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hislittleraincloud · 5 months

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I'm a Wenclair truther(why are they so gayly written for each other) but you've also turned me into a Wenovan truther (because they're kinda... perfect?) so now my days consist of:

•waking up

•eating 1294838 meals (repeat as desired)

•thinking about Wenclair/Wenovan

• switching between the two every time I go, "Oh! Wenovan/Wenclair are different in that way!"

•do it again

...Ficwife? Not ficwife. Ficwife would just DM me. So!

I'm def not a Wenclair Truther, but you are quite adorable. I don't know how one makes the jump from Wenclair to Wenovan (and back), but I'm glad someone else sees what I see. Some day soon, after 8 is published (or maybe before, who knows) I intend to make a post/video re: the Wenovan moments from the show. I think one of my favorites is when she completely disses Tyler (and her snood...sorry Wenclairs 😭) after he gave her that cappuccino and lied about the Gates Mansion, popping the Hell up the very second she sees the sheriff walking up to the counter.

That moment couldn't be any clearer. She said quite plainly, "I solved the old case you were whining about all of these years and proved you wrong about my father, come solve the current murders with me." There's no other person she willingly pro-actively interacts with on the show with the intentions of doing something 'great'.

I have this really 🔥 WIP that takes place on Donovan's birthday, July 22, 2023 (this is unedited, saved as it was written in the summer):

This will probably be placed after After the Burn/"Season 2" since I'm starting to think that AtB will only cover January 2023 to...maybe April 2023? I have to think in terms of a season's structure, and in-between the end of 8 and the beginning of AtB, I'm thinking that I might give little shorts/insights that aren't part of any chapters but are fun or informative (kind of like the deleted scenes). I have a really funny one that takes place during Halloween 2023, too...it involves Enid and tight 'sexy' costumes. Poor Donovan LOL

See, people? Sweet Anons get previews and tidbits.

After the Burn (this has always been the sequel's working title, but I'm thinking of a new title, maybe) will feature the same characters from the first season (even the dead will appear, in flashbacks). There might be some more introductory stuff, like with the Breedings (we haven't seen Samuel active in the fic yet, and my GOD he is a nasty piece of work...he might be in the opening scene, I'm not sure yet). We haven't seen the last of Laurel Gates, either. My main concern is how much I can write and keep Wenovan's story behind the main one, like in S1, or if that's even doable. As it stands: Morticia is going to have a bigger role, as will Pugsley and his support dog. Xavier's father Vincent Thorpe will also get a good chunk of my attention, since Chancellor also is present for a good lot of the story (and is, actually, key to The Story of why Wednesday even lives to breathe another day). Vincent and Chancellor have the kind of hate for each other that makes you wonder if Vincent is just suppressing his desires. But I assure you, it's hate. The Goodmen storyline will likely be the main storyline, along with more Hyde fun (among other weird 'creature' things, like giving Mishizu Herz a bigger role because she's good enough to be a Nightshade...whether she participates in their sex parties is something to think about, because boy would it be weird if she was fucking someone and her face morphed into the dude's mom or something 🤣), but MorningSong cult will also be causing a little bit of trouble (and are tied to past controversies with norminal society's rules/statutes about outcasts). There is some cool shit that'll be happening with the Nightshades (young and old), we'll learn about Morticia's past and how she got together with Gomez, we'll learn about Goody Isabel Addams (I gave her a real name) and her husband. I just have to get past 8, and within 8 I'm planting some seeds to get what I mentioned rolling.

I think about Wenovan a lot too. Since I have the show on loop, I can't escape them (LOL, I just looked up to my TV and it's the scene where she dumps the evidence she collected on his desk 🫠🥰). But, I've been seduced by Cairo and Jon from Miller's Girl. Like I mentioned in one of my reblogs w the Freeman Fanatic (💖✨), they're the softer version of Wenovan, and Cairo scares me more than Wednesday. Probably because she's more real and her mental issues haven't at all been addressed (unlike with Wednesday, who goes to a therapist...OOOOOH it would've been so funny if Buscemi was her new therapist). I want to see just how far a 'regular normie' would go to keep her man, because we know that Afterburn Wednesday would disappear anyone who tried to flirt up Donovan and do it in a memorable way.

But anyway, yes. Wenovan all day, every day. And I apologize for the long wait for 8. I'm still mentally drained from RL b.s. I have the headers for 8.1 and 8.2 still in my tired brain (I know what I want them to look like, I just need to sit my tired ass down in front of the laptop...maybe I'll do that tonight or something). I have 8 in their bits and pieces and am still writing, but the bulk of 8.2 has been around since last year (almost exactly a year ago!), when I wrote the rest of the outline. Eugene gets lines! 🤣 I think I did him justice.

