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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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I have a request that I know you’ll write 100% better than me! Spencer leaves his girlfriend at the altar without giving a single reason. And disappears for months. Then he comes back and it is revealed he did it because Reader's life was at risk. When he goes to apologize, Reader doesn't let him speak. Spencer crawls on his knees for forgiveness and tries to figure out how to improve the situation. The ending is up to you: angst, happy ending or not. You choose! I know you’ll do a great fic!

Sadly Ever After

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt, angst

Warnings/Includes: no happy ending, being left at the altar, just general sadness after a breakup, small crime talk

Word count: 5.6k

a/n: hiii i hope this is sufficient lolol i am in a very angsty mood

main masterlist

You had never felt so beautiful in your entire life. The dress—the dress—was everything you had dreamed it would be. Layers of soft tulle cascaded down your frame, the delicate lacework etched across the bodice molding perfectly to you, almost as if it had been made for you alone. Each step you took sent the fabric swaying around you like whispers of movement, ethereal and romantic.

Penelope had outdone herself with your hair. Loose waves tumbled, glowing in the golden light of the early evening, held in place by a sparkling hairpiece that caught the glow of the string lights. Every curl seemed to be perfectly placed, not too styled but effortlessly enchanting, as if you had stepped out of a fairytale. JJ and Emily had tag-teamed your makeup, ensuring that every stroke and brush was precise and delicate. The soft blush on your cheeks, the shimmer of your eyeshadow, the perfect tint of color on your lips—it was understated perfection.

And Rossi, ever the consummate host, had given you and Spencer the most breathtaking backdrop for your wedding. His sprawling backyard had transformed into something magical. An altar of wooden beams, wrapped with soft draped fabric and overflowing with flowers—roses, peonies, and wild blooms—stood like a gateway to forever. Twinkling fairy lights criss crossed above, their soft glow turning the clearing into a dreamscape. The grass, still cool from the afternoon, added an earthy softness to the air, grounding the magic in something real.

Then there he was—Spencer.

Your heart stuttered at the sight of him standing at the altar, hands nervously clasped in front of him, the slightest smile pulling at the corners of his lips when his eyes found you. His suit was sharp and clean, a dark shade that contrasted beautifully with the delicate tones of your dress. The bowtie, a small nod to his usual style, somehow made him look even more endearing, his charm on full display. His curls fell just perfectly, framing his face and softening the seriousness of his features.

But it was his eyes that caught you—the depth of them, brimming with unspoken emotion, raw and honest. The sight of him struck you in the chest, stealing the air from your lungs. The tears you had tried to fight back began to prick the corners of your eyes.

Each step down the aisle felt slower, deliberate, as though time itself had stretched just for the two of you. You took in every detail—the warm breeze rustling the leaves above, the distant chirp of crickets, the way the light filtered through the trees, creating golden halos around your guests. As you approached Spencer, standing tall beneath the altar where Aaron Hotchner waited to officiate, your heart swelled with so much love you thought it might burst.

Aaron’s voice, steady and clear, had been a comforting hum in the background—his dry wit laced through the ceremony brought a lightheartedness that had the guests chuckling softly at all the right moments. He was a master at balancing sincerity and charm, even as the formal words of the ceremony unfurled.

The vows had been the pinnacle of it all. Spencer’s, with their perfect blend of sentimentality and poetic elegance, had left you breathless. Every word was carved with precision, so achingly him that it made your heart feel both full and fragile in the best way. Your vows, equally personal and unflinchingly honest, had drawn a few tears from the crowd. For those few minutes, it felt like it was just the two of you—completely alone in your little world, pledging yourselves to each other.

But then Aaron’s voice broke that perfect little bubble.

“Spencer, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

It was a question Spencer had to be expecting. One he should have answered without hesitation. The words hung in the air like a held breath. Waiting.

You smiled softly, fingers intertwined with his, but that silence—the silence that followed—was deafening. The longer Spencer stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, the weight of the moment became unbearable. You felt the shift in the energy around you, a sudden drop in the warmth that had enveloped the ceremony just moments ago.

The guests began shifting uncomfortably in their seats. A murmur rustled through the crowd—quiet and confused. It was subtle at first, the furrow of brows and exchanged glances, but the longer Spencer remained silent, the more palpable the tension became.

“Spencer?” you whispered faintly, trying to ground him with the sound of your voice. Your hands squeezed his gently, searching for reassurance in the way his thumb brushed against your skin. But that was the thing—his thumb wasn’t moving at all. His hands were still, stiff even, as he stared at you.

And his eyes—oh, those fucking eyes.

They weren’t full of the love you had seen all evening, that awe-struck admiration that had made your knees weak when you first stepped down the aisle. No, they were hollow now, distant, as though he was somewhere far away.

The silence stretched so long you felt it wrap around your chest like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“Spencer,” Aaron prompted gently, his calm, officiating voice now laced with quiet concern.

Finally, finally, Spencer moved. The slightest tilt of his lips into a soft, almost apologetic smile. The kind of smile that said everything and nothing at the same time.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The words were so soft they barely reached your ears, like a secret meant just for you.

Your brows knitted together as confusion bloomed across your face. Sorry? Sorry for what?

But before you could say anything, before you could even process the sound of those three words, Spencer’s grip on your hands loosened. He let go—he let go—and turned.

One moment he was standing in front of you, your almost-husband, and the next he was running. The sound of his shoes hitting the wooden platform of the altar was jarring. Sharp.

“Spencer!” you called after him, panic rising in your voice, but it was too late.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The murmurs grew louder now, confusion turning to shock as everyone watched Spencer disappear through the open back doors of Rossi’s house.

You stood frozen, rooted to the spot where he had left you, your hands still hovering in front of you as though you could still feel the shape of his in your palms.

The string lights above twinkled innocently, the flowers framing the altar swayed in the evening breeze, and the guests remained seated, staring, waiting—hoping this was some sort of terrible joke.

But it wasn’t.

Aaron, steady as ever, took a cautious step forward, lowering his voice as he gently spoke. “Y/N… do you want to sit down?”

Sit down. Right. You felt like the earth beneath you had cracked wide open, leaving you teetering on the edge. How could he run? How could Spencer Reid—your Spencer—leave you like that?

Your lips trembled as you looked back toward the house, the place where he had vanished. You felt the eyes of everyone on you, their collective disbelief pressing down on your shoulders like an invisible weight.

You swallowed thickly, the tears you had been holding back earlier now threatening to spill for an entirely different reason.

“I don’t…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Because you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what had just happened or why.

All you knew was that Spencer Reid—the love of your life, your almost-husband—had left you standing alone under the twinkling lights of Rossi’s backyard, with nothing but a hollow whisper of I’m sorry lingering in his wake.

—

Months had passed, yet time felt like it moved at a crawl. The day Spencer ran from you—from your wedding—remained an echo that refused to quiet. You thought that eventually the sting would dull, that the confusion would lift, but it clung to you like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

You had packed up your life together in silence, alone in the home you once shared with him. The apartment was eerily still without the sound of his voice murmuring about a book or his soft humming while he made tea. It had felt haunted, as though every room whispered why? at you, taunting you with memories of what you thought your life would be. You didn't even see him again during those long days you spent packing—only once did Penelope call to let you know he had gone home to see his mother.

“Just so you know,” Penelope had said softly over the phone. She sounded hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was making things better or worse. “Spencer’s not in D.C. anymore. He went back to Vegas. I think he wanted to… I don’t know, give you space.”

