#but fuckin hell man some of these moments

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l ten

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze. 

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #tw dv #tw domestic violence #tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello, Duchess

Summary: Your first encounter with Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson, goes worse than you ever could've imagined. Takes place directly after the events in New in Town.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Bickering, Implied Jealousy, Threats of Violence, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe this town actually has a real live bookstore.” Ari muses as he pulls up in front of the tiny, quaint-looking bookstore. “Fuckin’ wild.” Throwing his truck in park he takes a moment to survey the area, making note of the empty lot.

‘Must not do much business.’ He thinks before climbing out of his vehicle and confidently striding toward the door. Hopefully, the lack of an audience would make things flow a hell of a lot faster. Hell, if you were anything like some of the other women in this town, he’d probably just have to smile and flash his baby blues to convince you to spill your guts.

In fact, he was practically banking on it. Because this wasn’t Ari’s first rodeo – not by a long shot. He’d spent a lot of his life in and out of small towns like Bell’s Creek, which was part of the reason he couldn’t wait to bag his latest bounty and put this place, and its people, in his rearview mirror. Ari reaches for the handle on the door, only to frown when he gets a look at the sign hanging in the window that reads: “sorry, we’re closed”. 

Well, that couldn’t be right. 

He could’ve sworn that when he’d pressed Mrs. Turner, the First Lady of Calvary Baptist Church, about your whereabouts she’d said he’d be able to find you at your shop. Something about your preferring to work instead of resting and rejoicing on the Lord’s day. 

While the bounty hunter supposed he could always try back tomorrow, he was keen to check you off his list. Refusing to admit defeat, he decides to try his luck anyway, only to be surprised when the door opens with a tinkling chime of a bail. 

Confused but also now on high alert, Ari takes a tentative step inside as he looks for any sign of life. “Hello?” He calls out, finally allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Instinct has him reaching for his back pocket, checking to make sure he had brought along his firearm.

Just in case.

“Is anybody here?” He tries again, moving further into the shop. The place is clean and well lit, and boasts rack after rack of books. But what’s most impressive is that there doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust anywhere. “Look, I just came by to–”

“We’re closed!” A disembodied voice sounds from the back of the store. 

“Yeah, I saw the sign, ma’am…” He clears his throat. “But I think you forgot to lock the door, so I –”

“That means get out!”

“So much for southern hospitality.” Ari grumbles under his breath as he continues on his mission to track down the owner of the voice. “Ma’am, I just wanna talk. And maybe–ahh shit!” He curses when his hip accidentally connects with a half-full rolling cart, sending several of the heavier books crashing to the ground. “Sorry!” 

“Did you just break something?!” The voice suddenly screeches. “Don’t make me get my taser.”

“There’s no need for that.” Instead of picking them up, the bounty hunter hastily nudges them aside with his foot. “My name is Ari Levinson, and I’m just here to ask you a couple of questions.”

While this isn’t how the man had expected any of this to go, he’s relieved when he sees a familiar face peek at him from around the corner. A face that happened to be even more beautiful than he initially remembered. Even though it had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen you last. 

Damn! It was as if the image of you in that dress taking up space at the other end of the pew was now permanently imprinted into his brain. He'd have to tread lightly here.

Otherwise things could get complicated. Fast.

Your P.O.V

“Pretty sure this is what law enforcement calls trespassing.” You sniff, craning your head around the corner to stare at the man who was taking up entirely too much space in the narrow hallway. Sure said man was easy on the eyes, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little concerned about his apparent inability to read. 

“I can assure you that’s not what this is.” The lawman holds up his palms in an effort to placate you. 

And although you try not to stare, it’s impossible to miss just how big they are – how rough they seemed – with just the right amount of callus. You can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like on your bare flesh. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, struggling to keep your tone short and clipped as you emerge from your hiding place. The last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were actually attracted to him. 

If anything, you considered yourself to be curious. No harm there, right? 

“As I said, my name is Ari Levinson. I’m a bounty hunter from just outside Rosewell, New Mexico who also occasionally moonlights as a private investigator.” He tells you, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I just stopped by to ask you a couple of questions. And while I didn’t necessarily mean to intrude, I figured you might appreciate me taking a more delicate approach on account of your relationship with my person of interest.”

Fucking Martin Westbrook. He’d been the bane of your existence ever since you’d first crossed paths back in high school. 

“I know you’re looking for Martin.” Annoyed by the very nature of the conversation, you pick up a box, hefting it onto your hip so that you can carry it out to the sales floor. “But I’m not quite sure how much help I can be.”

You brush past him, inwardly smiling when he scrambles to get out of your way. It was a subtle reminder that this was your shop. And you absolutely refused to be intimidated by him or anyone else. 

“I’m sure whatever you have to say will be plenty helpful.” He’s quick to reassure you as he turns to follow the path you set. “Provided you’re honest, that is.”

“Did you really just waltz into my shop and call me a liar, Mr. Levinson?” 

“I meant no offense.” Ari coughs, scrubbing a weary hand over his bearded jaw. If you were the overly presumptuous type, you might think you’d just managed to fluster the poor man.

Now feeling extra prickly, you drop the box onto the far counter of your cashwrap before turning to face your unwelcome guest. “As you can see, I have a busy day’s work ahead of me. And I was really keen on doing it by myself.” You gesture at the array of other boxes and racks placed around the store. “So if we could get a move on, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

“Gladly.” He gives a brief look around. “Is there some place maybe where you and I can sit and chat?”

“I’d say here is about as good a place as any.” You tell him as you step behind the counter. Bending down, you snag a bottle of cleaner, along with a couple of rags. If this man insisted on being here, then he would just have to deal with you taking care of your business. “I’m pretty confident in my ability to multitask.”  

Nodding along, Ari pulls out a small notepad and pen from his back pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Westbrook?”

You let out a sigh as you begin to spray down your countertops with your all-purpose cleaner. While you supposed you could’ve gone with something a little more industrial, you were partial to the way this particular brand’s products always smelled. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug as you bask in the scent of rose and cedar. “Maybe three, four weeks ago.” 

“Do you happen to recall the day and time?”

“No. Not really. If I had to ballpark it, I’d guess sometime around the 5th of last month.” You move to the next flat surface, spraying it down just like the last.

“You sure about that?” You try not to let it irk you when you see him take a seat on a nearby step stool out of the corner of your eye. 

“As much as I can be.” 

“And did Mr. Westbrook happen to give you any indication of where he might be headed?”

“Nope.”

He’d been nervous though. That much you did recall. By the time he’d come to you that night, your old friend had been well beyond spooked. 

“Did he give you his reason for leaving?”

“We didn’t…” You trail off, taking a moment to scrub at a particularly stubborn sticky spot that’s marring the wood. “There wasn’t really much time for talking.” You’re so concerned with scrubbing that you miss the way the county hunter’s eyes narrow as he studies you. “He just stopped over to say goodbye.”

And to borrow all the cash you happened to have on hand – to the tune of $500. Enough for a bus ticket and a couple nights in a dirt cheap motel.

“Right.” Ari scoffs, admittedly with a bit more heat than he intends. “Not a lot of time for talking.” He pauses briefly to drag a hand through his shaggy brown locks. “Not sure why I didn’t wanna believe them.” 

“Am I sensing a problem, Mr. Levinson?” You hum, tossing your rag to the side in favor of focusing on the rugs. 

“I guess I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he kept you in the dark about his plans.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “In my experience, most men like Martin tend to have loose lips around the women they’re fuckin’.”

In that moment, it’s almost as if you can feel the air go out of the room. Just who the fuck did this knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather think he was?

“Excuse me?” Those two little words are spoken through clenched teeth. You’re so taken aback by his brazen accusation that you can scarcely breathe, let alone think.    

Ari simply quirks a tawny brow at you, seemingly unaware of the danger he’s just placed himself in. Did he not see how close your hand was to that damned stapler? While it was clear that folks in this town had been running their mouths, they’d apparently neglected to mention that you’d also been the star pitcher for your high school softball team.   

“Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Duchess. But I’ve never been the type to beat around the bush. Besides…” The smug bastard tucks his pen behind his ear. “You have to know that people in this town like to talk.”

Fire simmers hot in your belly, as you come out from behind the register. It takes less than ten  seconds for you to bridge the distance between yourself and the cocky lawman. While you might’ve been taught never to raise a hand against anyone, this man was sorely testing every last bit of your patience.

“I want to make one thing very, very clear.” You hiss once you’re finally standing toe-to-toe with the handsome interloper who, of course, makes no room to get up himself. “I have never – not even once – slept with Martin Westbrook. He’s a friend, you backwoods jackass. Something you clearly know nothing about.” 

“I get the feeling I struck a nerve.” 

And, judging by the newfound tick in his jaw, so had you. Except you had no way of knowing it was because he’d lost a buddy of his own a little while back. 

“And I think it’s about time you got the hell out of my shop.” His piercing blue eyes fly to yours, letting you know that you’d managed to surprise him with your heated dismissal. 

Good. Because this Ari Levinson fella had officially overstayed his welcome.

“Look, Duchess. I apolo –”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me out of my name, Mr. Levinson. And I’m not sure I appreciate it.” You spit as you take a step backwards with the intention of giving him enough space to stand. “Now, I’ve been nothing but amenable to your rather…invasive questions. But we’re done. So, I’m gonna have to insist that you leave.”

Before you decided he’d make a deserving candidate for death by a thousand paper cuts. 

Your pulse continues to thrum in your ears as you watch him rise to his full height – an impressive 6’4 – so that he now towers over you. Perhaps if you weren’t so angry you’d be a little more tempted to allow your mind to wander a little farther into the realm of fantasy. 

But not now. 

Right now, in this moment, all you wanted was to watch Ari Levinson’s sculpted ass walk right out your front door.  

Nodding, the now quiet bounty hunter begins moving in the direction of the entrance. Neither of you say a word as you make that quick walk. In fact, you don’t speak again until Ari’s hand is on the handle. 

“For what it's worth…” He blows out a weary breath. “This wasn’t how I meant for this to go.” His eyes find yours, as if imploring you to see the truth in them. 

However, instead of responding all you can do is offer up a shrug. Which he, of course, takes as an opportunity to keep going. 

“It’s just…the idea of someone like you getting caught up with a piece of slime like Westbrook…” He pauses long enough to open the door and take a tentative step outside. “I guess it bothered me more than I realized.”

His reluctant admission has your stomach tied up in knots, which prompts you to ask the one question you were almost certain you’d regret later: 

“And just what do you mean by that?” You do your best to seem unruffled as you awkwardly brace yourself against the doorframe.

“All I’m saying is that you’re out of his league.” Feeling even more confused, you watch as Ari’s lips curve in a faint smile. “And if you didn’t know that before, well, now you do.” His head dips politely as he turns to head towards his truck. 

“Guess I’ll see you around, Duchess.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning. “Oh, and don’t forget to lock up. Might help with all those unwanted visitors you’ve been havin.”

Ari doesn't need to turn his head to know that you're currently giving him the finger. He can feel it. And all it does it make him smile harder.

END 

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#cevansbrat0007 fics #cevansbrat0007 sweet renegade series #chris evans imagines #ari levinson imagines #chris evans fanfiction #ari levinson fanfiction #chris evans x you #ari levinson x you #chris evans x black!reader #ari levinson x black!reader #chris evans x woc!reader #ari levinson x woc!reader #chris evans x black reader #ari levinson x black reader #chris evans smut #ari levinson smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x girlfriend!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female!reader #ari levinson x girlfriend!reader #chris evans x poc!reader #ari levinson x yn #chris evans x yn #ari levinson x y/n #chris evans x y/n #ari levinson girlfriend!reader #chris evans x curvy!reader #ari levinson x curvy!reader

[vitamin-zeeth]

experiencing fhjy while currently being in the equivalent of junior year is so. Yeah that's what it's like that's how school treats you that's how I'm feeling RIGHT NOW. I love how perfectly accurate it is and I also hate it so much because they don't deserve to go through this shit

#like fuck man #im currently fucking struggling through school clawing my way to exams so i can stop dealing with all this bullshit and have a life #and i cannot WAIT until its over cause next years gonna be the chillest #but fuckin hell man some of these moments #adaine struggling cause the school just won't provide the resources she needs. fabian dealing with a 150% workload + ecs. #kristen being genuinely gifted but finding the paperwork so awful that her grades are plummeting. #gorgug being told he cant do what he wants to do because they want to keep him focusing on the path he chose when he was 14. #riz trying to keep his friends together because if they separate he doesnt know what hed do #ough #kristen especially is resonating with me HARD her entire energy is so fucking relatable rn #its giving burnout its giving tired undiagnosed teenager its giving doesnt know wtf theyre doing #shes strongly considering dropping out but then looking back and going FUUUCK I KNOW I GOTTA JUST PUSH THROUGH #shes hating the work its making enjoying the subject harder shes needing a break and nobodys willing to give her one #shes so me this year actually. realest ever I'll defend her til i DIE #d20 #fhjy

[soldier-poet-king]

Massive lore drops in pf tonight, both for the campaign and for my character specifically and like. DAMN. I'm supposed to go sleep now???? After all that??? I thought I knew what choices periklea was going to make and then that convo happened and neither I, nor she, knew and it was just! So good! I am so stressed???

I'm glad I made periklea very much a manifestation of my own anxieties about the future in many ways bc that wasn't even rp at that point I was Just Talking As Myself, I was SO into it. Like. Can I save you. It doesn't have to be like this. You're what I was on track to becoming. I feel so much guilt over what I was and am. You've done bad things but also I fuckin get it and your motivations and ultimate goals I support. Academic Truth over solace in comforting lies. Palpatine Anakin moment fr. GAH

I am not GOOD at improv and terribly shy in general, but damn once you mix it with fantasy settings, rulebooks, and math I guess I'm really into it

#anyway. very good. i feel like a session hog but i am fighting the guilty gremlin in my brain just bc my character has a moment #with the sort of villain who is also a distant relative of some sort and can maybe be redeemed?? #juicy narrative parallels tbh. #J IS A VERY GOOD GM. LIKE. FUCKIN HELL MAN #also more Katya Soren interactions which are my FAVE #and next week im sure i will just chill in the bg. i want everyone to have narrative moments!!!! #and katya w tarhanna next week like!!! #vilestraia campaign

[spotsupstuff]

I don't know how tall your versions of iterators's puppets are, but sometimes I remember that, according to the developers, they're somewhere around 2-3 feet tall (if I'm not mistaken). Anyway, I remembered it now when I was scrolling through your "NSH incident", and it was so funny to imagine a crowd of people going crazy over a fictional creature half their height. O tempora, o mores! (/lh)

DSALKVSDMALKCMSDKLGSLKDAMCKLSDMKLSDCMLKSDGKJ IN CANON COMPLIMENTING FORM IT WAS LIKE THAT FUCKIN SIMS BREAKDANCING CAT MEME BUT WITH A STRIPPER TWIST OH GOD i'm just imagining this

#Spot says stuff #rw #incredible. one moment im tryin to draw smth serious and then suddenly it takes a turn into This of all things #i know nobody will get this cuz its slovak n czech thing but... my god he looks like alza. that fuckin extraterrestrial motherfucker. #nothing inspires such unending rage in a middle european slavic man like The Alza #anyway nah i always kinda disliked That idea while workin with stuff outside of canon (for canon its GREAT for me stuff? i dont vibe much) #idk how tall a Spot™ Gen 1 is yet but its def taller than the canon stuff. will explore that along with the ancients at some point #'NSH incident' bro... ah hell.

[batshit-auspol]

I just spent some time scrolling through this blog and am suffering from sever laughter. Thanks so much for collating the countries craziest moments. One of my favourites is when Scott Morrison was in Hawaii while the bushfires where burning.