Daddy needs sleep or something, bc I haven't been feeling well. I need to get back on a Night Owl schedule, since I write best at night. I probably should re-read through Afterburn just to remind myself of which seeds I've already planted and what I need to incorporate or get rid of from my WIPs. I haven't done that in a little while. I'm glad that you probably do, and thank you for the kindness. I don't get any of the sort IRL since I (necessarily, for health reasons) isolate. It's just me and the dogs. 🫠💕🔥✨

#nice anons #sweet anon #answering asks #asks #i think i'm high #it just hit me #anyway #this was nice #especially after a blah day out #when i finally got food but then got home and didn't want to eat it #i went to chinatown #chinatown #is awesome #i got 72 packets of thai iced tea powder for $10 #that's a fkn steal...it was 3 for $5 #protip kids: if you see ANY food that is 3 for $5...you should probably snag it because nothing is cheap anymore #i'll probably go back for more #if any of y'all have a chinatown nearby? that is how you can fight starvation bc chinatown still and always has had bargain priced food #ha ha yeah i'm ttly high since i just basically wrote another story in the tags #anyway i 💖 u anon #u made my day #and strengthened my commitment to wenovan #wenovan #wednesday addams #sheriff galpin #wednesday x donovan #black bubblegum #satisfying afterburn #jenna ortega #jamie mcshane

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eupheme · 1 year

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— room for two

agent ortega x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: pwp/stagecoach sex, reference to sexual harassment, implied mutual pining, flirting, teasing, semi-public fingering, shared tasting, dirty talk

a/n: as a rdr2 enthusiast and with the amount of stagecoach fics I’ve read - as soon as I saw one in the pilot I was like 👀💖

You find your ride back to Brimstone is spent with some very unexpected but very welcome company.

He had made room for himself in your thoughts before, but never quite like this.

Close enough to touch, in the cramped stagecoach.

Just a few moments ago, opting for the smaller of the two had seemed appealing - the cheaper cost, the journey back quicker with only two horses instead of four.

Never thinking you’d be sharing the space.

And now - it feels as if your knees would brush, if you uncrossed your legs. Already trapped within his spread ones.

The morning had been spent two towns over. That carriage shared with other girls, all with their own tasks for Madame. An envelope sealed with bright red wax clutched between fingers as you had clambered out at the first stop - as they had continued on to the next town.

A little bit of stolen time amongst the shops, after your letter had been delivered. The coins slipped to you in thanks spent on something sweet to eat, a new ribbon for the straw hat you had been repairing at home.

The sun creeping past noon, before you had found a carriage to take back. Just managing to settle inside, when you had heard a friendly voice calling from outside.

A hand catching the edge of the door, as the driver had moved to shut it.

“This coach heading to Brimstone?”

The Agent, with his sharp clothes and his dark eyes. You’ve seen him in the Emerald Palace, slipping upstairs to meet with Madame Hume.

The curiosity had sparked even then - unable to keep your eyes off him. Heat rising to your cheeks at the wink sent your way, the caught smile as he followed behind his partner.

His appearance becoming more common. In the past weeks. A little jolt in your stomach when you saw the two of them, standing out amongst the regulars.

Those dark eyes always seeming to find yours, for just a brief moment. But one that lasts, lingering long after he’s gone.

It had been enough to just think about him.

Wishing for another life - one where you weren’t felt up by strangers while serving drinks. For one where you were whisked away by him, instead.

A much different kind of stranger.

There was a fluidity in the way that Agent Ortega moved - folding himself inside the carriage, an easy smile shot your way. Bowler hat discarded, set down on the bit of seat next to him, as he settled in.

“You don’t mind, do you darlin’? This ride is on me.”

And you hadn’t. Not at all.

Now - your eyes drift, across the gray shades of his suit. The sharp vest, the golden chain of his pocket watch where it tucks into a pocket. Everything nearly in place except for the buttons popped at his collar - exposing that extra inch of his throat.

A silver badge glinting against his chest, in the afternoon sun.

With an effort, you tear your eyes away.

But you can still feel the weight of his own exploration. His gaze as warm as the sun that peeks in through the opened windows, settling across you skin.

“Never seen you outside the Palace,” Ortega comments, breaking the silence as the driver cracks the reins. A creak of the carriage as the horses follow - taking you down the main road.

The implication that he’s noticed you at all is not lost - your attention quickly drawn back. Your own smile shy, as his grows wider - pretty curve of his lips.

