤲
38across ¡ 1 year
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steve harrington + 🧍‍♂️
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bylertruther ¡ 1 year
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will knowing that he came back wrong and desperately trying to go back is just. it's so. :(( painful.
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beautysamour ¡ 7 months
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miguel accidentally overstimulating himself not realizing that his breeding kink kicked in 🤲🧎‍♀️
overstimulation with miguel o’hara ❤︎
— a/n: oh my
warnings ゚𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language, mentions of having kids during sex
“Mi—Miguel,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as he fucks you into the mattress, “‘s—‘s too much? Ah—are you oh—okay?”
You shudder in unison as he pumps another load of his cum into your drenched pussy.
“I’m fi—fine,” he stutters as his dick twitches. It hurts—he’s sensitive—but it’s not enough. He hasn’t given you enough.
A broken mewl escapes you as your head hits the headboard, Miguel tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from slipping off his cock as his hips stutter through his thrusts.
His visions blurs as you clench around his dick—he was surprised he was still able to move.
He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.
You’re both covered in sweat, and cum, and saliva. You feel hot, the silk bedsheets Miguel bought does nothing to cool you down, and your head is spinning. Your heart pounds in your chest as your body tenses—you were about to cum again, and your pussy wanted to cry.
“Miguel,” you whimper, “‘m close, Miguel, ‘m close,” you whine. His dick deliciously rubs against your walls as he sticks his thumb into your mouth—your head hits the headboard.
“I know mami—me too.” Your head hits the headboard again, “Gotta fill you up again, don’t you want that? Gonna make you feel good, I promise mami, I promise.”
“Mig—“ he pushes his thumb down on your tongue.
“‘m gonna make you feel so good, mami,” he starts to babble, “Gonna feel so good.”
Somehow every movement he made was even more intense, you could feel every vein, every twitch, every—everything. He became more precise, every thrust ended with him hitting your g—spot, you were never sure if that was going to be the moment you came.
“Miguel—,” you babble, sucking his thumb. “‘m gonna cum, right there Miguel, I’m gonna—“
His thrusts became erratic, the feeling of your warm pussy engrains itself in his memory.
He’d definitely be going back to this memory.
“Wait for me mami, I’m almost there too,” he grabs one of your hands, bringing it close to his mouth, and he presses his lips against your wrist. “Gonna make you a mother, yeah?”
You bite his thumb.
He presses a hand against your stomach as the bed creaks, “Make me a father?”
His hips stutter as you moan around his thumb.
You avoid eye contact as he leans over you, the pure devotion in his eyes makes you feel tingles in your stomach—and make you feel even more of that in your pussy.
“Look at me when you come mami, pl—please. Need you too.”
You didn’t expect it to happen that quickly when you looked at him.
Miguel looks down at you with lust blown eyes, his hair drops down from his face, and his mouth hangs open—the hand holding your wrist shaking. He slowly thrusts into you as he came inside you—your own cum mixed with his leaking around his dick.
His chest goes up and down as he heavily breathes—fuck was he beautiful as always.
He dips his head pressing a quick sloppy kiss onto your lips, “You’re leaking.”
You laugh, “It’s your fault.”
You expect him to laugh, to take it as a joke and then pick you up to go take a relaxing bath and cuddle for the rest of night—but he doesn’t.
“Oh,” he purrs, “Well, I should fix my mistake, shouldn’t I?”
He drops your wrist and focuses on your left boob, he pinches your nipple—you moan softly.
You wince in unison when he starts to move his hips again, his free hand trailing down to your waist from your stomach, “Ha—have to make sure none of my cum goes to waste, right mami? Can’t risk you not getting pregnant.”
Tears weld in his eyes, your pussy hurts as you pulse around him. He lets out a weak breath, “You want me to cum in you again, right?”
Your head hits the headboard once more as he thrusts get stronger.
It hurts, you’re too sensitive, and you’re positive he is too—yet he’s right. You do want that, you want him.
With a broken, hoarse voice, you say “Yes.”
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onlyswan ¡ 3 months
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i’m back to give you my iw!couple brain rot 🤲, please handle with care.
but !! imagine jungkook and oc doing that “see how long we can go without kissing” challenge !! how would fold first? they’re both so competitive but smitten it makes me conflicted. 😣😣
knowing them, jungkook would be twitching his eye just from the thought of being deprived kissies so would oc give in first to let him win? or would jungkook just take what’s his?? 🤔
imagine oc being a blushing mess from staring at jungkook’s face for too long 😵‍💫 THEYRE SO CUTE I CANT THINK STRAIGHT😭🫶
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summary: in which jungkook is twenty-six years old and yet… you still give him butterflies.
idol!jk x reader, established relationship / word count: 0.7k
content/warnings: sexual tension, making out, it’s honestly just them fighting over who gets to be on top
> in which masterlist!
note: hehe hi anonie… sorry… i kindaaa got carried away… i had to write out the thing or else i would’ve gone insane just talking about it <3 (written with love and care) <3
—
“i don’t understand this challenge.”
“me neither,”
jungkook remains in a hypnotic-like trance, doe eyes trained to your lips stained with a lighter shade of mixed red and brown.
“we’re this close and we can’t kiss…? this is absurd.”
“do they actually do this in bed? with someone on top?” you chuckle as you coyly twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “i don’t think so?”
“i don’t know. i just wanted you to be comfortable.” he teasingly brushes his nose against yours, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended. “since, you know, we’ll be here a while.”
“oh wow. bringing me to bed, really? you’re that confident?”
he cockily raises an eyebrow. “hm, we both know you won’t be able to resist me here. you’re all over me all the time.”
you try not to roll your eyes in annoyance. and you also both know that you’re just as competitive, if not more.
“oh my god, you,” you mumble. the calm of your voice contrasts the aggressive push of your hand against your boyfriend’s naked chest. “and your stupid arrogance and your stupid need to flaunt your stupid hot body.”
in the blink of an eye, jungkook finds you stradding him, and himself, trapped underneath your body. he blinks in disbelief, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
“this is dirty.”
you remove his glasses, moving it aside without care. “that’s just your mind.”
okay, perhaps bringing you to bed was a bad idea.
you lean down, slowly, close and then closer— it’s quite ridiculous that he’s nervous as if he doesn’t know what is bound to happen next: he’s thoroughly convinced that you’re going to kiss him.
once he feels your lips ghost over his, mere millimeters away, his eyelids flutter shut.
terrible idea. terrible.
the kiss, much to his disappointment, never happens.
he opens his eyes and your face is suddenly tucked in the space between his neck and shoulders, giggling and shaking and positively amused.
he turns away and squeezes his eyes shut. a painful admit of defeat against your infinite allure. “ah, i’m fucked.”
“we’ll get there later,” you lift your head, tilting his chin to face you.
you smile and scoot closer. so close that your bottom lips grazes his. he fails to remember the last time the two of you touched as chastely, as softly, but it felt like accidentally touching a live wire. he gets a funny feeling in his stomach. butterflies…? he’s twenty-six years old. he must be losing his mind.
“after you lose.”
“that’s not happening, baby.”
“yes, it will.”
“i won’t give up so easily.”
you give him an innocent look. “but i really think you will.”
you stare at each other for a little while, anticipating the other’s next move.
“fuck- yeah, okay-” he grits his teeth, taking advantage of his strength to finally flip back your positions. you’ve had your fun. “you’re right.”
“babe! ru-”
your surprised gasp is cut off by jungkook’s lips crashing on yours— curved into a smirk, you can feel it. your whines are muffled and swallowed by him, wrists caught in his hands and over your head because you were hitting his shoulder and he just wanted to kiss his baby properly.
“you lost,” you remark quietly when he draws back, only inches away, to scatter kisses along your face and down to your neck.
it tickles, you squirm in pleasure when he reaches near your collarbone, but your hands are still tied.
you were supposed to have him underneath you as a hot and flustered mess, not the other way around. damn it.
“really?” he feigns interest, lips finding their way back to yours. “doesn’t feel like it.”
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kissitbttr ¡ 3 months
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omg I am in LOVEE with frat!miguel and cheerleader reader 🙏💕 I was picturing reader somehow getting injured at one of Miguel’s games (maybe a player slams into her or she hits her head), and him literally RUSHING off of the field to help her and people are shocked to see him getting so soft!!!! Ofc, this could be the other way around too, but soft!miguel would be such a shock, especially considering his reputation, and so cute to see 🥲🤲 Xoxo
“y/n watch out!”
your cheer mate scream at you with eyes wide, and before you could turn around, someone else’s bigger physique crashes into you. causing your body to fall and your head lands into the ground with a loud thud,
the audience let out a collective of gasps and surprised, worrying about the small girl getting concussed by the large linebacker who hurriedly get on his feet before spitting countless of apologies,
but nothing compares to how miguel reacts when he sees his girl falls,
his blood runs cold, aggressively taking off his helmet and let it fall into the grass before sprinting towards you in full speed,
“muñeca !!” he screams, voice filled with worried while ignoring the coach calling out his last name. as the rest of the team begins to exchange glances, wondering what the fuck happened to miguel.
because he’s never been the one to leave his position in any circumstances. football means a lot to him, he lives and breathe football.
so to see him completely dismissing the game is a shock to the rest,
“f-fuck i’m so sorry, i didn’t—“
“what the actual fuck was that?!” miguel roars once he gets to see you close, but his angry eyes move towards the guy who just crashed into you. his big hands violently shove the man out of your sight,
“didn’t you fucking hear the rules?! this area is off limits! there’s a line drawn here el hijo de puta!!”
“the fuck?! the ball was—“
“i don’t give a fuck if the ball went through here!! you leave it as it is!! someone could get seriously injured! you want someone to fucking die or something?!”
the team has never seen miguel so angry and red, it’s almost like miguel could actually snap that man’s neck in half. his eyes are filled with vengeance as he continues to call the guy names for hurting you,
beck’s face goes pale. “oh fuck” he mutters, jogging towards miguel and hurriedly put a space in between them. “okay okay, man! easy, easy! don’t start a fight, need me to remind you what happened to chuck last year?!”
beck searches for any significant changes on miguel’s face. heavy breathing combines with a deadly look on his expression before he shakes his head,
“okay good. let me take care of this and go to your girl. she’s still hurt” he pats on miguel’s shoulder pad before he walks off,
miguel is still burning with anger but that soon subsides when he hears you call out his name,
“miggy?”
he never turns around so quickly, bending down to your level as his arms begin to cradle your fragile body before pulling you close. “you good, baby?” his voice is now gentle and soft. “let me see”
his fingers move underneath your chin, gently tilting it back and winces when he sees a small scar across your forehead.
“dizzy?” he asks, you nod in response, hand holding your head. he then looks up to one of your cheer mates,
“get a medic, now!” he yells out, putting your head against his chest so you can rest comfortably,
“o’hara! get back here, game isn’t over!” his coach yells angrily
“i’m not moving until my girl is taken care of! go get someone off the bench to replace me if you have to!” he responds by looking over his shoulder for a moment
the coach’s shoulders slump, brows dipping into a frown as he shakes his head. “the fuck? this kid—“ he grumbles before turning around,
glen nudges beck’s side with his elbow, looking as confused as the rest.
“I don’t get it. he never asks someone to replace him. not even when his knee was busted.”
beck looks over at the two of you, watching how miguel intently taking care of your injured self.
“yeah, I don’t get it, either” beck mutters but with a small smile. seeing how his best friend completely fallen for you was definitely not on his bingo card. it’s a good change, he supposed,
he’s never been this in love with his previous girlfriends. not dana nor xina. you’re pretty much the first. he guesses, you must be the one for him,
beck gets it. he does.
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abbyscherry ¡ 4 months
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tribbing with abby... pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🤲
yes 😋 it’s more sub!abby hey <3 18+
her hands are everywhere, one minute she has one gently wrapped around your throat as she grinds her cunt against yours, then both of them are squeezing at your tits, pinching your hard nipples between her fingers, strings of grunts and moans slipping past her lips with her head thrown back, strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Your own hands gripping onto her hip and arm for dear life, panting heavily while you’re eyes were glued up at her, lost in her world at the feeling of you.
Tears weld up in your eyes due to the amount of pleasure that was going through your body, slightly embarrassed with how loud the crude sounds of yours and her cunt were making in the almost quiet room. it was pornographic, so loud that you could feel the blood rushing to your ears and you could do nothing but hold onto her tighter, “Abs” you moan out breathlessly, fingernails digging into her skin.
“I know baby” was her reply, so soft and sweet all around as her hands squeezed at your tits a little more, the movement of her hips picking up a little harder tears another string of moans from you, head trying to bury itself more into the pillow behind you. “look so pretty like this, pussy feels so good” she mutters, eyebrows furrowed forward and jaw clenched.
She was so beautiful like this, on top and taking what she needed.
You would give her everything, all she needed to do was ask.
“baby baby baby” She chants, eyes dropping and flickering down to see how her cunt was perfectly slotted against yours, the wet sounds coming from between were obscene, her damp hair falling over her shoulders, some down her back as she harshly grinds her pussy against yours like she hasn’t felt or touched you in months.
Her hands pull yours from her hips, placing them on her tits and her blue eyes lock with yours at the movement of you squeezing them, panting softly from below. Her lips were now swollen from how badly she was biting and licking them, almost cracking and drawing blood, but her eyes were focused on yours, adoring how beautiful you looked underneath her.
“Fuck— Abby you’re so beautiful” You whisper, tearing a moan from her pretty lips when you pinch at her hard nipples, grinding up against her. “my pretty girl”
Screwing her eyes shut tightly and throwing her head back, one hand squeezes the one you had on her tits, and the other presses against your lower stomach, fucking herself against you harsher, moan after moan slipping past your lips “m’gonna cum, baby”
It was hard to give her any kind of response with how she was rocking her hips, her cunt perfectly hitting yours, and badly she had forgotten about your pleasure and is now only thinking of hers. A thin sheet of sweat covered both your bodies, her lips parted and the mixture of her pretty moans, and whines as well as your own filled the bedroom quickly. “so fucking pretty, look so hot fucking yourself against my pussy, Abs”
“need to cum— shit, please baby”
“yeah, i know but you can hold it just for a bit longer can’t you, baby? my best girl, just a little more and you can, i promise” 
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forever-rogue ¡ 2 months
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hello miss bee 🐝
if you're in the mood to write for joel id love to ask one where he and reader just had a baby of their own and ellie starts to feel left out but they both comfort and reassure her that they won't treat her differently since they already unofficially adopted her anyway 🫶🤲
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AN | There may be a new baby on the way, but that doesn’t you’ll ever love Ellie any less. She just needs to be reminded of that💕
Pairing | Joel Miller x Pregnant!Reader
Warnings | None
Word Count | 3.3k
Masterlist | Joel, Main
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“I hate this,” you plopped down in the chair on the back patio with a loud huff. You heard a snort of amusement from behind you and turned around to find Joel watching you in amusement. Your lips pulled into a pout and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “this is all your fault.”
“Hmm,” he raised an eyebrow before going back over to the makeshift grill to check on dinner, “pretty sure that’s only half true, sweetheart.”
“Well,” you crossed your arms over your chest and frowned at him, “it’s still partially true. Being pregnant is the worst. Especially with this heat. I should have gotten pregnant in the summer so the worst of it would have been in the winter.”
“Think of it this way,” the way you raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested you were anything but amused, “we’ll have a fresh baby for the holidays.”
“I’m still hoping for a halloween baby,” you grinned, rubbing your belly that seemed to be growing by the day, “how cool would that be?”
“The coolest,” Joel teased as you laughed, an actual laugh that went straight to his heart, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“The real question - do you think we’re going to have a boy or girl?” 
“Girl,” he insisted without hesitation, “I’m always going to have my girls. I don’t think that’s changing anytime soon.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” you took a sip of the fresh lemonade and let out a soft sigh, “but I have a feeling you’re going to be wrong!”
“Oh yeah? You wanna bet on that?” Joel stood there, hands on his hips as he watched you closely. You stuck out your tongue at him, causing both of you to laugh.
What you hadn’t realized was that Ellie was in the kitchen, getting some plates ready to bring out, listening to the two of you. She loved you, she loved you both immensely. She knew that you and you knew that. But she couldn’t help the pang that settled in her stomach and the way her heart seemed to constrict. It was a feeling that hadn’t left her since you’d told her you were pregnant. You and Joel had been so excited to tell her and despite the shock of the news, she’d been excited too. Ellie Williams was finally going to have a baby sister or brother. Her family was growing.
But as the weeks passed by and your pregnancy became more visibly obvious, the worse she started to feel. And it felt like it was eating her alive. It was a mix of emotions that she was struggling to handle and cope with. She was excited for you and Joel and your entire little family but it left her feeling…lost and confused. 
Ellie knew that both of you viewed her as your daughter and she viewed you as parents. She wondered what it would like when the baby came. Your baby - your and Joel’s flesh and blood. Once you had your own baby, would you no longer care about her? Would she be pushed to the wayside as you welcomed and loved your actual child? 
These types of thoughts had been plaguing her for months now. It was stupid, so fuckin’ stupid, she’d be the first to admit, and yet the feelings remained. Realistically, she could have gone to either of you and asked in order to alleviate her fears or get some simple reassurance. But that seemed silly too. What was she supposed to do? Come up to you and ask ‘hey will you still love me once the baby is here?’ That felt ridiculous. 
Instead, Ellie internalized her feelings, deciding to push them away and act like nothing was wrong. You’d noticed that something was off with your girl recently. Things had just seen so crazy lately, with getting ready for the baby and Joel being off for a while with work to do, it hadn’t been easy. But Ellie really had been your rock and you hated the idea that you were neglecting her in any sense.
“Ellie?” the girl almost dropped the bowl of salad she was holding when she heard you call out to her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears before heading into the backyard. Your entire face lit up when you saw her and she felt bad for a moment for ever having doubted your love and affection for her, “there you are, Ellie Bean! Everything okay?”
“Y-yeah,” she set the plates and bowl onto the table and nodded softly, “just got caught up cutting the…tomatoes.”
“There’s no tomatoes in the salad, baby,” you gave her arm a gentle squeeze, “we gave the last of them to the Meyers the other day. Are you sure you’re alright?”
She looked away and nodded, staring into the distance as she pleaded with her heart and mind to remain calm and collected. Joel clicked his tongue and caught her attention, giving her a questioning look. Sometimes he hated how well he knew her and how he seemed to see right through her.
“C’mere,” he motioned for her to come over and she obliged, walking over slowly with a heavy tread. She stopped in front of him and he put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down slightly so he was closer to eye level with her, “what’s wrong, baby girl?”
“Nothing,” she replied through gritted teeth. Joel knew that something was up but he didn’t want to push her and possibly cause her to pull away from him. He sighed softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead. It had become such a reflexive action that he didn’t even think about doing it any more, “you’re being gross and showing too much emotion.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” he teased and that caused her to smile slightly at him, “‘cause it sure ain’t going to be you right, is it? You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” she whispered, “not right now.”
“Okay,” he nodded lightly, “I’ll be here and ready to listen whenever you’re ready.”
“I know, old man,” she pushed his arm before turning on her heel and walking back over to you. She sat down next to you, her gaze drifting for a moment to your belly. You reached up and touched her face, gently stroking her cheek, “you’re both such saps.”
“It’s only because we love you,” you beamed at her. She felt her cheeks growing warm and pink as she stared at the bowl of tomato-less salad, “you wanna help me make some dessert while the food’s cooking? I was thinking pudding…ooh or maybe some sort of pie?!”
“Sure,” she perked up at your enthusiasm, unable to deny the appeal of spending time with you and making a dessert, “let’s do it.”
Ellie decided that she’d figure out the rest later. Right now, she was okay and she just wanted the two of you to have some fun. 
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
“I’m worried about her,” you closed your book and set on the nightstand before turning to your husband with a sad expression on your face. He followed suit and turned so he was fully looking at you.
“The baby?” 
“I - no. And we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy yet so calm down,” you laughed for a moment before moving to sit crossed-legged - to the best of your ability anyway - and gave him a serious look, “Ellie. She seems so closed off lately and it always seems like she’s upset, but when I try to talk to her she changes the subject or finds an excuse to leave. I feel like my poor baby girl hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze before you laced your fingers together, “she could never hate you.”
“But something is wrong and I don’t know what it is and I can’t fix it,” a wave of emotion washed over you and tears stung at the back of your eyes. You sniffled, fully aware that you probably seemed ridiculous right now but you didn’t care, “I just want to make it better.”
“Honey,” Joel’s voice was soft as he put his hands on your sides and gently pulled you towards him. You easily gave in, soft and pliable, as he settled you in his lap. You felt pathetic as you looked at him, tears running down your cheeks. He tenderly brushed them away before taking your face in his hands and turning your face up to his, “she doesn’t hate you and she never will. Whatever she’s going through right now, she’ll come around. She’s still guarded and sometimes these things take time. She’ll come around, she always does. We just have to keep on loving her.”
“Promise?” you whispered as he nodded softly. You leaned into his touch as he rubbed your back soothingly, “I don’t know what I’d do if…I don’t know. If she stopped loving us.”
“That ain’t happening,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I have a feeling I know what’s going on with her.”
“Oh?” you looked at him in surprise and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight of your confused expression. The fact that you were so pouty and pregnant made you even more adorable to him than before. He had to fight back a laugh at your expression, opting instead to kiss you softly, “what do you think it is?”
“The baby,” he answered, putting a hand on your belly and rubbing it gently, “I think she’s worried about the baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think she thinks that we’re just going…to stop loving her?” the waterworks started again and this time you couldn’t hold back the tears, “she thinks we’re going to replace her!”
“Oh honey,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and tried to hug him as best as possible. You huffed as you buried your face into his chest and he softly cooed at you, “I don’t think she thinks we’re trying to replace her. I think she’s worried that we won’t have as much time and love for her."
"That's not true," you hated the fact that that thought even crossed her mind, "that's like…the farthest thing from the truth! She's my baby too. Nothing is ever going to change that."
"I know that," he gently brushed his fingers along your jaw before resting his hand on your cheek, "you know that. I think she just might need a little reassurance."
"Yeah," you sighed softly, "I can do that. I will do that."
"I have no doubt about that either, honey."
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Ellie startled when she heard your enthusiastic knocking on her door. She groaned as she looked at the old school alarm on the bedside table and saw that it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. 