December 2019: As Australia's east coast is engulfed in the worst bushfires in living memory, rumours begin to circulate that Australia's Prime Minister Scott Morrison may have secretly fucked off for a holiday in Hawaii.

Keep in mind, this is what is going down in Australia at the time:

The Hawaii rumour is initially written off as a fringe conspiracy, because surely nobody could be that fuckin tonedeaf, and it was quickly forgotten about... until an Australian man visiting Hawaii UPLOADED A SELFIE ON THE BEACH WITH THE PM THROWING A SHAKA.

At which point all hell broke loose.

Overnight the formerly popular "Scomo" became the most despised man in all of Australia. Think "firefighters shouting out of their windows to news cameras" level of despised.

After about two days of radio silence and pretending like he was still at home running the country, the Prime Minister's handlers finally dragged him onto call with an Australian radio station, where he pinky promised to return to Australia as fast as he could in an attempt to calm things down.

Unfortunately Scott's empathy consultant (a real job) then had to watch Scott pour more gasoline on the dumpster fire by uttering the now famous phrase "Look I don't hold a hose mate" when asked by the radio interviewer why the fucking fuck the fuckhead wasn't fucking in Australia doing his fucking job during a massive fucking crisis.

Testing just how much worse things could get, Scomo then proceeded to NOT rush back to Australia as promised, instead attempting to complete the rest of his holiday, a fact that was exposed when a passerby snapped a picture of him still lounging on the beach two days later.

Eventually, holiday complete, Morrison did reluctantly slink back to Australia, and in an attempt to calm things down, he decided to pay a visit to a small town that had been destroyed by the fires.

Which was a big mistake.

Scomo still had not registered how absolutely and totally he had screwed the poodle with his Hawaiian beach vacation, and he walks into what is now taught in PR classes as one of the greatest examples of "what not do do in a crisis" in all of history.

Scotty from Marketing, as he is now dubbed by the nation, spends a painfully cringe-inducing hour wandering around a burned down town with TV news cameras in tow, having to FORCE PEOPLE TO SHAKE HIS HAND in what is some of the most awkward footage you will ever see.

At this point it's probably also worth mentioning that, before becoming Prime Minister, Scott Morrison's biggest claim to fame in politics was being the guy that was so far up the coal lobby's arse that he literally brought coal into parliament and waved it around, claiming it doesn't hurt people.

So when a protest was organised it turned out to be one big national fuck you to the Prime Minister, the likes of which the world has never seen before or since.

Needless to say, at this point Scomo's career was dead in the water, but thanks to the rules brought in to stop Australian political parties from knifing their leader every two weeks (a popular Aussie passtime) Morrison basically couldn't get fired until after the next election.

And so, when the election rolled around in 2022, we decided that was an opportune time to travel over to Hawaii to erect this bad boy tribute to the Prime Minister, on the very beach where Scomo had sat and drank margaritas that one fateful week in December as Australia burned (thanks to @chaser for funding the ticket)

#australia #auspol #history #scomo #hawaii

[callmemickey]

Simon Riley fucks intensely and passionately. He doesn’t grab your hair, or spit on your face, or cause you physical pain - my man’s has openly admitted to dealing with violent thoughts/dreams against women and wanting to be better. He might get rough if he’s stressed or angry, but he won’t be, like, throat fucking you for example. Sorry. I just can’t see it. He can be fast, but I don’t think he’s gonna be hardcore or degrading. I think if he gets the mask on, he miiiight be a little more… forthcoming.

Simon Riley finds sex to be the highest level of trust, love, and vulnerability. Don’t expect him to be a quick or easy lay. If he wants you intimately, this is the biggest honor you would ever receive from him. Maybe before he was tortured he would’ve been quicker to engage, but the Simon we know now? Yeah, you gotta work.

Simon Riley… ohhhhh he’s always asking you: “is that alright, love?” “that feel good?” “ahhhh, yeah, you’re a good girl, aren’tcha?” If you’re not feeling it, he’s not feeling it. he wants to make sure you’re into it 100%. the moment you grunt, wince, or groan in pain, he’s stopping to check up on his lovie. he just radiates Soft Dom energy to me (and I want him so bad). Simon loves to see you get all flustered, too. When you beg for him (and you’re a good girl) he will give you anything and everything you want.

Simon Riley being a Soft Dom… mmm, delicious. I love to imagine him praising and worshipping: “ahh fuck, i’ve missed my girl’s pussy” “so proud of you, taking my cock so well” “you want to be a good girl for me, don’tcha?” “you’re so beautiful when you struggle to fit me” if you’re engaged with him romantically, you’re his everything - man’s invested his entire soul and well-being into you. With that being said, throw him some praise, too! He’ll melt and become putty in your hands; he’ll do anything for you. Tell him how you were made for his cock, that nobody else makes you feel like he does, how you’re sooo good - but only for him. He’s definitely possessive of you - not in a red flag kind of way, but when you talk about how you’re his and only his… whew.

Simon Riley wants to see your face when you two are having sex. Anything missionary, missionary adjacent, cowgirl, it doesn’t matter, just let this man look at you! He doesn’t crave it, he needs it. Eye contact is so intimate, and if you’re shy and can’t maintain it? Ohhh, he’s gonna have fun. “eyes here, love” “don’t cover your face/close your eyes - i want to watch you cum” “you were just begging for my cock, don’t get all shy now” “be a good girl and look at me” he’s either coming inside or on your tummy/chest. preferably? inside.

Simon Riley prefers having a good session as opposed to a quickie. He likes doing things in the privacy of your shared home (because then you can be loud and cry his name as you cum on his cock for the 4th time 🤭). Sometimes, he’ll be desperate though, and this is when he gets a lil impatient. Like this one time, he went with you to your family’s Christmas party while being on leave for only a week, and he needed you. That man took you in the bathroom and railed you so hard you couldn’t leave for 15 minutes until you could stand without shaking (also not me writing this rn).

Simon Riley, upon specific request, will wear the mask in bed. Honestly, don’t expect this for a while, however. The mask serves as his identity - his separation from you. This will take a lot of courage on his behalf as you’re wanting to bring in something containing his countless sins and crimes into such an intimate situation. Like I said!!! It takes a while to get him this comfortable. Try to rush the process and you’re missing out on some pretty intense and animalistic fucking. It’s a rare time you can expect a more vicious kind of dirty talk from him: “fuckin’ hell, you like being a dirty little slut, huh?” “that pretty little face of yours deserves to be fucked” “your pussy was made for me” “shut up and keep taking it like a good girl should” “ahh, begging for my cock like the needy little slut you are”

Simon Riley loves aftercare, and he makes sure you feel loved during that time. Sweet Angel, we don’t deserve him. Massages, baths, checking on you emotionally and mentally, he’ll make you dinner, put on your favorite movie, and relax with you while he showers you with unconditional love and adoration. He’s obsessed with you. Get over it.

#simon riley x you #Simon Riley #cod mw2 #Simon ghost Riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #ghost x you #headcanon #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons

[wysteria-bloom]

▨ " you give in so easy "

JJK characters react to you taking their hand off your thigh

Genre : mostly sfw, suggestive

Warnings : Sukuna :)

A/n : OBSESSED with jjk atm. Yuji is fucking KILLING it as a main character I'm so in love. Requests are 100% open, ESPECIALLY for jjk.

Characters : gojo, nanami, sukuna, geto

⟢ gojo satoru ␥

Would literally be SO POUTY afterwards. Because what the hell did he do? Would try it again and again and again until you eventually give up because he's petty like that and when you do he gives you the most cheesiest annoying obnoxious little shit grin and raises his brows at you as if to say," I win." Pulls you in for a cuddle after that because he thinks you're adorable when you give in to him, cooing a," you give in so easy, hon~" right into your ear.

⟢ nanami kento ␥

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM?? Would think he did something to annoy you today that he wasn't aware of. The second you do it bro literally does a full turn towards you and is like," how about you talk instead of insulting me like this." You'll need to tell him it's a prank quick or else he might actually fall out with you for the rest of the night. An apology is definitely in order as well. Nanami deserves the fucking world, after all. You kiss across his face until he tells you to stop, which he never usually does. He just sort of basks in your affection any chance he gets with that serene little smile on his face.

⟢ ryomen sukuna ␥

Oh lord... not a smart idea. On the first time you do it, he just glares at you silently before putting his hand back on your thigh because who the hell do you think you are preventing him from touching what's his? The second time you move his hand? His hand moves up your thigh and inwards, like he was warning you. Third time? Moves up again. Fourth time? You're gonna have to stop before his hand cups something else. When you stop he just grumbles," That's what I fuckin' thought." and keeps his hand there, thumb caressing your inner thigh teasingly until you decide to do something about it.

⟢ geto suguru ␥

Geto is usually a very reasonable man. He doesn't let his emotions get the better of him. But let's say he's had a pretty shitty day and you just happen to want to pull this prank on him at the worst possible moment, his resolve may just snap. The first time you do it, he frowns at you expectantly, waiting for you give him some sort of explanation. The second time you do it he was quick to grab the meat of your thigh again and have a tight grip on it, a sweet little smile on his face," You're testing me tonight aren't you, beautiful?" He cooed out lowly with those dark eyes of his glinting at you challengingly. Yeah, you don't try anything else after that... or maybe you do and you have to buy a new bed frame the next day.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x male reader #jjk x fem!reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #i am so feral for these men you dont fucking get it

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 4 ] || [ Chapter 6 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ tags: a little bit of angst in this one, mentions of infidelity, also, Price is divorced. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 5: GET LAID?

[The scolding Price gives is fully inspired by Captain Holt from B99]

“YOU. DID. WHAT?!” Price’s voice was so loud it bounced off the walls and Soap could swear the door was rattling.

The environment inside of Price’s tiny little office was beyond tense. Gaz sat across from Price on the arm chair, with his hands clasped over his lap. Soap stood beside him, hands on the back of the other chair, constantly shuffling and readjusting. And Ghost was all the way in the back of the room, arms crossed and one foot scuffing up the wall he was leaning against.

They looked like a group of kids at the headmaster’s office, getting the reaming of a century and waiting for their parents to come get them, only to get reamed out some more by them. Except they’re grown adults and Price is, in a way, both the headmaster and their father.

Granted, they probably should’ve waited until tomorrow morning when they’re not all a bit buzzed from one too many beers…  It seemed tonight was just one of those nights where they have little to no restraint… and are incapable to be reasoned with.

“If it’s any consolation, I told them you wouldn’t be too keen on 'em buttin' in your life.” Ghost spoke up while dipping his head to the side in a lazy shrug.

This earned him a sharp look from Price, who swivelled on his executive chair, turning a bit to properly face Ghost. The man looked seconds away from blowing up, eyes widened and wild.

“And yet you still HELPED 'EM?!” The Captain scolded him, to which Simon replied with a full shrug.

“They made a compelling case. You’ve been insufferable, boss.” He remarked, causing Price to sputter a bit.

“I didn’t wanna say anything, but it’s true, Captain. You need to get laid.” Soap jumped in.

His hackles raised and he stood up, slamming his hands on the desk, causing a rattling in the white mug he used as a pen holder. Gaz couldn’t help but wonder if the Captain didn’t hurt his palms.

“GET LAID?!” Price shouted in a tone almost akin to panic. “MY LOVE LIFE IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” Price scolded them all, rausing a hand and pointing his finger at no one in particular. 

“AND I WOULDN’T BE SO INSUFFERABLE IF YOU LOT DID YOUR JOBS. BUT NO, I’M HAVING TO FIX YOUR MESSES AND DEAL WITH ALL THIS BULLSHIT!” He shouted as he ran his hand over a pile of documents on the edge of his desk, sending them all flying to the floor.

None of the lads shook in the face of the Captain’s shouts. They were all used to it, having heard enough of them from other C.O.s in their careers and, especially, more than enough from John in the last year.

Price huffed through his nose and hung his head for a moment. Then, he tossed himself back in his chair, leaning it back and grumbling under his breath.

He sat with his legs parted, left arm over the desk top, the right one hanging limply over his lap. He grumbled under his breath, his mustache scrunching a bit as he raised his right hand to rub his eyes.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” Price grumbled and swiveled his chair back toward the desk, inadvertently toward Soap and Gaz as well, setting his elbows on either side of the black desk mat.

He held his head up with both hands, his blue eyes sliding downward to the phone they had set in front of him when explaining what they did, which now sat between his elbows. 

In it was the Tinder profile they had created, the gimmicky, silly little shite that includes grainy photos of him and a bio written in the 3rd person. What impressed him was the fact that somehow, despite only having been active for an hour, according to them, the account had already seen about 35 likes and a handful of DMs from people.

Most of them were curious about the bio, some of them asking a variation of ‘Does John know you made this account?’, etc.

However, it bothered him that they did this behind his back, never once stopping to ask if he needed or wanted their help (AND HE DIDN’T). “You need to delete this.” He ended up saying after a moment of silence.

He grabbed the phone and set it on the edge of his desk to be taken by either Gaz or Soap, with a bit more aggression than he meant to. “Deactivate it, whatever.” He added.

“But, sir-” Soap tried to say, being shushed by Price raising a hand to signal him to quiet down.

“No buts.” He said directly as he raised his head and glared right at Soap. “And you need to tell that person that you already promised a date to that I’m not interested and APOLOGIZE for leading them on.” He ordered.

“Boss… C’mon.” Ghost called for him from his corner, causing John’s head to slowly turn to face him, eyebrows scrunched when he noticed the gaze Simon was sending him.

Cursed be Simon Riley, the only tosser in the entire SAS other than MacMillan, who can read John like the open book that he prides himself in not being.

But of course Simon knows why he’s so reluctant. He was there 5 years ago… when Price called him from his car in a side road somewhere, so drunk that his words were more so obscene slurs than words themselves, spewing mentions of loss and betrayal and a visceral need to cave a man’s face in, of emptying magazine after magazine on his wife’s lover’s body.

Simon went to get him, took the man home to his own shitty little flat, let him sleep off the inebriation in his bed, looked after him just in case he’d choke on his own drunken vomit, and the next afternoon, when Price was more himself, he drove Price to his marital home and helped him pack his bags.

Price stayed at his apartment for almost 6 months before getting his own place. Not that Ghost minded. Returning to the barracks was embarrassing for the Captain… And getting his own place required time and patience, which Price was lacking. 

Eventually, Price signed the divorce papers, the matter was settled, and Price went on leave. Ghost took his as well and helped him settle into a flat, helped him assemble furniture, brought him meals.

Then started Price’s fuckboy era. Which is how Gaz and Soap heard of his proclivity to hook up with people. Gender didn’t matter, so much as getting momentary satisfaction and some of the shadows out of his bones. 

Then, Graves and Shepherd happened… And Price cut it cold turkey. He was pent up. Point blank. Went from getting regular satisfaction to getting nothing and burying himself in his work. Blaming himself for not noticing the signs earlier.

Sometimes Ghost wondered if the man was going through a mid-life crisis.

“You could use it, boss.” Ghost added as he looked Price right in the eyes. “What’s one night, huh? Just going for a drink with them?”

“Simon-” Price tried arguing.

“Please, sir. We promise you’ll like ‘em.” Gaz pleaded. 

“Yeah, sir, we all talked with ‘em and they’re a right laugh.” Soap added.

Taking a deep breath, John leaned back on his chair again and threw his hands in the air again.

“Alright.” He conceded. “BUT!” He interrupted them before they got too giddy. “None of this… Tinder shite.” He gestured vaguely to the phone at the edge of the desk.

“You set up a meet-up this Friday at a pub nearby. No more after that.” He ordered.