“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. Just runnin’ errands, sir.” You shrug, intentionally vague - missing the way his eyes drop to your mouth at the word. The little shift in his seat as you glance out the window, as a rider on horseback thunders by.

“Miss Hume keep you busy?”

It’s an understatement. Running the Emerald Palace was hard work - and combined with a powerful woman and her short temper meant there was rarely a moment to breathe.

Your face must show your answer because he laughs - an arm slinging across the back of the seat, the movement bumping his knee against yours.

“She’s keepin’ us busy, too.” He confides, “Been runnin’ all across New Mexico. But I think we finally found what she’s lookin’ for-”

Agent Ortega catches himself then, his smile apologetic as his hands raise, “Sorry, shouldn’t divulge any more.”

“I understand.” You smile.

Everything behind doors with Madame Hume was hushed - half-spoken whispers and sealed letters, drowned out by the piano downstairs. The only quiet thing about her business.

But you had found yourself leaning forward at his confession - drawn in by him, the secret of the detective’s recent and sudden appearance.

There’s a jolt then - the wobble of the left wheel as it rattles against a deep divot that cracks the dirt road. The speed of the stagecoach has the carriage lurching, a wheel lifting as it crosses the narrow gap.

A little yelp rips from your throat, as you lose your balance. Already off-kilter, drawn in by the almost-reveal of his secret.

Hands catch on your hips as you tip forward. A swift tug as he spares you from slipping into that narrow gap between his knees, the force behind his pull bringing you into his lap.

Chivalrous, in his intent.

A clucking tongue for the driver - a glare as if the uneven road was their fault, as your fingers bite into his shoulders. Wrinkling the fine fabric as you steady yourself.

Acutely aware of the strong arm that curls around your waist. The pull of your cotton skirt where the layers bunch up around your knees - thighs spread wide where you kneel in his lap.

The warm scent of his aftershave, curling over your senses with how close you now are.

“You alright?” There’s concern in his tone, the words stringing together with his worry. His grip still firm, as you blink down at him.

It takes another second - him repeating his question more slowly, with the cock of an eyebrow - before you get your bearings.

“I am.” Your head ducks, “Thank you.”

But you find, that you don’t move.

And neither does he.

His lips part, with a slight upward tilt of his head - a movement that you just begin to mirror, without thought.

Before there’s another uneven rattle - hitting the carriage even more strongly than before - and you find yourself clinging to him, again. Flattened against him, as his face buries in the bare curve of your shoulder.

Your hands ghost across his chest, sliding over the buttons of his vest. Leaning back as heat creeps across the back of your neck, up to your cheeks.

“‘m sorry-” You’re murmuring, the mortification from before, now fully catching up. “So sorry-”

Just now realizing the position that you’re in - how incredibly inappropriate it is, with your knees pressing into his ribs.

With his breath ghosting across your shoulder, so close to the soft curve of your breast.

It has you leaning back - though the hands at your waist tighten, for the briefest of moments.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart.” There’s none of the worry in his expression. The part of his lips as you shift - a short, inhaled breath, “‘s not every day I get a beautiful girl in my lap.”

That has you freezing.

Wide eyes blinking down at the grin that pulls across his face, tugging up one side.

The words - softly breathed out, “You think I’m… beautiful?”

His eyes drag down like they do before - like they’ve done. Slower this time, with the knead of his fingers against the fabric of your dress.

“Thought I made that obvious.”

This time when his head tilts - you meet him.

The press of his mouth against yours. A fluttering in your chest as the soft sound of his groan, as his hands slide around to your back.

One dropping against the curve of your ass, nudging you forward. The slightest inhale of breath before you’re leaning into him, fingers sliding into the dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck.

Your own moan swallowed, as his tongue brushes your lip, licks inside your mouth. The upward tilt of his hips, an unconscious grind of his hips against the layers of your skirt.

A moment as you tug at them - a need to get closer. His hushed “yes” when you settle, when you can feel the stiffening curve against you.

Hands wandering, tugging at the dark tie around his throat, teasing at the peek of skin where the button strains at his chest.

His own tracing up near your ribs, spanning beneath your breasts. Warm through the thin layers of your bodice, and with the next breath - you’re pulling his palm higher.

Ortega groans a curse, sharp on his tongue as he cups your breast, the tips of his fingers brushing against bare skin.

There’s a building heat inside your chest, your tummy. You’ve been touched before, but not like this. Never with such want. Never so openly.

That second thought is what pulls you out - an unconscious glance from over your shoulder. Peeking out at the stretch of road behind you, the trailing path of kicked-up dust.

“Where did you go?” He coaxes - his voice low, strained.