You’d thanked her out of politeness, even though the words stung. Give you space. Was that what this was? Him running, abandoning you at the altar—was that his way of giving you space? You didn’t ask for space. You had asked for him. Well, actually, he had asked for you.

So you moved back into the apartment you had sublet without any real trouble. It was strange to see your things there again, familiar but foreign, as though they belonged to a different version of you. You kept most of your life in boxes for a while. Unpacking felt like admitting that this—this emptiness—was permanent, and you weren’t ready to do that yet.

The team tried to reach out in those first weeks.

JJ had sent you messages that were simple but heartfelt: “Thinking of you. I’m here if you need anything.”

Emily had tried to call you once. She left a voicemail, her voice kind and gentle: “Hey, it’s me. I know you might not want to talk right now, and that’s okay, but I just wanted you to know we’re all thinking of you. You’re not alone.”

Penelope was the most persistent. She sent texts, little gifts, even a handwritten letter because she knew how personal that would feel. But every text, every call, every kind gesture just reminded you of him. Spencer had been the thread that connected you to the team, and now every single one of them felt like a painful reminder of what you’d lost. Of the way he left.

So you shut them out, one by one.

You didn’t hate them. You couldn’t. JJ, Emily, Penelope, Derek, Hotch and Rossi—they were good people, your people once. But being around them, talking to them, made Spencer’s absence feel louder. It was as though his ghost lingered between every conversation. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t separate them from him.

Penelope’s messages stopped first. You imagined her sitting in her colorful office, fidgeting with a pen as she debated whether to text you again. She was the kindest soul you knew, and you hated the idea that you were shutting her out, but you couldn’t face her—or any of them.

Then came the loneliness. It wasn’t the kind that was born from an empty room or quiet nights alone. It was deeper, sharper. The kind of loneliness you only felt when you lost someone dear to you.

You sat on your couch one night—your couch now, not Spencer’s, not yours and his, just yours—and stared at the stack of boxes you still hadn’t unpacked. The light from the kitchen spilled into the living room, casting long shadows across the floor. It was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

You wondered if Spencer was in his childhood home now, back in Vegas, sitting with his mother. Did he talk about you? Did he think about you?

Or was he like you—alone in a room that used to feel like home, wondering how everything had unraveled so quickly?

It didn’t matter, you told yourself. You weren’t going to chase answers you might never get. If he wanted to explain himself, he would have. But he didn’t. Instead, he ran. He left you there, at the altar, in front of everyone you loved, and didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stared at the faint glow of your phone screen on the coffee table. Another message from JJ, one you wouldn’t open. You knew she would stop eventually. They all would.

You had been close with all of them, almost like family. But Spencer’s absence had burned through those bonds like fire through dry wood. And now, months later, all that was left was ash.

And the strangest part of it all? You missed them. You missed JJ’s motherly warmth, Emily’s strength, Penelope’s relentless kindness. You missed Derek teasing you, Rossi’s wise words, Hotch’s steady, grounding presence.

But missing them also meant missing him.

And missing him? That was something you couldn’t bear to feel any more than you already did.

—

The bullpen was quieter than usual that morning. The team was settled at their desks, heads ducked over files and reports, but there was no mistaking the shift in energy. Spencer was back. After months of leave, months of silence, months of wondering—he had walked through the glass doors of the BAU like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened. Something none of them could make sense of.

Spencer didn’t look any different on the outside. His suit was pressed and neat, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder in that familiar way. But there was a tightness in his jaw, a heaviness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He had always carried the world on his back, but this time, it looked like the weight might crush him.

The air hung thick as he settled into his desk, quietly unpacking his bag. No one spoke at first, though they all exchanged glances, unsure of how to broach it—of how to demand answers.

It was Derek who cracked first. Of course it was Derek. He had been simmering with frustration for months now, trying to make sense of Spencer’s sudden disappearance and his refusal to talk about it.

“You want to tell us all what the fuck is going on?” Derek’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and pointed.

Spencer froze, one hand halfway to his desk drawer. He didn’t turn right away, but everyone else did. All eyes turned to Derek, who sat leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tone was accusatory, sure, but his expression—underneath the tension—was concern.

Spencer swallowed, closing the drawer with a soft click before finally turning to face the team. JJ looked at him with something between worry and hope, her brow slightly furrowed. Emily’s gaze was harder to read, but her eyes were pinned to him, waiting. Penelope, standing in the doorway with a coffee in hand, looked like she wanted to speak but thought better of it. Even Rossi, ever the patient one, had his head tilted slightly as he studied Spencer.

Spencer took a breath, his hands curling around the edge of his desk.

“I…” His voice cracked slightly, unused to addressing so much weight at once. He steadied himself and tried again. “I owe you all an explanation.”

“Damn right you do,” Derek shot back, though his tone was a little softer this time.

Spencer nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gathered his thoughts. He looked down for a moment, fingers drumming idly against the wood of his desk before he spoke again.

“I left because I needed to,” he said simply. His voice was low, not quite weak, but careful—like every word was fragile, like he was afraid they might break apart. “I needed to… figure things out.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as the team sat gathered around the conference table, all of them watching Spencer intently. The blinds were drawn, the overhead lights humming faintly above them, but it did little to dispel the weight pressing down on everyone.

“Figure what out?” JJ had asked softly, her tone teetering somewhere between exasperation and hope.

Spencer had sighed then, a breath so deep it looked like it pained him. “Yeah, um… can we go to the conference room?”

No one argued.

Once they were all seated in the conference room, Spencer remained standing, gripping the back of one of the chairs like it was the only thing holding him upright. His knuckles turned white as he stared down at the polished table, gathering the words he had spent months trying to keep buried.

“Someone was threatening me,” Spencer said finally, his voice low, steady, but carrying the weight of something dark and unspoken. “Threatening her.”

The pronoun lingered like a slap, and no one needed clarification to know who he meant. You.

JJ sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest as though she could feel the impact of those words. Derek leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression hardening as he processed what Spencer was saying.

“What do you mean, someone was threatening you?” Rossi asked, his voice calm but firm, coaxing Spencer to keep going.

“They found Y/N because of me,” Spencer continued, his voice quieter now, almost ashamed. “Because of my job. I… I put her in danger. They used her as leverage, made it clear that if I told anyone—if I told any of you—that they would kill her.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Emily glanced toward Derek, her expression darkening as she began piecing things together.

“How long did this go on?” Derek finally asked, his tone a low growl.

Spencer didn’t meet his eyes. “Months. I started getting letters, then texts. Pictures of her—ones that no one else could’ve had. They knew where she was at all times. When she went to work, when she was home, when she was with me.”

Penelope gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth as tears threatened to well in her eyes. “Spencer…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Spencer shook his head, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t let anything happen to her. I couldn’t. So when the threats escalated—when they said they’d kill her if I stayed here and didn’t cooperate—I left.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” JJ asked, the hurt in her voice unmistakable.

“I couldn’t,” Spencer said, his voice nearly cracking. “If I told any of you, they said they’d go through with it. So I had to work the case alone. I did things I… I don’t want to talk about, but I found them. I stopped them. I made sure they could never hurt her again.”

The room fell silent again as the weight of his confession sank in. No one spoke, no one moved. Spencer’s breathing had grown uneven, like the memory alone was clawing its way back to him.

It was Rossi who finally broke the silence, his voice calm and measured but tinged with quiet curiosity. “Why did you wait until the wedding to run?”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the table, his gaze unfocused, like he couldn’t bear to look at any of them. “I… I thought I could marry her. I thought if I could just get through that day, I could disappear. Take her somewhere safe. Run away with her before they could do anything. I wanted to give her something good, something beautiful, before I ruined everything.”