“On it!” Gaz said as he snatched the phone from the desk to dm you.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago

#ikea writes 💚 #it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

[sebsbarnes]

confessions || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

summary: "you're beautiful you know that love," tangerine said softly as if the declaration was a secret that only the space between you could know.

warnings: mention of a gun, injuries, blood

word count: 1.1k ; fluff

tangerine masterlist

you jolted awake, "what the hell," you mumbled.

eyes half open you patted around on the bed for your phone. the blaringly bright picture of a sunset staring back at you.

4:07am.

the noise that woke you up sounded again. banging at your front door. carefully you slipped out of bed and opened the drawer to your nightstand, grabbing the gun. slowly, you walked through the house creeping towards the door. the house felt eerily quiet more so than ever. the gun was held behind your back and before you could turn the doorknob you hear a voice.

"it's me."

you opened the door, "why are- jesus christ tangerine."

he smiled weakly at you, sort of shrugging, the suit jacket draped over his arm moving with.

"hey, love," he said dejectedly.

his typically smoothed back hair showed no sign of gel as his curls were a mess. the fitted suit that adorns his body was now loose with blood splattered sporadically on the fabric. the button-down shirt rolled up on his arms exposed his battered forearms. there was dirt on parts of his face, dried blood across his cheek and forehead, and a split lip.

"come in," you whispered, grabbing his hand pulling him in.

you locked the door and turned to the kitchen with tangerine still in tow. you turned the lights on in the kitchen, grabbing him water and pain reliever.

"eat these if you need something. i'm going to grab the first aid kit, alright?" you placed a box of crackers next to him on the counter and retreated to a hallway closet. when you came back, he was munching on a few and the glass of water in his other hand.

"okay now, what's the worst?"

"some prick got me in the thigh with glass," he grimaced gesturing to the torn trousers. you leaned in gently placing your hands on his thigh around the cut.

"take your pants off."

"well, that's quite forward love now, innit?" tangerine chuckled softly.

all you could do was roll your eyes as you turned around giving him a moment to hop off the counter and remove his pants. when you turned back around you couldn't help but swallow harshly at the man's muscular thighs.

"there's still bits of glass in this babes, i'm gonna have to take it out," tangerine hummed in response, clearly tired from whatever job he just came back from.

you grabbed a pair of tweezers and removed small pieces of glass left inside the wound and all tangerine could do was hiss in response. the wound was then cleaned and after tangerine gave you the greenlight, he let you stitch him up.

"now don't go fuckin' around you hear me. that's a good stitch," you said pointing at the finished product.

"yeah whatever darlin'," tangerine retorted.

you moved up to his face to clean the dirt and blood off him. you slid between his legs to get closer, fingertips accidently brushing over his thigh as you grabbed the rag next to him on the counter. you didn't notice the goosebumps that sprang to life on his skin and raced throughout his body. your lips were slightly pursed as the rag glided across his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of an earlier job.

tangerine couldn't help but stare at you during your concentration. the way your eyes danced across his face inspecting every minute detail. your eyelashes- god since when were they that long? he couldn't help the tiny smile that etched its way onto his lips hearing the small whistle your nose made as you breathed in and out. it was something you mentioned in passing that you hated, after your nose was broken on a job. small freckles decorated the bridge of your nose, and a now almost faded scar followed the curve of your cheekbone.

"you're beautiful you know that love," tangerine said softly as if the declaration was a secret that only the space between you could know.

you faltered slightly. you and tangerine were friends. any compliments thrown each other's way was typically about work. you often worked with the twins on jobs so the three of you were close. the dynamics on and off the job the three of you had was truly incredible. many people wanted the trio because they knew the job would be a success, most likely bloody, but still successful.

to even try and deny the fact that tangerine is gorgeous was absolutely ridiculous. when you first saw him, you truly went breathless for a moment. there was no way this man was in the business of killing was one of your first thoughts, he had to be a model of some sort. and as if his looks weren't enough, when he wasn't being a complete dickhead, he had the most charming and witty personality. it was intimidating being around him most times, the feeling of insecurity often loomed around you when he was nearby.

you looked him in the eye before averting your attention to his split lip, "why didn't you go home?"

"found myself wandering this way," he said slipping off the counter.

"bit far from your house," you whispered in return. tangerine brushed a strand of hair out of your eye, his thumb running over your cheek.

"no distance is too far for you, darlin'."

you aren't quite sure where these confessions were coming from, but you would be a fool to say you hated it. it was obvious how you felt about tangerine. you knew it, he knew it, lemon knew it, damn near everyone knew it.

"i didn't know you could be a sap," you gave him a slight smirk.

his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, "today was too risky, thought i could solo it, make some extra money. it was stupid. all i could think about was you," he confessed.

you toyed with the gold chain hanging on his exposed chest before gently tugging on it, bringing him to you. the kiss was soft but long. in the midst of the kiss tangerine had placed you on the counter, finding home between your legs and holding your waist carefully. your hands situated on the base of his skull tugging ever so slightly on his hair. tangerine's mouth parted slightly in reaction allowing you to bite gently on his lip, ignoring the fact you can taste blood. with a sigh you both finally pulled apart. his hands never left your waist.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you said.

tangerine wasted no time scooping you up in his arms, ignoring all the aches from today's job. 'i've waited months to hear these words,' he had muttered in your hair making his way through your house.

"i've waited just as long."

#tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x oc #tangerine x you #tangerine imagine #tangerine imagines #tangerine bullet train imagine #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine bullet train fanfic #tangerine fluff #tangerine angst #tangerine blurb #tangerine headcannon #tangerine oneshot #bullet train imagine #bullet train fanfic #bullet train oneshot #bullet train x reader #bullet train #aaron taylor johnson imagine #aaron taylor johnson x reader #sebsbarnes

[fettuccin-e]

Can't Help Myself

Kinktober Day 28: Intercrural Sex

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, afab!fem!reader, Jackson!Joel, thigh fucking, that's right no penetration actually occurs, corruption kink, kind of innocent!reader, big dick Joel is back in town (w/c: 1.5K)

A/N: Alrighty! So this is something I started writing during Kinktober and I finally decided to just finish it, even though I did not completely finish Kinktober but whatevs. So here's a little mid-November porn for everyone hahaha

He can’t fuck you. Not right now, not fucking ever if he has anything to say about it. This has gone too far already, this ridiculous infatuation you’ve both developed.

No, for Joel, it’s become a downright obsession. 

He should have said no the first time you pulled him into your home, into your bed. You’re too pretty, too innocent for him. You whine so pretty into his mouth whenever he kisses you, choke on your moans and cry whenever he pushes his fingers deep into your pussy in the dark of your bedroom, away from prying eyes and the endless rumor-mill of Jackson.

He should have said no the moment you pulled him to your lips, before any of this had gone too far for Joel to look back.

Ellie says that he’s stubborn as a mule, Tommy tells him that making small talk with him is like talking to a brick wall. Joel has known for a long time that he can be scary as all hell, not backing down for a damn thing and definitely not taking any shit from anybody. 

Except for you.

For you, Joel is a weak, weak man.

Weak to your soft skin, weak to the way you writhe beneath him. He can’t help himself when he lays you out on your bed, strips you bare for him, tracing his thick, calloused hands over your body and watching you shiver with it.

God, you’re sensitive. You keen when he thumbs over your stiff nipples, gasp when he presses them through the seam of your cunt, gliding up, up until he can trace them around your needy clit and watch you squirm.

He’s broken so many rules already, so many times. He can’t help it, not when you taste so fucking good with his head between your thighs. Can’t help but fuck his fingers into you so brutally when you ask, relishing in the way you scream when his fingers grind up into that little spot so deep inside of you. 

But he won’t fuck you. He won’t, he can’t, go that far, desecrate you even further than he already has. He’s done so much, let you have him every other way that counts, but fuck, he can’t bring himself to finally cross that last little barrier between the both of you.

Even as you beg and plead beneath him so pretty, even as his cock aches between his thighs, your cunt gushing around his fingers. He can’t do it.

“Fuck me, please, please, let me try, c’mon Joel, please,” you breathe beneath him, your chest heaving as he works his fingers into you. “It’d feel so good, please, need it so bad.”

Joel feels lightheaded, the sound of your voice and the obscene sounds of your pussy sucking in his fingers echoing in his ears.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, “Doesn’t it feel good like this?”

“Wanna make you feel good,” you say, “Wanna feel you inside.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel groans like he’s been punched. Nobody affects him like this, nobody except you, and fuck, the change is intoxicating.

“Fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, but he knows it’s the exact opposite, even if he’ll never admit it. You’ve got to be some kind of fuckin’ siren, and Joel can’t help but succumb to your every whim.

He reaches his free hand between his legs to grip the base of his cock, pulsing and hot in his hand, desperate to feel you. He can’t help it, he has to fuck you, has to feel the hot clutch of your pussy around his cock finally, after fuckin’ weeks. Rules, reputation be damned, he has to-

The thought creeps into his mind nearly too late. 

There’s a tincture that the Jackson apothecary sells, some kind of natural birth control that plenty of the ladies around town use to prevent bringing children into this fucked up new world. There aren’t any condoms, any other type of birth control.

And fuck, Joel knows that you haven’t taken it. Knows his own weakness; that if he sinks himself inside of you just like he wants, he won’t be able to stop until he’s pumped into you so fucking deep, filled you up with cum and owned you in the most primal way he knows how.

“Can’t,” he chokes, and pulls the leaking tip of his cock away from where it was so close to your gaping entrance. “Don’t wanna risk it.”

The way you whine in protest has his head spinning, has his hips bucking forward to slide the throbbing length of his cock through your folds. The head of it bumps against your swollen clit, and you gasp sharply, your hands flying up to dig your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he can’t help the grin that creeps across his face as you gaze up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth. “Did you like that?”

You shut your eyes at the question, so Joel pulls his hips back just to fuck upwards again through the seam of your slick cunt, sliding into your clit again. You moan, loud and whiny and desperate, and it makes Joel want to fuck you so hard you see stars.

Instead, he pulls back, pulling your thighs up between you both, practically folding you in half, his cock pushed between the soft skin of your thighs and the hot wetness of your pussy. God, it’s fucking tight between these perfect thighs, fucking soft and soaked with how much you need him.

“Can I fuck you here, baby?” he murmurs, and you nod feverishly, whining high in the back of your throat.

“Please,” you whisper, and Joel is too desperate to tease you anymore.

He fucks between your thighs like he’d fuck you for real if he could, brutal thrusts of his hips that have the head of his cock jamming into your puffy clit. You’re fucking gorgeous to see, to hear, moaning like it’s the best you’ve ever fucking had.

Fuck, it might me the best Joel has ever had, the soft, slick skin of your cunt and thighs pressing around him so tight, so perfect. It’s fucking maddening to watch as his cock parts the lips of your pussy around it, so fucking thick compared to your tiny entrance. 

“You want me in here, honey?” he murmurs, pressing his hand into your lower stomach as he shoves between your thighs. “Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?”

“Fuck-” you choke on your own spit as he grinds his cock up into your abused, sensitive clit. “Please, please, need it so bad. ‘M so fucking empty, Joel.”

Joel groans, his head dropping as he tries to gain some sense of control again, but God, it’s fucking warm and tight and you’re so pretty begging for his cock.

“Gonna get you that stuff from the apothecary in the mornin’ baby, ‘n I swear I fill this cunt up just like you need,” he growls, and you moan so loud, so needy beneath him. “It’s gonna stretch you so wide, fuck, you’ll be all stretched out for me, nobody can fuck you like I can.”

“Yours, yours, yours,” you gasp, hips twitching with the orgasm building in your stomach, threatening to throw you off that peak.

“I’ll fuckin’ fill this cunt up with my cum over and over again, sweet girl. You’ll be fuckin’ dripping with me.” 

You gasp, your eyes clenching shut and your mouth gaping open in shocked, overwhelmed pleasure as his words send you over the edge. You cunt clenches around nothing, painfully empty as Joel fucks between your thighs. Your clit feels fucking raw, overstimulated and so sensitive as Joel abuses it with his thick cock.

“Fuck, that’s it baby, that’s my good girl,” Joel says, his hips jamming forward again and again and again. Your thighs clench tighter together with your orgasm, the pressure so perfect and warm and soft around his cock that Joel can't help but follow close behind.

He grips your thighs so tight the tips of his fingers go bright white as he splatters cum all over the outside of your pussy.

The image makes him fucking lightheaded, the sight of you painted white. A sick sense of ownership floods through him, a sign that he’s in too fuckin’ deep.

And then, you gaze up at him, and giggle.

You giggle like he hadn’t just ruined you, like he hasn’t been ruining you for months. You giggle like pure sunshine beneath him, and God, Joel’s once cold, dead heart flutters at the sound.

He’s in way too deep. Too deep to ever go back, fuck, he’ll die before he goes back to a time he didn’t know you.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, pulling himself off of you, only for you to rise up with him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. You pull him into a kiss that is far too filthy for a sweet little thing like you.

“Why get cleaned up if we’re just going to get dirty again?” you whisper against his lips, and Joel grins in spite of himself.

“Got plans for me, darlin’?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” you say, and Joel can’t help but press you back down into the mattress, licking into your mouth until you fuckin’ melt beneath him.

#back on my corruption bullshit #i believe in dirty old man Joel supremacy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fic

[grugruel]

Saint, or Sinner.

Parings: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: You've had feelings for Arthur for quite some time now, but little did you know. That he has them for you, too.

After a rowdy night in Valentine, the group flees lawmen and end up in Strawberrys hotel. Whatever will occur?

Word count: 8.9 k

Warnings: Micha being Micah, bar fight/violence, plot with smut, mutual pining, soft Arthur, pinv sex, passionate sex, oral sex (f recieving), praise, pet names (girl, sweetheart), choking, fingering, handjob, creampie, mentioned masturbation.

AN: The words ran away from me, holy shit. It's so much longer than I intended.

Muffled voices argued in the night, soon growing into angry shouts. Rousing me from my sleep, confused, I put my gown on in a hurry. Sleep ridden eyes in a dark tent were not doing me any favors. I pulled the flap to the side and stumbled out of the tent, the voices creating one hell of a commotion.

Just as I did, most of the camp had awoken and joined in on the argument, gladly contributing their own heated opinions on the matter. All except Duch and Arthur, much to my dismay.

My eyes adjusted to the scene before me, the assailants quickly becoming clear. Standing around the campfire, was Micah of course, the center of attention as usual. Stood half shouting at John, who's pot seemed to be boiling over.

Soon after, John unleashed a rant on Micahs stupitidy, throwing in every word he could manage in his steaming anger.

I rolled my eyes, what could that damned fool possibly have done now?

'You piss ridden, moldy rat bastard.' John shouts, seamingly leaving Micah lost for words.

Bill bursts out laughing, slapping his knee at the insult, 'You big fuckin nuthead Micah. . .' He sighs, catching his breath.

Even Hosea snickers, 'Hes right, and that's coming from Bill of all folk.'

I cover my mouth as a giggle leaves my lips, seeing Micah so dumbfounded really sobered my mood. The rest of the girls have a simular reaction.

Micahs eyes narrow on me, 'What are ya' laughing at sweetheart. I ought to teach ya' a lesson.' He snarls, greasy hair hanging over his face.

The camp falls silent, none too appreciative of his choice of words. My mood turn sour again and a chill runs up my spine. The first to call him out was Sadie, 'Someone hold me back.' She spits, Sean stepping in to fo judt that.

Second was Miss Grimshaw, 'The money and now you threathen the girl, have you gone and lost your mind Micah Bell?' disgust evident on her face.

The money? What money?

John took a threatening step toward him, very displeased with Micahs comment, hands forming into fists at his sides. Hosea too, gave him a a bemused look.