Eyes blown wide, those pretty lips parted again. Your smile shy and embarrassed, your lower lip caught between your teeth.

“I just…” You squirm, “I haven’t done this before.”

His hand drops from you, the dazed look disappearing from his eyes, “We don’t have to, pretty girl. I didn’t know-”

A little laugh then, as you realized - drawing his hand back.

“No.” You smile, “I’ve, um… I just mean here. The stagecoach, it’s so open-”

With the three windows and the driver above. Soft noises already pulled so easily from you - you’re sure if things went any further, there would be no mistaking what was happening inside.

The frown transforms into a knowing smile. Relief lacing his words as his thumb teases against your nipple, the tight pucker of fabric that betrays your need.

A second, before he’s coaxing you off of him. Your disappointment mounting, before he spins you around - only to pull you back against him again.

Your ass snug against his front, with the layers of your dress settling around you. His nose ghosting along the column of your throat, mouth pressing a kiss against your skin.

“How is this, then?” He asks, his voice low in your ear, “I’ll take care of you, and you can keep an eye on the road. See anyone, and I’ll stop.”

A hand flattens across your stomach, lips on the back of your neck. Sending your skin prickling as he inhales, a soft groan bitten back between teeth.

“You’ll… you’ll-” You’re distracted by the sweep of his fingers, the slow rock of his hips. The thudding of your pulse between your thighs, an ache that has them pressing together.

“I’ll make you feel good, honey.” He sighs, “Anythin’ you want.”

It’s tempting. The desire that pools low in your belly. Your thoughts running wild - wondering just what he had in store. What he will give you.

The thought is enough to have you nodding, settling more comfortably in his grip. Perched on his strong thighs, your breath hitching as he starts at your shoulder.

A kiss pressed against the skin, as he works his way up the curve of your neck. A hushed groan as the rock of the carriage grinds him against your ass, his own need evident.

The slow drag of his hand as it rises from your stomach, spanning the space beneath your breasts as his head hooks over your shoulder.

“Christ. Just look at you, darlin’-“

The peek of your breasts above the low neckline. Fingers lifting to play with the pale, pretty ruffles that line the edge - the tip of one stroking against the tight bud just beneath.

Another jostle of the carriage coaxes the dress down further. His thumb slipping up, and then hooking beneath.

Ortega’s groan is soft in your ear. Your hips rocking against his, with the slow sweep of his touch.

“This okay, darlin’?” He husks, before his mouth presses against your neck, “If it isn’t, I’ll get out and walk. Don’t you worry.”

“S’okay.” You sigh, arching into him, “Feels so good-”

With your words, he’s tugging the hem down. Baring you as you send the briefest glance out the back of the coach - but there’s only the sun and sky above you, the rising streaks of red and orange layered in the rocks of the canyon around.

He teases you. A peek of his tongue as it swipes the pad of his thumb - smearing the slick tip across the tight bud, before he’s pinching it.

Your moan is a high, bitten-off sound before you’re catching it. Desperate for more, as you begin to move with him. Meeting the slow rhythm of his hips, your fingers fisting in your dress.

Before you’re catching his hand, dragging it down. Letting him cup you over the layers, where the low ache has settled, simmering.

“Please-” You whine, needing more.

He gives it to you, as he promised he would. Gathering up the layers of your dress, letting them pool around your waist - spreading out the fabric to cover you.

Your bare thighs pressed against his, and it’s now that you can truly feel him. That hard, swollen curve that strains against the fabric. Adjusted to press snugly against your core - an urge rising to touch him yourself, but he’s catching your hand before it wanders far.

“You first, honey.” His jaw grits, “Said I would, and I’m a man of my word.”

Fingers trace over your knee, up over the bare skin of your thigh. Cupping you again - like before. A wide palm against the thin fabric, another needy sound ripped from your throat, that he hushes through a grin.

Before he’s teasing at the waistband of your drawers, then dipping under. Meeting warm, soaked flesh, his own sound unrestrained as your thighs press together.

“Fuck.” His fingers trace your seam, splitting as they part you. Sliding back up until the tip is pressing at a spot that makes your hips jolt. The same tender place that you’ve only found at night, when you’re alone.

“So fucking wet, sweetheart. All for me, isn’t that right?”

Your answering hum is high, as he begins to circle. Turning into a sharp gasp before his hand is covering your mouth, muffling the sound.

“Hush, honey.” He coos, “Don’t want the driver to hear you, now.”

Somehow - the thought is thrilling, now. The thought of an errant moan overheard, the peek of a passer-by seeing the flash of your skin, his mouth at your neck.