"Come in," she rolled onto her side so she was facing the door. You almost threw open the door in your excitement, already fully dressed and ready for the door.
"Hi my love!" Her eyes widened at your cheeriness, "good morning, Ellie Bean."
"It's early," she groaned as you leaned against the doorway, causing you to laugh softly, "why are you so awake?"
"I've been up for a while…couldn't sleep well," you shrugged it off, "but I thought it would be fun if we spent the day together, just the two of us!"
"O-oh," she slowly sat up, heart almost constricting with emotion, "are you sure?"
"Duh," you teased, "its been a while since it's just been the two of us and I figured we could have some fun!"
"Okay," she looked at you, an eyebrow raised in question. You clapped excitedly and she offered you a tentative smile in response, "w-wait, am I in trouble?"
"Of course not," you walked over to her and held out your hand to her. She took yours and slowly slipped out of the bed, "I just want to spend some time with my favorite girl."
"Alright," a little bit of a flush crossed her cheeks as she offered you a smile, "yeah, that could be fun."
"Let's go then slow poke, no time to lose!"
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
Your day had been filled with doing anything and everything that Ellie wanted - within reason of course. As the day bled into night, the two of you were at the lake, sitting on the dock, feet dangling into the water. 
"Can I ask you something?" You finally couldn't take it anymore and needed to clear all the air. Ellie paused before nodding slowly and turning towards you.
"Sure…"
"I feel like lately…things have been different," you put your arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze, "and I want to make sure you're alright. You've been off lately, and I want to know if you're okay and if I can do anything to help."
"Oh. Oh," Ellie swallowed thickly; she thought she'd been better at disguising her feelings, "umm…it's…just. I don't know. Things have just felt different since you've been pregnant."
"Yeah?" You asked as she turned to you with a sad little smile and a nod, "oh, Ellie."
"I just…it feels weird that…umm. Like it's you and Joel, you know? And now you're having your own child and it makes me feel like…where's my place?"
"Baby," you tried to keep your own emotions at bay but it was hard when all you wanted to was to wrap her up in a big hug, "your place is with us - it'll always be with us. We're family. Nothing is going to change that."
"But if you love the new baby more than me?" You hated that she even thought anything like that. You wished you could convey just how very much you loved her, "I keep thinking about…what if you don't want me anymore."
"We will never not want you or love you," you took her hand and held it tightly in yours, "that will never change. Nothing could change how we feel about you. You're our girl, Ellie."
"Are you sure? The baby-"
"The baby doesn't change anything," you pulled her into your body as much as you could, "its another person we're bringing into our family that we can love. It doesn't mean any of us is going to get less love. Okay? I swear on my life. And Joel's life. All of it."
"Every time I've gotten close to people they've been taken from me," Ellie sniffled brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand, "my parents, my family, my friends…I almost lost Joel. I don't want to lose you too and the baby. I'm not sure if I'd make it if I did."
"Ellie," you softened at the young girl, "you are so young and you've been through so much. More than anyone ever should. And I know the world is scary and we don't know what the future holds but we can't let that dictate how we feel about the present or how we act. You're not going to lose us or your brother or sister. Never. And maybe me just saying that doesn't make anything better but I'll show you and I'll keep showing you that we mean it. Honestly, I don't think I'd survive without you. You are the world to me, Ellie."
"Being pregnant has made you so sappy," she laughed through her tears, "even more than normal. Its kind of gross."
"It's because I love you so much, kiddo," you grinned at her, brushing away her tears, "but the hormones definitely aren't helping! Luckily it won't be too much longer before the baby is here."
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified," you confessed with a sheepish grin, "but I know I'll be okay. I've got you Joel and you. Everything will be okay."
"Yeah," she nodded, a bit of confidence oozing back into her, "we'll be okay. I'm excited to meet the baby."
"Boy or girl you think?"
"Girl," she seemed so confident that you were almost convinced of that as well, "Joel's meant to be surrounded by girls."
"Funny, that's exactly what he said too," you shook your head in amusement thinking about the two of them. They were too alike for their own good, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"Whatever," she playfully rolled her eyes, "we all know we're right!"
"Mhmm," you slowly stood up and held out your hand to her, "come on my love. Let's go home and annoy Joel."
She took your hand eagerly, "I love you too, just so you know."
"Yeah," you promised her softly, "I know. I love you more, kiddo."
-
Ellie approached you slowly, almost unsure if she should be coming over. You beamed at her, motioning for her to come closer. She stole a quick look at Joel, who offered her a small smile and nod of reassurance.
"Come here, my love," you held out your hand to her and she came over, staring at the bundle in your arms in awe, "I hate to admit it, but Joel was right. You've got yourself a little sister."
"Wow," she reached over and gentle stroked her chubby little cheek, "she's so small. What's her name?"
"Well, we don't have a name picked out yet," you smiled softly, "we were hoping you'd help us by picking her name."
"Me?"
"You! If you'd like to that is," you could see her eyes watering up, and your heart felt so full, "you can take a bit to think about it-"
"Daisy," she stated softly, looking between you and Joel to gauge your reactions, "I like Daisy."
"Me too," you gave her a hand squeeze, "Daisy it is. It's perfect. Do you want to hold her, Ellie?"
"I-I don't know," she swallowed the lump in her throat as the baby cooed softly, "she's so small and I don't wanna…hurt her."
"You won't," you promised, straightening up as she stepped closer, "hold her to your chest and make sure you're supporting her head, okay?"
"Okay," she reached over gingerly, as though the baby was made of glass. She took her from you and did as you said, holding the small baby protectively. Daisy made a few sounds before yawning and snuggling into Ellie. The girl watched her in amazement, "she's so cute and little."
"Just like you," you teased, reaching over and giving her arm a squeeze. You turned to Joel, who was watching the scene unfold with nothing short of heart eyes, "look at that, Joel. Look at our girls. They're the best."
"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of Ellie's head, "they are. But you know what else?"
"Hmm?"
"I was right - it was a girl," he threw you a cheeky grin as you snorted in amusement, "wouldn't change it for the world."
"Yeah, me neither," Ellie piped up, "I guess we're a pretty cool family. Daisy and me anyways. You guys are alright."
"We love you too," you sighed contentedly, happy to have your little family all together, "both of you. Lots and lots."
913 notes ¡ View notes
luveline ¡ 2 months
Note
Girly pop, I saw that ask😏 I think a lot of us would love to have Hotch be the father of our children lololol- its SO valid. Can I request a pregnant reader x Aaron hotchner? It can be about anything and everything, placing it into your hands girl 🤲 im just here for the vibes😩 love ya!
thank you for requesting lovely! <3
“It’s a bit weird,” you say quietly. 
Hotch touches your thigh under the desk. “It’s not weird,” he says without looking up. There’s a casefile open in front of him, because there almost always is. 
“It looks weird.” 
“It looks beautiful. You’re changing.” 
You cover your stomach with your woollen cardigan and glance through the windows of his office. You’ve spent a lot of time at his side lightly; brewing a new life has made you unreasonably paranoid. It’s not a symptom either of you were expecting, but Hotch has yet to baulk. You weren’t even showing and you were wrecked by nerves. Now you’re calming, and the baby is getting bigger, and you’re pretending to be more anxious than you feel for the sake of being near him. He hasn’t baulked about that, either. 
“Are you sure I can still be in here?” you ask. 
“Well, my ability to get work done hasn’t been affected,” he says, a teasing lightness seeping into his tone. “Are you working well?” 
You jiggle the mousepad on your laptop to wake the screen. “Yes.” 
“That’s terrible. I’m one handed managing more than you.” 
You cover his hand with yours. “No need to brag.” 
Hotch hums. You sit quietly after that for a time as he works. He’s consulting on something, and he does as he claims; he works efficiently until he’s finished, his brow crinkled, his thoughts unsaid. You sneak a peek at his case and he closes it quickly. 
“Hey, what? I can’t see? Is it confidential?” 
“You’ll feel gross and then the baby will.” He smiles around the word ‘gross’ as though he knows it’s completely out of character to say. “I’m protecting you both.” 
“My hero.” 
“Watch it,” he says, squeezing your thigh hard enough to tingle. 
You laugh and lean back in your chair, the end of your blouse climbing up your stomach uncomfortably. It’s odd to suddenly outgrow your shirts in this specific way, and to see the evidence of your small sapling as he grows. “Whatever.” 
Hotch glances at the door before turning in his chair toward you. His hair has grown out again to your delight, dark strands kissing his forehead, darker lashes held low as his gaze drops to your stomach, and he cups your bump without asking. He’s the only one who can get away with such a thing —he’s the gentlest touch you’ve ever met. “How’s your heart today?” he asks, his palm gracing back and forth. It’s oddly soothing. 
He’s asking if you’re worried. “I’m okay. I think whatever it was is going away… I know you’ll take care of me, so there’s no reason to be freaking out all the time.” 
“I will,” he says. He lets his hand rest warmly on the hill of your stomach. “I can’t protect you from everything, but you know,” —he drops his voice to half a murmur— “I’ll try my hardest, honey.” 
You lean into his side. “That’s good enough for me.” 
Hotch puts his head on yours, jiggling your mousepad for you when the screen goes dark. 
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bunji-enthusiast ¡ 2 months
Text
Closer And Closer
Note || as requested by many, here is the sequel! This was a ton of fun to write 🤲
WC || 2,535
<(Previous Part)> <(You are here)>
Sypnosis || With your new friend in hand, you begin earning some unexpected honesty—and new understandings.
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Once, there was a dream. Sometimes it would recur, coming back to you in the encroaching depths of your mind no matter how much you wanted to stop dreaming this very same dream. It was always on and off, how it can always come back–like a nightmare–just how can one describe it?
People can forget their own dreams long after they wake up, lest they be lucky to want to write down the dream. So you were one and the same, the trepidation always sneaking upon you, like an approaching danger that will never fail to make your nerves stand on end. 
“Mommy,” You tugged at the hem of the woman’s dress, a baby trapped within a limited consciousness; yearning for love, curiosity and just always wanting to be around your parents. It’s natural and in nature for a young child to always want their parents. “Why are you gonna be gone for so long?”
Oh, that sweet, sweet voice. How adorable could you be? The woman just looked down upon your small form with a smile, so very reminiscent of motherly love. Only a mother could bring a kind of peace like that to their child, the woman thought. She crouched down to your level, patting the crown of your head with a gentle hand, so very gentle as you remember her even gentler heartbeat. A voice came from her mouth, words carried with a saccharine tone. “My little sweet apple pie, it is only a work trip!” She giggled, then wrapped her arms around you and held you close. Causing you to giggle as well, laughter so joyous even the woman holding you now couldn’t help but feel such joy because of you alone. “I’ll be back before you can say Poppies!”
You look up at her, strangely the woman’s face was misty, enshrouded by black shadows. As if reality didn’t want you to see her, your own mother. Still, a smile remained upon your face as you nodded at the woman. “Hehe! Okay, mom.”
Slowly you blinked, the world suddenly began disappearing from sight, the environment twisting upon your peripherals. 
“What?”
You groan audibly, cursing to yourself under your breath. “Of-fucking-course.” 
Slowly, You remember where you are now. A hand comes into your view and holds you steady, a very familiar one. 
“Don’t get up too quickly, you will get weary Angel.” His voice warns, it still seemed so strained and worn worse for wear. Just what kind of things had Catnap done to DogDay? Perhaps you shouldn’t worry about it, something like that is a very personal thing to ask about, no doubt. 
You coughed, pounding on your chest as you slowly rose awake. Your companion had been waiting calmly for you to collect yourself, but that had made him a little worried as he winced when you coughed. Slowly enough, you ease yourself into standing with DogDay’s help, all that jumping and landing seriously hurt your body a great deal. No wonder you were exhausted as hell right now.
Right, no time to worry about that now. It was time to be more worried about what to do next, “DogDay, you think you can handle being carried around by me in that state?” You asked with an airy tone, you didn’t want to be too loud and accidentally attract any nearby toys who are under Catnap’s influence. DogDay slumped for a moment, most likely still very worn out from probably the way he had been hanged. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling everything coursing through him, he was very much here and alive.
He always had been continually reminded of this very thing.
Reminded of Catnap.
“No need to worry about me, Angel.” Your companion spoke, his fur ruffling about in his movements. You probably were gonna have to do something about that later, DogDay sorely needed some cleaning up. “I am tougher than you think.” 
It seemed his words carried a half-hearted weight, carrying no affirmed meaning to them. You looked at DogDay incredulously, clear as night and day that you knew this well; worn out, tired and cramping for a plan to end the Prototype. You’ve never gotten a good look at the Prototype, only a few times you have gotten a good look at the Prototype’s hand–there must be a whole body from beyond the shadow’s.
Awaiting, no doubt terrifying too. But, you dealt with adrenaline rushes and terrifying monsters from the moment you stepped foot into the abandoned Playtime Co. 
“Ah, well, just tell me if anything is bothering you.” You nodded at him, patting down your clothing, the dust falling in your wake. DogDay was quiet for a moment, taking a hand-step back as he looked around at the environment once more. He was considering something, considering how to go about the next phase of the way. 
“No safe places here, nothing good.” For a moment, you swore that you had seen his mouth contorting into a frown–though in every Smiling Critter, they always are smiling–So this was completely new, different somehow. “My apologies Angel, safe places are rare to find.” DogDay sighed, he in a sense was habitually instinctive to keep his loved ones safe; going so far as to make sure they have a good sleep. Even if it meant at the cost of his own health. 
He cared deeply for his friends, but they were gone now. Catnap was someone he could not recognize anymore, that wasn’t his friend.
DogDay’s only focus was making sure you are alive and safe.
Something of which is admittedly difficult to do, knowing all the horrors that had occurred in Playtime Co. but it wasn’t too troubling for someone like you. DogDay was glad for you about that, impressed even that you had managed to survive thus far before you had met him. 
You patted his head, causing him to look back at you. “Nothing to apologize for! Everyone’s just… a little too crazy nowadays.” You mutter, walking over to a dusty pile and finding a tape. There seemed to be thousands of these tapes all around the Factory, some of which you could’ve sworn recording yourself. 
Being a former employee for Playtime Co. is one thing to say, but being an engineer was a different process. You were only involved in the works of designing and constructing, not once had you ever really got hand in hand with actually building things. But you were highly proud of the work you had done and completed alongside your fellow co-workers, looking back on it now… all it had done simply saddened you.
How it seemed to be the way that the toys seemed to be so lifeless, once so full of joy, love and empathy for everyone in this place all together.
You wouldn’t mind turning back the clock and doing good for once more, the right way this time. When everything was said and done, the toys you came across were well justified in their anger for being abandoned–but you weren’t looking to be on the top list of being killed either. Considering how you had gotten lucky apparently by quitting the day before your co-workers had all disappeared.
Getting through this place was no trouble, you remember some good places of this Factory like the back of your hand. Huggy Wuggy, Kissy Missy of whom is his spouse, was rather different to the likes of the tall-blue furred beast. Rather inconceivable in behaviors, Kissy Missy was a perturbed ally, one you didn’t expect. All the toys you met so far, (save for Poppy, and Kissy Missy) had full intentions to kill you from going any further.
This Factory is a whole goddamn amalgamation of mysteries you weren’t sure you wanted to solve anymore. Let alone having any trust in every being you come across now too, how disturbing must this get? You sure as hell weren’t Elliot Ludwig. 
“I simply wish I could be of more help.” DogDay recounted with a mournful tune, breaking you out of your thoughts and consolation. You frown at him, wanting to offer comfort: the words could not come through. He shuffled around to begin looking for things too, but now something had crossed your mind. 
You still couldn’t piece together almost everything between DogDay and Catnap, some things he had said back at the heretic altar had stuck with you. Until now it was dismissable, out of sight and out of mind you supposed. Though you recounted some thoughts that had warmed you in ways you didn’t expect, at first meet he already was of great character–someone you truly wanted to be around.
The repugnant smell that had always seemed to be invading your senses was gone now, this particular area was an untouched one. “DogDay… do you mind if I ask you something?” You spoke, stepping over the rubbish and noting the sound footsteps that echo in your wake. Don’t walk too much, this area may be empty but it didn’t mean that Catnap wasn’t watching. That cat was terrifying to you. Permeating nightmares had run endlessly through your mind, and his gas before when calling back on previous close counters with the obsessed follower of the prototype were far too close. 
Continually he had gone about looking for anything that may be of assistance to you both, still he had spoken in reply, “Angel, I will answer anything. You deserve as such.” DogDay recounted, noting what he had said to you before you fell to the slumbers of sweet, sweet sleep. 
Cool, cool cool… that was dandy and nice of him. You just weren’t sure how to articulate the very question that lays burning in your mouth, for fear of the fact you might be gazed upon with ranicid and covert questioning, like an ornery old bitch. Pointedly you stepped around the rubble, in turn you came across an old set-up, as if there used to be children here. A blanket laying upon the ground and the ravaged pillows, still in condition that you could say that was okay to be recycled for use. Still quite in a-okay position to sit down on, waiting for DogDay to finish scrambling around.
“So,” You began, lacing your fingers together and intertwining them purely out of your nerves spiking in your body as of right now. “What’s… the deal between you and Catnap?” Abruptly, at those words, his very being felt as if he tensed up. You couldn’t read him right now, suddenly incomprehensible to understand. 
“I suppose you should know about it, in order to really understand Catnap.” He motioned, steadily crawling over to where you sat. “Catnap was someone you could get along great with, quiet and not much of a talker, but actions speak louder than words Angel.” 
Then, there was a lapse in his words; DogDay was doing his best to keep himself steady and calm. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to fall apart in front of you, that is not very leader-like of someone such as DogDay.
“Oh, his actions spoke so much more for him than one little word.” He nodded, laying his head upon his crossed arms. DogDay had made himself comfortable as he shifted to a proper position. “But, things happened. Very bad things.” You were albeit surprised he was willingly sharing such information with you, as personal as it would appear. 
Still, you had remained muted, this was something that could conceivably help you in dealing with the nightmare cat later on. “Something had happened to him, something I wasn’t aware of. Angel, he.. wasn’t the same Catnap. He wasn’t my friend anymore.” Now, you could understand this well.
You yourself never had a good trade off within all your relationships, no matter what kind of relationship it was… be it; platonic, romantic, friends even! Humans are odd and sometimes indescribable in nature, but it simply has always been this way. But friends change, sometimes partially and even supernaturally.
In DogDay’s case, it was gruesome and religious. Catnap by no means was someone to act fool with, something you could pick out with merely just from first impressions. In passing, this was no offense whatsoever–personally that cat looked scary as hell.
“All my friends just,” Then, DogDay allowed himself to breathe again once more. “I wouldn’t wish it even on my own worst enemy.”
“The Prototype?” You snorted, shifting your weight from one end to the other as you gave him a benign quizzical look. 
“Angel.”
“I'm messing with you!” 
You waved him off, then put your hands in your lap. It was oddly endearing in how you behaved, the normalcy around here is rare, DogDay would admit. “So it seems, Prototype is his god. I don’t understand every detail, but The Prototype saved him.” He beckoned, recounting the mention of the Prototype from not even two minutes ago. 
“So Catnap began viewing this, Prototype as such?” You finished for him, tilting your head. Your companion nodded, lifting his head to recover proper eye contact with you. 
“Poppy, the rest who are on your side want nothing more to end the terror of the Prototype’s reign. Come to save me Angel, I thank you so much for that.” Honesty was a fickle thing for DogDay since recalling recent events, but had it come to you? The fearless dog didn’t mind. 
“Oh it’s nothing to be thanked for,” You grin at him, ever so slightly. But he’ll take that, “You were in so much pain. That’s a position no innocent person, or toy deserves to be in.”
DogDay had to consider this for a moment, so much consideration had been done lately. Yet, it was all done to simply understand the chaos underlying this factory, no doubt it had caused a lot of trauma (to many in this place) alone. “You're right about that, Angel, I suppose I had gotten too comfortable in all my reckless decadence.” Willfully, he was well aware of his actions as a leader. Some of which he had questioned why he had made them.
Your hand on his ragged-torn furred head had snapped DogDay out of his conscious thoughts, “We all deserve peace, that means you too DogDay.” 
You were right.
It seems there are still many things to be learned.
“You are far too kind to me.” He sighed, leaning into your hand. You never moved your hand away from him. 
“Though we should probably get you cleaned up.” That sentence alone suddenly broke the comfortable atmosphere, still much rather comedic however. 
“Right,” DogDay barked, as if he really was laughing. His whole body shook, it was rather a wave of happiness. Something he had not often felt, it had almost shocked him a little. “I believe they would have some bandages and towels nearby, water too.” Your companion then noted it would most likely be at a medical station somewhere.
You raised a brow at this, causing DogDay to nod with an air of laughter about him as he spoke once more whilst you had hoisted him over your shoulders. “I worked with children quite more often than not, you would be surprised at the amount of things that happen during playtime Angel.”
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[Taglist: @zacklover24 ]
759 notes ¡ View notes
qwimchii ¡ 7 months
Text
𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 2) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺
playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)
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𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮����𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 14.5𝘬
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢 (nothing too graphic but please be warned!!), 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬
note: it's here 🤲 header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661
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the next morning you woke, Ghost was gone again, much to your chagrin. you were beginning to pick up on a pattern—a strong tendency to disappear without a trace. his clothes were absent from your room and the kitchen table, where you haphazardly undressed him without thinking about the evidence left behind for an unsuspecting one-four-one and Kate to see. 
the only trace of Ghost’s presence in your room last night was the neat pile of undergarments and clothes on the ottoman nestled in the corner of the room. after washing up, you slowly redressed that morning. in the mirror, your neck was covered in swollen purple patches—a parallel image to the softness of your bruised inner thighs. you were lucky enough to have been lent a high-collared blouse from Kate, mulling over everything with a bitter distaste in your mouth. 
it only grew when you stepped into the back room, Soap looking positively smug and Gaz avoiding your eyes. John looked undisturbed as he paged through a book, sipping at his coffee mug with his boot neatly crossed over the other beneath the kitchen table.
“good morning,” Soap sang, practically skipping to you and handing you a sticky, cinnamon bun, rolled up in a sweet delight.
“thank you,” you said with a polite dip of your head, sitting beside John at the table.
“you know, Gaz,” Soap said suddenly, turning to his friend who only paled in response, his face looking sour. “i could’ve sworn i heard something last night—”
you withered with shame, but luckily, Gaz kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. immediately they began to bicker, and John only gave a disapproving grunt.