'Try anything Bell, and I'll cut your fucking balls off.' I spit, glaring at him, feeling incredible joy in the way his face falls.

Muffled chuckles surround me, 'Thats my Girl.' Sadie laughs, along with a low, approving whistle from Javier.

'Whats goin' on here?' A gruff voice cuts in, looking between me and Micah.

Arthur, flanked by Dutch.

Arthur, shirtless. Flanked by Dutch.

In all my anger, my eyes cant help but sneak a hasty glance at his broad chest. Then quickly averting it, afraid he'd notice. I clear my throat, trying to keep my thoughts in check, 'He threatened me.'

That was enough for Arthur, not doubting me for a second. Fixed himself straight up with murder in his eyes, then walked at the man, readying his fists for a beating.

Butterflies fluttered within me.

Unsurprisingly, Micah cowered. Taking quick cautionary steps backward before Dutch could jump in, throwing his arm in front of Arthur and stopping him in his tracks. John looks at the two men, directing an accusing finger on Micah, 'Not only that, this blasted idiot took our money.'

The moment of joy from Micahs humiliation disappear, turning into anger once again. The camp giving him a mutual glower.

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, 'I ought to kill you.' He speaks, gritting his teeth, and takes another firm step forward. Pushing the limits of Dutch's patience, who strengthens the hold on Arthur.

'Surely, there must be a reasonable explanation for this?' Dutchs says, forcing a smile and shooting Micah an expectant look. Giving him an undeserved chance at explaining himself. Although he didn't show it, he too, was bemused.

'Well- I wanted to invest it, make it grow. I just wanted to help the camp.' Micah preached, his voice sleazy and confident. Telling the sure as shit, bull of an excuse as if he was the one to feel sorry for. Despite the circumstances.

Sighing, 'He god damned gamled it all away.' John reveals, looking ready to kill the man himself. The camp erupts into a loud argument once again, everyone getting a piece in.

I sneak a glance at Arthur, his chest rising and falling in big breaths, trying his hardest to stay calm. 'Bastard.' He mutters under his breath, Dutch giving him a quick warning glance.

'Shut!–' a hoarse voice calls out, '–Up!' Dutch yells, and obediently, we all fall silent. 'Theres no use, standin' around screamin'. You fools are attracting unwanted attention.' Dutch says, hands on his hips, 'Who won the funds.'

'Some rich bastard up in Strawberry.' Micahs sly voice cut through the night.

Dutch rubs his forehead in thought, 'Then he can do without it, go back there and grab it.' An exasperated sigh leaving him, 'Arthur, John, Bill, Charles.' He rounds the men up, 'You go there with him.' He turns to go back to his tent, but pauses and shouts, 'And no!–' dragging the words out, '–Deaths!' He looks at Micah, knowing damn well he'd otherwise murder the mans entire family in cold blood, then points to Arthur, 'That means you too, Arthur.' He says, a tired tone to his words. Clearly insinuating that he wanted Micah alive.

Everyone scatters, going back to bed on edge. But I linger, tucked away behind the tentflap. I watch Arthur come back out of his tent, in full get up. Silently praying that'd they'd be alright, that he would be. I did not care what happened to Micah, I hoped the man would get shot right between the eyes. I would personally love to see to it, I hoped Arthurs hatred for the man would get the better of him. Dutch always went way to easy on Micah, I didn't understand it, but something wasn't quite right with it.

Abigail kisses John goodbye, it made me happy to see them back together and all made up. I watch Arthur leave his tent in full get up, then stride past my tent. He gets on his horse with the rest of them, and ride past the treeline of Horseshoe overlook. No doubt berating Micah all the way to Strawberry.

I laid down in my bed, trying my damndest to sleep. But worry was keeping me up, eating away at me. Something didn't feel right.

He'd heard his words to her, him threatening her. Horrifying images cloud his mind, filling him with rage all over again. No doubt things he'd done before. He glanced a glare at the man, ugly mut.

Had Dutch not been there to stop him, Micah would've found his face beaten bloody and Arthur grinning on top of him. Had he not been loyal to the camp, to his people, to Dutch. Micah wouldn't be returning from this trip. He would conveniently get a bullet to his head, or found on the bottom of a valley, beaten unrecognizable before the fall had caused the killing blow.

He didnt want any harm coming to her. He'd never felt this for a woman, not ever. He'd steal glances, admire her when she wasn't looking. Damn well kill for her. She was the light he had needed for so long, her charming smile could shine brighter than any star he'd ever seen.

'You taken a likin' to her, Morgan?'

John raised his head at that, paying closer attention to the conversation, to Arthur. Knowing the possibility of him flying off the handle.

'Shut up if you know what's good for you Micah.' Charles scolded.

He scoffed, 'The day I listen to–' Micha looks Charles up and down, lingering on the color of his skin, 'The likes of you,' he continues, 'Will be my last.' Muttering the last words.

Ignoring him, Charles didn't do as much as raise an eyebrow. Micah did not deserve a reaction.

Micah was black rot, down to his core. Destorying everything he touched. We all knew it, but all aren't so keen to admit it. Dutch was the first person to come to mind, I couldn't understand for the life of me why he was so defensive of the man.

'I can see why.' Micah spoke again, 'Pretty little thing, isn't she?' He looked at Arthur, 'Got a big mouth on her too.'

John looked between the two men, noting the way Arthur fisted his reins, no doubt knuckles turning white under his gloves. Along with the way he kept his head straight ahead, focused on not killing the man, 'Micah, keep her off your tongue.' John warned, 'I don't care for you, but I don't want the heat from Dutch when you're found dead.' His raspy voice referring to him and Arthur.

Charles looked at the men in silent agreement, he preferred staying out of camp conflicts. But she was a woman dear to the camp, touching her would bode ill for any man.

And ad usual, the big idiot doesn't listen, 'Wouldn't mind takin' her for a ride one of these nights.' He said, the self-righteous smile he bore evident even in his tone. There was no need to look at him to know it.

Bill had been staying out of it, but he could feel the anger radiating off of Arthur. Enough to switch sides, hanging back, then stearing his horse up next to Arthur instead of Micah. Just in case a bullet would come flying.

And wouldn't you know it, Arthur reached into his holster and pulled his finest revolver, aiming it at the sorry excuse of a man. All in one quick motion, he'd been labeled as a dangerous for a reason. John sighed, now he'd done it.

Micah, dropped his reins. Raising his hands in the air, keeping a smug expression on his face. But beneath, he was scared witless.

'Strawberry up ahead.' Charles called, not caring much for the action behind him. Killing Micah would only do the camp good, but a gunshot would give their location away.

'Not another word of her.' Arthur began, 'Touch 'er–' He warns, 'And I'll let her kill ya'.' His voice gravelly and threatening, but Micah scoffed at the notion.

The familiar click off a safety lever sounds out, and the color drains from Micahs face.

'House is just up ahead.' Charles cut in, 'I'd suggest you wait wait with this til we got the funds.'

With a final glare, he holsters his gun and rides up to Charles. Clearing a hill, the house comes into view. Arthur sighs, 'Damn it Micah, you didnt tell us this feller had security.'

'You scared of a little fightin' pretty boy?' Micah mocked.

With a scoff from Arthur, they hitch their horses and pull up their bandanas, setting about proving the rumors of the infamouse Van Der Linde gang.

I anxiously checked my father's old pocket watch. It had been a few hours now. I put it down, tried to think of other things, and then picked it up again. Another 5 minutes had passed. Christ. I couldn't bear losing Arthur, John or Charles, god forbid all three of them. Bill could be sweet, but only when he needed something. I couldn't even dare imagine John leaving Abigail and Jack behind. What would they do? Stay with the gang, of course, but. . . Goodness, what about Arthur? My thoughts were racing ahead of me.

A few more minutes pass, then I hear hoofbeats, relief flods through me. It's hard to count, but theres at least three horses. God, let it be the right three. I emerge from my tent, along with Miss Grimshaw, Abigail, the rest of the girls, and Dutch. I race up to Abigail, holding eachothers hands as we watch the treeline in silence. Relying on each other for support.

Eventually, they break through. All five horses returning with their men on top of them, secretly I curse. One of the could've gotten lost and the world would've been a better place for it. I stroke Abigails back while John sees to his horse, then walks up to us, taking her in his arms and spinning her in a circle. They laugh, and a tinge of jealousy spark inside me. Yet I'm more than happy for them.

I observe the rest of them, they seem to be unharmed. All except. . . Arthur, his white shirt covered in blood. The terror must've been evident on my face, because–

'Hes fine.' John spoke, 'Most of it aint even his.' He said in an effort to calm me.

I nodded, smiling faintly 'Thank you John.' And sqeezed his arm.

'Well–' Dutch called out, 'How'd it go?' He looked at them, expecting nothing but grandeur.

'We got more than we bargained for. . ' John said, grinning. But there was something else his tone.

Bill unloaded his horse and came carrying several saddlebags, throwing them at our feet, money spilling out 'We got what we came for—' He paused, then pulled out two more bags from vehind his back, 'And more!' He burst out in a self-satisfied laugh.

I had to say, they made the best out of a bad situation. And on top of it all, Micah had barely made a sound, he was strangely quiet.

Dutch patted Bill and John on the back, 'Good work, wake the rest. Let us celebrate!' He clapped his hands together, no doubt imagining Tahiti.

I searched for him in the crowd of people as the camp was waking up, and found him talking to Charles and Sadie at the edge of the camp, clutching his side. Worry gnawed at me. They joined us by the campfire while Arthur headed into his tent, not saying much of nothing to anyone else.

The festivities carried out throughout the night, Arthurs lamp remained turned on. Eventually, I just had to check up on him.

I snuck away from the folk, Abigail and John had already turned in, as had Dutch and Molly. Seemed like the singles were the only ones left drinking, and Micah had disappeared to sulk somewhere. Lucky us.

I left them to it and approached his tent, 'Arthur?' I called, but didn't get an answer. I just heard some huffing from the inside.

I risked his reaction and pulled the flap to the side, 'Arth-' I began, but got cut off by the sight. In front of me was Arthur Morgan, shirt pushed up over his stumache, cowboy hat on, stitching up his own wound. Sitting on a stool, his pants were unbuttoned and folded down by the hip, revealing that beautiful "V" shape along with a happy trail of hair leading down toward, well. . . A new cut stretched from his hip to his abdomen, blood covered his hands and side, groaning as he pulled a needle through his skin. Something set off inside me, a yearning that made my body ache. He scarcely even noticed me, not until I gasped.

He looked up, eyes widening, 'You need somethin' Girl?' He blurted out, taken off guard. His state of undress did not help.

'Arthur Morgan. . .' I sighed, slightly offended, 'You shouldve fetched me, you know im good at stitchin' wounds.'

'I know, I know. 'm sorry sweetheart.' smiling faintly, 'Didnt wanna bother you.' He drawled.

I also noticed a mostly empty bottle of whiskey next to him, hoping he used most of it to disinfect the wound. I put my hands on my hips, 'Will you let me help?'

He nodded and handed me the needle, fingers brushing against eachother as I grabbed it.

Our eyes met, briefly. Sharing a glance that was ment to be stolen.

He leaned back against his dresser, the muscle of his upper body changing and rippling with his movements.

I cleared my throat and stepped closer, 'May I?' I asked, pointing at his shirt.

'You may.' He smirked.

I leaned closer to him, unbuttoning from top to bottom. Then pushing the shirt over his shoulder so it'd stay clear from his wound. I kneeled in front of him, his legs spread so I could get closer to the cut, then resting my elbows on his strong thigh to steady my arms.

I tried to focus on the wound, but it proved hard as I was so close to his crotch and how closely he was observing me.

'Might I ask what happened?' I bit my lip in focus, threading the needle through his skin.

'More men than expected.' He answered with a grunt, looking at my lips. Blood rushing somewhere it ought not to, 'One jumped out on me.' He continued, his voice husky and strained.

'He live to tell the tale?' I asked, searching his gaze. Hoping he'd be sincere.

'He did. . .' He groaned, as I finished another stitch. Making the aching settle in my core, a pulse running through me. Every now and then, when I believed him not to be looking. My eyes roamed his chest, studying his strong pecks and biceps.

'You know anything about Micahs sudden tongue-tie?' I ask, locking eyes with him. He lowers his head with a chuckle, a smirk poking out from under his hat.

'I might've. . . Given him something to think about.' He shrugs, the corner of his lip tugging.

Sighing, a smile spreads over my lips 'Youre a good man, Arthur Morgan.' I told him earnestly, 'Better than most.' I finished the last stitch and looked at him, 'All d-' I began, but he cut me off.

His lips greeting mine in a passionate kiss, lasting a whole second. But it was the best second I'd had in years. He pulled back, a horrified look on his face. Immidietly regretting it.

Surprised, I did not quite know what to say. 'Arthur, Im- You- You're drunk. .' I blurted, thinking it was the alcohol taking action. Nothing else.

'I'm–' He looked at me, searching for words 'You're right, I- I probably am. Apologies miss.' He managed.

I cursed myself, why'd he have to be drunk? He'd never remember that this even happened tomorrow.

'No- no. That's fine, don't worry. I didnt-' I tried, I didn't mind it. In fact I loved it, is that so hard to say? 'I should, uhm- let you sleep, you need to rest.' Idiot.

'I s'pouse so.' Was all he said, shock and regret still lingering between us.

'Well, good night. . . Mr Morgan.' I said, and he winced. Quickly, I took my leave.

'Night ma'am.' He called after me.

It felt like fleeing the scene of a crime. Bashing myself for the the formal good night, we were way past such pleasantires. It felt like a blow to even utter the words, even though I usually call him Mr Morgan. But it's always in a teasing way. Never formal and distant like this was.

Goodness gracious, what had I done?

I tucked myself under the covers in my own tent, thoughts circling my mind. I could not tear myself away from the smell of him, his musk, his broad build. Or the way sweetheart sounded as it rolled of his tongue, the way his tongue felt against my own. A hand snaked between my thighs, relieving myself of the ache he'd caused. Then slowly, I drifted off to sleep. With nothing but him on my mind.

You god damned fool Arthur, why'd you have scare her away? Old bastard, he thought to himself. Seeing her by his tent had startled him, but her gentle touch and sweet voice was all the comfort he'd needed. It took the sting right out of the needle. He'd used the bottle to clean the wound, but letting her think he was drunk was easier than the truth.

He'd took a liking to her from the moment he laid eyes on her, but she would never feel the same way. She'd called him Mr Morgan, as if the last year of building a relation with her had disintigrated within a second. It stung, real bad. Worse than a knife ever would. Yet that kiss made it all worth it her soft lips against his, her sweet taste. Feeling her breath on his skin as she undid his buttons, and seein' you like that? Kneeling between his legs, so close to him. It was a memory he would cherish through thick and thin, a memory that would keep him up at night. A memory that made him hard in an instant, he let out a frustrated groan. Silenty taking care of it, pretty images of her occupying his mind as he did. Finally, he began drifting off to sleep. And he only had one thing on his mind. She'd called him a good man, that's all that mattered to him.

A week passed, and we'd had a few shallow interactions. Nothing serious, but resembling the akwardness we experienced in his tent, it made my heart sore. I always found a reason to talk to him, to be near him. So when to opportunity arrived once again, I jumped on it. We'd had a full day of chores, but needed to head into Valentine for a supply run, to stock up on things like ammo and vegetables. And just generally take a look around town, see what else we could find. But I don't have a horse of my own, and since Lenny and Sean were taking the wagon.

I found myself in need of a ride.