His voice faltered, and he shook his head, his grip tightening on the chair. “But when I saw her standing there… looking so happy, so perfect… it was like I was transported into my worst nightmare. I saw her—bloody and dead—because of me. Because of what I do, because of who I am. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand the thought of her being hurt because of me. So I ran. I thought… I thought it was better to break her heart than to get her killed.”

The room was deathly quiet now. No one knew what to say. Derek rubbed a hand over his face, trying to process it all, while JJ blinked away tears that had started to gather in her eyes. Penelope was openly crying now, her quiet sobs muffled behind her hands.

“You should’ve told us,” Emily finally said, her voice soft but firm. “We could’ve helped you, Spencer.”

Spencer looked up then, his face hollow, haunted. “And what if you couldn’t? What if I told you, and it still wasn’t enough? What if she died because of me?” His voice broke on the last word, and he quickly looked away, his shoulders trembling slightly.

No one had an answer for that.

Rossi sighed, leaning back in his chair, the understanding settling on his features. “So you’re back now because it’s over?”

Spencer nodded. “It’s over. I made sure of it.”

“And Y/N?” Derek asked quietly, though the question lingered like a punch to the gut.

Spencer’s face fell, his voice a whisper. “She doesn’t know. She just thinks I… left her.”

JJ’s brows furrowed in disbelief, her voice sharp now. “And you haven’t told her? Spencer, she deserves to know—”

“I know!” Spencer’s voice rose suddenly, a flash of frustration breaking through the cracks. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. “I know,” he repeated, softer this time, the anguish bleeding through. “But how do I explain it to her? How do I look her in the eye and tell her I let her believe I abandoned her because I thought I was saving her life?”

The room fell silent once more, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning.

No one had an answer for that either.

—

Spencer stood outside your apartment building, his heart hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears, like a drum echoing through a cavernous void. His hands trembled at his sides as he stared up at the familiar brick, the windows glowing faintly with light from the rooms inside. You were home. He knew it, and yet his feet felt like they were glued to the pavement.

His breathing came fast, shallow, uneven—panic building like a wave rising up from his chest and crashing against his throat. He bent over slightly, hands braced on his knees, trying to steady himself, but it wasn’t enough. The air felt thin, insufficient, as if he was sucking in nothing but emptiness.

Not here, not now, he thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. You have to do this.

He pushed off his knees and leaned back against the cool brick wall, his spine pressing into it like it could somehow ground him. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to focus on something—anything—other than the guilt gnawing at him.

Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

He silently counted, forcing air through his lungs, slowing the frantic rhythm of his breaths. He repeated the process over and over until the tightness in his chest began to ease, just enough for him to move again.

His legs still felt weak as he pushed away from the wall and crossed the threshold into the building, each step heavier than the last. The stairwell yawned before him like an unforgiving climb, the kind that felt insurmountable despite its simplicity. He clutched the cold metal railing as he ascended, pausing halfway up the flight to press his forehead against the wall and whisper to himself under his breath.

“You can do this. Just knock. Just say it.”

The words sounded pathetic to his ears, hollow in the stillness of the stairwell, but they were all he had. After all these months, after everything he’d done—or failed to do—it came down to this. He had to face you. He had to tell you the truth, no matter what it cost him.

When he reached your floor, Spencer stopped outside your door, staring at the familiar brass numbers that suddenly looked foreign. His heart began to race again, beating faster and faster, drowning out every rational thought. He hadn’t been here since… since before everything. Since you had been his, since he had woken up to the sound of your laughter, since he had memorized the smell of your shampoo and the feel of your hand in his.

The memories hit him all at once, clawing their way out of the recesses of his mind like ghosts—mocking him with what he had lost. What he had taken from himself.

Spencer’s hand shook as he raised it, hovering inches away from the door. He felt paralyzed again, the nausea rising in his stomach like a sick promise. He could turn back. He could leave now, before you opened the door, before you saw him standing there. Maybe you hadn’t moved on yet, maybe you still hated him, maybe you didn’t even want the answers he had brought.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose.

No. She deserves this. She deserves the truth.

His knuckles brushed against the door—softly at first, a timid, ghostly sound. Then he knocked, the noise louder than he intended, the echo of it reverberating down the hall.

Spencer froze, his breath catching in his throat as the moments stretched endlessly. The only sound he could hear was the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the blood rushing in his ears.

And then, from the other side of the door, he heard it.

Footsteps.

The shuffle of movement, the creak of a floorboard.

Spencer felt his pulse spike again, his palms growing clammy as the footsteps approached. His body tensed, and for one horrible second, he thought he might turn and run.

But then the door opened.

And there you were.

You froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob as your eyes met his. Spencer’s heart lodged itself in his throat as he took in the sight of you—your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable, your lips parting slightly as though words had caught there, unable to escape.

You looked the same and yet different, somehow. Your hair was a little longer, your face softer, but your eyes—those eyes that had once looked at him with so much love—now held something else entirely.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched on, so loud it was deafening.

Spencer’s throat felt dry as he finally managed to whisper, “Hi.”

It was so small, so simple, but it was all he could get out before his voice cracked.

You blinked, the mask of composure you had thrown on beginning to fracture. Your voice came out quiet, wary, almost disbelieving. “Spencer?”

He swallowed hard, trying to find the words he had been practicing for weeks, for months. They were all jumbled now, falling apart in his mind.

“I… I needed to see you,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I need to explain.”

Your hand tightened on the doorknob, your knuckles going white as you looked at him—really looked at him—and the pain he’d left behind resurfaced in your eyes like a wave crashing over jagged rocks.

The second the words left his mouth—“I need to explain”—something inside you snapped. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal that had been simmering beneath the surface for months came roaring to life like a fire you could no longer control. Before you even realized what you were doing, your grip on the doorknob tightened, and with a force you hadn’t known you were capable of, you slammed the door.

The sound was deafening, the crack of wood against its frame echoing through the hallway. It felt final, like a gavel coming down to deliver a sentence. And for a moment, all you could hear was the rapid pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

On the other side of the door, you heard nothing.

No knock. No footsteps. Not a single sound.

For a long moment, you stood there, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Your hand was still on the doorknob, fingers trembling as though the residual shock of what you’d done was finally catching up to you.

Spencer Reid.

The man who had left you, abandoned you in the cruelest way possible, standing you up at the altar without so much as a word. The man who had disappeared from your life, leaving you to pick up the pieces of a heart he had shattered. And now, now, after all these months, he had the audacity to show up at your door and say he needed to explain?

Explain what?

How he left you humiliated and broken? How he had walked away from the life you were supposed to build together, without giving you the decency of closure?

Your jaw clenched, your hands balling into fists at your sides as you turned away from the door. A bitter laugh escaped your lips—short, hollow, and humorless. You felt like screaming, like throwing something, like letting out all the pain you’d been holding in since that day.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you walked away, forcing yourself deeper into the apartment. You wanted to put as much distance between yourself and that door as possible. Your mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next, until all that was left was a whirlwind of anger and grief that threatened to consume you whole.

And yet…

You stopped in the center of your living room, your eyes drifting to the door as the silence stretched on. You wondered if he was still out there, standing on the other side, stunned into silence.

You hated that part of you cared enough to wonder.

What did he think was going to happen? That he would knock, say a few words, and everything would be okay? That you would just forgive him? He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you.

But the thought of him still standing there, heartbroken, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Slowly, you sank onto the couch, dropping your head into your hands as the weight of it all settled over you like a storm cloud. You took a shaky breath, then another, trying to ignore the tears that were threatening to spill.