“where’s Kate?” you asked, meek, and desperate to escape the three men in the room. 
John jerked his head in the direction of the main store room, and you whispered a quick thank you to him, wiping the last crumbs on the back of your split skirt rudely before making a beeline out the room.
Kate was tending to the shop, lounging behind the counter as two customers perused the catalog. she was stitching together pieces of leather with a wax thread and needle. 
you carefully noted the absence of Ghost in the store room as well, but didn’t comment on it when she shot you a fleeting, knowing look. it was gone as soon as it came and yet it made you burn with shame nonetheless.
“Ghost is out on business again,” she explained, sewing with a practiced hand, and you frowned.
“I wasn't…” the words died in your throat. instead, you implored, “let me join one-four-one today.”
she paused her ministrations and sent you a look of grief. “why? so you can run away?”
that irked you. “you know i won’t.” in a meek voice, you added, “where would i even run too?”
she shrugged, returning to her leather pieces. “i don’t know. maybe off into your own rich glory.”
you resisted rolling your eyes. smoothing the front of your split skirt, you folded your hands politely, posture straightening.
“are you really going to ransom me to my daddy?” you challenged, and her hands paused
“because if you are, i know your secret base of operations. i know all your names, one-four-one’s, and Simon’s. i know what one-four-one looks like and that you’re working with los vaqueros.” 
her eyes narrowed, brow pinching.
you continued. “i think all that information would come very handy for Turner and my daddy.”
“so what are you going to do?” she snapped, “run straight to Turner and cry at your daddy’s feet?”
“no,” you said cooly, “i think you don’t plan on giving me back to my daddy at all.”
her eyes flashed and you contented with her glare, meeting it with the strongest one you could muster.
“because if you did plan on it, i’d tell them all that and more in a heartbeat. so why’d you let me in on all that information in the first place?”
taking a shaky inhale, you hoped to god you were right. “i know too much. i think you’re planning something else for me.”
she stared at you for a long moment before heaving a long sigh, screwing her eyes shut, surprising you when her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grin, her blue eyes crinkled with a wild look.
“Ghost said you were a smart girl.”
she returned back to the leather work, finishing off the needlework by snapping the string with her teeth, pulling it taught with a knot.
“but no,” she said with finality, and you balked.
“no…?”
“let’s say that maybe Ghost is planning something for you. something big,” she dramatized with a mocking smirk. “you’re still our hostage. you stay here, the boys ride out. simple.”
she shot you a displeased look when she finished. “if you weren’t here, i’d be riding out too.”
you swallowed, shoulders falling slowly. all that pent up energy deflated from you like a balloon, defeat curling in your stomach. looking out the front store windows, you saw Sugar dozing at her fence post. you eyed her saddle on a rack behind the store counter. 
nodding, like you were deep in thought, you stepped away from the counter. “right,” was all you offered and she gave you a mixed look of pity and irritation. 
as if on queue, the one-four-one boys clambered from the back room, murmuring low words to Kate so that you couldn’t hear. Soap tipped his hat to you on the way out, and he began to turn away when you clutched at his elbow. 
“where are you going?” you asked, casual, and his brows raised, looking from you to John to Kate.
after a long look, she just gave him a slight nod.
“five miles north. ‘nother nearby town,” he relented with a shrug, and the way his lips tightened let you know he was leaving something else out. you cocked his head at him, pressing with curious eyes, and his mouth fell open but Gaz grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out the store, Soap shouting in protest.
“be back before sunset,” John said, gruff, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud. 
you watched as they saddled up in the bright noon light. Kate sighed. the look on her face let you know she was lamenting just as much about their departing as you.
you lazed about the main store room, eyes flicking between the leather crafts items. belts, wallets, holsters, a few couple saddles. the clicking of the wooden clock suspended on the opposite wall served as your entertainment for the afternoon.
when Kate finally excused herself to close the shop for a lunch break, washing up first, you knew you had to make quick haste. sneaking down the hallway, you passed by the bathroom as quietly as you could, you were surprised to find the basement door unlocked.
maybe they did trust you, a small voice spoke in wonder, but you mentally swatted it away. your desire to find out what the hell was going on burned brighter than anything else.
you descended quickly down the stairs, wincing at every creak and thud, till your feet met cobblestone. sweeping around in the darkness, you pulled out the matches you pocketed last night. lighting one with a quick stroke, the room lit up in a warm orange glow and you scrutinized the place.
in one main room, preserves of fruits and veggies, miscellaneous barrels, and leather working stations littered with various tools and supplies crowded the room. you could only assume the doors branching from the main room were one-four-one’s bedrooms, and you confirmed as much when you tried turning the knob of each one, finding them all firmly locked.
cursing, you wished you could remember that lock picking trick Tommy used at the schoolhouse to prank teachers in your childhood. you clambered through the space, squeezing between a nook of filled shelves, pausing when an old bookcase caught your eye. by it was a small circlet of space, several chairs, and a desk sprawling with papers. you walked to it, hand smoothing over the map littered with marks, lines, needles shoved into the wood at certain locations.
the writings made no sense, all in their own code. a large portion was circled in red with a big T scribbled in the middle. you squinted. Turner, most likely.
it was north of the town you were currently in, or so you assumed by the small star bead shaped from an ivory bone pinned down on the map. like Ghost said, you were on the border of southern california, your mama and daddy most likely twenty miles to the east in Arizona. below southern california lay another red circled portion, dipping into mexico and southern texas. LV, it read, in a smaller, less menacing font. los vaqueros.
blue circles stretched from the west to the east, centered around towns and cities, big and small. one location in particular was familiar—jackson county, missouri. all that blue, stretching from california to louisiana, was one-four-one territory. you balked at the physical size of it.
the more passing seconds you took to study the map, the more you worried Kate may emerge from the restroom and find you snooping in their basement. if she did, you dreaded the thought of being locked up in your room for the remainder of your possibly indefinite stay.
a piece of paper caught your eye. it was a letter addressed to Turner from your… your daddy. you poured over the note, running over the quill grooves in your hands.
Mr. T,
my darling belle has been stolen by the devil. you promised me that working with you meant no harm to my family. i want her back. i don’t want no man getting the idea that they can steal my things from me.
you shuddered. his things, he had called you.
i want your men on every one of one-four-one’s outposts. none of their towns will be safe. i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.
your eyes ran over the line again. social?
if Ghost won’t give me my daughter, i’ll make him.
your daddy didn’t sign off the letter. carefully, you put it back down in its place. how did the letter even get there in the first place? had Ghost intercepted its messenger during a shootout in a northern town?
you swallowed. did Ghost find it in your own daddy’s house? your house?
the thought of your daddy, keeled over his desk with a bullet wound in his temple, blood oozing out in a puddle as Ghost loomed overhead, pocketing Daddy’s letter in his trench coat, made you sick to your stomach. 
you thought of what Ghost said the night prior. i searched half the plains for your horse.
did that include your daddy and mama’s house? your breath hitched. was your mama alright?
you steadied yourself against the nearby bookshelf, distracting yourself with its contents instead. fictional literature stared back at you, and you brushed your fingers down their spines in a slow descent until you met the very bottom row. a line of small journals, so small you could squeeze them into the extra space in your pocket, stared back at you. picking one on the very edge, your eyes widened at the title scrawled over it. 
GHOST.
you opened it to its latest entry, dating back to the day you were taken by Ghost. in all capital letters it read:
PICKED UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.
beneath it was a sketch of your profile and… numbers. there wasn’t an exact order or sense of them but they littered the page.
despite the numerical mystery, you found your eyes lingering on the catch of light conveyed through Ghost’s drawing, the twinkle in your eyes and the barest smile on your lips. you admired the attention to detail before flipping through to earlier pages.
a familiar, blaring title stuck out to you that dated back several weeks ago.
PICK UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.
there was more writing below it.
RANSOM: $25,000 REFUSAL → PHASE TWO
you flipped to the page after it to find another entry on a typical grocery list. you thumbed through more pages with a frustrated huff, finding nothing more on phase two or a ransom. just more sketches of wildlife, horses, and scribbled dull paragraphs on irrelevant business investments.
you mulled over the strange entry and its date from weeks prior. the night Ghost had taken you had been an arranged dinner out of the blue with only a few days of notice. but the date of this entry suggested that Ghost had been arranging the dinner for much longer. 
more than that, Ghost had forced your daddy to make a decision at the dinner table—pay up or let Ghost steal his daughter as collateral.
Ghost didn’t necessarily know that your daddy would go with the latter. but the entry already had a resolute ransom for your safe return, and a phase two plan for when your daddy refused the ransom. which, to your knowledge, has not happened yet.
in spite of your confusion, there was a relief knowing that your suspicions from the conversation with Kate earlier had been confirmed. they wouldn’t be giving you back to your daddy.
right?
quickly, you pocketed it, hoping no one noticed its absence as you weaved out the basement and up the stairs. the door was still shut as you left it, and you blew out the match, slowly opening the door, your heart hammering. there was a silence on the upper floor, a warm draft passing through the narrow hallway, blinding light streaming in through the windows.
you noticed movement beneath the bathroom door, and let out a shaky breath. what felt like hours in the basement was only minutes.
but you knew you didn’t have much time left.
you made your way down the hallway and into the main store room. hooking Sugar’s saddle over your forearm, you made a quick haste to your horse who lazily drank at the water basin by the fence. patting her shoulder, you saddled her up in record time, hitching the cinch tightly with the grind of your teeth. untying the reins, you grabbed the horn, hoisting yourself up by the stirrup.
as you backed Sugar away from the leather crafts store, you heard Kate shout, your head whipping to see her already moving with a terrifying speed to her own horse, a burly and strong looking thoroughbred that snorted heavily.
with a slap of your reigns against Sugar’s shoulder, and your heel digging into her flank, she took off with a pitched whiny. you always thought she was a crazy wild thing, but you were more glad for it now than ever.
the rush of the wind at your face didn’t help the scramble through your mind for the mental image of the town. the bell tower pointed to the north—head on a swivel, you pressed a hand on your stetson to keep it from flying away. conveniently, the thing chimed, making it known it was two hours past noon to the town
you pulled sharp on Sugar’s reigns, spurring her on through the sparse crowd that scurried out of your way as you headed straight for the tower, and out the town. the cobblestone path underfoot quickly fell into a dusty dirt and you headed dead on into the forest.
weaving between the sparse trees, ducking beneath them, and wincing when some prickly pines brushed at the exposed skin on your cheeks, you steadied on for a gallop for as long as you could muster before you were sure Sugar needed a break.
when you slowed to a standstill, listening for the breaking of a horse through bushes and leaves, met only with chirping and the rush of the forest, you nudged Sugar to walk on.
she hung her head low, winded, and you rubbed at her neck in comfort. 
Soap had said the town was five miles north. your eyes sweeping across the barren terrain, you hoped that you wouldn’t come across a different town five miles north of one-four-one’s hidden base.
after another thirty minutes of short gallops, followed by slower canters and trots, you eventually wandered far enough to spot a town on the distance of the horizon.
you startled when a big boom resounded across the land, shaking the earth beneath you. something—a building maybe—that spearheaded the sky fell with a crash. Sugar whinied wildly, stuttering backwards with jerky movements, but you urged her on ahead with clucks and a heeled boot at her flank.
you rode fast to the town, swerving around the masses of people running around it. a woman, tugging on her floral, broad brimmed hat, carried two children under her arms and ran into the woods with next to nothing. some men rode out on horses, charging ahead without a glance back. 
as you neared the outer wall of the town, you could hear the ricocheting gunshots, loud shouting, screaming, crying, the beating of horse hooves.
you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a firearm. trotting along the wall, between a stretch of two buildings a man rode past in a flying gallop, twisted back to shoot at something—someone riding after him. you recognized his raucous, wild laughter.
Soap.
you spurred Sugar forward, creeping through a break in the walls where more townspeople leaked out in a panic. on the main dirt pathway, a horse tied to its fencepost tossed its head wildly. a revolver flashed in its saddlebag.
riding around the building, narrowly avoiding running people underfoot, you flanked the horse and pulled the revolver from the horse, then leaned down to untie the poor, squirming thing so it wasn’t in the line of fire. you grit your teeth, trying to mentally will your own horse from wriggling so much. once its reins were pulled loose, the horse bucked and made a beeline for the woods.
“hey!” an older man, beard flecked with gray, ran at your horse with a wobbling, drunk ire. the owner, you presumed, by the gun he was loading in his hand.
pressing hard into Sugar’s flank, she sidestepped him and you took the butt of your newfound revolver, jamming it into his jaw hard. he slumped to the ground ungraciously.
turning your horse in a fast pan, you rode from street to street, revolver swinging as you searched for familiar faces. it was a dizzying panic. you didn’t know who was who, or what was what, in the mass alarm. 
“that’s her!” whipping your head over your shoulder, a group of men sharply turned their horses in your direction. Turner’s men.
cursing, you spurred Sugar on in a wild gallop as they pursued you.
you checked the cylinder of it—it was only half full. three bullets. cursing yourself over and over again, you gave them a wild chase, weaving between buildings and people into a marketplace. a cart of vegetables went flying as Sugar lurched, last second, to leap over it.
the movement jerked you, and you slipped to the side, world turning over as you fell to the dirt and skidded a good ten feet, knocking back into another cart. your revolver lay discarded a short length away, stetson thrown somewhere else.
Sugar galloped off without a second to look back.
scrambling to pick up the revolver as the group of Turner’s men approached fast on horseback, you gasped when your ankle completely gave out on you, falling once more to the ground. the adrenaline pumping through your veins didn’t give you a second to hesitate, crawling forward to grab the gun.
you shot into the group blindly, satisfied when one man shrieked, holding his arm where crimson poured, and slipped off the side of his horse. picking yourself up, you limp as fast your could leg could let you move down a branching dirt path, thunderous hooves coming from behind you. 
you checked over your shoulder. they were dangerously close now.
the closest man’s hand—a turquoise bracelet glinting on his wrist—came down and swooped for your hair, missing when you ducked. but he groped for a hold on your clothes, when suddenly, he crumpled into the dirt behind you. blood splattered across your back, and you bit back a scream when a strong arm hefted you up onto their moving horse.
“i got you, darlin’,” John gritted out, and you clambered into the front of his saddle, clutching desperately at the mane of his chestnut mare as he spurred his horse on faster through the streets with one arm around your waist.
a rider approached your right flank, trying to maneuver close enough to shoot John and not you, but John was too fast and blew his head clean off. you couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from your throat. 
John barked over the roar of the wind. “i’m gonna need you to cover my blindspots, eh?” 
you nodded rapidly, panning your revolver over your shoulder as another rider neared.
“deep breath,” he commanded, swerving his mare to get out of range, bullets whizzing past your head.
you took a deep breath, watching the rider edge closer to your left as he slapped the reins against his horse’s shoulder, willing it to go faster. his eyes blew wide when you caught a glimpse of his gaze under the brim of his stetson, mouth parting in shock when you fired.
the bullet hit his chest dead on, and you watched in horror as his eyes went cold and empty, whole body slack as his shoulder crumbled forward in the saddle of his horse, before slowly slipping off the side and falling to the ground with a crash. his horse thundered on without him, blood soaking the dirt in a crimson halo around the corpse.
“good bloody shot!” John roared in your ear, and you turned your attention front again. the roads were emptier now with the stragglers having evacuated the town.
John slowed as he neared the town’s center square, and one man on a grulla and the other on a bay circled the fountain square in a pan, shooting at the men who came barreling down each pathway. each one dropped like a fly.
you counted about a dozen bodies on the floor of the square.
the man on the grulla laughed maniacally, who you instantly recognized as Soap. the other rode with a tight rein with a mechanic movement.
John pulled his horse to a sliding halt, almost making you fly over the shoulder of his chestnut if it weren’t for the arm around your waist.
“picked up a straggler!” he shouted, turning into the fray as another trio of Turner’s men came down an alleyway on horseback.
Soap flanked your horse, shooting two of Turner’s men down as John finished off the other. flies were whirling around the dead bodies on the ground. you wanted to puke.
“first time gunslingin’?” Soap asked, a poisonous glint in his steel eyes.
you didn’t have time to respond because Gaz was shouting— “your left!”
John was whirled, but not in enough time before two bullets hit his chestnut with sickening thuds. she whinied, rearing, and for a second time, you were sliding to the dirt, ungracefully landing on top of John in a winded pile.
you scrambled off him and he crawled to his knees as he reloaded his revolver. your own was thrown somewhere away—obscured from view as a couple of Turner’s men slid off their horses, striding towards you at a dangerous pace.
head on a swivel, you scurried backwards, a low throb in your ankle blooming. the adrenaline was wearing off as a thickening dread seized you. Gaz and Soap were occupied, grappling a thickening trickle of Turner’s men into the town square.
a man with a gold tooth, you recognized as an affiliate of the man with the turquoise bracelet from a few minutes prior, swung his leg back and kicked John straight across his cheek.
two other men seized you by the front of your blouse to hoist you up, but you kicked and screamed, biting down hard on a hand that came to pull on your hair. he cursed, throwing you back down into the dirt, and you skidded till your back struck something hard. 
eyes widening, you twised your arm behind you to feel a familiar, cool handle. this time, you let them yank you up, letting the revolver fall into the loose cuff of your loose sleeve and holding it there.
the man with the gold tooth gripped your cheeks tightly and spat at your feet. his breath was grimy, alcoholic, and made your skin crawl.
“you’ve been giving us a hell of a time, angel.” his other hand stroked down your chest.
you twisted to bite his fingers and he slapped you, the strong sting bringing tears to your eyes. the two men were holding your arms back in a bind, one pressing his front into your shoulder, mouth almost to your ear.
“he’ll kill you,” you seethed, dead serious. the man with the gold tooth laughed.
“so you really are the devil’s angel?” he leaned back, hands on his holster, a menacing look twisting his lips. “thought Mr. Tuner was bein’ dramatic. looks like Ghost’s got a pretty missy now.”
the man by your ear chuckled, hot breath down your neck and you reeled, fighting against him.
“i’ll kill you myself if i have to,” you hissed, both to the man in front of you and to the one digging his hand into your backside, squeezing.
the third man sounded considerably younger, more nervous. “whadda’ we do with her, Charles?”
your eyes went wide. you remembered the man at the cabin, the one who said—
let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.
that’s what he had said.
a coiling fear seized your chest, your breath trapped and lungs stuttering. you looked to John, flattened and forgotten by Charles’s feet. you internally begged him to get up. when he didn’t move, you looked up behind Charles to Gaz and Soap, bloodied and firing round after round. 
when the men hefted you to your feet, half-dragging you down the dirt road, you struggled, tears welling in your eyes. “no—” Charles tried to cover your mouth but you bit his hand hard and he snarled.
“no!” you screamed, fighting even when they yanked you into an empty saloon and threw you against the bar top.
Charles held you down with an iron grip, and other man unbuckled himself with a malicious grin. you felt overcome with an intense fear, trying to squirm up the side of the bar counter, but Charles held you steady. 
you should’ve never come here. this was your fault. this was your fault.
the third man was just a boy, shaking as he stared at you splayed across the counter. 
help me, you mouthed, but he just turned away so his back was to you.
this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault.
soon, your struggling subsided, and your mind drifted to a far, far, far off place.
the cool gun tight in your grip kept you tethered to your sanity when Charles kissed your now exposed calf. you tightened around the handle, feeling its silver embroidery, the men too distracted to notice the click of the safety.
an eerie calm drifted up in you as they continued their movements, Charles’s hand slipping underneath your skirt and drawers. you noted the glass bottle half full of beer abandoned right above your head.
you waited for the second man to float upwards, till his mouth was on your neck, and you shoved your sleeve right under his chin.
his eyes widened in surprise at your compliant behavior, humming something like approval before you pulled the trigger and blew clean through his face. he fell to the floor with a thud, half of his face gone, and Charles shrieked, looking down at his body in horror. that’s when you snatched the glass bottle of beer over your head and lurched off the counter to strike him in the head—over and over and over again.
your body was a machine, moving mechanically. the bottle shattered and alcohol pooled into blood. you didn’t stop until you couldn’t see the gold shine in his gaping mouth, until two arms gripped at your wrists, pulling your back into a broad, strong chest.
the musk of bourbon, smoke, and earth cleared your mind.
“Simon?” you squeaked, returning to yourself. 
the familiar cold of his mask against your neck brought you back down to the ground. 
he slowly pried the shattered bottle from your hand, only the neck and jagged shoulder left behind. he folded your hands into his gloved ones, crossing over your chest in a tight bind, crushing you to him.
you should’ve felt like you were debilitated, or trapped even, but you never felt more safe in his arms as you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. he was the only thing holding together the pieces of you right now.
he shushed you, smoothing a big hand over your chest as he rocked your entwined bodies.
“it’s alright, lovely.”
“it’s my fault,” you chanted, voice raw with effort. “it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”
Ghost didn’t respond to that, and instead began explaining with a calculated, low murmur into your ear. “i told the boys that there would be some Turner boys in this town. nothing they couldn’t handle. but there was an ambush.”
your breath hitched at that, cries dying in your throat.
“i was stationed with Alejandro and a lot of his boys in a town two miles west of this. we thought Turner would tear through there.” his thumb smoothed over your exposed neck. “he didn’t.”
it fell into pieces now. one-four-one stationed here, expecting less than a dozen of Turner’s men, when instead, they crawled through this town like ants. an ambush.
“Kate rode into town like a wild animal. i thought someone died.” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “i thought you died.”
you remembered the lashing tendrils of panic you felt in pressed against the wall in the back room, Ghost bleeding out a couple feet in front of you, the billiard parlor up in flames across the street.
had he felt the same?
“the boys,” you began instead, pushing the memory away, “how are they?”
he gripped your chin, turning your face to his and pressing his forehead to yours. the swirling darkness of his eyes was more comforting than anything you had ever known.
“they’ll live.”
you shivered at that and he soothed you with a shush, gently pulling you to your feet. wincing, he caught your wobbling body immediately.