The sun had begun its final stretch before setting, meaning the light was golden and beautiful. The warm spring air was gradually turning chilly, but in the most soothing way. I joined the crew by the horses, 'Who's willin' to give a lady a ride.' I asked coyly.

Arthurs mouth fell open, as if he was about to speak, but quickly closed it again. 'I always got space for you, girl.' Sadie winked.

'Stop that. . You ol' charmer.' I smile shyly. Arthur couldn't help but smile, nothing but admiration I'm his eyes for you.

'Well-' Micah began, and I immediately rolled my eyes. Arthur glaring daggers at him.

'Shut it, and shave that overgrown squirell off your face.' Sadie interrupted him, Sean erupting into laughter at the comment.

'Why are we even bringin' him? We don't need that kind of trouble today.' I pointed out.

'Cause I say so, sweetheart.' He leers, smugness radiating off of him.

My stumache churns, my dinner almost catching its second wind, 'Dont call me that.' I turn serious.

Micah laughs, about to respond-

'You heard her.' Arthur stops him, making him reconsider opening his mouth again. Instead he opts to mutter under his breath, no doubt the most vile and cruel things too.

John joins us to help get the wagon in order, then sen dus off. Changing the subject back, 'Arthur got the most space.' John points out, 'I'm sure he wouldn't mind.' He winks at me subtly, and I blush. John Marston, you godsend.

'That okay with you Arthur?' I ask, looking up at him with big eyes.

'Course, c'mon sweetheart.' He jumps out of the saddle, grabs me by the waist, and helps me onto his tall, dark shire.

I yelp, unprepared for his strength. He gets back on, placing himself behind me, then grabs the reins on either side of me, capturing me in his big frame. I can honestly say, that I've never felt safer. A content smile covers my lips.

Sadie chuckles at the two of us, the chuckle turning into pure laughter when she sees Micahs expression. Gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, glaring at us, probably furious by my blatant approval of Arthurs use of sweetheart.

And with that, we begin our journey into town. Lenny and Sean were singing behind us, Sadie leading the way ahead of us. And Micah? I didn't bother finding out where he was.

Feeling Arthurs warmth behind me was all I cared about, his chest and thighs rubbing up against me with every step of his horse. It was doing something to me.

As the sun dove deeper, the cool in the air grew. Involuntary shivers took ahold of my body, 'You cold, girl?' He asked.

I shook my head, 'No, I'll be fine. Thank you though, Arthur.' My voice hackig as a particularly violent shiver shook my body, making my teeth clattered against eachother.

'Dont you lie to me, you're freezin'.' He says, worry lacing his tone, 'Take the reins.' That was an order.

I did and his hands slid between us, unbuttoning his jacket. Knuckles brushing against my back, all the way along my spine, ending at the arch of my back. Sending shivers in waves all over my body. 'Scooch down.' He orders again. Slightly hesitant, I slide backward. My ass tucked neatly again his crotch and my back flush again his chest. With his jacket still on, he wraps it around my sides, nearly covering my entire upper body. Sharing eachothers heat, trapping it between us.

'Arthur. .' I breathe, lust coursing through me. But it must've sounded as a protest because-

'-Dont start.' He said, 'My jacket is big enough for the both of us. Now hand me the reins, darlin.'

Oh you wonderful, oblivious man.

I gave them back to him and tugged his jacket closer around me, leaning impossibly closer to him. Gradually, my shivers disappeared, all thanks to the large, warm bear of a man behind me.

'See? Told ya'.' His body shook gently with a silent chuckle.

'You're somethin' else Mr Morgan.' I sighed and this time, the words felt right.

He smiled, she didnt see it, thankfully. Everything she did, made him smile. She was so close to him, and he had indirectly caressed her back. He could've leaned back and given her space, but he craved her. It was intimate and special. He'd not felt so peaceful since she stitched him up last week. Everything he did was at her service. Now she sat between his legs, grinding up against him. Not to her knowledge though, she just moved her hips to the step of the horse, riding like a woman should. But unbeknownst to her, she was feeding a hunger he fought hard to contain. Head in the lions mouth and all.

'Whats on that mind of yours Arthur?' She asked, 'I can feel you thinkin' from 'ere.' Shuddering against him, is she still cold?

If she only knew, what was goin' through his mind. How he thought of you every waking moment, a sentiment she would never return.

'Nothin' special, you still feelin' cold? I can feel you shiverin' Girl.'

She froze for a second before she spoke, chuckling under her breath, 'No I ain't cold, but thank you again.' He could hear the smile on her lips.

What was it then?

'Is the cut heelin' good?' She asked, concern and something else lingering in her voice. The memory resurfaced in his mind, his blood setting about rushing places. He shut his eyes, trying to clean his mind before he answered. Clearing his throat first, 'Good, 'is gonna be a nice 'n clean scar.' His voice lightly strained.

'Well, I'm glad. You got enough of em' for my liking.' She huffed, annoyed at the notion of him always hurting himself.

He risked it, and leaned his head forward, almost touching her shoulder but not quite. Breathing in that sweet scent of hers. Telling himself that it wasn't such a strange thing to do. 'I'll survive, I always do. With your fine stitchin' It's impossibly not to.'

She blushed, turning her face away from his, a bit shy at his compliment. He loved the way her cheeks turned rosy, 'Thank you.' She said proudly, another shudder against him.

Damn it, wad she still cold or not?

He opted out of asking again. She'd just tell him no. So he took matters into his own hands, quite literally. He moved the reins into one hand and circled the other around her waist, pulling her closer. Figuring he could blame it on rough terrain, that he didn't want her to hurt her pretty self.

But she didn't protest, on the contrary. She made a sound, almost like she exhaled a moan under her breath. Then grabbed his thigh, rough terrain too, perhaps? 'Arthur. . .' She breathed.

'I apologise miss, I shouldn't ha–' He began.

'No, no. You should've.' Firm in her words. 'You, remember much from last week?' She asked.

'I do.' He breathed, a nervous shake to his voice.

'You werent drunk?'

'No ma'am.' He answered truthfully, 'I lied.'

'Why?' There was hurt in her voice, and something broke inside of him.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, afraid he'd hurt her more, 'Thought maybe it'd be best, since I stepped over a line.'

She scoffed, 'You didn't step over anything, Mr Morgan.'

'Well I. . .' He paused, 'You didnt seem to like it, thats all. Didnt want you to think I was takin' advantages.' He rambled an explanation.

'I didn't want to take advantage of you Mr Morgan.' She sounded annoyed, annoyed by this whole missunderstanding, 'Didnt want you kissin' me drunk, if it was, just cause you were drunk.' She explained, 'I thought you were drunk. . .' sighing.

Puzzle pieces were finally falling into place for the both of them.

'We're here!' Sadie called from the front.

Dissapointed, I sighed. Yet, relieved, I smiled.

Arthur jumped off, grabbed my waist and helped me down. His touch lingering as our eyes met, searching eachothers gazes for answers. Wondering, where to go from here. We were finally on the same page, and knowing he kissed me from his own free will put a sping in my step.

The group broke up, I headed with Sadie as the men got about their business. We looked at the guns first and foremost, then headed for the general store. I looked for Arthur as we walked from building to building, and saw him heading into the stables. I wondered if he was gonna treat himself to a new saddle. He deserved it.

We went about our list of things to buy, then gathered by the wagon. Collectively, we decided on a bar run before we rode back to camp. Lenny and Sean were particularly excited about the idea.

We ordered whiskey, drank and laughed. Sadie and Lenny stood between me and Arthur, resulting in a whole lot of meaningful glances. Just wishing we could talk some more.

At some point a woman had approached Arthur, laying her hand on his bicep, clearly flirting. And my blood ran cold.

I stood talking with Sean, who noticed my change in demeanour and looked over at them. 'Dont worry yourself girl.' He laughed, and I furrowed my brows. Not sure what he ment.

'You gonna buy a lady a drink?' The woman asked, her voice sultry. Now, my blood boiled.

Arthur chuckeled, 'I didnt know I was talking to a lady.' And glanced at her hand, which she immediately retracted upon noticing.

She scoffed, 'Aint that a nice way to treat a woman. You taken cowboy?' She asked, her eyes narrowing on him.

'Well. . .' He huffed, 'You could say that.'

My heart swelled at his comment.

'Told ye so.' Sean smirked, and I playfully hit him on the shoulder.

The night went on, and as most nights go in a saloon, a fight was bound to happen. Arthur must've been watching me, because within the next half minute. A man had walked up next to me, and was about to touch what wasnt his to touch. But Arthur appeared out of nowhere, his outlaw instics mustve been on high alert. The man did in fact look sleezy enough to attempt such a thing, Arthur grabbed the mans wrist in a bone breaking grib. 'You keep your hands to yourself mister.' He said, his voice low and threatening.

'Or what?' The man spit, and Arthur let go of him. Lowering his head, chuckling. That shouldve been the mans warning, but he didn't know Arthur like we did.

Backing me up, Sean whispered 'Get ready.' to Sadie, Lenny and me. Nodding to a table of thugs in the corner, they were staring at our group intently, watching the scene unfold.

Arthur jerked his head to the side and smirked under his hat, then in flash he gave the man a lethal right hook. Sending him flying backward. The thugs sprung up, heading for us with firm steps.

Holy shit. A full on brawl broke out, everyone lunged themselves on everyone. I delivered a right hook of my own as two guys were ganging up on Lenny. Another man tried getting handsy with me, he snuck up behind me and grabbed me around the waist. So I elbowed him hard in the side and threw my head back. Headbutting him, I turned around and pushed him off me. Taking great joy in the way his nose was gushing blood, I grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the crotch. With a whine, the man fell to the ground.

Even Micah joined in on the action, he'd been sitting still enjoying his whiskey beside us. Until he decided he wanted some fun too, apparently only he could be inappropriate with me. He smashed the glass over the head on the closest man, although im pretty sure he wasn't even apart of the brawl.

As the dust was settling and the lawmen had been called, we flew the coup. Arthur grabbed my hand and rushed us to our horses, not willing to risk leading the law back to camp, we rode hard and fast for Strawberry. Arthur was making a fuss about me on the ride there, asking if I was ok, and I assured him I was. 'Well. . . You got one hell of a hook girl.' He said, and I beamed with pride.

The gang had to act casual as we arrived to Strawberry, which proved futile with cuts and bruises as we asked for hotel rooms. But we ended up conning our way into possession of the last three hotel rooms. Bribing the clerk that is.

Arthur grabbed a key of his own, which nobody disputed. He gave me a meaningful look at and headed upstairs. Sadie grabbed a key and dragged me along with her. Leaving the last three men to argue about sharing a room, 'Shut up Micah, you're sleeping in the hall.' Sean shouted behind us. Turning around, I saw Micah slamming the doors open and storming out.

'I'll find a woman to warm me, dont ya' worry.' He shouted back, muttering under his breath.

We burst out laughing and ran to our room, but before we headed in, I grabbed her arm 'I'm just gonna go check on Arthur real quick.' I said, not thinking much of it.

'I'll not see you til the morning then.' She laughed, our stolen glances had apparently not been so stolen after all.

I rolled my eyes, 'We'll see.' And knocked on his door.

Lenny and Sean walked by, a low whistle accompanied by chuckles as they saw me standing there. But they quickly turned quiet when Arthur opened the door, standing in only his shirt and pants 'May I come in?' I asked, giving him my best puppy eyes.

'Course.' He smirked, and opened the door wider, stepping out of my way. My side brushing against him as I entered. His vest and jacket lay discarded on the bed, along with his hat.

'About before-' I began, my back turned to him. Suddenly feeling his hands slide onto my waist, pulling me into him. I gasped, not expecting it. He leaned into my shoulder, lips gracing my neck, all the way up to my ear. The warmth of his breath fanning over my skin, making me boil on the inside. It made it difficult to think.

'I want you darlin', all of ya'.' He whisperes, 'If you'll have me–' pausing to place a gentle kiss between my ear and jaw, '–'M tired off missunderstandin's.'

In a haze, I turn around and lay my hands on his chest, having to crane my neck upward to meet his eyes. I reach one hand to caress his cheek, brushing at his stubble 'So am I.'

He leans into my delicate touch, nuzzling my hand and placing a soft peck on my palm.

One of his hands sinks its fingertips into the flesh at my hip as the other grabs my arm softly, sliding his hand up to my wrist, gently holding it as he places another kiss there, right on my pulse point. His lips linger, feeling my rapid heartbeat. Gently, he experiments. Sucking and pecking the spot.

A deep ache settles in my bones, fortifying with every kiss he places, deepening with every beat of my heart. And for a second, he feels it too. Meeting my eyes with a smirk, he pulls my sleeve up to cover more ground. Immidietly I feel that my clothes are weighing me down, 'Arthur.' I whisper.

'Hmm?' He hums, focused on kissing what skin he has access to.

Clearing my throat, 'Will you–' I breathe, 'Help me unbutton?'

His eyes meet mine again, searching my gaze for certainty. 'I'll spend the rest of my days doin' your biddin' if it makes you happy girl.'

'It would–' I say, and his hands move to my ribcage, pulling me into his frame. His face an inch from mine as his hands snake around my back, making quick work of each button without batting an eye. 'Oh—' I gasp, surprised by his practiced fingers. 'Should I be jealous?' I ask under my breath.

'No ma'am, none could compete with you.' He assures me.

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, and in the same moment, he finishes with the last button. Stroking his knuckles over the bare skin along my spine, and sighs. Content. As a shuddering breath leaves me.

Arthur wonders for but a second if shes cold again, until he realises.

'You werent cold, were ya'?'

Immedietly getting what hes reffering to, 'In the begginin' I was.' I tell him truthfully, 'Youre wonderfully clueless sometimes, especially for such a experienced man.'

He chuckles, 'You tellin' me you were all hot 'n bothered for me?'

'You were rubbin' against me, pullin' me close. How could I not be?'

'I wasnt–' He protests, '–You were on me if anythin'.'

'Oh so youre tellin' me you were all hot 'n bothered then?' I throw his words back at him, smirking happily while doing it.

Arthurs mouth opens and closes, unable to think of a comeback.

'Thats what I thought.'

He scoffs a smile, pushing my blouse off of me, leaving me in my undergarments.

His hands move to my arms, sliding upwards, leaving prickled skin in their abscence. He trails them over my collarbones and neck, his eyes following every inch of movement.

I lay my hands on his hips, holding onto him as my knees grow weeker by the second.

Forming his hands into loose fists, he caresses my cheeks with the backs if his fingers. Gently brushing the knuckles over my cheekbones, pushing strands of hair from my face in the same motion. He flattens his hands and cup my face, big hands draping around the sides of my head. Pulling me closer, he leans into my space. Meeting in the middle, his lips ghost over mine.

My breath hitches when he kisses me softly, his thumbs stroking my temples in soothing motions.

I grab onto his shirt, fisting and lightly pulling on the fabric. Arousal taking the reins completley, making it hard to think. I look at him with hazy eyes, admiration clouding every sense I have. '. . 'S your turn mister.' I breathe.

Smiling, he continues kissing me, 'At your pleasure ma'am.'

With a pleased hum, I trace my hands up his abdomen and over his chest, and Arthur groans in response. The aching pulse in my body stiffens at the sound, becoming more compressed. More focused in my core. Kissing him, I easily unbutton his shirt, making quick work of it, and slide it over his shoulders. Now hooked on his arm folds, it hangs around the small of his back. I sigh happily, what a sight it was.

'You expercied taking men's shirt's off?' He jokes, laughing. Then moves his hands to my waist, clawing softly at my skin.

I slide my arms around his neck, up into his hair. Scrathing his scalp tenderly, 'Well–' I begin, but he bites my lip suddenly, warning me. I yelp, accidently pulling on his hair, and a whine escapes him. My core dripping at the sound as I release a shuddering breath, '. .'M a woman Arthur, I have needs.'