On the other side of the door, Spencer remained frozen.

The door was still vibrating faintly from the force with which you’d slammed it, and he stood there, staring at it like it might suddenly open again if he just waited long enough. His breathing was shallow, his face pale as his mind tried to process what had just happened.

He had expected anger. He had expected hurt. But the door slamming—so final, so absolute—hit him harder than he thought possible.

His hand hovered in the air, just inches from the wood, as though he might knock again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead rested lightly against the door. His eyes squeezed shut as a wave of nausea washed over him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

After a few long moments, he forced himself to straighten. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, turned slowly, and walked away—each step heavier than the last.

And inside, you sat alone, the sound of that door slam replaying in your head over and over again, louder than any explanation he could have given.

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 1 year ago

Text

The Devil And An Angel

Wanda X Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: During one of Tony's parties, both of your girlfriends tease you and try to tempt you into giving into your sinful desires.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Threesome, Strap-ons, Fingering, Oral sex, Double Penetration, Dirty talk, Praise, Squirting, Dom Natasha/Switch Wanda/Switch Reader, Brief Aftercare.

General Masterlist

“Are you really not going to tell me?” you complain, looking between both your girlfriends with a small pout.

“You’ll find out soon enough Kotenok,” Natasha coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at the action before remembering how you were supposed to be acting grumpy.

“But why can’t I know now?” they laugh at how eager you are to find out what they are going to wear. Tony had decided to throw a party tonight, every couple/relationship must dress up as something together to change it up a bit and have some fun. The problem was, your two girlfriends were reluctant to tell you what they were dressing up as and assured you that anything you wore would be fine.

“Because it’s a surprise,” Wanda says while wrapping her arms around your middle and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now go and get ready and we’ll meet you at the party.” Grumbling, you left to go and get ready, imagining what they could have installed for you.

When you arrived at the party you had to give Tony his dues, the party looked amazing and it was a brilliant idea to have people dress up. You looked around trying to figure out what people were meant to be, smiling at how much effort everyone had put in. Steve and Bucky had dressed up as people from the 1940s, their old fashioned clothing probably from their youth. Peter and MJ were dressed as mad scientists, Peter fluffing his hair up to look crazy and constantly checking to see if it was alright, much to MJ’s amusement. Clint looked so done with the whole party despite it just starting, dressed up in a Santa costume that was from when he pretended to be the jolly man at Christmas for his children. Laura wore an elf hat and a simple dress that suited her, but she was too busy trying not to laugh at her husband. Tony and Pepper just looked incredible, their theme most likely meant to scream money and wealth.

Suddenly, you felt two people lean on your shoulders, their different perfumes invading your senses as you turned to look at them. On your left was Natasha who was dressed in a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, devil horns sticking out of her fiery red hair, black, smokey eyeshadow making her eyes pop and a sinister smirk on her face. Wanda was on your right, dressed in a white, flowy dress with a gold halo in her hair, a soft look on her face compared to Natasha. You chuckled at them, dressed as a Devil and an Angel on each of your shoulders.

“You both look beautiful,” the compliment causes them both to smile at you, the two of them having a turn to compliment your choice of clothing as well. You leaned in to give Wanda a kiss, innocent and sweet, and then turned to Natasha who had no shame in sliding her tongue into your mouth, a small moan escaping you at the action.

“Don’t be tempted by her,” Wanda whispered in your ear, her voice soft while her arm interlocked with yours. “Or there will be no reward later.” You stifled the noise that wanted to come out and just watched as Natasha winked at you before walking off.

Wanda and yourself followed behind and you had to try your hardest to not drift your gaze lower on Natasha’s back. The three of you ended up on a sofa talking with Steve and Bucky, them rambling on about a story from their past while you three nodded along. You were paying attention until Natasha moved closer, her mouth on your ear as her breath tickled the side of your face.

“Do you know how hard I want to fuck you right now?” she purred quietly, “Have you trembling with pleasure as I thrust my fingers deep inside you? Or even better, my cock.” You groan at her words, low enough that no one other than Natasha could hear, making her smirk in victory as she works you up. Her hand grips your thigh, squeezing the skin and moving up higher teasingly before drifting down to rest on your knee. “I could have you coming in my mouth right now in that bathroom,” her gaze travels to the ladies room on the other side of the room, your eyes following as they darken with lust. “Come on, let's have some fun,” she bites down on your ear while no one looks before pulling away and giving you a predatory look that sends another wave of arousal through you, your panties definitely soaked as you clench your thighs together.

After a few moments, Natasha excuses herself to the toilets, her eyes staying trained on you as she gets up and starts to walk away. You remember Wanda’s earlier words and reluctantly stay still in your seat. You know this is a test, Natasha staying true to her outfit and trying to get you to sin with her, give into her temptation and end up with a punishment equivalent to hell. That however doesn’t make it any easier as you suffer with the results of her dirty words and teasing.

You don’t realise that Steve and Bucky had left, leaving you alone with Wanda as Natasha waits out in the bathroom to see if you crack. Her touches are far more innocent that Natasha’s, her hands interlocking with yours, her thumb running over the back of your hand.

“You’re being such a good girl,” she whispers, the praise making you whine slightly. “I bet you’re so wet for us both right now,” your eyes widen at her words, not expecting her to be in on the teasing.

“I thought angels were supposed to be innocent and pure,” you say, hoping she’d stop the torment. She just lets out a low chuckle and smiles at you, making you nervous for what else was to come.

“The devil was an angel once,” she comments, her voice raspy and sultry, “Who says we can’t be tempted as well.” Her hand goes to your thigh, scratching through your clothing and even going as far as your inner thigh near your core to draw invisible patterns. Your breathing hitches and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything.

Soon Natasha returns, having given up waiting for you, and takes her seat to your left again. She notices the prominent blush on your cheeks and how your hand is gripping the cushion of the sofa, knuckles almost turning white.

“So Y/n,” Natasha starts, drawing your attention away from Wanda’s hand on your leg, “Are you enjoying the party?” you go to answer her question but your breathing stops when your thoughts change.

You’re tied to the bed while Natasha roughly kisses your lips, pulling out moan after moan as her tongue explores the roof of your mouth. Her hands grope at your chest, pinching and pulling at your nipples causing sighs to leave your lips. Wanda was in between your thighs, looking up at you with an innocent look, and licked a stripe up your core, her tongue gathering the wetness that was dripping out of you.

“It’s rude to ignore people,” the spy moves closer to you, her chest pressed up against your shoulder as she talks into your ear. “I’ll ask you one more time,” You look over to Wanda who has a sly grin on her face before Natasha grabs your attention again by sucking on your neck, “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yes,” is all you could manage out in a breathless whisper, mind clouded with arousal and desire as both women relentlessly tease you.

“Are you sure?” Wanda whispers in your other ear, the hand that was teasing your inner thighs moving to drag her fingers over your clothed pussy under your dress, the fabric soaked with your arousal. “Because I'm sure there are more exciting things we could be doing,” you stifle a moan when she starts to circle your clit through your panties and move your hand to sit on top of hers.

“I just want to be good,” your whine has them both grinning, “I’ll do anything you want me to, just please let me be good for you.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Natasha drags you away towards the elevator to get to your shared apartment, Wanda quickly on your tail.

Once you reach the bedroom, Natasha immediately straddles you on the bed, her mouth descending onto yours as she roughly kisses you and slips her tongue into your mouth. The whole thing is hot, her hands tugging your hair to pull moans out of you, her tongue tracing the roof of your mouth while her hips grind down harshly onto yours as she uses you for her own pleasure for the moment. Instinctively, your hands go to her waist, guiding her movements as she ruts against you.