“hurt?” he asked cooly, but you could hear a sharp edge in it.
you gave him a sheepish look. “my ankle.”
he just nodded, sweeping you into his arms like you were his bride. even if it was so improper, the exhaustion that furled around you like a fog had you curled into his chest as he stepped over pools of blood.
over his shoulder, your stomach curdled at the sight of Charles, his face a gaping wound of pink, mangled flesh. he was half-beaten into the ground, and his associate was sprawled near his shoulder. the boy was nowhere to be seen.
you closed your eyes against Ghost’s neck, pressing your nose to its steady pulse. you barely registered the light that enveloped you when he stepped outside, the light crunching of dusty dirt under his boots a mile away. there was murmuring, new and foreign voices coupled with old ones. no more gunshots. no more shouting.
you let the foggy undertow pull you somewhere softer and sweeter—right into the roughness of your mama’s hands brushing your hair by the fireplace, Daddy reading an old book aloud behind your shoulder.
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it was the rhythmic clatter of steel tracks against steel rail that stirred you from a light slumber. your sweet dreams had stretched into grotesque, bloody depictions the further they ran on, replaying scenes over and over in your head.
Charles’s face split open on the floor. red running from Daddy’s temple. a knife through your mama’s heart. Turner’s wrinkly hand on your thigh as he shoots three bullets through Ghost’s heart—his eyes wide as blood poured down his maskless face. but beneath the blood, he was faceless, skin smoothed over and pale, till his face morphed into Charles's deformed flesh and it replayed again.
a soft stroking along your thigh brought you further from the murky haze, and you pushed up against a solid form. you opened your eyes to find Ghost’s, blinking down at you.
there was an endless, crushing relief to see his mask still firmly clasped to his face. 
you tried to push away any lingering curious voices in your head, but they pushed through the weak pockets of your mental blockade, whispering out, what’s under it? 
you prayed that you wouldn’t find a faceless form beneath the red gleam of it.
his arm was wrapped around your shoulders and back, fingers digging into your waist and thigh. you were practically half in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest, his big trench coat slung over your curled up body.
for the first time, you realized, you awoke to Ghost’s presence by your side. you would’ve happily nuzzled back into his warmth and fallen back into the nightmares that clutched at you, if you didn’t realize that you had an audience.
eyes snapping open, and sitting up straighter, you blearily tried to shake the sleep away as you met the stares of several foreign faces sitting in chairs opposing you. save for the weary one-four-one—John dozing lightly, a new splint in bandage over his nose, Soap’s face a remote grim shade, Gaz’s and Kate’s attention trained on you.
you noticed Soap’s arm in a sling with a bitterness.
shifting, you looked out the train compartment window moving through the arid, weedy forest, sun dipping far into the horizon in a crimson-purple hue. 
“good morning,” Ghost greeted, pressing the nose of his mask to your hair. muffling a squeak, you tried to shift away because it was improper, but his strength held you close, hot gaze burning into your cheek.
you cleared your throat, looking to the man nearest to you. his hair was slicked back in dark curls, a toothpick between his teeth. he gave you a wild grin.
“we finally meet, chica,” he said in a beautifully lilted accent. he stood to offer his hand politely, and you would’ve stood to curtsy if Ghost’s hold on you wasn't so… possessive.
instead you put your hand in his and he kissed the back of it with a sly look.
Ghost tutted, muttering an impatient, “Alejandro.”
your brows rose when Alejandro released your hand with a laugh. he gestured to a clean-shaven, handsome man beside him.
“this is my most trusted right hand—Rodolfo.”
he smiled at you politely with a slight nod but made no move to shake your hand.
you nodded back. “pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Alejandro gestured to the other men littered around the room, leaning back in their plush seats. “and these are my men. los vaqueros.”
your breath hitched, looking around the room in a slight awe. these men were legends you heard of in childhood—iron fists of justice in the south that grappled with corrupt conglomerates and drug-dealing cartels. they also dabbled in their own bouts of illegal trouble. their hard-lined faces stared back at you.
instead you croaked, “where are we? and where are we going?”
you jumped a little when Ghost thumbed at your cheek, almost forgetting he was there. “we’re mid-way through southern california, bound for san francisco.”
your eyes ran over the los vaqueros, donned with bandoliers and sombreros, then one-four-one, looking much smaller and more meager. you couldn’t help but give them a weary smile, a warmth spreading in you when Soap perked up a smile of his own.
“why?”
Kate leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. you were eternally grateful for the comfort in at least one other female presence.
“we’re going to war.”
you stiffened. “what?”
Soap quickly followed. “against the Turner boys.” his eyes darkened. “they’re wreckin’ all our towns. they won’t stop and we don’t have enough boys to get ‘em.”
Ghost’s grip on your hip tightened. Gaz pushed on. “we’re going straight to the source.”
in san francisco?
you remembered the map in the basement, the large red circle over midwest california that included the bustling hub that was san francisco, with a scribbled T in the middle. a feeling of dread gripped your stomach. this was going to develop into a gang war—or something like it at least.
“does it really have to come to that?”
you grimaced when a terse silence followed.
“this is more than about money, lovely,” Ghost said with a thickness to his accent. “this is about revenge.”
you summed that much up from the dangerous flicker in Soap’s eyes, but you worried more about where you fit into the equation. you thought back to Ghost’s journal, a sudden apprehension for the arm coiled around you tightly. 
did phase two include you? were you of use once your daddy refused Ghost’s proposed ransom? and if you weren’t?
Ghost’s journal burned a hole through the pocket of your split skirt—maybe it was selfish, maybe it was childish, but a flurrying panic rose in you at the thought of going back home. you just couldn’t.
you bit back your tongue as Kate and a half-awake John moved to discuss with Alejandro in quiet murmurs that you couldn’t hear. they circled around a table, Soap and Gaz leaning into the conversation behind them.
you felt Ghost’s hand twitch on your hip as he shifted, gaze still trained on you.
sighing, you inclined your head in their direction. “go.”
he pressed his masked lips to your cheek in, what you deciphered as, a silent thank you. 
you just swatted at him with a blush as he helped you to your feet, drawing his trench coat tighter around your shoulders. Rodolfo lended you a gracious arm to lean on as Ghost neared the table, your ankle an irritable throb in the back of your mind. the crowd split, his broad form pushing through, and merged again, Ghost’s stetson half-obscured from view.
you wanted to join their circle, or lean in at least, and absorb their low murmurs, but instead Rodolfo helped you limp out of the train compartment into a plush hall.
you must’ve been in a first class sleeping car because you had not seen something so lush—springy green carpet beneath your boots and a ruby red wallpaper that crawled with patterns of roses and prickly vines. the lights overhead were gilded in gold.
Rodolfo must’ve caught your gaze because he gave you a half-smile, clarifying, “Kate pulled some strings.”
you just nodded weakly. the thought of one-four-one’s influence spreading to big railway conglomerates was staggering, but at this point, didn’t sweep you into shock.
he led you to a door with a carved brass knob and chiseled key hole, fumbling with a circlet of keys in his hand. you looked down the hall and startled when, at the end of the hallway compartment, you spotted a man staring straight back at you. he wore a fashionable black jacket with silver buttons and embellishments, a cap on his head that read pullman porter on a brass plating.
his eyes flickered from you to the door Rodolfo opened with a soft click, before he drew the hallway compartment door shut with a slam. you watched him stride away fast through the window, other first class passengers lounging lazily in the opposite compartment. 
“senorita?”
Rodolfo held the door open for you and you thanked him quickly, pulling yourself together and stepping into the luscious, but cramped, bedroom. politely, he closed the door, and you were left in a relief crushing silence.
the bed bowed beneath your weight as you sunk into it, kicking off your boots and laying out Ghost’s trench coat, falling back on it. you itched to loosen the strings of your corset but it was buried beneath too many layers of clothes for you to care about that now.
instead, you emptied the pockets of your fraying split skirt. you lined up Ghost’s journal, the matches, bunch of rope, and extra ammo on the bed. at the sight of it, you couldn’t help but lament the continuous absence of a revolver in your inventory.
you wondered if it was one-four-one’s intention to keep it that way as you picked through the room. there was an oil lamp on the nightstand—a carved cherry wood piece you took a moment to admire before moving to the equally exquisite armoire. opening it with a gasp, a bright bunch of fabric spilling into your face and almost knocking you back.
the thing was stuffed full of dresses and fancy garments—dresses, skirts, blouses in silk and chiffon with lacey embellishments. for a moment, you panicked. was this your designated room?
from outside the door, you heard someone taking slow steps down the hall. the knob was hallway turned when you swept up the stolen items you had laid out on the bed and shoved them back into your pockets. 
Ghost slinked into the room without so much as a word and a tired look. your heart was still beating out of your chest.
“ever heard of knocking?” you frowned deeply. “what if i was indecent?”
he huffed an amused sound at that, eyes twinkling as he sat on the bed. “i’ve seen you indecent before.”
your stomach curled at the memory. suddenly, being in such close proximity alone with Ghost felt like a sinful thing, and a heat snaked under your skin, traveling up to your cheeks till it burned in your ears.
he cocked his head at you but not unkindly. “we need to talk, lovely.”
you nodded. “yes.” then, curiosity overtook you. “but what’s this?” you gestured to the open doors of the armoire behind you. 
he cleared his throat and avoided your eyes, shifting on the bed. “they’re for you.”
your brows shot up. that’s what this was?
you looked from Ghost twitching on the bed to the stuffed armoire. you could imagine him picking out dresses and blouses and skirts at a tailor shop with Kate by his shoulder as you slept away the afternoon’s traumatizing events, then boarding the luxurious train with you curled into his arms.
a romantic gesture?
before you let your thoughts run away from you, sitting beside him on the bed, you had wanted to thank him in that polite manner your mama has always taught you, but you find yourself wanting to tease the apprehensive tenseness in his shoulders instead.
“it’s going to take a lot more than money to charm me, Simon,” you called softly, leaning into his side.
even if he had plenty of it, you thought dreamily, eyes running over the expensive fabric of his black suit.
he just scoffed, turning his head completely from you, but didn’t lean away. you inched behind him to smooth your hands over his shoulders which seemed to impossibly tighten even more.
“so tense,” you said in his ear, massaging your thumbs into the fleshy parts of his back. head tipping back slightly, his slow, deflating exhale didn’t go unnoticed. 
“we need to talk,” he repeated, voice gruff. you leaned over his shoulder to peer at his face, but his eyes had already slid shut beneath his mask.
humming, you rubbed circles into the back of his neck, then inching back down between his shoulder blades and along his spine. one hand on his back, you slid the other to the front, watching the way his shoulders laxed with wonder.
when your fingers fiddled with the button of his vest, his gloved hand caught your wrist, heavy eyes looking over his shoulder at you with a warning that dripped with something darker. you squirmed under his gaze, skin feeling impossibly hot, a familiar clench in your stomach.
“you minx,” he said, voice a low rumble that coaxed a whine from your throat and only darkened the look in Ghost’s eyes.
he began to push you over to the bed with a hand on your chest, towering over you with a glint in his eye, but you yelped, squirming away from his hold. the movement tipped you over the edge of the bed and you crashed into the nightstand, almost knocking over the oil lamp. your ankle screamed in protest, but the images flashing through your head cut right through the pain.
the man unbuckling his belt. Charles’s hand holding you down in an iron vice, rough lips against your skin. his hand digging into your naked flesh beneath your undergarments. both of them looming over you with black eyes, and the glint of gold—
“lovely?” Ghost steadied you with an arm around your waist—but not in a way that constricted you. his eyes searched your own.
“what is it?” he demanded, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.
“nothing.” you laxed, curling over him and instead pressed him down so his back hit the bed with a thud. “it’s nothing.”
you clambered over him clumsily, allowing his hands to guide you to a comfortable position, legs hooked around his waist and hands braced against his chest. it was solid and warm beneath you, like a rock that swelled slowly. you bit down on your lower lip, trying to the best of your ability to ignore the sharp stabbing of your ankle.
“you sure?” from his warm grip on your hips, and the narrow of his eyes, you knew he didn’t believe you for a second. you didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know why.
but you nodded with a stuttering breath anyway. “just let me…” you searched for the words, finding your head back in the place where you laid with him only a night ago. “take care of you.”
you unbuttoned his vest as he worked on your blouse, pulling it off with an ease that sent chills down your spine. you squeaked with surprise when he pulled you flush to his chest, sitting up to throw his vest to the floor and strip off his dress shirt. untangling yourself from him, you stood to undo your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles.
you looked up to Ghost who watched you from the bed, eyes a hungry, smoky glare. you studied the muscled gleam of his torso, breath hitching at the sight of his stitches. the wound was a raw pink and dangerously loose.
huffing an impatient noise, you yelped when he pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his mask into your neck and hair. it screamed such a Simon gesture that it had you melting into him, clutching at the fabric on the back of his head. 
this was Simon. any dread furling at the edges of your mind dissipated. but still, you couldn’t hold yourself back from worrying— 
“your stitches?” you gasped, feeling him pull up the fabric of his mask and press his hot lips to your neck, tongue sliding out.
a breathy noise left your lips and you squirmed, bracing your hands against the brawn of his shoulders to push him back down to the bed again. he gave way easily, to your surprise.
in the low light of the day, his lips looked pretty and full as he licked them. “they’re fine.”
you ran your hands over his chest, gasping when he pressed his hips up gently into you. there was a hardness in his pants that felt delicious against that painful ache of your core.
you muffled a sigh, allowing his hands to drag you over that hardness once more, then you gasped again. your eyes snapped up to his and he smirked, teeth glinting in the light.
“feel good?”
your head tipped back, hands scrambling for purchase. you gripped tightly at his forearms.
“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you whined out as he rocked you back and forth.
“you are,” he grunted through gritted teeth, head lolling back against the pillows, his muscled neck bobbing with a heavy swallow. your eyes followed the movement with a hunger, feeling a strange desire to lick over it.
even through your drawers, the friction felt like heaven, and as his movements grew faster, the tightness of your corset felt constricting around the heavy pants of your breast.
noticing this, Ghost moved to quickly unstring it, your hips endlessly canting against him. you felt a wonderful burn in your core, traveling up to your chest, throat, and tingling behind your eyes that were screwed shut.
you gasped when the corset fell away, a coolness enveloping your bare skin, jolting when you felt something hot and wet at your nipples. looking down, you moaned at the sight of his tongue swirling around the hardened buds of your breast, suckling one into his mouth. it left your chest tingling, the feeling raw and sensitive and foreign, but you only wanted more.
“that’s it. moan for me, princess,” he purred, one hand trailing down your bare spine and stopping at your backside, massaging it down into his hardness, spurring your hips forward.
you barely registered his words, biting down hard on your lip to keep the growing noises at bay as Ghost led you closer and closer to an inevitable precipice. he drew away his tongue from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. you whimpered in its absence.
“louder, pretty thing.” he tugged back a bit on your hair, so your head tilted back and your lax jaw fell open, releasing a slew of pretty sighs that had him humming approvingly.
“good girl.”
his husky words sent you hurtling over the edge, and your body shook with pleasured delight, vibrating across your skin in seizing spams. you would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the strong arms that circled your middle.
“Simon…” you whined, clutching weakly at his arms as he scattered kisses all across your jaw, neck, chest, breasts till the murky colors exploding in your vision faded.
he lowered you back down to the bed, and you collapsed beside him, panting. he stroked at your hair, turning onto his side with a warm fullness in his gaze. your lips stretched into a weak smile and you craned up to kiss his neck softly, licking over that swollen appendage in its center like you had wanted to earlier.
you relished in the way his breath hitched. eyeing over his body, there was still a bulge in his dress pants that stirred your curiosity.
sending him a silent question with your gaze, his knuckles dragged over your exposed arm. he cocked his head. “i’m alright, lovely.”
“but…” your face heated up. “i want to see.”
he shifted on the bed, black eyes darting over your face. for the first time since you’d known him, Ghost looked… nervous.
“why do you want to see?”
“because…” the words died in your throat. his lips stretched into a wry grin.
“you don’t need to. i like you like this,” he sighed, twirling your loose hair between his fingers.
your brow furrowed. “like what?”
his grin grew fuller. “innocent.”
you mustered your most bitter look and threw it at him, mood plummeting when he let out a throaty laugh.
“you really want to see that bad?” his eyes went dark again, and you nodded eagerly.
with a long look, a hand twitching at his side, he just sighed and willed you closer with a beckoning hand. you sat up with a sharp clarity to your mind, inching forward towards his pants. he remained leaned back against the pillows, one arm stretched over his body and cradling the back of his head as he unbuckled his pants with one hand.
he pulled himself out of his undergarments, the flesh heavy, swollen, firm, and drooling a thick fluid at the flushed tip. your whole body heated up with something—shame, embarrassment, longing, or something even deeper.
“oh,” you squeaked, avoiding his gaze entirely, though you knew it was burning into your cheek. he grabbed your chin, turning your head to meet it.
“we can stop here, but i don’t know if i can hold back if you just—” he swallowed hard, “watch me like that.”
“like what?” you asked, lips parting and eyes growing doe-like.
he cursed, and you watched in amazement when his hand flexed around his length, abdominal muscles flexing in time with it, tip oozing out more fluid. weirdly, saliva pooled in your mouth, and you resisted the urge to swallow it back.
you wanted to put your tongue on it.
“like that,” he rasped, throat strained with effort. 
you gazed at him wordlessly, hands feeling restless. you wanted to touch him.
he cocked his head. “what’s wrong?” 
when you said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, starting to tuck himself back into his pants, and you felt a growing panic in you. “i told you i’m alright pretty girl—”
“no!” you lurched forward to snatch his wrist away, his length straining against his stomach. his eyes snapped up in surprise and you felt your entire face go red with embarrassment. “i mean,” you inhaled deep, “no. i… i want to…”
you swallowed hard. Ghost lips twitched, a very amused expression stretching his face.
“can i…?”
his hand rubbed over your thigh, squeezing. “can you what, pretty thing?”
you whimpered, clutching at his hand. “want to put my mouth on it.”
the growl from the back of his throat should’ve scared you but it only spurred you forward, settling closer to the side of him, your thigh firmly pressed against his as you sat your backside over your ankles. one experienced a stabbing pain, but the sight in front of you cut right through the nagging sensation.
Ghost’s gaze was intense, heavier than you ever felt before, even with his body laxed back into the pillows, one arm hooked behind his head.
“go ahead, lovely.”
tentatively, you reached out, brushing your fingertips over the very tip of it where all the fluids were spilling out in rolls down his length. the hiss he let out made your core shiver, vibrating back to life in slow, hot pulses.
“what does it feel like?” you whispered, and his eyes closed.
“good.”
“how good?” you pressed, dragging your fingertips down the underside and back up again. his breath hitched when you brushed over a sensitive spot nestled beneath the tip. massaging at it with your thumb experimentally, his eyes snapped open again, snatching up your wrist.
your heart skipped a beat, a new worry clouding your mind. had you done something wrong?
on the verge of apology, you stopped short when he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist.
“you have to tell me if you want to keep going or not.” his eyes flashed. “if we do, i won’t want to stop, and i don’t want to scare you.”
even beneath the layers of his mask, the way his jaw was set in a grim clench, you could see the sincerity in his face.
“i want to make you feel good,” you said with finality, and his lips twitched up.
“i know you do.” he rubbed your cheek with affection. “such a polite girl.”
“tell me what to do,” you almost begged, squirming in his hold, and he guided your hand back down to his swollen length, gasping when he wrapped your entire hand around it.
it was wet, sticky, warm, throbbing.
“feels good when you squeeze tighter,” he said softly, eyes going hazy when you immediately obeyed. slowly, he dragged your hand up and down its length, going completely lax against the bed.
you watched in amazement, clenching your thighs together as your entire hand went up and down it in a rhythmic grind, the swells of his chest rising faster with every ministration. his eyes fluttered close periodically, sometimes tightening his hold on your hand, then going loose, altering speeds between painstaking slowness and a quick jerking movement.
“doin’ good, princess,” he panted, and you flushed at the praise because you really weren’t doing anything.
scanning over his body, you remembered the way his breath stopped short when your tongue was on his skin. 
you wanted to hear those sounds again. 
leaning down, you shyly mouthed over the skin at his neck, sucking there, and you were immediately spurred on with the low groan that left his lips.
your lips traveled down past his collarbones, to the plush muscle of his chest, tongue circling his nipples now, and he jolted in beneath you, hand stuttering almost to a stop.
“christ,” he gritted out as you sucked there, thighs squirming together for an ounce of relief.
you found it when Ghost snaked a hand beneath your drawers, seeking out your puffy clit and eagerly discovering it, rubbing firm circles against you.
your lips fell away from his chest, and you almost crumpled onto him, grinding down into his hand with a greediness that bloomed through your whole body. he hummed approvingly in your ear, kissing the shell of it gently, when you jerked your hand over his length on your own—matching the movements of his fingers on your clit.
“fuck, just like that,” he rasped, sounding a bit desperate now.
his hand fell away from yours around his length, gripping at your hip instead to steady you. when he sped up, so did your hand, sparks flying beneath your eyelids as you keened loud. his lips were on your neck, and your whole body went numb, but your gaze was intent on his own length that throbbed deliciously strong in your hand.
it twitched, then shuddered, and you felt Ghost muffle a groan against your neck as his hips stuttered up, watching in amazement as fluids spurted out from the tip in rhythmic pulses, rolling down over your hand in a milky substance.
you both shuddered through mutual pleasure, and once the last of the wracking waves struck you, you crashed forward into his chest, a sticky and sweaty mess.
you caught his eye, tired and half-lidded, a bead of sweat going down his neck as his chest rose rapidly, and you couldn’t help but laugh—feeling giddy from the open display of his own pleasure that Ghost had just revealed to you.
his lax face shifted into one of amusement, craning down to kiss your nose. that’s when you remembered—
“i didn’t put my mouth on it,” you realized with a cracking disappointment. 
looking down to his length, now softer and still covered in the fluids, you leaned down to press your tongue to it, but were pulled back suddenly by a soft hiss.
“don’t,” Ghost rasped, and you gave him a wide-eyed apologetic look. 
he just shook his head. “it’s different than this—” he smoothed a hand over your clothed cunt, and you gasped with embarrassment at the blunt movement, “—s’more sensitive after i orgasm.”
you tilted your head. “orgasm?”
he brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead. “your climax,” he elaborated in a seductively smooth voice and you blushed, pushing his hand away as he smirked. you knew what he meant.
your gaze traveled back to the pool of fluid on his stomach, a curiosity brewing in you. “is that what this is?”
he followed your gaze. “mhmm. it’s what this is, too.”
he snaked his hand back into your undergarments, and you jolted with a gasp, squirming when he pressed two fingers against your entrance. when he pulled them back to show you, there was a sticky wetness on them—similar to the one on his pelvis.