'Yeah?' He questions, 'You needin' right now, woman?' The gruffness in his voice making my fingers curl.

'I am. .' Whining, my kisses turn needy, 'I need you Arthur, always.' I moan.

At that he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his embrace, his fingers digging into my flesh. He kissed me, hard. Hard like he might just die if let's me go.

'Skirt. . .' mumbling against me, 'Needs to go.' He manages. Without another word, I snake my hands behind my back, untying my skirt a let it fall to the floor. Arthur walks forward, forcing me back until my chins hit the bed and we fall onto it. He puts his weight on me, although supported by his forearms. 'Pants.' He orders, but I was already one step ahead. My hands already moving quickly to undo the buttons on his pants as hes kissing his way down my jaw and neck. Focusing on my sweet spot, hes sucks bruises, turning me into a moaning mess under every breath. Meanwhile, I shove my hand into his boxers. He grunts and shoves his forehead into the crook of my neck as I palm him, overwhelmed by my long lusted for touches. His member was already harder than a rock, and leaking juices. I bring my thump to his tip, stroking his seed in circles. He groans breathely into my neck, his warm breath causing further heat to pool in core. He leans onto one arm, sliding the other along the curves of my body. Cupping my breast through my brasier, 'I want to look at you sweetheart.' He groans and unfolds his arm so that hes above me to meet my eyes, 'Can I look at ya'?' He asks, voice pleading.

I nod, '. . 'Course.'.

Waisting no time, he snakes one hand under my back and lifts me up. I gasp, always surprised by his strength. 'Please, ma'am.' He begs, and I take the hint. My hand leaves his his member and move around my back, undoing the brasier. Throwing it on the floor, he sighs in relief, 'Wanted to see ya' for so long.' He breathes, lowering me back onto the bed and himself onto of me. Immidietly taking one breast into his mouth, and palms the other. Squeezing them, playing with my nipples, using teeth, tounge and fingers. Automatically, my back arches. Pushing my abdomen against his, and accidentally making my mound rub against his crotch. He hums under his breath, his hand leaving my breast and slowly slides down my body, then pulls his mouth off of my breast with a pop. 'Now.' He whispers, kissing his way up to my jaw, then leveling his head with mine, 'Wanna se all of ya'.' his free hand cups my cunt. I gasp from the sudden touch, there's no friction, no movement, yet the aching grows stronger from the warmth of his palm alone. I shut my eyes, trying to come up with an answer. But the presence of him takes up my entire mind, all I can manage is a nod.

Not satisfied, he pushes his palm firmly against my core. 'Look at me girl.' He orders, sliding his middle finger over my slit, undergarments creating a barrier. Making my wetness soak into them, and he chuckles when he feels it. Whimpering, I open my eyes to look at him, and he smirks, 'Good girl.' And plants a kiss on my jaw, 'Use your words this time.' He pecks my lips, then slides his finger over my clit. Lately circling it through the fabric, I swallow hard. Jolts of pleasure surge through my body as something finally gives. 'Want. . . You.' I manage.

'Yeah?' He breathes, and I nod. To which he raises his brows, and pushes two fingers against my core in warning.

Another jolt, '!Mmm, meanin'. . .' Humming a stutter, 'Yes–' I pause, '–Please Arthur. I- I want you.'

'Atta girl.' He praises, then begins trailing kisses down my chest, over my nipple and abdomen, ending at my mound, right above my clit.

My back arches, 'Please. .' I whisper, pleading with him. He pushes back, shakes his already half off shirt completley off, and his pants follow. My eyes go wide at the size of him, hello cowboy.

His hands slide up my thighs, giving reassuring squeezes until he gets ahold of my undergarments. Hooking his fingers under them, he gently slides them off, and the both of us gasp. 'Beautiful.' He murmurs, admiring me. Then bends down, kissing his way up my inner thigh. Winding his arms under my legs and grabbing my waist, then hovers over my cunt, giving me one last look before diving in.

He licks one long stripe up my folds, gathering my wetness on his tongue. Then attaches himself to my clit, generously sucking and circling his tongue around it. I'd been on edge since the night in the tent, hyper sensitive from always wanting him, and finally feeling him on me? It's purely magical, I have to bite my cheek to keep from screaming when he shoves two fingers inside me. Thrusting in and out, curling with every withdrawal. I was already close, 'Arthur, 'm so close.' I moan.

He nods, furthering the movement of his tongue, 'Tell me what ya' needin' girl.' He mumbles against my folds, the vibrations of his voice deepness have me gripping my sheets, clawing it them like a wild animal.

'Need you, need you in me.' I blurt out.

He laughs, 'Im already in you sweetheart.' Causing my back to arch again, oh sweet, sweet vibrations. I throw my head back into the pillow, and his hand slides from my hip to my lower abdomen, 'Be good and lay still now.' Then pushing down with his palm. That combined with his fingers, were– were enough. . .

Blinding pleasure surges through me as I come on his fingers, walls clenching, fluids flowing. I breathe heavily as he laps it up, 'In me Arthur, please.' I whine.

'Youre gonna have to be clearer girl.'

I loose my patience, 'Christ, Arthur! I need you cock in me.'

He smirks, 'Well why didnt you just say so?' His hands push my legs over his shoulders and he climbs on top of me, face to face, he kisses me passionately. Tasting of salt.

His tip graces my entrance, 'You sure, aint you?' He asks, kissing my jaw.

I bury my hand in his hair, 'Mmh, 'm sure.' And with that, pushes inside me. A breathy moan leaves our mouths simultaneously.

'Feelin' just as sweet as you taste sweetheart.' He whispers against my jaw, nuzzling his nose into my cheek and forehead against temple. The pulls out, to the tip, and shoves himself back in. Hard and passionate, he sets perfect pace. Rocking our bodies with every thrust, going deeper than I ever thought to be possible.

'Christ.' I groan, he's hitting that spot inside me with every motion. One hand moves though his back, scratching at it loosely, pulling on hip to get him even deeper. He grunts, in my ear. Might aswell be music, wouldnt be able to tell a difference. He snakes one hand up my torso, grabbing my throat gently and squeezing just enough. Brushing his thumb over my my jugular. Outlaw indeed.

I pull on his hair, to level his face with mine, I wanted his lips, his tongue. 'Kiss me cowboy.' I order, and he follows.

Kissing me deeply, in rhythm with his thrusts, In rhythm with the aching that was finally dulling in my body. Finally, I had I'm. Truly had him. Bliss flows through me as the knot in my stumache tightens, on the verge of my second orgasm. And telling by Arthurs thrusts, he wasn't far away either. In a few more thrusts we both topple over with a breathy moans, Arthur whispering, 'Good girl.' Over and over as his seed was filling me to the brim, seeping out around his member as he collapses on me. My legs falling to the bed. We gather our breaths in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the closeness of the other.

He lays and arm around me, pulling me close as we fall asleep. Both thinking of the other, just not having to imagine what holding the other would feel like anymore.

At some point during the night, Arthur had rolled me off of his arm and snuck out. I was to tired to think much of it, especially since he returned shortly after. By morning I had all but forgotten it, brushing it off as a dream.

As we got dressed and ready the next day, I handed Arthur his hat. He took it, but looked at me, 'Put it on, wanna see you in something of mine.' He says, smiling.

'Gladly.' I chirp, and put it on.

His smile slants, turning into a smirk, 'Now, girl. You know what that means don't you?'

'Why'd you think I was glad to put it on. If not just to tell Micah to shove it.' I chuckle.

'It suits ya' He ruffles my hair with the hat.

We walked out and fetch our horses, the grup giving us mixed looks as the spot us. Arthurs hat declaring to the public of his intentions, that I was his and that we would have a busy night. Sadie smirked knowingly, winking at me. While Sean and Lenny looked happy for us, Micah was the only one who glowered.

'I got a surprise.' He says as he saddles his shire.

'Yeah, whats that?' I tilt my head.

He nods to Sean who runs off, I quirk my eyebrow at Arthur, 'Whats all this?' I ask.

'You'll see, keep your eyes peeled sweetheart.'

Eventually, Sean comes back into view, leading a horse I don't recognize. A beautiful mustang, tan coat, and white forhead. I don't connect the dots at first, 'Sean got a new horse?' I ask, confused.

'Now why would I surprise you with a new horse for Sean?' He asks, chuckling. And the pieces snap into place.

'For me?' I ask, dumbfounded. A million questions circling my head.

'Got her yesterday, had Sean ride and get her earlier this morning. Since I was. . . Occupied.' He smirks.

'That's why you snuck out in the night, then?'

He hums, 'Mhm.'

'Well I'll be. . Arthur Morgan, thank you.' I smile, hugging him. He wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly, afraid I'd otherwise slip away.

'. .'S nothing.' He pecks my cheek, 'Go meet her.'

As we arrived back to camp, we got busy. Late into the night we spent in Arthurs tent, defining the meaning of cowgirl.

The next few hours we rode next to eachother on our way back to camp, flirting and laughing as Saint and I got used to eachother.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 smut #rdr smut #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

141 + König Where Reader Surprises Them With Tik Tok Leggings

Based on a request from anon- I accidentally posted this from my queue, and I wasn't finished yet🥲

Warnings: swearing, spanking, mild sex references

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

You and Simon were headed to the gym for the first time this week, and you thought this was the perfect opportunity to show off the new leggings you bought off of Tik Tok.

Simon held open the door for you, and you made it a point to walk just far enough in front of him, for him to get a glimpse of the pants.

"Those new?" Simon asked, eyeing up your legs for the first time since you put them on.

"Oh yeah, heard about them on Tik Tok. I thought I'd give them a try." You gave him a warm smile before taking off your jacket and hanging it on the treadmill.

Simon's jaw fell slack as he was now able to see fully how the leggings accentuated your backside. "Uh uh, absolutely not."

"What's wrong with them?" You asked, stifling a giggle.

"What's wrong with them? Absolutely nothing, other than the fact that every man, woman, and child will be staring at my wife's ass. An ass, mind you, that's mine and mine alone to look at." He looked around the gym to find, in fact, there were people already looking at you as you climbed on the treadmill.

You were beyond amused at your husband's antics, as it wasn't often you were able to get him riled up. "Si, nobody will look."

"Damn right, nobody will look." He huffed in frustration.

You looked back to retort and couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips when you saw Simon standing guard in front of the treadmill, blocking you from anyone's line of sight.

"My hero." You giggled. "Do you at least like them?"

"Yeah I fuckin' like em." He grunted, clearly upset that he had to share this view with anyone else.

Needless to say, he followed closely behind you the rest of the time you two were at the gym that night.

König-

Poor König. He'd just sat down for a peaceful breakfast and was munching on his bowl of cereal while reading the morning paper when you'd strolled in.

You'd just recently bought those viral tik tok leggings that made your backside more prominent, and you were beyond excited to gauge his reaction to them.

You strolled over to the fridge, making a show of bending down to allow König a full view of your ass.

He glanced up from his paper with a mouthful of cereal when his eyes fell on the leggings. His jaw dropped, sending the contents in his mouth pouring out on the table.

"Good morning, Kö!" You exclaimed cheerfully, whipping around to find his mouth still wide open. "Shouldn't chew with your mouth open. It's not polite."

"M-Morning M-Maus." He stuttered, finally regaining his composure. "Those are...nice."

"You think?" You asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

He nodded his head feverishly, causing you to let out the giggle you'd been holding in.

You walked over to him and grabbed his cheeks playfully before placing a firm kiss on his lips. He pulled away a moment later, his cheeks burning red.

"Could you...could you maybe turn around again?"

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

The minute you saw the tik toks, you knew you had to buy the trending leggings. Your bum had never been the biggest out there, but you'd be lying if you said these leggings didn't make it look like twice its size.

You walked past your boyfriend, who was peacefully watching his show on the couch, playfully swaying your hips as you pretended to dust the TV stand.

"Steamin jesus." Johnny called out as his eyes landed on your ass. "What in the bloody hell are those?"

"Oh, these? Just some leggings I got." You shrugged your shoulders in feigned ignorance as you continued to wipe away the invisible specks of dust.

"Come here. I need to inspect them closer." He waived you over, and you obliged with a soft chuckle.

He placed his hands on either side of your waist and positioned you so your ass was directly in front of his face.

You felt his hands grab at your ass, massaging the flesh there roughly. "Yep, it's confirmed."

"What's confirmed?" You asked in reply.

"That these pants make your ass look fucking amazing, lass." Johnny said as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. His cock began to strain in his pants the longer he looked at you. "You don't know what they're doing to me."

"Why don't you show me?" You teased.

Johnny stood the second your words left your mouth and threw you over his shoulder, landing a playful smack to your ass. "Oh, I plan to."

John Price-

"Y/N, love, have you seen my..." John stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the glorious sight in front of him. There you were, in your brand new tik tok leggings, your ass looking more voluptuous than usual.

"Your phone? It's on the couch where you left it." You called over your shoulder as you continued to empty the dryer.

He let out a low whistle as he sauntered up to you, landing a firm slap to your ass. He felt his cock hardening in his pants as he watched the flesh jiggle from the impact.

"Forget the phone." His voice was laced with lust, and his eyes didn't leave your backside. "You look delectable."

"Like my new leggings? Got them just for you." You turned once more to throw your husband a sly smile.

"For me, huh? Trying to get my attention, are we?" He asked, pulling your frame against him. You could feel the prominent buldge of his hard on pressing into the small of your back. "It's working."

"Yeah? Figured you may like them." You moaned as he began to press soft kisses to the side of your throat.

"Oh sweetheart, I love em." He said before getting to his knees in front of you.

You braced yourself against the dryer as you felt John tug at your pants, pulling them clean off you in one fluid motion.

You could hear him chuckle darkly behind you. "Shame, think I ripped 'em. I'll have to buy you a new pair."

"DAAAAAMMMNNNNN!" His voice rang out from the kitchen entryway as he immediately caught sight of your leggings.

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

"Babe, I'm home!" Kyle called as he walked through the front door.

"In the kitchen!" You yelled back, unable to control the grin that formed on your lips. You'd just gotten the pair of tik tok leggings you'd been waiting for in the mail today, and were beyond excited for your boyfriend to see them.

"What?" You giggled, watching him practically sprint over to you.

"Those look amazing on you, holy shit babe." Kyle said, bending down to get a better look at your backside. "Go on, give me a spin."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from your chest, as you did as he asked, giving him a slow spin. "You like?"

"Oh babe, I love them. You'd be lucky if I ever let you take them off." The smile that lit Kyle's face was contagious.

"Shame, I was wondering if you wanted to come shower with me." You bit your lip and let your eyes rake his figure before slowly making your way to your shared bathroom.

Kyle quickly ran over to you and pulled your backside against his crotch. "Hmm, we might just have to see if these are waterproof then, won't we?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#simon riley imagine #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig imagine #konig mw2 #john price #price x reader #price imagine #soap mctavish #soap imagine #soap x reader #gaz imagine #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader

[pushingblueroses]

i was about to say yes but i havent seen any since ive arrived in this timeline so i couldn't tell you . but Id Make A Pretty Good Mortician And Makeup Artist. speaking of which . one of these days you're gonna meet rose and she'll be all over your ass abt self care , id take more baths if i were you 🌟 stinky

i went into the ocean pretty recently though…?

ugh i probably smell like rot

#a moment with the crow man [asks] #cause i promise i’ll take you seriously [rammie / internetfriend] #fuckin hell do i need to bathe in flowers or some shit?

[sim0nril3y]

Handy Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon begins to notice that some things around your flat are a little worse for wear, so he makes it his job to fix them. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, smut, p in v, very little foreplay, dirty talk, praise, cumplay, creampie, canon-typical swearing.