“Fuck,” she rasps out as you both pull away breathless, Wanda unzipping the spy’s dress as she climbs off your lap and passionately kisses the witch. You watch in awe as their tongues fight for dominance, hands roaming freely across each other's body as they undress each other. You can’t move, frozen on the spot as bare skin is exposed to you, Natasha’s red dress dropping to the floor while Wanda’s is pulled over her head and discarded carelessly somewhere. They wear lingerie matching their outfits, Natasha wearing a black and red lace set while Wanda has a gold and white one on.

“Enjoying the show?” Wanda teases, swaying her hips as they both crawl onto the bed to join you. Her lips crash to yours, nothing innocent about her now as her hands rid you of your clothes. Natasha is now behind you, her chest pressing into your back while she bites at your neck, littering you with purple and red marks and sighing wantonly against your ear to make you shudder. Wanda’s hands cup your breasts unceremoniously as you revel in the pleasure, her running her fingers over your hardened nipples and tugging playfully. You lean your head back onto Natasha who moves to nibble on your ear, her hand coming up to rest on your throat, a pitiful moan escaping you.

“Don’t worry Kotenok,” She purrs, “You’ll get what you want soon.” You can feel her smirking into your skin as your hips buck at the contact of her knee slotting between your legs. “But first Wanda has a question, Don’t you Wands?” Her green eyes snap over to the witch who pulls back from the sloppy kiss with you, her cheeks flushed and eyes darkening.

“How do you feel about you and Nat fucking me at the same time?” she whispers against your lips and your eyes widen at the question.

“Fuck that would be hot,” you sigh out, imagining Wanda in between you and the spy as you pound into her from both sides. “Are you sure you want that?” She bites her lip at you sultrily and nods her head before moving forwards to press her lips back to yours.

“On your back baby,” she husks out between kisses and you move away from them both to lay on your back near the top of the bed. Wanda kisses down your body, licking over the marks Natasha made soothingly before ghosting her hot breath over your nipples and then kissing your inner thighs that were slick with your desire for them. “I’m going to give you your reward for being so good for us,” Her breath fans over your core, your hips bucking at the feeling which causes her to place a strong hand on your hip to keep you still. She licks through your folds, her tongue swirling around your clit while her free hand moves to be near your entrance. Her fingers gather your wetness before she thrusts two fingers straight into you, your back arching off the bed as you let out a guttural moan. Her mouth sucks at your clit while she pumps her fingers into you, your hands fisting in her hair as she eats you out

Moans pour out of your mouth when she curls her fingers and you almost scream when you feel her moan into you loudly. Your eyes wander away from the brunette between your thighs and to the redhead behind her. You hear a click of a bottle and assume she’s used some lube to ease one of her fingers into Wanda’s tight hole and let her get used to the feeling and stretch. Wanda’s face moves to kiss at your thigh for a moment, trying to get used to the feeling of something in her ass before continuing to reward you. You softly stroke her hair and let her take her time and watch as Natasha moves to have Wanda sit on her face, her finger slowly stretching her tight hole out.

The room then fills with your moans and Wanda’s muffled ones as Natasha brings her close to coming and manages to work her up to having three fingers pumping in and out of her ass. Your legs tighten around Wanda’s face as you come with a scream, body spasming with pleasure as you ride out your high grinding against the witches mouth. She follows soon after, clenching around Natasha’s fingers and tongue as she screams into you, biting down on your inner thigh to muffle the scream. The feeling was painful but also pleasurable and you’re certain you're going to have a dark mark there later on.

Natasha moves from under her, not wanting to overstimulate her, and carefully pulls her fingers out. You pull Wanda up your body, peppering kisses over her face as she tries to steady her breathing.

“You did so well for us,” you praise, still breathless from your own mind blowing orgasm as you talk to her. She hums in response and slowly kisses you, the taste of yourself on her tongue making you moan into her mouth. “Are you still up for us both?” you whisper against her lips, your hands stroking her back as she presses her body weight onto you.

“Yeah,” she murmurs back and you see Natasha move to get the strap ons before lubing them both up so it doesn't hurt her.

“Remember your safewords?” Natasha asks while Wanda gets off you so you can put the harness on.

“Green for ok, Yellow for slow down and Red for Stop,” Natasha smiles at Wanda softly then pecks her lips and helps guide her to hover above your plastic cock. Your hands move the tip of the toy to rub against her clit teasing before letting her sink down onto it. She moans lewdly as her hips meet yours and slowly starts to rock back and forth. She braces her arms next to your head and moans into a kiss as you thrust up into her gently, her hips starting a rhythm with yours.

Natasha soon has her harness on and moves to kneel behind Wanda while her hands slow her movements down. You whisper comforting words to the brunette, checking if she’s still ok by asking her for a colour, as Natasha slowly pushes the head of the toy into her ass, a loud gasp leaving the witch as she screws her eyes shut. You’re both patient as you let Wanda adjust to the toy, Natasha soon having the whole toy inside her and letting the pain fade to pleasure.

Experimentally, Wanda moves forwards slightly then pushes back, a low groan escaping her as she enjoys the feeling of Natasha and yourself deep inside her. Natasha starts a gentle pace of thrusting in and out of her while you swallow her moans with your mouth and thrust your hips up into her. Soon Wanda starts to move in time with you both, as soon as you pull out, Natasha pushes in and vice versa and her moans become louder.

“Fuck,” she moves to lean backwards against Natasha, who wraps a firm hand around her middle to keep her upright, while your hand moves to circle her clit. “Harder,” She sighs out, the two of you listening and increasing the force at which you pump your hips into her. “Faster,” the sound of skin slapping echoes around the room as you pound into her from underneath and Natasha snaps her hips against her. Wanda’s breasts bounce with each thrust and her legs start to shake as she nears her orgasm. “Please, I’m so close, don't stop,” begs tumble out her mouth as her hips move frantically between the two of you.

With a loud scream, liquid gushes out of her around your cock as she comes, her hips stuttering as her hands grip behind her onto Natasha to stop her body from collapsing forwards. You both slow down your thrusts as she rides out her high, her legs spasming around you while her hands fall off the spy to rest on your chest while she pants for breath. Natasha kisses along her neck and back while she calms down and when you see her wince at the feeling of being so full, you motion for Natasha to slowly pull out. She whines at the motion and soon moves off your lap to lay on the bed next to you.

You quickly discard the harness while Natasha moves to the bathroom to start a bath for you three and pull the witch close to you to murmur praise to her. Her body naturally moves towards you, her face tucked into your neck as she tries to fall asleep, her body exhausted from coming so hard. When Natasha returns, you carry her to the bath and gently lower her in and climb in behind her so she can lean back into your embrace. Natasha also climbs in, helping clean Wanda off and start her aftercare before quickly washing herself from any sweat.

“Are you ready for bed milaya?” Natasha murmurs into the witch’s hair after placing a soft kiss. She nodded back sleepily and the spy helped her dry off before taking her to bed. You quickly drain the tub and dry off yourself before joining them in bed. Wanda curls her body into Natasha but when she feels your presence next to her, she moves her hand back in search of yours and she places it around her middle. You smile at her drowsy actions and kiss them both goodnight before drifting off to sleep.