“oh,” you said, flushed with embarrassment at such blunt displays of education.
you mentally chided your mama for teaching you absolutely nothing about this. though, you assumed she would’ve told you before your marriage about… lovemaking.
before a crashing guilt could consume you, the view of Ghost wrapping his tongue around his fingers that were sticky with your orgasm startled you back to reality.
“Ghost!” you exclaimed, pulling his fingers out of his mouth. 
his brow furrowed as he huffed with frustration. “what?”
“that’s improper!” you slapped at his chest. “very improper! and…” your face screwed up. “unsanitary.”
that face-consuming smirk of his stretched his pretty lips. “don’t forget i was drinking it straight from the source last night.”
with your hand to your mouth, you gasped, pushing yourself completely off the bed as he shook with quiet laughter, delirious with it, even.
“i’m done with you,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he beseeched you to come back, but you refused to comply, clasping your corset back around you.
out of the corner of your eye, you watched him mop up the wetness on his body with his balled up dress shirt before he padded over, swiping your hair over your shoulder.
“let me help.”
you felt him lace the thing back up, and tug it close loosely. you sent him a look over your shoulder, instructing him to tighten it more, but he just grumbled, barely tugging it tight and you ended up shooing him away to do it yourself.
he gave you a grumpy, reproachful look and you had to bite back a grin at his behavior—that intimidating stoicism returned as promised as a rising ocean tide.
from the armoire, you picked out a loose nightgown, bodice embroidered with small bows and lace, sleeves pulling into a wide bell shape at your elbow. Ghost was still half-naked, leaning back on your bed with a sleepy gaze. he gave you a highly approving hum when you pulled it on before excusing yourself to wash up in the lavatory.
drawing Ghost’s trench coat back around your shoulders, and stepping into the hall, you muffled a shout when the same pullman porter was stationed at the end of the hallway, eyes boring into you. in the darkness of the night, shadows were cast strangely across his face, and his eyes looked like they were a pure black.
resisting the urge to step back into your room, where a very dangerous and strong outlaw lay, you just gave the porter a polite nod to move to a lavatory in the opposite direction. the porter stood stock still in the dark, not even moving to acknowledge you.
bitten with fear, you sighed in relief when you pushed into the private lavatory, locking the door behind you. inspecting your appearance in the mirror, you cringed at the disheveledness of it. there was a dark, purpling circle of exhaustion under your eyes and a swollen pink hue to your face—not to mention the frizzy circlets of hair defying gravity on your crown.
you took your own washcloth and dipped it in the basin, turning the faucet, praying for hot water. when none came after you stripped yourself of your nightgown, you grimaced as you scrubbed the cold washcloth over yourself. you wet your hair and brushed it back, splashing your face with the icy water, toweling off, then redressing yourself in the nightgown.
a hand on the lavatory knob, you worried about the porter at the end of the hallway. what if he had moved? what if, when you opened the door, you’d open it to his face—the all-encompassing black of his eyes?
suddenly, events just hours prior came crashing down on you. men looming over you. the sickening thud of the bullet hitting that man on his horse, face going black, before falling to the ground with a crunch. the clink of a belt.
gunshots were in your ears, an intense ringing after each click, trigger, pull, boom and smoke.
“no,” your hands shook as you slid down the lavatory wall, covering your ears. 
the banging became louder. with each boom another body dropped dead, blood unfurling around it like a bad omen, its tendrils snaking. snaking towards you. 
“no, no.” you couldn’t stop shaking.
this was your fault.
you had killed three men today. one, on the horse, second, bullet through the face, third, beat him to death in the ground. beat him to death.
this was your fault. this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault—
“HEY!” you jolted back to reality, breath in a dizzying flurry. really dizzying flurry. when you stood, you felt nauseous, almost keeling over and throwing up. you pressed your forehead to the cool of the wall, swallowing back the bile hard.
there was a banging knock on the door.
“how much fockin’ longer are ye going to take’n there?” you tried to work out your voice but all that came out was a scraping rasp.
“sweet mother of mary and jesus, what does a man need to do to piss ‘round here—”
you swung the door open suddenly and Soap jumped back with a yelp, pressed flat against the opposite of the narrow hallway. the soft, yellow lighting poured out into the dark hallway and bruises you didn’t notice before littered Soap’s cheeks, his right eye a pocket of swollen, purple flesh.
his anger dissipated in a second at the sight of you, giving you a nervous, wry smile.
“sorry, lassie, didn’t know it was you—” he paused suddenly, face contorting. “are ye cryin’, lassie?”
you touched your fingers to your numb face, pulling back to find a wetness on your fingertips. you just stared at him as he fumbled awkwardly, mouth opening and closing.
you spoke for him. “i killed three men.”
he didn’t even react, expression deflating as he nodded. “it happens, lass.”
he reached out a hand tentatively, just barely brushing his good hand over your shoulder, the other still hanging limp by his chest in a white sling.
how can murder be normal?
“no, i killed them. on purpose.” something in you broke. “i wanted them to die.”
he just shook his head again, gripping your shoulder tightly now. “they would’ve done worst te you if you didn’t, bonnie.”
you chewed that, finding it indigestible no matter how you looked at it.
Soap continued quickly, “i enlisted when i was sixteen. saw things in a war i shouldn't've. luckily one-four-one and Laswell had my back…”
he smiled fondly before shrugging. “war happens. death happens, lassie, whether you wish it on someone or not. those men had it comin’ for ‘em.”
nodding slowly, you barely mustered a tight-lipped smile when he patted your shoulder brazenly, beaming with a grin. behind him, a grumpy looking blonde materialized in the hallway, her hair tousled and still in full riding attire, grip tight at her holster. Soap’s grip dropped immediately.
“what’s goin’ on here?” Kate demanded, looking from you to Soap.
you jolted, the roughness of her expression pulling you back to reality. a creeping shame rose in you—crying in front of a man you barely knew, confessing your sins to him in your lacey nightgown in the middle of the dark, narrow hallway. Kate’s gaze hardened, and you balked, struggling to find an explanation when Soap interjected.
“i was just waitin’ to use the loo!” he tossed you a smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told you to play along. “funny meetin’ you here in the hallway, princess!”
like ice water dumped over your head, you were strung back into your body. 
you rolled your eyes. “don’t call me that.”
“right,” Soap sang, “only Ghost can say it. apologies, lass.”
you stepped out of the lavatory with Ghost’s coat around you and Soap slid in after you, shutting the door. looking into Kate’s furrowed face, you could see the red-rimmed bloodshot of her eyes and the bags beneath them. she looked exhausted.
beyond her, down the hall in the compartment where you ventured from earlier, John, Alejandro, and Rodolfo were still engrossed in conversation.
Kate followed your gaze with a sigh. “don’t even ask, missy,” she warned with a warm hand at your back and you suppressed a smile.
you were grateful as she led you back down the narrow hallway to your room, the porter still in the same spot from earlier, eyes dead on you. eyes looking dead as well.
you tried your best to ignore him but his head jerked, cracking it, rolling back his shoulders from the stiff position. rushing a bit faster, you could feel Kate’s hand tighten against your spine as you fumbled with the room key.
you jolted when she called down the hall.
“what the hell’re you lookin’ at?” she griped at the porter, who finally turned his head to the window beside him.
her eyes narrowed, and she grumbled low into your ear, “don’t go venturing off in this train alone at night, as much as i know you love to explore.”
there was a dripping sarcasm in her voice that you chose to ignore as you swung the door open, bidding her a soft goodnight as she gave you a tight-lipped smile before it dropped from her face into a scowl. but the full look in her eyes made you feel as though you may have grown closer than you thought over just the past three days.
shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, sighing out, before turning to find Ghost in a sprawled out position like before. your spent clothes for the day were folded in the corner on a plush chair as well as his own. you couldn’t help but smile at that seemingly persistent habit of neatness he had as you laid down his coat over the back of the chair.
you neared him but he didn’t turn to look at you, just leaned his head against the wall.
you crawled onto the bed and brushed your knuckles over the red mask. you were disappointed to see the black fabric beneath it pulled down over his jaw again.
“have a good wash?”
he blinked owlishly out the window on the opposing wall, desert passing by serenely, washed in a cool blue tone by the sweep of the moonlight. the rattling of the train clinked through the room.
you opened your mouth before swallowing down hard. 
no one has to know about your episode.
Soap had made sure of that in front of Kate, and you felt endlessly indebted to him. how would Ghost react if he knew you were having… mental struggles? you could only pray under your breath that it wouldn’t persist, but you doubted god was listening to your meek voice after the sins you’ve committed today.
shivering, you just nodded with a smile. “refreshing.”
“good.” his face swung to you, a hardness to his eyes. your brow furrowed but you buried it with another smile. “we need to talk.”
blinking, you slinked away from him and sat on the far edge of the bed, which wasn’t very far at all in the cramped room, his outstretched foot resting against your hip. you leaned back against the window, the moonlight casting his mask in a blue gleam.
“we do,” you agreed, though about what—you didn’t know where to begin.
what exactly would happen once you reached san francisco? would you be included in their business, or would they shut you out like before? a stranger and a hostage? 
you one-overed Ghost’s relaxed form, to the muscles of his torso, the veins spidering up his arms, and the distant look in his eyes.
what was going on between you and Ghost?
what exactly was phase two?
you thought back to this afternoon in the basement and what you had found—the intercepted letter from your daddy and Ghost’s journal. your eyes darted to the pile of clothes in the room.
“looking for this?”
you jolted when he tossed something onto the open space of the bed beside you, stomach dropping at the words scrawled over it.
GHOST.
a snaking dread sized you, any lingering warm feelings of your shared night sliding off your body like icy water.
your eyes snapped up to his—cold and dark. 
like the porter’s, a traitorous voice in you called out, but you immediately willed it away, because this was Simon.
“you can’t blame me for snooping.” your jaw clenched when he didn’t respond. “you took me and confined me to the shop. no one told me what would happen to me. i needed to know if…”
you swallowed around your next words. “...if you were going to ransom me back to my daddy.”
Ghost made no move, didn’t even blink, hand twitching on his bare chest.
“you want the truth?” holding your breath, you gave him a curt nod.
“i was going to,” he chewed out, and you blinked. “last night i was still deciding.”
last night. when you were curled up in his arms and he had taken your first bout of innocence from you. a spark of something dark lit within you. as of recent, it seems he’s taken a lot from you in general.
your gun, your innocence, your parents. your home.
“did you go see my daddy that day?”
that day when you said you were searching for Sugar, you wanted to challenge, was it all a lie?
you thought back to the intercepted letter—your daddy’s anger seething through the note, and his promise to wrung one-four-one of everything until he got you back. maybe the proper term was rescue.
Ghost’s jaw clenched. “yes.”
you sucked in a breath, a spiraling panic coming back to you like the one in the lavatory before. you willed it away best you could, pressing cool knuckles to your temple as you closed your eyes. images flashed—your daddy dead, blood everywhere, all over his papers, letters, clothes, a bullet in his temple and Ghost with a revolver to his head. was he dead?
did Ghost kill your daddy?
“is he alive?”
you waited for the answer with bated breath.
“‘course. even if he tried to kill me.”
a whoosh of air left you, and you leaned your head back against the cool window, taking in Ghost. his head was tilted, a curious glint in them that you ignored. 
his voice was cold. “anymore questions?”
you gave him a hard stare. “what changed your mind?”
“about?”
you scoffed. “not selling me away after…” last night. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.
his foot pressed into your hip but you ignored it. he sighed out.
“i went to your father to offer a ransom.” your brow raised. “$25,000.”
this sounded familiar. 
“but he refused.”
you flinched at that, somewhere between a crushing weight of disappointment and embarrassment falling on you. you wiped away a brewing wetness in your eyes. Ghost couldn’t return you if your daddy didn’t want you in the first place.
“so?”
his foot dug deeper into your side.
“he told me something else.”
you finally met Ghost’s gaze, his head tipped forward and brows furrowed. you could tell from the way his eyes pinched with a haunted glare.
after a long silence ensued, you poked at his foot. “what was it?”
the void bluntness of his voice told you it wasn’t anything good.
“he refused the ransom because of his pride, but also because he didn’t want to ransom you when…” Ghost sucked in a breath, “when you already belonged to someone else.”
your mind reeled at that.
“what?”
“he thought it wasn’t fair he had to pay. he was already working with a businessman to make you his mistress.”
your stomach curdled, heart beating out your throat. “no, that’s…” you choked down some tears, “that’s not true.”
the end of your words turned up in a weak tremble that you desperately wanted to hide but Ghost pinned you down with his eyes.
“he was going to make you Turner’s mistress. that was part of their deal.”
your blood chilled at that, body going impossibly numb. what did this mean for you now? you scrambled to find purchase in your mind, in anything that would slow the spinning of the room. what did this mean for you now?
were you still of use to one-four-one? would they abandon you in san francisco to fight a war, leaving you to the streets? and if they did, would your daddy accept you back in his home, or turn you right over to Turner as his personal whore?
you shook, vision clouded over.
even if you didn’t choose your daddy, you still wish he chose you over everything.
you were his only daughter after all.
“that doesn’t make sense,” you said thickly, “why would he do that?”
Ghost was as still as a rock, his only sign of life was the hand that came down to play with the hem of your nightgown.
“bigger investment and more money, ” he said, voice eerily empty, and an iciness passed through you.
just another one of Daddy’s business transactions. 
you remember what Ghost called out at the dinner table that night.
you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?
your eyes flickered to Ghost again. had he known all along? or had he just taken a great guess from doing so many years of business with your daddy—who you really didn’t seem to know at all?
a weak, strangled noise came from the back of your throat.
“but in that letter,” you groped, clawing for anything, “he said he would do anything to get me back. he said that.” 
your voice rose and Ghost’s eyes slid away from you to the window behind you.
you felt like a whining, whimpering child. a mile long chasm was being torn straight through the room, and when you looked to the other side, Ghost was the older, war-torn man he always was and you were just… you.
hopeful, naive, innocent.
you.
you balled up into your chest and let the tears stream from your eyes in the most silent sobs you could muster, only the gentle clinking of glass on metal in the room, train chugging on relentlessly, dragging you in tow.
had you really thought, only five days ago, that you could become a gunslinger alongside Ghost? a cowgirl with a great shot and a tough spirit?
you felt so far from all of it that you dug your nails into the soreness of your ankle, relishing the way the sharp waves of pain brought you back down to earth.
there was a sigh in your ear, and two strong arms that wrapped you up, but you twisted in them immediately, your nails digging into the flesh of Ghost’s arms as you shoved him away. 
“don’t you dare,” you hissed, pressing yourself as far as you could from him in the diminishing room. your eyes flickered to the ceiling above his head. it really looked like the room was getting smaller—the ceiling shrinking by the second.
he only watched you with an eerie calm, a nauseous feeling climbing in you.
“you did this,” you spat through tears. “a couple days ago i was with my mama and daddy and everything was fine until you showed up.”
your breath shook. “you devil.” 
whether Ghost was hurt by it, you couldn’t tell, because he only blinked harshly, but you regretted the words anyways. because you knew that Ghost was telling the truth. even if you did stay with your mama and daddy, and Ghost had never taken you, you would’ve been swept away to Turner’s big estate in san francisco anyway.
but the bile poured from you like a sweltering, infected wound. “i would’ve been married,” you cried out, tears dripping from your trembling chin onto the breast of your nightgown. of Ghost’s nightgown.
liar, a voice in you hissed, but you pushed it to the furthest corner of your mind. 
“you stole me from my parents, took my honor, and you’re a liar!”
Ghost cocked his head at you, eyes glazed over and mask glinting. you hated that stupid mask. you just wanted to rip it off his face.
you jolted when he spoke, grumbling out, “i didn’t mean to.”
if there was a revolver slung in your holster, you would’ve shot him dead three times in the heart by now, just like your mama said.
Mama, a little girl in you cried, i’m sorry. i should’ve listened to you that first night in the cabin when he fell asleep.
he continued with gritted teeth. “i wanted revenge against your father for betraying me and i wanted revenge on Turner.” he wouldn’t look at you now. “i wanted to steal something of theirs and make it mine.”
of all the things he could’ve said, nothing in the world prepared you then. you lurched for him, vision red and wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to see a flicker of fear in his eyes—or something other than the cold, dead wall you were talking to.
but he just flipped you easily in a calculated movement, weight keeping you pinned as you mindlessly struggled, arms in a bind above your head.
he talked over your cries and shouts now, voice in your ear— “i knew your daddy had a daughter. but i didn’t know she was so young and full of spirit and…” your struggling subsided. the look in his eyes seemed something like defeat. “...lovely.”
you spat right onto his mask but he didn’t even flinch.
“liar,” you hissed, working up into a frenzy again, squirming against his bone-crushing hold. “liar, liar, liar, liar—”
“i thought his daughter would be some rich, prissy girl who didn’t want anything to do with outlaws. then she told me she hated her happy, small town life, and her two parents that loved her.”
“liar, liar, liar, liar—”
“she told me that she could be a gunslinger if she wanted to be. she rode like one, too.”
you tried to scream and shout over his words and block it out of your brain, but his low murmur against your ear cut right through it all.
“when i realized what’d i’d done, that i’d stolen a girl who was a thief, it was too late. you saved my life when i got shot. i thought you would’ve ran away and left me for dead.”
his voice dropped even lower, the forehead of his cool mask pressing against your jaw. “i wanted you to leave me for dead.”
at that, your struggling subsided, confusion welling up in you like a stormy cloud.
“i wanted you to leave me for dead.”
he pulled back to press your arms to your chest and loomed over you.
“i wanted to be dead for what i was doing.”
you kicked out under his legs, knee connecting with something soft, and he dropped his hips with a hiss to pin you down.
“what were you doing?”
his voice was deceptively soft. “i was using you for revenge.”
more tears ran from the sides of your face like fleeing raindrops.
then a fast anger cooked in you, a slower simmer turning to a hot boil.
“i hate you,” you seethed, staring right into the wall of his mask. there wasn’t a human being beneath there.
just a calculated animal.
“i hate you,” you said again, voice breaking.
“good,” he nodded, though his tone was broken. “honest to god, i didn’t know your father was going to give you to Turner.”
you hissed, “how can you be honest to god?”
he ignored you. “i would’ve returned you to your family if they paid the ransom. even if they didn’t, i would’ve given you back eventually. but they didn’t want you and you didn’t want to go. it was always about Turner—we didn’t care about the money. your father happened to betray us and we found the perfect bloody outlet to Turner.”
you dug the side of your face into the side of the bed, refusing to look at him as he held you there. a pool of your tears formed beneath the swollen fleshiness of your cheek.
“i needed Turner to take the first step in this war. and he did. i got lucky when i happened to steal his future mistress.” his eyes flashed. “Turner hates it when his things are taken.”
“since, you’ve gotten what you want,” you cried, voice raw “what do you still need me for?” 
he closed his eyes. “i don’t know.”
“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”
his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”
you fell limp at that, feeling every ounce of energy drain from you—like the devil was sucking away your life force.
you wanted that poisonous, gurgling voice inside you to breathe out another liar, to call Ghost’s bluff for what it was, but it fell silent the moment you needed it most.
closing your eyes, Ghost’s body draped over your own, warm and solid and flushed together. he pressed his mask into your hair. 
bourbon, cigarettes, and the musk of wood and dirt and sweet spruce. 
you couldn’t even fight it. you don’t even think you wanted to—because even if no one wanted you in the world, not even your daddy, Ghost did want you for something. one thing. 
revenge.
“get out,” you whispered, and he didn’t move, a big, swelling rock above you.
“get out!” you shouted, straight into his ear, but he didn’t even flinch. after another long pause he slid off you with a gentleness, a fleeting caress of his hand against your swollen ankle before he slinked away. there was a soft click of the door closing, Ghost’s boots thumping against the floor in the hallway.
you stayed in that position for a long time, pressed to the mattress right where he had left you. 
it was like, if you moved, the invisible imprint of him against your skin would disappear like his physical form, lost into the night. 
maybe this is what you needed, you decided. maybe, if you could convince one-four-one of your usefulness, that you were important to them, even beyond Ghost’s revenge ploys, you would become a permanent member and carve out a space in their lives. but not Ghost’s. never Ghost’s.
a withering, squirming dread in your stomach made it known that it would be impossible. at this point, you were too tired to even try and convince them to let you stay.
so you turned over and forced yourself into a relentless, exhausting sleep.
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ok that was kinda crazy. but i promise the angst will not last forever. chapter 3 coming soon.........
i hope you guys enjoyed!! &lt;;33
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taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @tomiesdiet @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mr-sol
2K notes ¡ View notes
ju1cyfru1t ¡ 7 months
Note
no thoughts only rise donnie being soft for his s/o 😭😭😭
any soft/affectionate donnie hcs please 🤲
HEHEHEHEHHEHEEEHEHHEHWHWHH
Rise! Donatello x reader
Soft Donnie hcs 🥹
fluff:D gn reader, romantic
not proofread
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My baby :(
- Donnie makes you gifts all the time! It’s one of his ways of saying he loves you since he’s not too experienced with this whole feelings stuff. He also just loves to see you get excited over something that he made.
- will help fix the little things for you! (that maybe he wouldn’t do for others djjdjdkdkd) Your computer isn’t working? Give him 5 minutes and it’s working just fine. Leo’s phone is bugging? He can wait, Donnie is a busy man after all.
- Someone knocks over his staff?! …oh it was you? well, accidents happen I suppose.
- Will absolutely brag about anything he helps you with, it makes him feel good. You could have asked someone else, but you asked him. Not Raph, not Mikey, and why the hell would you ask Leo? (JK I LOVE HIM😭)
- Does NOT let his brothers (mostly Leo) drag you into their tomfoolery if it’s dangerous. (Long story; you got portal-ed to New Jersey one time *COUGH*LEO*COUGH*)
- Fairly confident, he knows you love him and he loves you. Heartfelt and vulnerable moments just aren’t his thing, so when they do happen you know he really means it because he’s doing it just for you.