The sound of sizzling frying in the pan seemed to become background noise around your idle chatter, using a spatula to move and flip it around the pan whilst you spoke. “… and she was telling me…” Even your incessant talking became background noise instead all that Simon could focus on was that sound of the drip, drip, drip of the tap. His eyes focusing on it like it was a target he needed to eliminate. Drip, drip, drip it mocked him again and his fingers tightened on the mug in his grip.

Did you not hear that? Did it not drive you fucking insane? Simon’s eyes flickered over to where you stood with your back to him, continuing to natter mindlessly. “… I was thinking that she had to be joking…” Then you laughed whilst drip, drip, drip consumed his attention again. “… there was no bloody way…” It didn’t faze you at all. No, you simply kept your attention on the bacon in the pan that was swiftly becoming burned. “… Oh, and then-”

“Love.” His voice was tight and stern as you glanced over your shoulder at him, eyes bright and inviting, reminding him that you didn’t think like he did, you didn’t obsess over the tiny details and that was something he loved about you. “You, uh… you got any tools 'round here?” He asked, standing in a moment to approach the offending tap, observing it, moving it, turning it on and off a couple times. “Tools?” You quizzed before frowning heavily, moving the bacon aside and switching off the hob. “Oh.” The opening a stiff looking drawer to produce the oldest looking screwdriver he’d ever seen. “I have this…” Announcing like some accomplishment.

Under his breath he muttered. “Fuckin’ hell.” Holding the tool in hand, gripping the handle hard before throwing it aside uselessly. “Stop fussing.” Your voice announced then, placing down a plate that held freshly made bacon sandwich where he had originally been sitting. “Whatever you’re obsessing about…” You took a hearty bite of your own sandwich. “It can wait…” Another bite. “Until you’ve eaten…” Then licking your fingers as you grabbed the condiments from the fridge and held it out to him. “Red or brown?”

Simon’s shower had been everything but relaxing. The water had been cold for far longer than he had appreciated and directly above him the light flickered so horrendously that for a moment Simon could have convinced himself he was at a rave. “Light is flickering in your bathroom.” Simon announced, towel wrapped around his waist as he stepped into the lounge to find you. “What’s that?” You quizzed from where you stood observing a canvas, then turning to him. “The light. In the bathroom. It’s flickering.” He reiterated in a low voice whilst your eyes were lingering on his broad chest, watching the water trickle down his skin. “Oi. Pay attention.” Simon bit out playfully.

Snapping you from your trance a low hum came from your throat. “The… light…” Then out made a small noise of recognition. “It’s actually always done that.” The statement followed a careless shrug as you turned your back to him to regain focus on your painting. “You told your landlord?” He asked with concern. “Uh, yeah…” The response was quick and Simon knew you too well. “Think I’ve mentioned it before. Said he tried to fix it but it was some bigger wiring problem, or something…” Another shrugged and it bothered Simon significantly.

He had a problem with you living in a place like this. It wasn’t a good area to begin to live in. Outside teenagers screamed and caused mayhem all night, idiots drove cars around too fast and noisy at night and others got up to shady things away from prying eyes. Too many times Simon had left your flat to find never seen before dents in his car or a bunch of teenagers loitering around it. It didn't scare him but he didn’t like the thought of them playing the same tricks on you.

Besides all that, the flat just wasn’t up to standard for you. It was tiny and cluttered and half of it didn’t work or was in the process of falling apart, all that on top of knowing that you rent was way too high for what you were getting. Simon knew he needed to fix this.

That evening a frown pressed to his lips as he walked into the bedroom with a couple glasses of water. Placing one down beside you he pressed a kiss to your hairline. Then moving to the other side of the bed Simon stopped by the radiator. His hand reaching out to touch it as he frowned. The heating was on full blast everywhere else, so why wasn’t this one hot at all? He removed his hand and touched a different part and his frown intensified. “This rad isn’t working…” He mentioned as you glanced up from where you were rubbing a sweet smelling moisturiser into your legs, as if you could be anymore soft and supple, Simon lamented internally. “Isn’t it?” “You didn’t know? Babe, it’s stone bloody cold.” Then pressing his hand to it again, as if he might have gotten it wrong, but it remained completely unchanged beneath his fingers. “I know that must bother you ‘cause you’re constantly putting your cold feet on me.”

A delicate laugh fell from your lips. “Well, what’s the point of having a warm, strong body beside me if I don’t utilise it?” You jested causing Simon to scowl. “Wind your neck in.” He muttered, before trying to fight the smirk that pulled onto his face. Once again, his eyes focused on the radiator, as if his new targed. Simon mentioned. “Probably needs to be bled. S’not hard. It’s something you should learn to do…”

You simply nodded, continuing your night-time routine that he actually enjoyed watching, by the end you smelt absolutely delicious and he was more than happy to eat you. “Y’know, there isn’t much that works in this flat, babe.” He said then, moving to lay down on the bed beside you, leaning on his side in your direction. “That oven is dodgy. Every tap leaks. Lights flicker. Rads aren’t working….” Then he frowned again, reaching out to rub your knee. “These are things your landlord should be sorting…” For a moment you were quiet and then looked at him with a genuine smile. “I really hadn’t noticed, Si. I think I’ve just gotten used to it.”

It may have been something that you’ve gotten used to, but it certainly wasn’t something that Simon was going to allow. By the time that you woke up the next morning to your dismay Simon was gone from your side. Instead of worrying yourself too much you started your day and decided to put some more work into the canvas that you were obsessing over. Maybe some green? Or… maybe some blue… that would be a nice bit of contrast… what story were you trying to tell with this piece?

A knock interrupted you, placing down your brush and then wandering to open the door and smiling as Simon stood there, toolbox in hand. Your eyes trailed over his frame, looking as handsome as ever and very handy too. “Oh, you here to check my pipes?” You cooed flirtatiously causing Simon to chuckle as he stepped inside, kissing your forehead and muttering. “I think you mean clean your pipes, love…” He corrected you. “I’ll do that later if you’re a good girl and let me work.”

You allowed him as much time to work as you could manage, but as you found him working under your sink, tight dark coloured shirt riding up to reveal the trail of short hair leading down it seemed impossible to resist. “My-my…” You whimpered, your voice quaint and lewd as you sauntered a little further into the kitchen. “That is an awful big hammer you have there~” You purred in a breathy tone. “Maybe I could hold it for you~” “Fuckin’ hell…” Even without seeing him you could hear the smile on his face. “You’re bloody insatiable, love.” Sliding out from the cupboard to look at you standing there, shifting from one foot to the other as if waiting for his command. “Fuck, c’mon then…” He mentioned, lifting his hips off the worn tiled floors and shifting his jeans and underwear down to his upper thighs, cock springing free and slapping against his stomach. “Hurry up.”

Hastily you moved to straddle his thighs, rubbing your clit in tight circles and humming as you warmed yourself up, stroking his cock languidly with your free hand. His eyes rolled back for a second, lower lip gripped between his teeth. “C’mon, baby…” Large hand spanked your hear and a moment later you were lowering yourself onto his hard member, gasping at the way it intruded and stretched your slightly underprepared walls, pressing your hands hard to the wide expanse of his chest as you happily bounced your hips. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Quicker now.”

The look on your face was completely enchanted with lust and love, unable to form even the most basic of sentence. All you could manage was huffing and puffing, bouncing yourself with an unsteady rhythm. “C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” Simon grit his teeth, plating his feet on the ground and resisting the urge to begin to fuck up into your relentlessly, if you wanted this then you were gonna work for every fucking second of it. “Go on. Ruin that perfect little cunt on me…” His hands cupping and caressing your hips, feeling the way they faltered and sort his guidance.

In your defence, it was difficult to concentrate on keeping a rhymth with the way your thighs were burning, Simon had a way of keeping you his pillow princess, so times when he made you work for it felt extra hard. Not to mention, the way his cock split you open was mind-numbing, each time you sunk down his cock would press firmly against your special spots before bumping firmly against your cervix, kissing it before sliding back and promising to meet it again mere seconds later.

“S-Simon~” You cried softly, feeling your thighs cramping and pressing your hands firmly into his chest before your desperate eyes found his own. “Simon, please~” The sound was nothing more than a whimper, but it was enough for him to take mercy on your poor worn body. Beginning to thrust up firmly into your tight cunt, locking you into place with a firm hold on your hips. This produced loud gasps and moans beginning to tumble from between your lips, instead of planting your hands into his chest, now your desperately curled his shirt between your fingers. “Ohfuck. Ohfuck.” You cried helplessly.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He muttered coolly, fucking up into you without stopping or pausing, finding lasting stamina that were thankful that he had. “C’mon, get yourself there. You know how. Show me.” He pressed, watching the way your fingers slipped down and began to rub your clit in tight circles, whimpering, leaning forward, panting and then finally. “Simon~” That beautiful noise. Oh, he if he could play it on repeat in his head he fucking would. It was like a fucking lullaby that would coax him into a peaceful sleep everynight.

The way your body convulsed and locked up above his own, Simon observed with adoration, taking in the way your eyes rolled just slightly before sealing closed, mouth popping open, tongue sometimes bit between your teeth, nose scrunching, chest thrumming. It was fucking beautiful. Every second. He wanted to enjoy it over and over, but the way that you tight walls strangled his cock caused him to splutter out a low noise and then begin to shoot his thick load inside whilst your walls milked him for every pump.

There you leant into his body, breathing hard and both completely spent. It was bliss. All his worries had disappeared, the sound of that dripping sink was gone and instead replaced with your adorable whines as you slowly regained composure, smiling down at him so sweetly and carefully sliding from his length and sitting beside him.

For a moment he lay there, his body almost numb and then reaching over to pull your thigh aside and watching the way his cum seeped from your spent walls, convulsing weakly as it dribbled to the floor. “Beautiful.” He commented, closing his eyes for another second and committing that image to memory. “That’ll be me through the rest of this…” Simon mentioned, reopening his eyes and gazing at your cunt one final then and then tucking himself away. “Go on. Off you go. I got work to do.” Climbing back under the sink and resuming his handy work as if he hadn’t just destroyed your sweet cunt.

“Yes, sir~” You cooed, carefully climbing back to your feet and lingering in the doorway. Still sensing your presence Simon spoke without looking. “Thought I told you to bugger off.” Listening to you giggle in response. “Just give me a minute, I’m trying to think of another porny handy man line to use on you…”

Masterlist | Ask | 16-11-2023

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x y/n #ghost mw3 #cod mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #1k

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 — 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝘯𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺/𝘯, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹 (𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵), 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘺, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨?, (𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦)

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

“Stop squirming around, would you?” Stiles huffs in frustration from behind you.

He's been like this for an hour, sitting between your spread legs, long fingers groping and rubbing and kneading at the doughy flesh of your backside. It had started out innocent enough, his restless hands gravitating to your ass while you'd been sprawled on your belly getting some reading done for one of your courses, but he'd gotten increasingly more distracting as time went on.

His hands had eventually slipped beneath the revealing cut of your sleep shorts to touch bare skin, calloused fingers dragging over soft flesh and the thin cotton of your underwear. Rather than simply sitting criss-cross between your thighs, he's upgraded to laying on his stomach, one arm curled beneath your leg so he can prop his chin on one of your thighs while his fingers continue to squeeze and massage.

He was right, you had begun to squirm. It was getting incredibly difficult to ignore the heat that his attention was causing to pool between your thighs.

“Since when are you an ass man, anyway?” You question as you finally give up on reading all together, trying and failing to peek over your shoulder to get a good look at him, “You've always been more of a boob guy.”

“I resent that,” Stiles is quick to defend, the pad of his thumb tracing the crease where your ass meets your thigh, “I like your ass just as much as I love your tits.”

You can't quite hold back a scoff at the blatant dishonesty and he's quick to correct himself.

“-alright, maybe I favor your tits a little, but- Oh my god, will you sit still?” Stiles snaps in mild irritation when your thighs try to clench instinctively but are unable to do so given the person currently wedged between them.

“What are you even doing back there?” You ask, voice thankfully only sounding a little affected, “You know, aside from admiring my ass and groping me.”

Your hips shift a little against the mattress and you know just by the brief moment of silence before his response comes that Stiles has noticed.

“Why?” He seemingly perks up in interest, voice pitching in a self-satisfied little drawl. His thumb dips between your thighs while he tightens his palm around you again and the digit comes achingly close to brushing against the wet patch you know has formed in the crotch of your panties, “'s'it workin' you up?’’ He questions eagerly.

“Yes.” You huff and squirm again, but there's a sharp sting on the meat of your ass, a hard pinch that makes you yelp in surprise and pain, “Did- Did you just bite me?” You ask in breathless incredulity.

Another painful pinch to your skin is the only response you receive. Stiles gives the flesh a hard suck before releasing it from his mouth and this time you're pushing up with one hand when you look over your shoulder, eyes roaming over his mischievous little grin, his full pink lips, the way that his fingers have tugged the fabric of your shorts up over the curve of your asscheek to display the evidence left behind.

“Jesus christ. Stiles! Look at what you did, what the hell-”

He looks annoyingly smug as his thumb drags over the place where his teeth have carved little indents into your skin, one of them already threatening to darken into a bruise where he'd sucked a hickey into the flesh.

“I dunno, I think it looks pretty fuckin' good.” He grins, exuding cool nonchalance right up until you catch the way that his hips roll down against the mattress to provide a little relief to his stiff cock.

“If you wanted to work me up, you could've just left a few marks on my thighs and gone down on me,” You flip your textbook closed with a huff, “Y'know, if you wanna get a little territorial or whatever. 's fine, it's hot, but there are much better ways to mark me up-”

His hand comes down on your ass in a light slap and you give him a half-hearted grumble about that not being what you meant, but he's already putting more pressure on his hand as he pushes up, and then his weight is gone completely.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t actually mean that one-” He apologizes as he tumbles from the bed in a mess of long limbs.

“What-” You start to roll onto your side to watch him, but the shout he sends over his shoulder as he digs through a drawer at his desk has you freezing.

“Don't move! Alright? I mean it!”

You settle back onto your stomach dutifully, propped up on your elbows as your gaze leaves his frantic search to re-open your textbook with a sigh, “What are you doing now? What're you even looking for?”

“You'll see. Now, quiet.”

His admonishment meets your ears sounding oddly garbled, like he's trying to speak around something in his mouth, and you make to turn toward him in curiosity, but he's already climbing back in between your thighs and giving your right asscheek a light slap in reprimand for moving. He tugs your shorts and underwear down your legs in one go and you can't help but crane your neck now, but the moment your torso twists to get a better look, he firmly pushes your hips back down onto the mattress, a wide palm spreading out over your skin to hold you in place.

Your heart pounds in excited anticipation at the feeling of your lower half being exposed while he's still fully clothed. Again, you try to clench your thighs together for just the little bit of friction the action normally provides, but there's not much relief with the way Stiles has you spread around him.

Something soft and cool meets your recently exposed skin, the texture difficult to place as it drags smoothly across the roundness of your backside.

“What's that?” You question, fighting the urge to wriggle in response to the peculiar feeling.

“Marker.” Stiles says easily, his voice taking on that edge it gets when he's focusing hard on something.

A soft snort of amusement leaves you as your palms fall to brace on the glossy pages of your textbook, “You're drawing on my ass?”

“Not.. Exactly..” He mumbles distractedly.

Another huff falls from your lips as the cap of the marker gives the telltale little click that indicates he's finished with his mysterious artwork, “Sti, seriously-”

A quiet groan cuts you off, the sound of it familiar and wholly erotic as it rumbles up his throat.