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qwimchii · 1 year ago

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𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 3) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 21.3𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩-𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘴 & 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨

note: this chapter is literally insane but 😗 nothing like a bit of forced proximity 🤭

when you emerged from your room, it was already mid-morning. you had pulled your hair back and up from your face, ringlets of loose curls framing your head like a halo. you dressed in the best attire you could fish out of the armoire—a petal pink skirt with furls of embellishments like honey, and a pale beige blouse with tendrils of pastel blue carnations stitched into its chest and up the high collar, gathering tight at your shoulders and pooling into a loose sleeve then the tight cuff of your wrist.

the garments were delicate—as delicate as you felt you were, broken in and soft. from the makeup tray on a shelf in the armoire, you very lightly pressed just a tinge of french rogue powder to your lips and cheeks to smother the swollen puffiness of your face. taking a bit of dark eyeshadow on your pinkie, you smudged it meticulously across your eyelid, hoping you looked positively radiant on this awful, gloomy day, despite the strong sun shining through the windows of your room.

when you passed the porter, marching into the compartment littered with los vaqueros, one-four-one, and much to your chagrin, Ghost, you barely spared the porter a glance. he looked so much smaller, meager, in the sunlight, a chubby pudge to his face and teeth that slightly protruded over his bottom lip.

still, you bowed your head with a graciousness as he just rudely stared into your face, his hands clenched into clammy fists by his sides.

when you stepped into the compartment, there was a diminishing of noise that coalesced into a steady silence. you ignored them all, sliding onto an abandoned couch where breakfast tea and coffee was laid out. you served yourself a cup, politely curling your legs to the side as you looked out the window.

it was the same scenery as the night before—a stretching half-desert with sparse vegetation and weedy trees, cast in a yellow glare from the sunlight.

Kate slid into the plush chair adjacent to you, the sight of another woman at her shoulder making you jump. she had a mahogany rich tone to her skin, intricate black coils braided tight to her head and trailing down the back of her neck. the almond curve of her eyes and full lips gleamed.

your mouth parted quite rudely. she was absolutely radiant.

laxing back in her chair, she sat across from you with an easy-going look. she wore loose buckskin trousers with a fringe and a jacket of cowhide, a bandolier slung across her chest. she tipped her hat to you and you sorely missed your stetson at that moment.

“mornin’,” Kate said with a light slap on your knee, which you deemed mildly inappropriate, but at this point, you couldn’t bother to comment.

as if on queue, you eyed Ghost pad over to sit by the woman. he was rock still, face imperceptible and stoic behind the mask, though you noted the twitch of his hand on his holster. another one if his telling habits.

you sipped at your cup. “good morning, Kate.”

pointedly ignoring Ghost, you gave a polite smile to the woman across from you, offering a hand. “pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“please. call me Maria.” she had the same soothing rhythmical accent as Alejandro and Rudolfo, her voice a smooth, grating honey.

your brows rose. before you could stop yourself, you remarked—

“i had no idea there were women in los vaqueros.”

Kate snorted, and you immediately felt your face flush. if Kate was in one-four-one, or led it alongside John, practically, it shouldn’t have been shocking that there were female gunslingers in los vaqueros.

stupid, you chided to yourself, not missing the way Ghost cocked his head at you curiously.

but Maria just smiled, reaching out to brush her knuckles over Kate’s shoulder, and Kate's fingers inched over to touch her knee in reply. “she’s funny,” she said, tone denoting something of approval.

Ghost cleared his throat, drawing your attention.

“we need to talk.”

not to you, you hoped with a bitterness, and found relief when he leaned instead towards the other two women.

Kate’s eyes narrowed.

“you didn’t tell her?” her tone was lashing and it startled you.

suspicious, you turned your gaze to take in Ghost fully. he was staring dead at Kate, unmoving and wordless, till he shifted, knees spreading wider as he settled back. she sighed, long and tired.

“when we get back to san francisco,” she said with a cocked brow, “you’ll be goin’ back to your folks.”

your blood slowed to a thick, icy stop. “what?”

she just shook her head. “we weren’t plannin’ on it but it’s best for you, missy. we won’t be able to protect you much once we’re in the city. there’ll be a full-blown out war. Turner isn’t hellbent on finding you.”

she clasped your knee. “he’s hellbent on killing us.”

you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder. looking back, Soap was leaning over you, arm no longer in a sling and clasping at your shoulder with a solemn look.

“sorry, bonnie lass,” he said bitterly. “we should’ve never taken ye in the first place.” then his face brightened. “but yer gonna see yer family soon, even if we’ll miss ya.”

behind him, Gaz stood with crossed arms, face pinched with an ever stoic look. you expected that he would be happy about this as the most diametrically opposed to your presence out of all the members of one-four-one, but the despaired scrunch of his brow betrayed him.

your voice cracked. “who decided this?”

the whole room shifted with discomfort, and Kate’s eyes slid to Ghost. you bit back a scream, refusing to even look in his direction.

his voice was a deep timbre in your head—those were the terms of our agreement.

i own you. body and soul.

if you did go back to your daddy and mama—when you did, Turner would be there, old and wrinkled up like a prune, his stale breath a sigh against your face during long, long nights.

Ghost knew that if he gave you back to your mama and daddy, you would be handed over to Turner instantaneously. and still, he’d rather win the battle over your body against Turner. for revenge.

it seemed that he had no use for you now that his revenge ploy was over with.

John was standing at Maria’s shoulder now, leaning his body weight against the back of Kate’s chair. he looked at you somberly, mouth an etched line beneath the scruff of his beard.

“you saved my life with that bloody good sharpshootin’, sweetheart.” his eyes twinkled. “how can i ever repay you?”

you’d hardly thought John guiding you through your first murder was considered saving his life but you’d take all that you could get.

your mind turning back to Turner, the rushing torrent of blinding rage that consumed you was scary. you hated him with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone with your whole being. you wanted to hate everyone in the room for doing this to you—their vengeful kidnapping ploy had turned you into a sinful outlaw just like them. but you just couldn’t.

“do me a favor.” you looked from each member of one-four-one, eyes passing over Ghost with a blind haze. “make sure you kill that Turner fucker slow and painful.”

that way you may never have to be owned by him.

Maria laughed aloud. “i like the way you talk, chica,” she said with a malicious glint to her grin, as one-four-one nodded in agreement with your words.

the rest of the morning was a slow haze. los vaqueros conjoined with one-four-one in the lounge compartment just before a brunch. you stuck with Kate and Maria the entire time, sorely avoiding Ghost and the other members of one-four-one, taking slow bites you could barely hold down.

an all-consuming grief pinched at your stomach. you would’ve gladly avoided the rest of them for the next day of travel on the train if Gaz didn’t barricade your way out the dining car. most of the men had filtered out, only a few stray los vaqueros lingering out of ear-shot.

Gaz crossed his arms in the doorway, looking down at you with a hooded face.

you cocked your brow. “yes?”

Gaz’s dislike for you had been obvious since day one. since the first moment you heard him speak, he had protested your stay at their base, which didn’t surprise you, but still left you feeling irked in an immature way.

he jerked his head to the hallway. “would you walk with me, ma’am?”

it didn’t sound like a question. turning on his heel sharply, you trailed after him bitterly. even with the pinched displeasure in his tone, he was still as polite as ever. biting down back your tongue, you wondered if the rest of one-four-one thought the same of your mama’s polite manner ingrained in you.

you followed him through several train compartments, a thick uneasiness settling on you from his silent and broad form in front of you, blocking half your sight, but relieved that porter was nowhere to be found.

as you passed through another lounging car, the sparse spread of people across the plush interior eyed you curiously. one man peered above his newspaper at you, monocles glinting, and mouth skewing into a hard line, eyes shadowed.

you stepped to Gaz a bit closer.

when you reached the end of the first class compartments, he slid open the door that breached between the travel trains and a rusty red boxcar. the steel railway grinding against steel wheels was a louder rhythmic clatter than before.

for a brief moment, you were staggering through the rush of air on the gangway between compartments before Gaz offered you a forearm politely without even a glance. grasping it tightly, his strength was stabilizing, and he pulled you over the gangway and into the safety of the boxcar, your hair whipping in the wind.

several crates littered the space. you had a sneaking suspicion that the both of you weren’t supposed to be there.