- you have your very own special seat in the turtle tank <3
- definitely the type to remember all of your favorite things (snacks, drinks, movies, anything)
- you’re basically Shelldon’s other parent and he treats you as such. -> “Do not talk to your mother that way, young man! I mean, uh, Y/N! don’t tal- HOLD ON-“
- will talk to you for hours and hours about new projects he’s started or wants to start and is really, really excited that you care about his interests. (Two reallys)
- would NEVER admit it to anyone but really likes to hold you entirely or just your hand, especially while he talks to you ^lectures
- probably needs a few visits with Dr.Feelings (Mikey thinks you guys are so cute)
- would kick his brothers out and only allows you in his lab if he’s really busy and into working on something. would gladly let you assist him if you pinky promise to be really careful, but doesn’t trust anyone else around his precious tech.
- sitting in his lap??? while he works??? I think so.
- Wants to watch all of his favorite Jupiter Jim movies with you! + Would show you all of his favorite games and comics. Might even actually let you borrow one or two if you swear they will return to him in mint condition.
- 100% denies it if anyone (fucking LEO) were to ever point out your special privileges even though he knows it’s true and you most definitely do. He just wants to avoid the teasing if he can.
- But it’s inevitable (*COUGH*LEO)
- it’s not that he’s embarrassed, he just isn’t used to that kind of relationship and he really appreciates your understanding, even if he doesn’t say it.
- when you cuddle he likes to lay his head on your chest, it’s the most comfortable for him. esp if you give VERY gentle shell scritches
- I REPEAT, GIFT GIVING. TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIS GIFTS, HE MELTS.
- hide all of your purple clothing bro
-“your sweater? the gorgeous, perfect, dazzling purple one? …haven’t seen it.”
- would call you “darling” or “dear/dearest” when he feels like it
- overall, very whipped 👍 very sweet silly boy :(
1K notes ¡ View notes
hp-hcs ¡ 22 days
Text
• smut • literally everyone here is so problematic (but oh, so hot) [part 2 of drunk words, sober thoughts] — best friend! dom top! jealous! theodore nott x gn! bottom/receiving! dumbass! reader x best friend! switch! jealous! manwhore! mattheo riddle
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tysm to the anon who gave me this idea ur a real one 🤲👑
okay so like, i never really state it in text but like, reader, theo, and mattheo have been like a best friend trio since first year alr?
working on a part three rn you silly lil horndogs
read the title man idk
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“We can’t keep doing this,” you mumbled, but your head still tilted to the side to grant him better access.
“Why not?” He asked, kissing along the newly-freed skin of your neck and lightly biting down on your collarbone.
You let out a breathy half-moan. “We can’t- this isn’t fair for either of us. I can’t give you a real relationship.”
“I don’t care about that,” he said dismissively, tilting his head up to suck on the sensitive flesh on the underside of your jaw. “As long as I can have you in my bed.”
“How romantic,” you deadpan.
He laughed, shutting you up with yet another sharp thrust of his hips. “Never said I was, darlin’.”
You gasped and moaned. “Fuck! Th-there!”
He followed your directions, gripping your hips tighter and driving into you with renewed vigor.
Your thighs trembled and your nails raked along his back as you came with a low moan of his name.
He followed right after you, moaning and burying his face into the side of your neck. His hair, damp with sweat, brushed against your jaw, making you smile as you felt him shake above you.
He caught his breath after a moment, pulling out and rolling off of you. “You know that you can’t just keep sleeping with me to forget about him, right?”
“Oh, c’mon. Like you’re gonna complain? Don’t you want a hot-albeit-emotional-disaster such as myself in your bed?”
“I mean, I’m not gonna say no to that,” he snickered, reaching over the side of his bed to retrieve his shirt from the pile of discarded clothes before tugging it over your head and helping you get your arms through the sleeves. He laid back down so you could curl into his side, wrapping an arm around your middle and mindlessly running his fingers up and down your side.
You both lay in a comfortable silence for a moment before you quietly murmured, “Thank you.”
“For the sex or the pep talk?” He teased, running a gentle hand through your hair.
“Both,” you give him a half smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “But really, I mean it. Thank you, Mattheo.”
~~~
“That’s it, shit- yeah, fuck,” Mattheo moaned, dropping his quill on his desk in favor of threading his fingers through your hair. “So good- so damn good at this.”
You’d really thought you’d be able to go to the library with Mattheo after school “to study”. And you were doing plenty of that, if studying what that fine Riddle dick looks like up close is going to be a question on your Charms exam. Which, y’know, it probably won’t.
You could feel your legs cramping up from being curled up in a kneeling position underneath the table for the past ten minutes, but that didn’t stop you from tightening your grip on his thighs and taking him down as far as you could go.
His grip on your hair tightened in warning. “Shit- someone’s coming,” he hissed.
You pulled off of him just to sassily respond with, “Yeah, you.”
With just a few pumps of your fist, wrapped tight around his dick, Mattheo fell apart in the middle of the library.
~~~
“Fuck! Yes- shit!” Mattheo groaned and cursed.
“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed. “Are you trying to get caught?”
“I won’t claim to not be an exhibitionist,” he said in a mock-serious tone. “Besides, tell me this isn’t a hot place to fuck.”
“This isn’t a hot place to fuck,” you scoffed as you tightened your legs around his waist. “If I drown in this damn lake ‘cause of you, I will haunt your bitchass.”
~~~
“You seem to be awfully…close with Matt right now,” Theo said in an odd, stilted tone.
“Yeah,” you said shortly. “We are.”
“That’s…nice, I guess.” Theodore cleared his throat. “Riddle’s cool.”
“Yup,” you said in a bored tone, not even sparing a glance in his direction.
Theo huffed out an annoyed sigh, abandoning his fruitless questioning. “Whatever. Can you pass the butter?”
~~~
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Yeah, kinda.” Mattheo drawled.
“Apologies, won’t happen again,” Theo sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame as he surveyed the scene in front of him.
His longtime crush, sprawled out naked on his best friend’s bed. He kept his eyes trained pointedly at your faces, making no acknowledgment of the fact that Mattheo was three fingers deep inside you.
“So, like- this is real awkward,” Mattheo licked his lips and pursed them, unabashedly meeting Theo’s gaze and quirking an eyebrow. “You can either leave or come in, but either way, you gotta shut the door, man. That’s just common courtesy.”
Theo scoffed. “Are you seriously suggesting I stay?”
“I’m not not seriously suggesting you stay.”
“I’m not watching my best friends have sex, you fuckin’ freak.”
“Shit, what d’ya want me to say then, Mr. Prude?” Mattheo rolled his eyes. “You rather join in?”
“I’m not having a threesome with my best friends!”
“Coward.”
Theo spluttered out a protest that fell on deaf ears.
“Boys, boys, we get it. You’re both pretty,” you say dryly. “Either stay or don’t, Nott, but I’m getting fucked either way.”
Theo hesitated at the doorway before cursing under his breath and stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “I hate you both.”
“We hate you too,” you and Mattheo replied dryly in unison.
Theo scoffed and took a hesitant step closer. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously and looked at you as he sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “What about the…y’know, disagreement?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, I’m still mad at you for that.”
“Yeah, and I’m mad at you too!” Mattheo interjected before leaning in to loudly whisper to you, “What exactly are we mad at him for?”
“Teddy’s only been my friend for the last six years because he thought he’d get lucky.” You said through a tight smile.
“That’s not- I- I mean, it kind of is, but- it’s-”
“That’s kind of a dick thing to do, Teddy,” Mattheo said in a mocking tone.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Riddle. Like you’re not doing the exact same thing!”
“Wait, what?” You interrupted at that, but the boys continued arguing.
“You don’t get to call dibs on a person, Nott!”
“You don’t get to hook up with your best friend's crush, Riddle!”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Mattheo seethed.
“Boys!” You snapped suddenly.
They both went dead silent, looking over at you with matching deer-in-headlights expressions like they’d forgotten you were there—despite the fact that you were the literal topic of their argument.
“Are you done with the damn fighting?” You prompted, your eyes narrowing.
“Yes, Y/n,” both boys chorused sheepishly, only to shoot each other glares when they thought you weren’t looking.
“Good boys,” you taunted. “Now, kiss and make up.”
“What? I’m not going to-” Theo spluttered.
“I wasn’t asking, Theodore.”
“Fine,” Theo seethed in annoyance, grabbing Mattheo by the back of his neck and yanking him into a harsh kiss. There was no romance there. No lust, no real passion. Just jealousy and anger.
Mattheo, ever the slut, still moaned and grabbed onto Theo’s hips to pull him closer, practically climbing into his lap.
Theo growled, biting down hard on his bottom lip. Mattheo whimpered and unabashedly started grinding against Theo’s thigh, moaning like a goddamn Muggle porn star.
“Fucking whore,” Theo hissed against his lips, shoving him back down onto his bed. “Thought I could trust you.”
“What, so it’s okay for you to incessantly chase Y/n, but when I do it, I’m a whore?”
“Yes!”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Nott.”
You rolled your eyes at their pettiness. “For the love of Merlin- you’re both stupid, how about that?”
They pause their bickering to glance over at you.
“What did you just call us, darlin’?” Mattheo asked in a suspiciously calm voice, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his best-friend-slash-current-enemy-slash-crush-stealer was actively straddling him and busying himself by nibbling and sucking at Mattheo’s neck.
A sarcastic comment died in your throat as you watched them interact. Despite Theo being preoccupied, coaxing tiny sounds out of Mattheo’s mouth with every jealousy-fueled nip at his neck, his gaze remained locked on yours.
You gulped. You’d been so confident before, but now they were staring at you with matching expressions of jealousy, possessiveness, and lust.
Ah.
Whoops.
709 notes ¡ View notes
wri0thesley ¡ 11 months
Note
SO glad someone else is in the "Just the tip" hole, so here I am like a little kid, cupping my hands for any spare thoughts (preferrably anyone besides Sampo), if you have any to share? 🤲🖤
loni i was going to write a post anyway but being able to reply to asks with my thoughts - proof that there is Demand (tm!) makes me feel SO much better about the brainrot!!! i have many thoughts abt sampo too so i am eagerly awaiting ur drabble, just the tip is really a concept of all time!
ft: gepard, welt, himeko, serval, jing yuan, luocha cw: reader is afab with no pronouns used. public sex (luocha), straps, sex toys (himeko and serval), a little size kink (jing yuan), a little soft dom (welt). not sfw, minors dni.
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Gepard doesn't quite realise how big he is. He's not got all that much experience; he's never really thought about it, far too busy with all of the responsibilities that come hand in hand with being Captain of the Silvermane Guards. So when your eyes widen and your fingers can't quite meet when you wrap them around his length, he lets out a ragged breath and a moan and pushes his cock between your thighs. You have to breathlessly curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and whisper out his name. He's already on the edge just by being close to you. The silky softness of your thighs, the inviting shine of your lips and the way that arousal makes your eyes blow dark and wide - when you whisper softly into his ear; "I don't know if I can take it, Gepard . . . J-just the tip, alright? Go slow--", he worries that he's about to embarrass himself right there and then and come before he's even gotten inside of you.
You whine and whimper as he slowly pushes you open, your wetness smearing all over the ruddy head of his cock. Your fingers tighten in his hair even as a soft strangled noise falls from Gepard's own mouth and he struggles to not ram himself inside of you - you have no idea how good you feel. How hot and tight and wet and perfect the embrace of your walls clinging to him is, even on just the head of his cock.
But he did not get where he is by not having self-control. His muscular arms, corded with scars from practise battles and real battles alike, cage you in on the bed beneath him. He looks at you like someone who cannot believe how lucky he is.
"I'll wait here," he promises you, his voice lust-soaked and cracking with the effort. "As long as you need me to."
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Welt sees how your lip trembles, how you take in a slow, steadying breath, and he cannot help his desire to take care of you a little. To coddle you and fuss over you, to make the most of the age and experience that he has and you do not. So he smiles at you, crow's feet crinkling the edges of his eyes behind his glasses, and traces the pout of your bottom lip with his thumb. His voice is patient and soft when he speaks to you.
"I'll go slowly," he tells you, as he gently slaps his cock against your wet folds where you sit on his desk before him, animation sketches and research papers pushed to one side in favour of the tempting treat that is your body. He has spent so much of his time working - nobody could blame him for taking a break and finding himself again in the silky tightness of someone younger and prettier than he himself is. "Just the tip first."
"Alright, Mr Yang," you breathe to him, your hands locking about his neck, urging him forward. You sigh as the head nudges your clit, as his precome mingles with your own slick arousal. You're a sensitive mess already - Welt is certainly not the kind of man who'd leave a partner unsatisfied, and his fingers and his tongue have already learnt every petal-soft fold of you, every spot that makes you shiver and whimper until you'd had to bite into his shoulder to stop your cries waking up every other crew member of the Express.
Slowly, slowly, carefully, he eases into you. Watches with rapt attention every movement of your body; the stretch of your cunt as it accepts him, until your hips are wriggling and squirming and you're tugging on his shoulders.
"Mr Yang," you're saying to him, your lip trembling, your shoulders racked with gasps. A whine leaks into your tone as he rests the head of his cock inside of you, enjoying the feel of it. Your sex pulses around the modicum of his length inside of you, fluttering, waiting to be fully claimed. "It's -- it's not enough!"
Welt laughs softly and presses a kiss on the top of your head that is almost paternal in its comfort - a reminder that he's old enough to be your father, your grandfather--
His voice is soft with just a hint of admonishment in it.
"You're really going to have to learn some patience."
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Himeko has you wrapped around her little finger, but that doesn't mean that you don't eye the toy that she shows you with a little trepidation. She laughs at you when you do, pulling you into her, kissing you with the taste of coffee on her tongue as she talks you into her bed.
"If you're frightened of it," she's saying, even as your mouth is going dry as you watch her disrobe, "We'll go as slow as you need, darling. We'll start with just the tip."
You lose the ability to speak at the sight of her, auburn curls tumbling down her back and over the milky pale spill of her breasts and shoulders. Bathed in the starlight from her cabin window, she's unearthly, and your entire body sings out with desire for her. She smiles when she sees you looking.
"Always such a flatterer," she teases affectionately, as she wraps the toy carefully around the curve of her hips. It looks just as striking on her as everything else does. "Now, you just lie back. I've done this before. Let Himeko handle it, hmm?"
You're helpless to a command from the beautiful navigator, and you let yourself fall back on the pillows as she walks towards you with all of the elegance of somebody who knows exactly how lovely she is. She gives you a soft smile, her golden eyes gentle in the light, even as she gathers herself onto her knees and her fingers lightly dance over your bare skin. Electric pinpricks of desire radiate from every touch.
"Aren't you beautiful?" She muses to herself, as she wraps her hand around the toy and pumps it a few times - when it comes away, you see there's something thick and clear and viscous dripping from it. She laughs softly again when she sees you looking.
"You're already wet," she whispers to you, in a low, musical voice. "But if you're still nervous . . . well, there's nothing wrong with a little help, is there?"
Her fingers dance over your skin. She knows every part of you intimately by now; the spot on your stomach, the way you whimper when she pinches your nipples, the place on your hips that makes you breathe in a deep sigh and your own lashes flutter. Through her touches, she keeps murmuring soft platitudes to you - how pretty you look like this, for her. What a precious treasure you are. How she can't wait for you to come apart--
And by the time she is sliding the tip of the toy inside of you and you are fair dizzy with want, you can do nothing but whisper out her name. She leaves the tip of the toy inside of you, smiling down, as patient and beautiful and dazzling as ever.
"I told you," she murmurs, as her long fingers return to pluck and play with your nipples, and you get used to the new stretch of having something thicker than Himeko's fingers inside of you. "We'll go as slow as you need. Any new territory worth exploring is worth doing . . ." She leans down, her mouth full and soft and wet as it meets yours and you whine into it. "Thoroughly."
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Serval is a tease. You'd known she was up to something the moment you'd stepped into the workshop and she'd flipped the sign to 'closed' with a feline grin on her face as she'd beckoned you over to her and told you she could really use your help with some new gadget she was tinkering with.
So now, as she has you bent over her workbench with something vibrating pressed in the valley between the folds of your sex, the tip pressed just so - buzzing and tingling - against the swollen pearl of your clit, it's all you can do to keep your fingers tight around the edge of the workbench and your knees locked so you don't collapse.
"Kitten," Serval is purring, her hips slowly rocking back and forth, the phallic toy strapped to her hips rubbing through the wet mess of your cunt. "Don't you like it? I made it thinking of you!"
Your words come out garbled, a mess of moans and sighs. Your own hips thrust back when she pulls away, trying to get her to keep the toy pressed against your clit for long enough for you to get off. Instead, she just laughs, nipping at your bare shoulder.
"You're getting desperate," she teases you, her voice deep and throaty and satisfied. "Beg me, kitten, and we'll see what I can do for you."
"Serval--" Your voice comes out a whine. "Please . . ."
Her clever fingers, calloused palms, slide down your bare skin, leaving electric zaps wherever they touch you. You shudder under her practised touch - you are an instrument, and Serval has already proved she is a master musician.
"Seeing as you asked so nicely," she says to you, and you sense the wicked cat-like grin on her mouth. "How about I give you just the tip?"
"Not enough--"
"You're getting greedy!" The buzzing toy slides a scant inch inside of you without the smallest hint of resistance; you're wet enough from the teasing already. You can feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, and Serval sighs happily as she dips one of her fingers between your thighs to toy with your clit as the tip of the toy rests inside of you.
"You're lucky you're so cute," she whispers to you. Her finger slides back and forth over your clit, drawing delicate circles - she always knows how to use them. "Come for me on the tip, and I'll fuck you with the rest of it too."
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Jing Yuan's patience has long been mistaken for occasional laziness; but you know better than most that there is nothing of the kind, when it comes to him. And there is certainly nothing of the kind when it comes to trysts like this.
Oh, you and he have gotten used to rushing moments when you can, in between him being needed for meetings and work - but now? In the evening, loose ends tied up, with nothing but one another to spend the night on?
This is a tryst that will last.
Jing Yuan is not lazy - he merely likes to take his time. For a man whose being is tied up in his past warfare, he knows how to handle delicate things like you - but that doesn't mean he's going to rush it. Not when you look so pretty laid out like this for him, clothes rumpled and discarded beneath you, looking up at him with your eyes all soft and wanting and your mouth aching to be kissed.
He hums beneath his breath as he lets his mouth learn the shape of yours; pushes you gently back when you try and kiss deeply into him, to make him hurry up. His cock nudges against your inner thigh and he sighs a slow, indolent sigh of pleasure that makes your heart beat double time in your chest.
"We have all of the time in the world, little bird," he tells you, with an insouciant smile on his face. Your face scrunches, an adorable expression of impatience taking over your features, and he smiles down at you like someone looking at the finest treasure in the world.
"Impatient," he chides you, but there's nothing but warmth in his tone when it comes to you. His hands find your thighs, digging into the soft skin as he parts them. Warm eyes like pools of molten gold find your core, and he sighs as he looks at you. You squirm under his gaze, and as he softly leans down and lets some of his own saliva drip onto your cunt, you whimper at the feel. "This is impatient, too," He says to you, and laughs. "Drooling all over the place. Mm. Is that how much it wants me?"
"I want you," you respond to him, mouth petulant. Jing Yuan shakes his head fondly at you but readjusts himself, hand around his cock to guide it to your sex. He taps the thick head softly against your clit until you squirm, pouting. "Jing Yuan--"
"Ah, I know, I know," he looks down at where the two of you are not yet joined. "I'm always reminded how . . . small you are, when I look down at you like this."
"It will fit," you insist to him, and he raises one eyebrow.
"Oh, I know it will," he tells you, still smiling at you. "But it's a tight one, isn't it?"
"Jing Yuan, you're stalling--!"
He laughs again.
"Ha. My apologies, little bird." Slowly, he guides his cock to your opening - resting it against there, just for a moment. Exactly as he said, he seems so much bigger than you - his tip thick and blunt and rounded, your entrance small even as your hole pulses and oozes slick in preparation for him. "I simply like looking at you."
"There's something you'd like more than just looking," you encourage him, and he shakes his head so that his mane of hair falls over his shoulders.
"You're incorrigible," he tells you - and then he is pushing forth into you, and your mind goes white of anything but the feel of Jing Yuan inside of you, his cock, your cunt, where they meld together and you become one--
Wait.
Why has he stopped?
"Jing Yuan--!"
He swallows your cry of his name with a kiss that is anything but lazy, tongue exploring your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you're dizzy with it all. He tastes, just a little, like sweets.
He pulls back just enough to look at you half-lidded, the tip of his cock just stretching you out.
"I'm merely taking my time," he tells you. "Whilst I have it."
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Luocha is mean, you think, even as his words remain unfailingly genteel. Even as his face remains a polite mask, he leaves his cock not-quite inside of you as you tremble against the wall he has you bodily pressed up against.
"Please," you breathe out to him, teary-eyed, lip trembling. "Y-you can't just leave it there--"
He cocks one eyebrow, his face unfairly pretty - unfairly unruffled, even with the tip of his cock buried in you. He's unfailingly still - almost as if the hot tightness of your cunt pulsing around him has no effect on him whatsoever. One long, elegant hand curves around your cheek as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips.
He's big. You can't help but squirm against the concrete, your cunt wrapped around only the head of his cock but feeling like you've taken far, far more.
"We're in public," he says to you, voice just a little condescending. "If I were to go about this more . . . vigorously, surely you wouldn't want the attention of every person in the vicinity on you?"
Your own need feels like a thrum inside of you. It's hard to think, as Luocha moves his hips the barest fraction and you find yourself whining aloud. Firmly, he moves the hand on your cheek so that it's pressed over your mouth, muffling your noises.
"You can't take more than this," he tells you, voice calm and patient. "Not here. Not now."
You whimper into his gloved palm, tears beading in your eyes like little diamonds. Even that doesn't seem to move him, though he tips his head to one side, vaguely considering. He moves his hand just enough for you to take a breath, and whisper beseechingly;
"I-if not here . . . will you do it somewhere else?"
He laughs only one soft, musical little noise. He leans in close, his breath cool against your neck.
"Mm . . . but when you ask like that--"
You cry out as he pushes another inch of himself into you, eyes widening as the noise breaks the calm, cool air. Luocha pauses.
"Oh dear," he says. "I suppose we'll have to both come quickly then, hmm?"
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2K notes ¡ View notes
joelmillerisapunk ¡ 1 month
Note
Bfd/dbf catches u showering and/or masterbating please 🤲
you got me thinkin' nonsense
Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader
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Masterlist
Wordcount: 2,478
Summary: Joel's asked to watch you and your parents' house while they're away, and boy, does he take watching you seriously.