“Christ.. Fuckin' look at you..” Stiles groans, the pads of his fingers tracing over the ink on your skin.

You nearly shiver, goosebumps threatening to pebble along your skin in response to the gentle brush of his fingers across your ass. You make to ask him a question — to please just touch you where you want him, to tell you what he's drawn on your skin, to let you turn around so you can climb into his lap and devour him — but he's speaking again before you can form more than the garbled beginning of an ‘um-’.

“God, it is insane how hot that is,” Stiles grumbles as he dips down and his mouth finds the meat of your asscheek again, biting down softly this time and giving a small suck to the skin that has you nearly writhing, your fingernails scraping across the glossy pages of your textbook. His lips release you with a pop and his thumbs find the crease of your backside, spreading you and giving another little groan at the sight of your cunt shining with arousal. “Shit, I really was working you up, huh, baby? So fuckin' wet right now.”

“You've been groping me for the past thirty minutes,” Your assessment comes out a little breathless, an embarrassingly weak sounding thing, “What were you expec- ohh.. Ho-oh my-”

You're interrupted when he sinks a finger inside of you without preamble, pumping only twice before another joins the first and stretches you a little harder. It's an all-too easy glide, two of his long fingers pumping within your walls in smooth strokes with the aid of just how wet you truly are.

“Well shit, I'm sorry, babe,” Stiles says, genuine apology in his words that are dripping in an aroused sort of surprise, “Didn't mean to leave you hanging, and on our anniversary no less. If I'd known you were wound this tight I would've fucked you twenty minutes ago.”

The innocence in how he says it contrasts sharply with the actual filth spilling from his mouth and it has you reeling a bit, your ass pitching up and spine arching just a little to better the angle of his hand. You're so focused on the drag of his knuckles against your sensitive walls that you almost miss what he'd said beforehand.

���Wh-ah.. Wha'd you say?” You gasp, “Our annivers-uh!- 'versary?”

There's a sharp smack as he slaps the unmarked cheek of your rear, his lips pressing a quick kiss to soothe the warmed flesh before speaking, “Cannot believe you don't know that today marks six months since we started doing this-”

This, of course referring to the addictive situationship you've both found yourself in behind closed doors, in secret from the pack consisting of your friends and family, behind your brother's back.

“-You're gonna hurt my feelings, sweetheart, honestly.”

“Didn't.. Didn't realize.” You pant, a keening exclamation of ‘oh my god’ slipping past your lips when you feel Stiles push a third finger into your entrance, the stretch sending your eyes rolling back and your mouth dropping open with a keening whine.

“And to think,” Stiles starts slowly, his voice rumbling with clear arousal in his throat. There's a lewd squelch as his fingers drive in and out of your soaking cunt, a breathy moan punched out of your lungs when his fingers curl to reach that spot that makes your brain turn to mush. “To think I was gonna be so good t'you later. Was gonna let my girl ride my face for as long as she wanted, longer than she wanted probably, if we're bein' realistic-”

“Fuck..” His words have you moaning high and wrecked and unashamed. Stiles twists his fingers as he pulls them out and then thrusts back in, wide knuckles pulling a keening whine from you. “Please, fuck, Sti-”

“What's wrong baby? My fingers aren't good enough for you?” His voice is dripping with that teasing lilt that makes you weak in the knees. Right now, it makes you lift your hips from the mattress just a little bit more.

“So unfair-” You gasp.

“Unfair?” Stiles repeats in a slow drawl, “Baby, no offense but I'm the one rockin' a painfully neglected hard on right now,” His fingers push in to the third knuckle, his hand driving in so deep that it has a pleasurable ache building between your thighs. “Meanwhile, you've got three fingers stretching you out. Seems like you got it pretty good, to me. What more could you want, huh?”

His fingers are heaven, and he knows exactly how to use them, knows exactly where to aim and how hard and fast you like it, but you still need more. He's not touching you enough. His fingers in your cunt and his weight between your thighs isn't nearly enough to satisfy the need building up and twisting tight in your belly. You want his weight to crush you into the mattress, need his cock to give you that extra stretch that his fingers can't, need his sweat on your skin and his hands on your breasts-

“Please,” You whimper again, “Babe, please, c'mon, need you inside me.”

You probably should've been expecting the easy snark that spills from his mouth in response.

“I am inside you.” He replies all too smartly, repeatedly rubbing that tender spot on your inner wall until tears actually prickle at your eyes, a sharp sort of pleasure burning in your gut.

“Stiles.” You demand desperately.

Your pleading seems to finally break his resolve and his mouth finds the heated skin on the back of your thigh. He places a small kiss to the curve of your ass, then the dimples at the base of your spine. His lips make a slow trail up, small kisses left behind on his journey to the curve of your neck. Stiles pulls your hair to the side and leans in to taste your exposed skin, his fingers finally slipping from your cunt so that he can pull you up onto your knees, your back falling against his chest as you both sit up.

“Wha'd'you need, babe, huh?” Stiles murmurs the question over the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine as it fans out over your overheated skin, “You know I'll give you whatever you want.”

He holds you to his chest with one arm locked around your waist. His right hand leaves a scorching trail across your tummy on its way to your cunt, fingers dipping between your dripping folds and collecting a bit of your arousal before moving back up to circle your sensitive clit. The glide of his fingers is slick and intoxicating, a breathy gasp leaving your lips as your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“This all you wanted?” Stiles asks, voice a whisper against your skin, “Just wanted me to play with your clit? Is that all?”

You shake your head, brows furrowing and hips bucking into his touch.

“No?” He questions, lips finding the spot just behind your ear, “What'd'you need then, babe? You gotta tell me.”

One of your hands reaches back to grab the back of his thigh, fingers coming into contact with the soft material of his lounge pants as you tug his hips to yours. You can feel the length of his erection pressing into you through the thin layers of his clothing, his cock warm and stiff where it presses into the curve of your ass.

“Need.. Need you t'fuck me,” You pant, his fingers already so close to pulling an orgasm from you as he continues to play with your clit, “God, please, Stiles. I want you inside, please, please-”

“How 'bout you come for me and then I'll let you have it, huh?” He murmurs against your skin, his hips bucking forward into yours in a teasing thrust as the euphoric heat beneath your skin spreads further. “You're close, aren't you?”

A pathetic whimpered excuse of a ‘yes’ slips past your parted lips, your free hand reaching back as well to grab ahold of the back of his neck. Your grip is tight as your climax begins to crest, fingernails digging into the top of his spine as a wanton moan is forced from your throat.

“Just gimme one now and I promise I'll fuck another one outta you, okay? Come on-”

You come so hard that your legs give out, the arm Stiles still has curled around your waist forced to tighten to keep you against his chest, his bicep bulging as he supports your weight through the throes of your orgasm. His fingers slow against your clit as you come down before stopping all together, his slick hand sliding up to rub soft along your tummy as you pant in exertion.

He gives you a moment to recover, but you're still breathing heavily by the time he presses a kiss to your cheek and urges you down on all fours. You assume the position easily, resting on your elbows with your sweaty forehead stuck against the pages of the textbook still spread out on the bed. Stiles strips down as your heart rate struggles to slow, the mattress moving under his weight a few times before the warmth of his body settles behind you again.

“You good, baby?” He checks softly, one wide palm running up the length of your spine to rub at your shoulder.

“'m good, 'm good, just hurry up.” You plead, arching your back when his hand trails back down. His thumb and forefinger pinch your backside, an effective reminder of the ink he'd stained your skin with, “Never told me what you drew on my ass.” You laugh quietly, wiggling your hips in the hopes of enticing him into picking up the pace of things.

“Oh,” Stiles chuckles, thumbnail dragging over the ink as he grabs ahold of his cock and guides the head through your slick folds, “Wrote my name.”

Your responding laugh comes out in a breathy burst of air as he teases your entrance, pressing the tip in only to pull back and run it along the length of your wet cunt again.

“My.. My ass says ‘Stiles’?” You question through a body-wracking shudder when he teases his tip at your entrance again, pressing in just far enough for you to feel the stretch of his fat cock before he's pulling out all over again, the head bumping your swollen clit on the next pass through your folds.

“Stiles? No way, babe. I went full-name for this one. Mark-h.. ohh..” He stutters through his words the next time he presses in, letting the first couple of inches push into the tight heat of your cunt, “Marked my property accordingly n' all that.”

You swallow down a moan as the head of his cock drags against your sensitive walls, already fluttering around his length as your fingers fist the bedspread in a white-knuckled grip.

“Oh, fuck off,” You gasp in mild incredulity, “Your property?” You bite back, though the thought of the image admittedly prompts a swarm of butterflies in your tummy.

“Mhm,” Stiles hums a little breathlessly as his restraint wavers, pushing in another inch or so as his grip on your hip tightens, “Don't act like you don't think it's super hot. My name marked on your skin-”

“Shut up,” You scoff weakly, “I do not.. Don't think it's hot.”

“Sure, babe,” Stiles agrees condescendingly, “Wanna write yours on my ass after we're done? Equality n' all that.”

“Somehow, I'm not sure having McCall scrawled across your ass cheek is gonna have the same effect, even if it's got my name in front of it.” You manage before rocking your hips back to force more of his cock in.

“Fine, fine,” Stiles huffs, “But don't say I didn't offer-”

“God, will you just shut up and fuck me alread-”

You're effectively cut off when Stiles drives all the way in with a hard thrust, a loud moan tearing from your throat.

“Better?” Stiles asks, already breathing a little heavy as he sets a punishing pace, the sound of skin slapping skin with each smack of his hairy thighs against the smooth backs of your own.

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, like that-” You cry out in whimpered praise, “Harder. Sti, please, need it, harder.”

His only response is a groan as he pounds into you with redoubled effort, the thick head of his cock hitting your cervix in a hard jolt with each thrust.

It doesn't take long for you to begin to fall apart all over again, Stiles' fingernails biting into the skin at your hips as he tugs you back down onto his cock again and again.

“Feel so fucking good.” Stiles groans as you fuck yourself back in time with his thrusts.

A gasp tears past your lips when he slips an arm underneath you and drags you up until your back is flush with his sweaty chest again, the angle of his cock changing just enough to have you letting out a drawn out moan.

Your thighs settle on either side of his as he continues to pound up into you and then his hand is finding your face, forcing your head to the side so that he can draw you into a heated kiss. Your hand ensnares his wrist to hold Stiles' in place on your jaw, his fingers pressing into the sensitive spot beneath your ear as your mouths work in a sloppy mess of tongues and teeth and hot breaths.

His sweat-slicked forehead drops against yours, his cock managing to hit all of the right places as his thrusts slow slightly, each one a slow drag against your sensitive walls.

“God, you.. You look so fuckin' pretty like this.” Stiles tells you with another lazy kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The white-hot flame in your gut has you trembling in his arms and you reach back to tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, the soft strands trapped in an iron-tight grip as your back arches, your own head falling back against the curve of his shoulder.

“Stiles-” You whimper desperately, fingers tightening impossibly further around his sweat-damp hair.

He pants into your mouth, each of his slow, deep thrusts prompting obscene sounds from the place where the two of you are joined.

“You close, babe?” He asks breathlessly as he tries to hold off his own steadily approaching end, “God, I need you t'come. Need more? Need me to touch you, baby?” He questions in a rasp, ever attentive and desperate to please you as he always is.

Before you can even respond, he's already switching the placement of his hands on your body so that he can drop his right one down to cup your heat. His big hand finds the wetness between your thighs, fingers zeroing in on your clit with the sort of effortless precision that can only come from months intimacy, from hours upon hours spent learning every inch of your body, studying your reactions to his touch with a hyper-focussed intensity that was just so Stiles.

You cry out at the feeling of his fingers rubbing you with practiced movements, his cock driving against that spot inside of you only a handful more times before you're bearing down on him, mind whiting out with the toe-curling euphoria that takes over your body. The shaky moans that Stiles pushes from your lips as he keeps fucking into you are something that you'd be horrified to hear come from your own mouth if you had the brain capacity to process them through the fog of your orgasm — but as it is, they tumble from your throat freely, your body trembling against the tight cocoon of Stiles' arms curled around your ribs as he supports your weight.

Your ears are only just beginning to hear sounds beyond the high-pitched ringing brought on by the strength of your climax when Stiles' thrusts begin to falter. The jerky slap of his hips against the backs of your thighs, his heavy breaths into the curve of your neck.

His fingers find where yours are still tangled in his hair and he tries to pry your grip away, “Baby, baby 'm gonna come,” Stiles moans in warning, “Wanna come on your ass. Please. Please, baby, I wanna-”

You pitch forward easily, dropping onto your elbows with shaking arms and arching your back enticingly for him. Stiles groans loud at the sight, the sound of it getting caught in his throat as he pulls out and begins to jerk his cock in earnest. Lewd, slick noises fill the room over the sounds of your labored breathing, the wetness that coats him aiding the smooth drag of skin on skin as he fucks into his fist with a gut twisting sort of desperation.

With a little wiggle of your hips, you encourage him despite still being a little breathless, “Come on, Sti, give it to me. Paint it right there on your name-”

“'m gonna,” He promises in a weak groan, the fingers of his free hand biting into the plush flesh at your hip with a bruising grip, “Gonna fuckin'.. Shit, 'm gonna put it right there. Gonna.. Gonna mark my girl up so.. So fucking good. Fuck.. Fuck, I love you. Loveyouloveyouloveyou, I'm, shit, 'm coming-”

Your mind is reeling a little bit in the wake of his lust-fueled admission, the dull beat of your heart echoing with his words as the warmth of his come meets your skin, dripping down the curve of your ass in thick ropes.

Stiles plasters himself to your back as he catches his breath, entirely uncaring of the mess of bodily fluids between you as lays down on the bed and pulls you into his chest. His breath falls against the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in warm puffs while his voice rings in your ears still — the memory of those words, the wrecked rasp of them slipping past his lips.

Loveyouloveyouloveyou.

I love you.

You twist around in his arms, late-afternoon sunlight coming in through his bedroom window displaying the pink flush that lingers on his mole-speckled cheeks. Your head drops against the pillow currently underneath his own while your knee pushes between his hairy thighs, brown eyes finding yours, Stiles' gaze soft and sated.

“I love you too.” You whisper through the nerves twisting in your stomach.

A wide array of emotions flicker across his face, initial confusion quickly melting away into a relieved sort of surprise.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, wide palm coming up to cover your jaw. His thumb swipes the apple of your cheek with smooth strokes and his eyes flick quick between yours, his lips pulling into a grin that dimples cutely in his cheek, “I can't believe I- Shit. No, I do though, I.. I love you.”

“I love you.” You repeat in a daze, fingertips tracing idle circles through the dark patch of hair at the center of his chest.

“Does that mean you're gonna let me do this again when my name eventually washes off?” He asks with a mischievous little grin that makes your insides twist warmly, his brows jumping up his forehead playfully.

“You're an annoyingly territorial little shit, y'know that?” You laugh softly before your brows are drawing together in slow confusion, “Wait. Wha'd'you mean eventually? Why'd you say it like that?”

“Well, y'know, I used a sharpie, so-”

“You used a permanent marker?” You repeat incredulously, pinching his skin between your thumb and forefinger a little meanly as your nose scrunches up, “Such a dickhead.”

Stiles gives you a grin that spreads wide across his face until you can see those very same perfectly straight teeth that have left bruising love bites into the soft flesh on your backside. He dips his head and his lips find yours, the salty tang of the sweat clinging to his upper lip meeting your tongue as he speaks into your mouth with easy confidence.

“You're totally gonna let me do it again.”

And well.. He's probably not wrong.

𝐚𝐧; 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧.. 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬.. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡. 🥴

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲! 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!! 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐬𝐨. 🤍🥰🤍

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