Gaz drew the larger door of the boxcar open with a screeching, rumbling tug and dragged a crate an arms length from the edge. he took a seat on the floor, boot dangling just over the gravel tracks that passed below.

“ma’am?” he offered the place on the crate beside you with a gesture and you complied, taking a seat without much question, because there really was nothing else to do on this train.

this train ride bringing you right to your doom, you thought with a grimace.

in the long silence, you overlooked the landscape—there was a sharp dip from the railway into green plains, dotted with purplish vegetation that the sun spilled over with yellow delight

leaning forward to peer at the side of his face, you watched his dark eyes dart over the curve of the passing scenery.

“how did you know about this place?”

the swell of his throat bobbed. his voice sounded tight and airy. nervous. “i wander when i can’t sleep at night.”

you were no stranger to that. you thought back to your first night in the leather crafts shop, the itching anxiety to get out driving you to rummage through the kitchen where Ghost found you.

pushing the memory from your mind, you tried not to let the apprehension drip into your voice.

“what’s this about, Gaz?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to enjoy the scenery of the land, ma’am.”

your brown quirked. “right. what is this really about?”

he sighed, shifting, his mouth in a sheepish, muddled twist.

“i’m not really sure how I’m supposed to say this ma’am—” your brown quirked again.

you put a hand to his shoulder lightly. “Gaz, for the love of everything good, please stop calling me ma’am.” he glanced at you from his peripheral. “you’re older than me.”

he leaned out of your touch. “right. sorry, miss.”

you bit back your tongue. even though you had just chided at him about his overly zealous formalities, you funnily felt as though you were talking to a nervous little boy with the way he fumbled with the seam of his jeans.

“Gaz, what is this about?” your voice was softened now, trying to coax him out of whatever hole he was digging himself into.

his voice was barely above a grumbling whisper. “Ghost came to me last night.”

you paused, jaw going numb.

sighing, you rubbed a hand over your forehead, smoothing back your hair with unease. “Gaz whatever he told you—”

his voice was soft with awe. “he asked me to marry you.”

the breath stopped dead in your throat, the world spinning at an angle. “what?”

he just nodded slowly, looking as shocked as you felt, his eyes glazed over and wide.

“i know this ain’t the proper way to propose, and when we’re off this train and over with this war, i’ll do it properly i swear, but—”

you held your temple, clutching at the wall of the boxcar. shakily, you pulled yourself to your feet. “stop Gaz. just stop.”

you backed away from the edge and he scrambled up to follow you.

“no, please, just listen—”

“no, you listen.”

you knew it wasn’t fair to be angry at him. you knew it wasn’t fair, especially with the way he looked so crestfallen, brows pinched and shoulders slumped.

“if i’m going to be married,” you said with a huff, indignant, “it’ll be on my terms and my terms only.”

he reached a tentative hand out to you, and you let him pick up your palm and press it to his chest.

“i was thirteen when i enlisted for the war.”

you weren’t looking at him before but you were looking at him now.

he spoke fast and low. “i was an orphan. i didn’t look my age. no one wanted me in london, and the older boys in my orphanage were volunteering for the war. when i signed up, they snuck me in, pulled some strings with the army doctors.” his voice fell to a dead whisper. “i didn’t know what i was getting into.”

you felt stupid when tears welled up in your eyes. he looked so young, so broken in that moment. you wiped at your eyes quickly.

“oh Gaz—”

he let you pull him into a quick, indulgent hug. it was inappropriate and the way his arms hung loosely at his sides felt awkward, but you were grateful he let you do it anyway.

“i owe Ghost my life. i owe him everything. he took care of Soap and i when we were kids. John and Kate too, but they were preoccupied most of the time. Ghost—” he choked with emotion, “Simon was always there.”

it felt almost impossible to imagine a Ghost ten years younger in the militia, around the age you were now, keeping two gangly teens tucked closely to his side on a battlefield, maskless and freer without the malevolent reputation he bore. he wasn’t yet the gunslinging devilish outlaw you knew now. but the image only curled at the edges and soured in your mouth.

you didn’t want to hear this about Ghost.

“you don’t even like me,” you said, blunt, tilting your head up into Gaz’s face. he just looked down at you with an imperceptible face that you couldn’t even begin to pick apart.

then, he sighed, dropping your hand and stepping away.

“maybe not,” he said, voice soft, “but i’d like to try.”

you tried to digest that. “for yourself or for Ghost?”

the empty look he gave you was everything you needed to know. a dead silence followed before it was interrupted.

the boxcar’s far door—from where you had entered—was yanked open, and a member of los vaqueros stepped through.

the front of his jacket was tipped in an oozing red, and he clutched at the spot, shouting out something that you couldn’t understand before the unmistakable vibration of a gun was exploding forth in the air, echoing in the boxcar.

you screamed when his eyes went dark, a thick stream of blood flooding his mustache as he crashed to the floor with a deadly stiffness.

behind him, in the entrance of the doorway, was a man, his revolver raised high. he wore monocles and a twisted expression. you recognized him—the man reading the paper. and his revolver was aimed directly at you.

Gaz moved fast. much faster than you, as he drew your body behind him, drawing his revolver. before he could even flick his thumb over the safety, a body clad in black whipped forward and reached around the monocled-man’s neck to grip at the collar of an expensive dress shirt. something glinted in the air and it drew over the man’s throat in a quick motion, a red mask gleaming by his cheek.

the monocled-man dropped by the fallen vaqueros.

Ghost straightened to his full height. you watched his eyes dart over Gaz quick—checking for injuries with pinched eyes. you had never noticed him do it before, and you jolted when his hardened gaze snapped to yours.

“we’ve been double-crossed—”

there was a loud, shattering racket from behind him and you saw glimpses of several bodies spill out into the gangway in a tangled fervor. you saw glimpses of Kate’s blonde hair struggling against a man with a disheveled cap and a fashionable black jacket. for a moment you caught his dark eyes, all-encompassing and evil.

the pullman porter.

Gaz rushed forward, revolver raised high, but Ghost only pushed back, driving you through the boxcar and yanking the door open to the next one, revealing another gangway with air spilling over it in dangerous whooshes.

you didn’t have time to think or to feel an ounce of fear, Gaz’s boots hot on your heels and Ghost behind him as they pushed you forward through to the next compartment.

you heard Ghost’s voice in a grit, tight with frustration. “i’m out of ammo,” he explained and Gaz didn’t slow for a second, spurring you further and further forward.

there was a ruminating clamor from behind you. something primal in you roared to life, fear coiling tight and real in your stomach. someone was chasing Ghost, Gaz and you. something primal in you told you it was the pullman porter hunting for you.

heaving the next boxcar’s door with a grit of your teeth, sweat pooled at your back. when you swung out onto the little platform, gripping the railing for purchase, panic rose in you at the sight of railway stretching on and fishing between rolling, green land.

you had reached the end of the train.

that didn’t stop Ghost. he pulled Gaz towards the ladder on the sheer outer wall of the last boxcar.

“up.” you had never seen him so panicked. “go up!”