But you clamp your teeth together, as his hand drops to curving over your breast again. Holding you to firmly against his chest, the jerk of your hips now stilted as you chase his touch.

The soft sounds caught in your throat, as each breath grows shorter. His soft hums at each one you make, as he teases at your opening.

The tip of a finger pressing inside, before he’s dragging the soaked pad up, pressing just a little harder, a little faster.

“Bet you taste so fucking good. Wish I was between those pretty thighs right now.” He growls in your ear - a thrill at his words, even if you don’t quite understand them.

Clarity coming a moment later, as his fingers slide from you. Shining and slick with you, that heat rising to your cheeks again at the filthy sight.

A little gasp of surprise as he slips them between his lips. Shocked by the groan he makes, as his tongue swirls over them to suck them clean. His other hand catching at your jaw, coaxing you to him.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, when your mouths meet. A sweet tang that wasn’t there before, melting against the heat of his tongue as it strokes against yours.

“Just knew it.” He grits out, before they’re slipping between your thighs again, “Need to get you in my bed, darlin’. Let you be as loud as you want-”

It feels like there’s a spark that’s a bright as the sun, burning inside you. Shining with the wet press of his fingers, those tight circles placed with such precision that it makes your head spin.

Fueled by the thought of getting him alone. Wanting to know more about how he’d taste you, fill you. Wanting to strip away those layers, to find the man beneath the badge.

It’s enough that you’re there, on the edge of something that feels like more than you’ve ever known. The urge to leap rising, knowing that he’s right there with you.

Ortega’s name soft on your lips, breaking as you try to muffle it. His answering hum, low and rough as he keeps the same swirling touch.

The path to that edge rushing towards you, overwhelming as your fingernails sink into the meat of his forearm. The stretch of a finger as it sinks inside you, opening you up.

His hushed murmurs, asking if you’d take him here. How good you’d feel, wrapped around his cock - the one that presses against you with each lift of his hips.

Your whining assent. That you would, that you want him to, want him-

Broken off as the heel of his hand rocks against your clit. The feeling heightened with his finger buried in you, curling and stroking. A second joining, each thrust wet as he mimics his thoughts - finding a rhythm that has you clenching down hard around him.

“That’s it, cariño.” He’s groaning, watching the heave of your chest, the way his fingers move beneath the dress, “Christ, I can feel how much you need this. Let go for me-”

It doesn’t take much more. His touch, his words, rip through you. The thud of the hoofbeats, the creak of the wagon fading out to nothing. A white noise as your head tips back, as your vision blurs.

A ragged sound in your throat muffled as he brings his mouth to your again - the sound of the stagecoach drowning out the wet pound of his fingers as you pulse around him.

The rippling pleasure washing over you, wave after wave. Your thoughts hazy as his hand spans your jaw, keeping you close until you come back down. Leaving you’re draped against him - utterly boneless.

Breathless, until a whistle breaks into your afterglow.

Mechanical - not a person, but the train that you’ve come to know well. The one just outside Brimstone, it’s departure welcoming of your arrival.

The bright glow of your pleasure dims, as you gasp - forgetting that you were supposed to be keeping watch.

“‘s okay, sweetheart.” Ortega coaxes, his fingers still buried in you, “Been watchin’ for you, pretty girl. No one’s lookin’ at you but me.”

There’s ache as he pulls from you, leaving you empty. Helping you put yourself back together - your fingers curling around his as he helps you back to your seat.

The same hand coming to cup himself a few minutes later - a lewd adjustment as the carriage comes to a stop, just outside the Palace.

You shoot him a pained expression, wanting more time with him. To return the favor - all while knowing you’re both expected at the Palace. A look that he shakes his head at, in response.

Opening the door for you like the gentleman he is, instead - lingering behind as he buttons his long jacket closed.

Hiding where he throbs for you. The spot where the fabric of his trousers has soaked through, dampened with his desire.

Almost forgetting his hat, snatched up at the last second.

You have to part now, it would be improper to do so otherwise. But there’s a moment where he lingers - a hand at your elbow, a split second where he pulls you close.

“Got a room over at the Turquoise Sky. Tell me you’ll meet me there tonight, beautiful?”

Murmured out for just you to hear, in the busy streets. Your very own secret, an offering to find out the true meaning of his words - just how well he could take care of you.

Emboldened, you lean close to whisper your answer back to him.

And amongst the crowd - he smiles.

just wanted to write a fun little no-pressure thing, thank you for reading! 💖

#the pilot was all over the place omg but it was fun!#and I am sucker for an 1880s setting so here we are!#agent ortega x reader #agent ortega x you #agent ortega x f!reader #agent ortega #the sixth gun

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