Warnings: 18+, f!oral receiving, unprotected p in v, reader has pullable hair, implied age gap (make it your own) use of darlin, sweetheart, baby, a bit of Joel convincing you.
Notes: my first request! Thank you, thank you, sweet nonnie 🥰 I hope you enjoy. I love a good dbf catching you doing anything. Also about to hit a milestone with followers and I'm hoping to do a lil fun thing for it 🥰 thank you to everyone for being so amazing and kind and lovely and welcoming. My short time here has been so so warm 💚 tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers
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It had been a long day for Joel Miller. He just finished a grueling shift at the fire station and was looking forward to some much-needed rest and relaxation. But his plans were quickly dashed when he received a call from his best buddy, your dad.
"Hey, Joel. I hate to ask, but I need a favor," Al says, his voice sounds strained.
Joel sits up in his chair, immediately alert. "What's goin’ on?"
"Jen and I are taking a trip to the Bahamas for a week, and we were wondering if you could check up on the house and our daughter while we're gone.”
Joel sighs, running a hand through his greying hair. "Sure. But you know she’s not a little girl anymore, right? She's a grown woman now."
Your dad chuckles. "I know, I know. But she's still my little girl, and I just want to make sure she's okay while we're gone."
Joel smiles, feeling a surge of affection for his friend. "No problem. I'll keep an eye on her."
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A week later Joel finds himself standing outside of his best friend Al's house, the keys jingling in his hand. He takes a deep breath and inserts the key into the lock, turning it until he hears the satisfying click of the door opening. Joel walks into the house, taking in the familiar sights and smells. He feels a pang of nostalgia as he looks around the living room, remembering all the times he and Al hung out here, watching football and drinking beer.
But there's no sight of you. so he makes his way down the hall, peeking into each room until he comes to your door.
But you're not in your room.
He frowns, wondering where you are. It's not like you to wander off without telling anyone. Even as a grown adult, you still always made sure someone knew your whereabouts. He checks his phone, but there are no messages or missed calls. As he turns back to the hall, he hears the faint sound of a voice coming from what sounds like the bathroom. So he decides to check just in case.
As he approaches, he hears the sound of water running and the faint sound of moaning. He pauses, his heart racing as he realises what's happening behind the closed door. He knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it. Without thinking, he reaches out and turns the doorknob, pushing the door open just a crack. He can see you through the foggy glass, your naked body glistening with water.
His eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him. You're standing under the pulsing stream of water, your hand between your legs as you bring yourself to climax. He knows he shouldn't be watching this, but he can't bring himself to look away. He feels a surge of desire course through his veins as he watches you pleasure yourself.
You tilt your head back, letting the water run down your neck and body, and he can't help but stare. His eyes are drawn to the way your hips move as you touch yourself. The way you're grasping the walls to get some leverage. He feels his own body responding, his cock growing painfully hard in his pants.
He reaches down and unzips his jeans, pulling out his thick, ready erection, filling his hand. He starts to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving your body. He can feel his balls tighten as he watches you get closer and closer to your own orgasm.
But just as you're about to come, your eyes widen in shock as you catch sight of Joel standing in the doorway, his jeans unzipped and his thick, hard cock in his hand. You gasp, your body freezing in surprise as you realize that he's been watching you.
"Joel, what the fuck are you doing here?" you demand, trying to cover yourself with your hands.
But Joel doesn't seem to hear you. His eyes are fixed on your body, his hand moving a little faster as he strokes himself.
"Don't stop on my account, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "You look so fuckin' hot, touchin' yourself like that."
You feel a surge of anger and embarrassment, but there's something else there too – something that makes your heart race and your body tingle. You've always had a bit of a crush on Joel, and now here he is, watching you pleasure yourself.
"Fuck you," you say, trying to sound angry. But your voice comes out breathless and shaky, betraying your arousal.
Joel chuckles, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. "Oh, I fully intend to fuck you, sweetheart," he says, his eyes blazing with desire. Joel advances towards you, his cock still in his hand. You back away, your heart pounding in your chest. You know you should be angry, but all you can feel is a deep, primal desire.
"Joel, this is wrong," you say, but your voice is weak and uncertain.
Joel reaches out and strokes your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Sometimes, wrong can feel so right," he murmurs.
But you don't budge.
Joel's eyes soften as he looks at you. "Hey, hey," he says softly. "I'm not here to cause any trouble. Your dad asked me to check up on you while they're gone, that's all. I didn't mean to intrude." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "But I can't deny what I saw just now. You looked so beautiful, so alive. I'm not saying this is how things have to be, but I want you to know that I'm here for you, in whatever way you need me."
You can feel your heart racing as you look at Joel, your body trembling with a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and desire. You know that what he's suggesting is wrong, that it could ruin your relationship with your dad. But there's something about the way he's looking at you, that makes you want to throw caution to the wind.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Joel, I don't w -”
He takes a step back before you finish, putting his hands up like you're playing cops and robbers. You can see the disappointment in his eyes as he puts himself back into his jeans and turns to leave. But just as he reaches for the doorknob, you hear yourself say something unexpected.
"Wait," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I - I do want this, Joel, please. I just, I really don't know -"
Joel's expression darkens as he turns back around and walks up to you. He reaches out to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back so that you're looking up at him. "You don't have to know, sweetheart," he growls. "You just have to feel." He leans down to kiss you, his lips crushing against yours as his tongue demands entry into your mouth. You moan softly, your body melting against his as you kiss him back, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders.
When the kiss breaks, you see Joel smile, his eyes burning with desire. "Let's not waste any more time." He takes your hand, pulling you toward the bathtub. "Get on the edge, darlin’," he orders, his voice rough with desire.
You do as he says, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him move around the bathtub, positioning himself between your legs. He looks at you, his eyes blazing with desire as he reaches out and touches you, his fingers sliding easily between your wet folds.
"You're so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "You want this as much as I do dont’cha?” Joel's fingers explore your body, teasing and tantalizing you as he strokes your slick folds. You moan softly, your hips bucking up to meet his touch as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. "Please, Joel," you gasp, your voice desperate with need. "Need more."
Joel smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. "More, huh? Well, let's see if we can't take care of that for ya, baby." He leans down, his mouth replacing his fingers as he starts to lick and suck at your clit. You cry out, your hands reaching down to clutch at his head as he devours you with an intensity that takes your breath away.
"Fuck, Joel," you gasp, your body trembling with pleasure. "Don't stop, please, don't stop."
Joel chuckles, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. "I have no intention of stopping, sweetheart," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to make you come harder than you ever have before."
True to his word, Joel doesn't stop, his tongue works magic on your clit as his fingers plunge deep inside you, curling up to hit the sweetest spot. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body tensing up as you approach your climax.
"Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasp.
Joel doesn't respond, his mouth and fingers continuing their relentless assault on your body. You can feel yourself spiraling out of control, your climax building up inside of you like a tidal wave.
"Joel, I'm coming!" You scream, your body convulsing with pleasure as you shatter into a thousand pieces. You grip onto Joel as hard as you can but doesn't let up, his tongue continues to lap at your clit as you ride out your orgasm, your body trembling with aftershocks.
When it's over, Joel pulls back, a satisfied smile on his face as he looks up at you. "See? Told you I'd make you come harder than you ever have."
You can't help but smile back, your body still tingling with pleasure. "You definitely did," you admit, your voice soft and dreamy.
Joel stands up, his cock hard and ready again beneath his jeans. "Good, I'm not done with you yet." He takes your hand leading you to your bed, instructing you to sit on the edge while he undresses. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours, you can feel his cock pressing against you too.
Joel's lips find yours, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he kisses you with a passion that takes your breath away again. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, and the sensation of his hard cock pressing against you sends a shiver down your spine.
"I want you, Joel," you gasp, your voice hoarse with desire as you break the kiss.
Joel smirks, "Then take me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice rough with lust.
You don't need any more encouragement. You reach down, grabbing his cock and guiding it to your entrance. Joel doesn't wait, his hips thrusting forward as he impales you on his thick, hard length. You cry out as Joel starts to thrust in and out of you, his hips moving with a rhythm that drives you wild. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to another climax, your body tensing up as you get close.
"Fuck, Joel," you gasp. "Harder, please."
Joel doesn't disappoint. His thrusts become more and more intense as he brings you closer. "Come for me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Come all over my cock, come on darlin I gotcha."
You can't help but obey, your climax building up inside you as Joel's thrusts become more and more intense. "Joel, m'gonna come again." You get out as your body convulses with pleasure as you shatter into a thousand pieces once again. Joel follows you over the edge, his cock twitching inside you as he comes with a low growl. When it's over, Joel pulls back, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He looks down at you, his eyes softening as he takes in your dreamy state and disheveled hair.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice gentle.
You can't help but smile up at him, your heart still racing with pleasure. "I'm more than okay," you admit, your voice soft and dreamy.
Joel chuckles, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "I'm glad," he murmurs. "Because I have to admit, I've been wanting to do that for a long time."
You can feel your heart racing as you look up at him, your body trembling with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. "You have?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel nods, "I've always had a thing for you, sweetheart. But I never wanted to ruin your relationship with your dad or my friendship with your dad."
You can understand where he's coming from, but you can't deny the way you feel. You've always had a crush on Joel, and now that you've experienced the passion that burns between you, there's no going back.
"I want this, Joel," you say, your voice firm and determined. "I want you."
Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to stroke your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice gentle. "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for."
You nod, your heart racing with excitement and desire. "I'm sure, Joel," you say, your voice firm and determined. "I want you." You stroke his patchy beard, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you.
Joel's eyes light up, and he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. "I want to spend the rest of the week exploring every inch of your beautiful body."
And he does, taking you to heights of pleasure you never thought possible. By the time your dad and his wife come back from their trip, you and Joel have become inseparable, and you find yourself at his place more than not.
After a week of passion and exploration, you and Joel have grown even closer. You find yourself falling for him hard. You never thought you could feel this way about your dad's best friend, but here you are, head over heels for the man.
But you know that this is a secret that can never come out. You and Joel have talked about it at length, and you both know that the consequences would be disastrous. You're both aware of the potential fallout, and you're both committed to keeping your relationship a secret.
It's not easy to keep your relationship a secret from the world. But every time you're together, every time Joel touches you, every time he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, you know that it's all worth it.
You know that this was never meant to be, forged in the most unlikely of circumstances. But you also know that this is real and true and strong. And you're willing to do whatever it takes to protect it.
So you continue to see each other in secret, stealing moments of passion whenever you can. It's not perfect, but it's something. And for now, that's enough.
713 notes ¡ View notes
jhuzen ¡ 7 months
Note
do you have any thirst hcs for grandpapi neuvi? if you do pls share i’m so hungry 🤲
hydro dragonussy [m.reader]
hello hello, guess who’s back to writing again? this is a warmup because i struggled hard in continuing my kaveh request wip and a buncha scenarios for sick reader w genshin men and jing yuan all at once. on second thought… i think i really shouldn’t have written everything all at once. not to mention i’m trying out quotev to publish my yandere oc/m.reader stuff for fun. + yes that is the title. it’s either that or crybaby old man dragon thirsts. you pick.
𖦹 nsfw, neuvi is a virgin old man, underlying mentions of reader being an attorney (we all know i have a bias for them anyway, have you seen my workload series? lmao), switch male reader, switch neuvi, though we’re heavily leaning on bottom neuvi for this one, honorable mentions of cockwarming and thigh fucking, brief mention of double penetration (reader receiving), gentle and rough sex, implied dacryphilia (you), breeding, fontaine rains whether or not he’s sad, his tears are the rain and i will drink them like a hungry eremite in the sumeru desert.
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Let’s face it, Neuvillette has no time outside of his work as the Iudex of Fontaine, he’s constantly buried underneath those paperworks, and on top of that, when he’s not tackling mountains of cases, he’s out in the opera, presiding trial after trial when the Oratrice can already do the same thing for him.
So when you appeared in his life all of a sudden, he was new to all sorts of things. In his long life as a dragon, he has had little experience in what you can offer to him. He’s awkward for the first few moments of your relationship.
It’s the same to sex — you’d have to take initiative in every single little thing, show him the ropes like the good commander you are, and he obeys with no complaints. He sees that you enjoy it, and if you’re good at it and you’re willing to teach him, he is an obedient patient.
Old man’s heads are very clumsy at first, teeth scraping against your length while he slowly but surely bobbed his head. He’s slow, but he treats your little guy with so much care. Looking up at you with tears pricking at the ends of his eyes as he tried to please you as best as he could. Obligatory weather report — it’s a light drizzle in Fontaine.
But when you give him head, Neuvillette squirms, it doesn’t matter where he is, he could not keep himself still. It’s always obvious that even you cannot bring yourself to blow him semi-public in his office, just because you’re afraid a poor innocent little Melusine would come inside and see their beloved leader squirming around traumatize them. It would also be bad for his image if you guys get caught, so… sexy times are inside the comfort of his possibly huge home as much as possible.
Sex with him is slow and intimate, very romantic. What did you expect? He’s from Fontaine and they apparently love to romanticize things. Whether or not who’s on top when you guys are doing it, they are a lot more languid in style, like a moment of relaxation between the two of you.
A switch, though preferably a bottom. Yes, that’s right, old man Neuvillette likes to be serviced. He likes it when you’re the one filling him up so good. It’s hot and heavy, just the way he likes it.
He’s a tired man, so he’s definitely a pillow prince— no, a pillow king. He lays there and takes it like a good boy, only gazing at you with those soft eyes, hazy with love and lust while you continued to push into him. He takes your hand in his every time you enter him and he always squeezes your hand tight the deeper you go in.
Call him romantic and a basic man, but he lives for missionary. He wants to see you while he feels you stuff him full of your cock. He only writhes in the beginning while he tries to adjust around you, squeezing you tight inside him while his breath stutters, trying to take you in all at once.
If he’s the one in charge, it’s all the same, he’s gentle with his actions, though, honestly, he’d rather have you ride him instead. He likes to see you in all your glory, with you rolling your hips in such a needy manner while he kept you grounded, holding onto you as he caressed your thighs. It’s perfect for him.
Oh yeah, and this goes without saying — he’s a dragon, so he has two cocks. Fitting him in is a sport on its own, but you graduated with a major in fucking dragons, so you’re good. He’s a bit thicker on the side too, so each time you take him in, you could feel every inch of him, and every throb of his cocks is a heaven sent feeling that courses through your insides.
Please be gentle with him, he is an old tired man who hasn’t had a break. He is so vanilla that it’s boring but his cries are worth it.
He’s a very quiet man too, his moans are shy and light, a gasp here and there and a tiny whimper with every increment of speed adding into your thrusts.
Neuvillette is definitely the type to squirm and get away from you at first, but you just need to keep him still and hold him down by his thighs before you plow into him. He likes it though when you do it, it reassures him that you want to do this with him and that you’re not letting him go no matter what happens.
Another weather report: a good light rain. Not too heavy.
Now that all the sweet stuff is out of the way, rough sex is not as often as the usual vanilla one, but it’s not completely an uninvited guest between you two.
If you fucked him rough and hard, Neuvillette will cry and break. His poor pristine and unmarked body, filled to the brim with your greedy bite marks and hickeys, glowing red and bruising dark purple that leaves him embarrassed when they’re still around if you somehow managed to weasel in a rough session in the morning before he goes to work and you will be reprimanded for it once he’s home, no exceptions.
“No more of these obvious markings,” he’d say with a stern tone, only to end up face down on the pillow with his ass up while you found a loophole and devoured his entire back instead.
He hates that he can’t see you when you go rough on him, because it’s normally him ending up with his face buried into his pillow while he laid on his stomach, his hips being held up by you while you ruthlessly pounded into him without even an ounce of mercy.
He hates it, but at the same time, it does help with keeping his noise down because when you’re doing him so roughly, Neuvillette wails, he cries hard, with those pretty tears of his not letting up. He’d scream to the high heavens and were it not for the fact that your hand was forcing his head down into his soft pillow, the entirety of Fontaine would hear it.
Again, Neuvillette is a tired old man, so something so rough definitely leaves him drained, you’d constantly have to hold him up halfway through your little session.
Fucking him while he’s on his side and his one leg hooked over your shoulder is a great compromise, with how you can both still see each other Neuvillette can immediately turn his head to hide away into his pillow when he realizes he’s being a little too loud on his own good.
He’s definitely the kind to force himself to be quiet. If you fuck him without anything for him to bite into to hide his loud noises, he will cry and be embarrassed through out, barely even managing to cover his own mouth with his hand without an ounce of struggle while his body jerked up and down, following through every harsh punctuated thrust that you made into him. Weather report: Fontaine has a storm.
Neuvillette cries his heart out every time you go rough, full on sobbing and it is such a turn on. The way he makes garbled noises while he would protest into your roughness, hand gently pushing into yours while he asks for you to be gentler and go a little slower, only to cling helplessly into his pillow when his pleas fell into deaf ears.
His tears are just… divine. He cries so prettily and he does it with unwitting grace and class — somehow, he’s just innately beautiful in every thing that he does. There is no such thing as an unsightly sobbing to this man.
Neuvillette makes this soft noise in between a whimper and a gasp every time you hit his prostate spot on and he just shudders in delight, his breath shaky until he can barely think straight.
Gentle or rough, he’s definitely into breeding. Neuvillette has a breeding kink and anyone who thinks otherwise will sink deeper than Khaenri’ah. Stuff him full of your cum and he’s a happy and satisfied man.
It’s not just the feeling of your hot seed pumping him full that pleases him, but being around the Melusines, treating them like his children despite them being just his subordinates has definitely gotten this old man all too paternal. He likes the premise of being able to build a family with you, and he will nurture your children with all his being.
Thigh fucking? Thigh fucking. Though it’s rare, only when he’s really tired but still aches to please you, and even you’re too lazy to move a lot.
Bother him when he takes work at home by making him cockwarm you. He could not concentrate at all — squirming and squeezing around your cock so deliciously while you teased him about getting his work done.
Has definitely tried wall sex with you, with his back against the wall while you held him up. May or may not have happened at the opera after a heated trial when he ruled against your client and you were pissed your streak of wins on that week crumbled into dust. It’s neither your fault but the client’s, but you’re a sore loser and Neuvillette is a stoic judge.
Call him daddy while you fuck into him and he will break, he’ll go slack, his mind numbed when a rush of dopamine just infiltrated his brain every time you’d call him that.
And after all that, aftercare is a must. Treat your dragon well. He did so much for you, and you broke his old man back after fucking him into oblivion. Clean him nice and well, kiss his tears away, and wrap him tightly in a blanket while you hold him.
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dev1lm4n ¡ 8 months
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lesson one: sensitive
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ko-fi | series masterlist
pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader
summary: under several notable circumstances, mr. miller finally decided that he'd be the best teacher for your first debut into sexual activities. even when all of it is to prepare you for your successful date.
word count: 5.4k (i know.. i went a little crazy on this lol)
warnings: explicit (18+), set in 2013, pre-outbreak, age gap (joel in mid 30's and reader in early 20's), inexperienced but not dumb reader, fingering, he's kinda mean, check umbrella warning on series masterlist
notes: i had so much fun writing this! tbh this one is super filthy compared to the other one so.. forgive me 🤲 COMMENT n REBLOG if u liked it
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“I could take you home if you’d like. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t roam the street alone.”
Simon, more commonly referred to as Robotic Class Guy or French Fries, was surprisingly not half as bad as you thought he would be. He had all the height of a man but none of the bulk. From behind he could be easily spotted as someone in their late teens to early thirties, mostly blaming his horrid graphic tee and skinny jeans combo, but when he turned that face was all boy. His caramel hair flopped over his eyes in the way no office worker could get away with and on his wrist were bracelets in woven leather. 
At first, you accepted his awkward invite out of spite. 
Just to rid yourself of a certain plague festering upon your head, feasting on your brain cells so that you’d think of nothing but Mr. Miller in all his glory. Him with his tight worn-out jeans, spread open enough that you could see a naughty peak of his bulge, while he watched the soccer game. Him with his shirt off, bathing in the summer-induced moisture, while he mowed the front lawn and edged the curb. Him with his thumb parting your lips, looking at you like he’s about to consume you alive, but of course he didn’t. 
At least now that Simon came around, you’d have a new port to anchor your boat on.
“No, thanks, I’m alright. My..”
Who was Mr. Miller to you again? 
Your.. father? Absolutely not. Even if he’s taken you in as a part of the Miller family, just like how he used to say, you would feel like it’d be morbidly repulsive to deduce him to that particular role. For fuckssake, you stick a finger up your cunt every single week to the thought of him fucking you like one of his girls.
Then would a family friend be better of a word? Or should you just say that he’s a guardian of yours? But that’d be confusing, wouldn’t it? You glanced at your watch, counting the hour and minute hand as if it’d give you a revelation on how to answer Simon’s pop quiz.
“Someone promised to pick me up.”
That sure did sound ominous.
With a promise to leave a message to his cell once you’ve returned home safely, you stepped out of the quaint local restaurant. It was warm outside and you weren’t particularly fond of that. Heat has always been your mortal enemy; something about the musty scent of middle school boys’ armpits after PE class mixed in with the pungent perfumes they use to try and hide it has left you permanently traumatized. Your once-cheery mood had long evaporated along with any semblance of coolness. You tugged at the hem of your sundress, fanning yourself with your hand in a futile attempt to find relief from the stifling heat. This is hell!
Where was Mr. Miller?
Mr. Miller must've read your mind, because a honk quickly resonated. He was on the very corner of the parking lot; his large pickup truck looked hilariously out of place when compared to the array of city cars parked by his side. You swore you could see him grin from behind the shaded tint of his window, perhaps entertained at your almost too obvious annoyance. The thought made your heart jump and maybe even did a front-flip. God, you’re helpless!
As you beelined down the sidewalk and on to him, the heat seemed to intensify with every step. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, causing your hair to stick in weird shapes. You just hope that his truck’s AC works.
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“Hi.. Hi, Mr. Miller.”
“Hey, sweetheart. How was it?”
The nickname never ceased to exude so much power. ‘Sweetheart’ made you feel as if a tail had grown out right from the hilt of your ass and you had no other choice than to swish it around excitedly. You propped up one leg on the washed-off gray carpet, before swinging yourself into the vehicle in one go. The door closed behind with a loud thud. As you leaned back, you cringed at the feeling of your sweat-soaked dress clinging onto your skin. You felt like some marinated beef, sticky and in need of a quick shower.
“It was alright,” you hummed.
“Alright? Now that made me all the more curious,” he grinned, nudging your side with the edge of his elbow. “Com’on now. Tell me all about it, will ya?”
“Mr. Miller, are you trying to embarrass me?”
Mr. Miller’s soothing brown eyes that were stuck on the glittering street lights came flickering over to you, as if he’s actually afraid that perhaps he’s made you uncomfortable. His shoulders squared and his jaw slackened for just a split second as he tried to grasp for any nuance you’ve just given. You then smiled at him, relieving him of his worries.
It’s a little jarring to say that you think he’s quite cute. In the same way people find puppies cute, or those strawberry-shaped trinkets. He’s a little socially-awkward in his own way. Embarrassed to ask the waitress to bring his plate back, but would be confident bullying his cock into a tight cunt. Would definitely get kooky when asked to join a parents-teacher conference, but would whisper filthy things on the internet.
“I ain’t tryna make you embarrassed,” he huffed out. “I just wanna know you’re safe.”
How nice. If only he knew why you went on dates in the first place.
“He’s alright, Mr. Miller. Kind, decently groomed, respectful,” you replied, flicking through your Twitter feed mindlessly. “Better than most college guys.”
“Did he pick you up?”
Your forehead scrunched up. “I ordered a cab.”
“Did he at least get the door for you?”
“It’s not exactly the 1900’s, is it?” you quipped back at him.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.
“If you’re that curious, then no.”
“Well then, did he pay for dinner?”
“No, well.. I did offer for us to split it,” you reasoned.
“Well, sweetie, he’s not too respectful. Is he?”
“Yeah.. but he’s cute.”
He’s cute and you’re desperate to get over Mr. Miller. Terribly so. At first, the entire situation with having your pornstar crush be the head of your host family was hilarious, it’s a joke written by itself. But then the desires went through the roof in a matter of weeks and you’re sure that you’d actually jump him one of these days. He’s attached to the back of your mind like some ghostly presence. Everything he said and done carved at your brittle wall of determination and one day it’s all going to fall apart like broken glass. You needed to stop it from happening. 
There was a minute or so where he didn’t have anything to say. He hadn’t let go of the handbrakes either, though he appeared to be squeezing the leather cover of the steering wheel tighter.
“Cute ain’t enough for a man, sweetheart.”
Mr. Miller finally pushed down the handbrakes and released the pickup truck from the small parking lot. His large hands skillfully turned the wheels to fit through the tiny gaps, guiding the vehicle towards the open road. You shut your eyes for a good minute, then you let out a weighted sigh. Almost as if you’re a deflated balloon.
The drive was going to be a long one, considering the restaurant you’re on was in the heart of the town and Mr. Miller’s humble abode was more towards the outskirts. Would he continue preaching about the importance of Southern manners and being a gentleman? Because if he did, perhaps you’d just shut him up with a kiss.
“I’m just a little nervous,” you broke the silence.
“Because of the boy?”
“Sorta, yeah. It’s my first time..”
You clicked your phone shut, stuffing it on the cup holder next to the car stick. The entire conversation was making you nauseous. You had to press on the button on your left to slide down the windows in order to take in fresh air. Through the open window, a gentle breeze tousled the top of your hair, carrying with it the familiar scent of Summer in Austin. As he drove closer into the outskirts of town, the lights gradually faded behind into a sea of twinkling stars.
“First time in what?”
“In all this,” your hand motioned the idea abstractly.
“You’ve never dated?”
An enthusiastic grin snaked its way to his lips.
“I have! But it’s not- it’s not real. It’s middle school romance. We meet each other in the hallways, hold hands and giggle about it, then go on pizza dates,” you tried to explain. “I’ve never dated properly.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” you tousled your hair in frustration. “Just because, Mr. Miller. I’m not sure either. Maybe I’m just comfortable in my own little bubble?”
“Then this boy.. What’s his name again?”
“Simon.”
“Right, Simon. Are you thinking of dating Simon properly?”
“Maybe,” you muttered.
“Maybe I could teach you,” he paused. “Well, that is if you’d like this old man to teach you old tricks.”
Your hands tightly clutched the edge of your seat. A rise of bile disturbed your throat's peace as a knot of anxiety started to form in your stomach. This is what you’re working towards.
You didn’t want to admit it, because admitting means legitimizing what you had in mind, but you were hoping for him to offer you help in any way that he felt was right. Despite your.. odd relationship with him, he was your guardian and you’ve seen the way he dealt with all Sarah’s problems with soft-spoken words and fair actions. You trusted him to help you delve into this new world of adult romance, but it’s not like you’re expecting for him to agree on it. Shit, shit, shit! You couldn’t think straight.
“Com’on then. Tell me what you’re so nervous of.”
“You’re gonna laugh at me,” you groaned.
“I’m not!”
“You are,” you persisted.
“Fine. I promise not to laugh.”
You took a deep breath. The single word sticky on the end of your tongue.
“Sex.”
The pickup truck swerved.
To your surprise, instead of howling and laughing at your lack of experience, he was quiet. Awfully so to the point where you think you’d rather have him laugh at your patheticness instead of giving you the cold shoulder. You rolled the window back up, giving him your full attention as you waited for him to do something. He looked tense; the grip he had on the steering wheel was so tight you could see the leather developing crescent-shaped marks. What was he thinking of?
“Do I.. do I have to give you the talk?”
“God, no! Mr. Miller, I’m not clueless,” you looked horrified that he even considered giving you the birds and the bees talk. “I am, but I know what happens.”
The hours you’ve spent analyzing each and every one of his videos surely made an impact on how you view sex. Perhaps not the most accurate one, since you were merely looking through a 720p video and not being present in the scene, but you knew how sex goes. How it starts, what arousal looks like, what appears to feel good and what doesn’t, and how good an orgasm looks like when induced by another person. Mr. Miller might not be aware of how much he’s taught you. Not directly, but in a cause-and-action kind of way.
“Then what are you afraid of?” he hummed.
“Making a mistake,” you muttered dejectedly. “Of it not feeling good.”
A beat passed.
“Do you..” he struggled to speak properly. “Do you want me to teach you?”
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What were you thinking! It was one thing to harbor intense, disgustingly filthy feelings towards a man who perceived you as an addition to his family, but it was another thing to act on it desperately. Your mind reeled back towards the exact moment when you agreed on his proposition. How you agreed on it instantly as if it wasn’t even a question, how you nodded your head miserably as if you were afraid that you’d miss this one chance, how you buckled your knees at the thought.
God, how pathetic can you be! You didn’t remember much after such a cathartic turn of events. All you managed to compile in that pretty little head of yours was that he took a different interchange, then slipped onto a highway towards.. whatever this place was.
It was on the outskirts of town. Opposite to where he lived. Big trees grew tall and heavy as they provided a mystique veil for the trailer house. You remembered the shade of peeling paint covering the outside, sky blue. The lanterns provided ample lighting for it to be spotted from a distance, but not enough to attract rowdy attention. Mr. Miller told you to come inside first while he secured his pickup truck properly. He mentioned a thing or two about racoons or squirrels, but you were too high off adrenaline to even notice. Being in the property, you instantly knew where you were.
This was his lair.
Where he shoots his videos, where he invites all his pretty co-stars to make them moan and whimper about how good his cock felt and how deep it went, where he edits those striking millennial-core thumbnails. Your throat grew dry and you began to think if it’s time to bail. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? Mr. Miller would just take you home and forget about it. Then, by next summer, you’d be out of his hair and he’d never even think about it.
A creak sounded from the front door. You jumped.
“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?”
You nodded. Your entire body went cold, especially the tips of your fingers and toes as you saw him come close. One step at a time. Almost as if he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t scare you too much. Mr. Miller looked awfully big up close. You never seemed to notice this entirely when you see him around the house, but when he’s confined in this miniscule trailer house, he looked massive. His presence towered over every last bit of your confidence. It’s surely crumpling - your confidence - slowly dissipating into thin when he was flushed against your chest. 
“I’m okay, Mr. Miller.”
He pulled a foldable chair from one of the open compartments, before taking a seat on it. He spread his legs, as always, and had this look in his eyes. 
“You sure you wanna do this?” he paused, before resuming. “You could tell me you don’t feel like doin’ this anymore and I could take you home. Won’t talk about it anymore if you don’t wanna.”
“I.. I want to do this, Mr. Miller.”
“Are you sure? There ain’t no pressure in this. I’m simply here to help you, sweetheart, so if you feel like-”
“I get it, okay, I get it. I trust you. A lot. And I know you’d be the best person to teach me.”
What were you even saying? This was straight out of your wildest wet dreams and perhaps that’s why you’re so adamant about it. You watched silently as he contemplated his choices. Mr. Miller scratched his beard for a short while, his gaze focused beyond you and you could almost watch in real-time how his morals and values crumbled onto the creaky floorboards. He stood up from his small chair and headed right towards where you were standing idly. Is this what May felt like in those videos?
“Alright, sweetheart. I ain’t a vocal man so this is gonna be challenging even for me,” he chuckled gruffly. “Every man has their way of settlin’ with their ladies, but I like ‘em stripped off their clothing first. So will you be a pretty thing and do that for me?”
For a second, you were as still as a rock. Entirely not used to having the person who initiated many if not all of your orgasms giving you these orders in real life. He’s right there in front of you, flesh and bones, telling you to strip off your clothing. It felt like a fever dream. You must’ve had a weird look on your face, because a grin started to form on those chapped lips of his.
Conscious of the mistake, you quickly reacted. Almost skittishly in a way as you pulled on the zipper that’s located on your right ribs. Your fingers fumbled with one another, as if it’s been braided into one, but you managed to loosen it after a few attempts. You slipped your right arm under the spaghetti straps, before you slipped the other one. The only thing holding your modesty together was your one arm that’s holding onto the support-less front flap of your sundress.
“Com’on now. It’s just me. You can act shy and adorable around Simon, but not this old man,” he teased.
You nodded, hesitantly letting your arms fall to the side. The terribly warm weather encouraged you not to wear a bra. Although you wondered if 3 PM you knew that you’re going to be engaging in some promiscuous agenda this evening. You looked up into his eyes for some kind of guidance, in which he responded with a curt nod, before you tugged on the dress so that it’d slide onto the floor.
Now the only piece of modesty you’re wearing is your plain white panties. Your breasts were entirely exposed, cold nipples firming up as it reacted to the change of temperature. This is embarrassing! Mr. Miller was being incredibly methodical in the ways in which he approached the situation, lacking sloppy mouthy kisses and feverish touches.
“Smart girl,” he complimented, almost on instinct. “Let’s get on the bed, yeah?”
You moved adjacent to him. Mr. Miller was gentle when he patted the spot next to him, allowing you to settle down properly while he fixed a pillow behind your back. To think that you’re positioned on the same bed where you’ve witnessed him please an array of girls made you feel some sort of way. A hitch in your heart, a twitch in your hole. You’ve never witnessed him this gentle. He’s always fond of establishing the power he held on the dynamic he’s presented, always telling girls what to do in quick succession and calling them humiliating names if they fail to do as told. With you, he was sweet and rather funny.
“In my experience, one of the things girls like the most is to be withdrawn from control,” he spoke up into the thick air. You didn’t miss the way his eyes cruised along your beaded nipples, or the way it watched you with feral precision. “Of course, it depends on the person. But you. I think you’re a sensitive one, are you?”
You nodded obediently.
“Cross your arms behind your back,” he ordered and watched closely as you followed suit. “Lean back onto the pillow.”
You copied his order. Only then did your finicky brain finally compute that you’re limited off your movements now. With your body weight acting like paper weight for your arms, it’d be impossible for you to react in quick time.
“Good girl.”
His mindless comment made you tighten your thighs together.
“I’m gonna touch you, okay?” he whispered gently. You could watch how he’s slowly approaching you with much caution. His arms caged you in as it dug into the tangled sheets next to you. He’s testing the currents, making sure you’re fully consenting to the experience before he makes any mistake that might ruin your perception of sex. “Ask your little friend to touch you slowly. None of that frisky aimless touching. If he pulled on your nipples and called it a day, I’d leave his ass.”
This little routine he had, the one Wicked Fantasies had, was memorized into your head and to watch it take place right in front of you made you ecstatic. He caressed the side of your face. Gently even with those big, large fingers of his, he managed to take up a good portion of your cheek. Mr. Miller then made his way to your lips. He swiped it once over your upper lip, then another time over your thicker bottom lip. You’d anticipate for him to stick his thumb in deep enough so that he could see your uvula properly, but he didn’t. Instead, he settled on pressing down your tongue as if to pin it against the lower floor of your mouth. A good amount of saliva was collected that when he pulled away, a lewd string remained intact.
“Do you know why I like pinning a girl’s tongue down?” he queried to increase comfort in a way.
“No,” you whispered breathlessly. “Why?”
“It makes ‘em docile,” he muttered. “Encourages submission and I like a pretty girl who listens.”
Mr. Miller’s fingers dragged through the curves and texture of your warm skin, leaving goosebumps on his wake, before he finally reached your two perky nubs. Each one hardened before he could give them the treatment they both deserved, which in a way broke his routine, but instead of being irritated, he appeared to be pleased.
Girls in his videos weren’t as sensitive as you. They didn’t get riled up just by a little touching and teasing. Seeing you like this was a refreshing touch. One that made the wrinkles on his forehead ripple as his eyebrows quirked. He circled his calloused finger around where the pigmentation started. Once, twice. Right until he was merciful enough to press against the apex of your nipples.
You squirmed.
“So sensitive, are you?” he cooed. “Tell Simon to play with your sensitive little nipples, hm? You look like you could cum just by this.”
“O-oh please!”
“Please?”
You couldn’t respond. Not when he’s rolling the most sensitive part of your nipples between the pads of his thumb and the side of his pointer finger. Touching your breasts with your own nimble hands felt nothing like what he’s doing right now. You instinctually grinded your leaking pussy down onto the bed, almost like an animal in heat.
“Poor thing couldn’t even tell me what she wants. What would Simon think, hm? A girl with no self control like you,” he hummed. Mr. Miller quickly held onto your thighs so that you’d stop rocking onto the bed and getting off from pleasure he’s not offering. Your eyes met his, searching for help, but the sweet and respectful Mr. Miller wasn’t there anymore. “Alright now, sweetheart. You have ta make sure that you’re thoroughly aroused before thinkin’ of even touchin’ this place.”
“You’re new at this,” he hummed. His fingers slipped off the hold he had on your nipples before it slid down your stomach and settled precisely above your clothed clitoris. “It’s gonna hurt bad if you’re not properly lubricated. Sex is supposed to be fun, not painful so if some guy tells you that it’s supposed to hurt, don’t listen to his dumb shit.”
Mr. Miller was incredibly informative if you put aside the fact that he’s touching you in all the right places that it’s making you go dumb. He spent the time explaining why an action must be provided and how to perform it, when you know for a fact that this is not what he’s used to doing. Wicked Fantasies was known to be straight with words, using minimal sentences to provide his co-stars with just the right amount of information. You could tell he’s holding back the urge to be meaner, to act the way he likes, just for you to be more comfortable.
“Let’s take a look, shall we? You think I did a good job, darlin’?”
It’s dark out. There’s only one source of light that’s present in the room. A small bedside lamp in the shape of an elephant, Sarah’s favorite animal that’s grown to be yours as well. This session with him felt intimate; you’d expect for him to bring out the bright light panels and reflectors just like in those videos you watched of him, but instead, he mostly depended on the moonlight rays.
You were acutely aware of how those dark eyes of his mirrored your own. The way he studied you was unlike any other, not with an invasive intent, but rather with heed. You watched as he hooked his fingers on each side of your panties. Slowly dragging it down, only to stop to wait for you to ease your thighs upwards.
“Look at you,” he chuckled. “I’m right about you bein’ sensitive. Don’t think we need any lube when your pussy looks like this.”
By instinct, you brought your thighs together, shy that he’s observing you with such vulgar intensity. He hummed out a tone of disapproval and quickly placed his arms on both of your knees, prying the two apart as if he’s opening a stubborn can of bolognese. You bit your bottom lip, stifling the noise of embarrassment.
Anxiety bubbled up inside of you. You wondered if you looked okay down there - no other men had seen it besides him! - or if there was something strange that caused him to halt. There was a lewd string of sticky arousal pooling on the center of your panties. You silently watched as it stretched and broke as Mr. Miller pulled the thin fabric away.
“You’re soaked, sweetie,” he teased.
“Mr. Miller, that’s- that’s embarrassing..”
“You like to touch yourself, don’t you?”
Your eyes flickered towards his direction in fear. Has he discovered your incurable obsession for him and his erotic videos? That couldn’t be, could it? There’s no scientific correlation between being extremely aroused with masturbation as far as you’re aware, but the confidence he exude made you doubt yourself. Mr. Miller moved in a painfully slow tempo, taking his time to caress your inner thighs and stomach before even considering touching you where it ached. His calloused fingers felt different against your skin. It left a fiery trail in its wake.
“No, I don’t,” you lied with a breathless squeak.
“It’s okay if you like to touch yourself, y’know,” he whispered as if taunting you. “Girls who like to touch themselves understand themselves better.”
Mr. Miller finally touched you properly. His pointer finger probed against your clitoris, touching in the lightest feathery manner possible that you couldn’t have felt it if you weren’t concentrating. Your hips followed the brief source of pleasure, only to be disappointed when you notice that he wasn’t there. He pulled his finger close to his mouth and made a big show out of it. The way your arousal glistened under the pale moon rays, Mr. Miller teased you with his expressions and mannerism. He dipped the stained finger in his lips to have a good taste while keeping  eye contact.
“Please touch me.”
“What was that, sweetheart?” he hummed.
“Please touch me again. It feels go-”
You were cut off immediately when he lazily drew a perfect circle on top of your hooded clit.
“Fuck, please, please, sir.”
Ah, he liked that. He liked the new name you’ve granted him. Mr. Miller was kind enough to resume what he was doing. His finger descended down onto your throbbing hole to gather a good amount of slick before he brought it up to aid his ventures.
“The best way to feel good is controlled pleasure. It feels better to be denied than to receive boring continual pleasure, so..” he paused his movement all together. “I’m gonna teach you a little game.”
“A little game..” you sounded like you’re about to cry from his sudden withdrawal.
“Count to ten, properly. Then I’ll reward you with more. If you fail, then we gotta start from the very beginning,” he explained. His warm breath fanning over your sensitive clit. “You think you can do that, pretty girl?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll start now.”
“One, two..”
You felt how he made his laps around your nub. It was much more intense than the pleasures you’ve initiated before. Compared to rutting against a pillow, grinding against a bedpost, or laying under the tub’s running water, this felt like an entire new experience. You fought to keep still, but it’s gradually getting harder when his finger starts prodding against your tight little hole.
“Three, four. Please, Mr. Miller. Oh god,” you whimpered by accident. He didn’t like that one bit by the look he gave you. There weren’t rules and promises to this, no dynamic the two of you have agreed on, but you couldn’t help but be terrified of his disapproval. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sir.”
“From the start,” he ordered.
“One, two, three..”
You could barely remember the numbers in your head despite encountering them almost every day of the week. You’re a smart girl, knows your ways around things, but being touched by Mr. Miller makes you go all dumb.
“Four, five, six..”
Your thighs began to twitch and spasm. You catched the way he pulled back the hood to your clit to get a more direct touch. It was working wonders as the sensation now is a lot more electrifying. Arousal dribbled down your twitching hole and onto the crack of your rear, wetting the sheets beneath you with the sticky clear substance.
“Seven, eight, n- nine!”
You jutted your hips out when his fingers brushed over your clit once more, the sensitive bundle of nerves extra aware of his presence, and he managed to hold you back once more. He’s forgiving. You knew he’d punish his co-stars if they couldn’t stay still like you, but he let this one slide. He continued rubbing slow, tight circles only to alter into an eight shape.
“Ten.”
The ultimatum. It has arrived, your key to heaven.
“Smart girl,” he cooed, never actually stopping. “This little hole of yours looks neglected, hm?”
“Yes, pleasepleaseplease.”
“Touch your clit slowly like I taught you,” he ordered. “You can do that can you, sweetheart?”
You nodded, distraught and ruined. With his sweet permission, you pulled one arm out from your back and rested it right above your clit. Slow and steady. Just like how he ordered. Mr. Miller on the other hand was slicking up his pointer finger with his tongue. Fuck, that looks so god damn hot.
He had pressed his sole finger deep into your warmth with no hesitation whatsoever. The combination of his calloused finger against your walls and the golden freckles inside his narrowed irises had you reaching out for his forearm. Your nails came in contact with his skin as you dug upon it, crescent shapes formed in pinkish shades atop his skin. You had to sit up as the only way you’re getting through this is by leaning on his sturdy arm.
“Oh, you like that, huh? Filthy girls like you love to get their holes filled?”
What you didn’t expect was having him press a second finger in. His one finger was thicker than what you’re used to, but two fingers? That makes you an overachiever for sure. You looked up to meet his eyes frantically. You knew he wouldn’t be kind enough to withdraw the action when his mind is already set on it, but it was worth the try. He cocked his head arrogantly as he pursued his plans. Mr. Miller’s middle finger was a tight fit. Barely able to slip past the ring of muscles. Though when he did manage to get himself in, a loud moan escaped your lips. 
“Mr. Miller. I can’t- I’ve never- never taken two fingers!”
“I know you can do it, sweetheart,” his free hand went over to run over your sweaty hair, admiring every inch of you. “You wanna please that boy, don’t you? Little Simon?”
He was skillful with his fingers, perhaps from his job requirements. Although it’s still incredible how he managed to have you squirming, yelling how you’re about to cum in a matter of seconds. All he did was switch between pumping the two in you, creating the filthiest sounds, and reaching upwards to hit that certain spot of yours. You rubbed your clit with much concentration as you followed after his thrusts.
“Mr- oh.. Mr. Miller! I’m gonna cum, sir.”
“You’re gonna do that for me?” he grinned, pushing his fingers into you as deep as they could go. He maintained a steady pace, emphasizing pressure on that spongy spot up top that you’ve never managed to reach with your stubby fingers. “Pretty girl gonna cum from my fingers?”
“Yes, yes.. sir. Please.”
“Cum for me, darlin’” he whispered. “Show me how good you can be.”
Oh god, you're in a lot of trouble.
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