Gaz immediately complied, spidering up the ladder and out of sight onto the roof of the moving train. when Ghost turned to you, you thought you may puke.

he must’ve seen the blaring alarm in your face because he hoisted you by the waist, yanking you towards the ladder easily. he steadied the trembles of your body with two gloved hands on your waist.

“one step at a time, princess.” there was a ferocity in his eyes. “i’ll catch you if you fall.”

a rush of something gold poured through you, and you steeled yourself, clambering up the rusty ladder rungs one at a time. the wind lashed at your clothes, threatening to steal you out into the open air, but Ghost’s hand was pushing you flush to the ladder against your back. when your boot slipped at the top rung, Ghost hissed, lurching forward, an iron grip at your waist.

at the top of the train, the world felt like it was moving too fast to comprehend. up ahead, a mountain loomed, casting a dark shadow over the train as the sun dipped behind its peak.

“don’t stop,” he commanded, and you scrambled forward, low to the train.

looking over your shoulder, you saw the porter’s head slide over the edge of the boxcar, pulling himself up onto the roof with an eerie ease. he was moving fast, almost full speed.

a revolver glinted in his hand.

Ghost shouted in frustration, hoisting you up by your arm and propelling you into a dead sprint over the train.

one slip, you realized, glancing over the edge of the roof, would send you toppling into the chasmic valley below.

the mountain ahead was approaching rapidly.

Gaz was a few bounds ahead of you, and he turned sharply to shoot at the porter just over your shoulder.

with a yelp, Ghost tugged you down and you flattened against the train. your eyes strained against the noon light and the mountain ahead split into a cave—not a cave, a tunnel.

“Gaz!” you choked out.

he dropped to the train roof with a clumsiness that sent his revolver skidding across the roof and off the edge. the train speared forward into the tunnel, shrouded your vision in a darkness that felt deafening.

Ghost’s hand was inching up your back.

“crawl forward,” he demanded, and you complied, creeping over the cold steel of the roof.

a blinding light ahead advanced, the end of the tunnel in sight.

there was a loud, ricocheting gunshot against the walls of the tunnel, a hot spark of friction against steel flickering in the darkness.

you screamed, Ghost’s hand on the collar of your blouse, as a glaring light enveloped you.

blinking rapidly against the sunlight, eyes burning, you scrambled to your feet with the help of Ghost’s strength.

when your eyes cleared, snapping into a focus, a panic flurried in you at the sight of the end of the train nearing.

you wanted to slow but Ghost kept pushing you forward wordlessly to the end of the train cars.

“where will we go?” you shouted against the violent wind.

a sob almost escaped you when he didn’t respond. Gaz stopped short at the edge of the last compartment, just before the train engine, jacket ruffling wildly in the wind. the look he gave you over his shoulder was one of pure dread.

you jolted when he straightened, barreling past you and Ghost right at the porter hot on your heels.

“Gaz!” Ghost shouted, his low baritone pitched and strained, hand lashing out to pull him back by his jacket but narrowly missing. you turned on your heel in horror.

the porter reeled back in surprise as Gaz tackled him full force to the floor of the train roof. they almost skittered off the edge if it wasn’t for Ghost lunging forward and gripping Gaz by the back of his jacket collar and hoisting him from the edge.

it may have been the weight of their two bodies combined, the rush of the wind, or the clumsiness in Ghost’s blundering, adrenaline drive that caught him off guard for just a moment that the porter took advantage of. he slammed the butt of his revolver into the side of Gaz’s face, and the boy’s entire body fell limp over the porter.

he scrambled out from under Gaz’s body in a flash, and the scream that tore through your throat was carnal when he seized Ghost’s collar and sprung forward, pushing him right over the edge of the train roof.

Ghost fell with a sickening whoosh, and the speed of the train was already zipping away from his body crumpled against the ground, splayed unnaturally near the train tracks.

you scrambled back on hands and knees, not even sure when you collapsed, Ghost’s body already just a black dot in the distance.

the porter turned to you, the revolver still tight between his knuckles. his eyes were wild.

“who are you?” you screamed over the wind. his face was an ashy dark tone, looking extremely sickly and pale.

“i’m sorry,” he wailed, and you jolted further backwards when tears spilled from his eyes. your palm edged along the brim of the train roof, yelping when your hand almost slipped.

“he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.” more tears spilled down his face. “i don’t want to kill anyone.”

his face was twisted up, whole body shaking as he raised the revolver. “but i can’t let my daughter die.”

there was a pop of a safety, and the darkness of his eyes swirling. an imperceptible feeling came crashing down on you—one you couldn’t even begin to describe, an endless downward whirl of dread, acceptance, dread, acceptance.

you thought of Ghost’s body sprawled out by the train tracks in the distance and closed your eyes.

acceptance.

the sound of a strangled cry startled you awake, and the sight of Kate’s arm clasped tight around his neck in his bind sent a whirling electricity down your spine. her blonde hair was wild, eyes even wilder, and she bared her teeth at you in a menacing look.

“for god’s sake, get your useless behind off the ground and help me!”

those familiar words screamed in the back room of the leather crafts shop had you scrambling to life, getting on your hands and knees and launching forward to wrestle the porter for his revolver.

he twisted back, and for a sick moment, you worried Kate would go reeling off the edge too as she dangerously neared it, but she released the porter, using his moment of unbalance as an advantage.

she slammed her hands into his chest and he slid, crashing to the train roof floor, gun clattering to the floor as she fell on top of him.

you dove for the gun, hand just almost closing around the handle of the thing before the porter twisted over with a surprising strength, dislodging Kate from his body, and pulled it from your grasp.

he gripped it tight, leveling it right to your face, finger on the trigger.

the noise that tore through Kate’s throat was guttural. “no!”

she launched towards you, two strong hands on your arms and pushed you hard. harder than you thought she could, and you tumbled backwards, spirling without direction into free air, and thudding to the forest floor.

something cracked and a numbing pain spread like wildfire from somewhere—your shoulder, body, mind. you couldn’t discern the source of pain, the metrical chug of the train roaring in your ear as it continued on without you.

you woke with a start, breath hitched up in your throat. tears stained your cheeks.

you didn’t remember crying. your whole face felt numb. in fact, your whole body felt numb, save for the throbbing, searing ache in your shoulder. along the joint, there was a numbness at your fingertips and an unpleasant tingling that ran up and down your arm.

groaning, you strained, trying and failing with great effort to move. you tried again and felt a lace of panic when your stiff body wouldn’t move.

is this what it feels like to die?

desperately trying to move when your body wouldn’t budge?

that sent a burst of sparkling energy through you, and you managed to twist your good shoulder, fingertips digging into the ground to push yourself up. your muscles strained with effort, shaking, but they failed with a spasm, and your head fell back into the dirt.

your temples throbbed.

looking up, you noted the darkening dusk of the day. it had been just noon when you were on the train—how long had you been laying there?

there was a cool blue tinge to the air, the moon cresting over a cloudless sky. an unmistakable shiver went through you. the temperature was dropping by the second.

you had felt the same at home. the desert air lacked a single drop of humidity to maintain the sweltering heat of the day at night, and it was the same here in this california forest, though less pronounced. the result was a plummeting temperature.

the thought of home gave you comfort as you lay there in the dirt.

then, you heard a crunching nearby. of feet. boots, perhaps, and you craned your neck back.

a large, black form loomed in the distance. you wanted to be scared, wanted to be panicking in the moment, but a muffled layer of silence was laid over you like a blanket, a ringing in your ears.

at that moment, you just wanted to sleep.

eyes half-lidded, a masked face slid into your blurry vision overhead. his arms coiled around you, very, very gently lifting you from the ground.

“Ghost,” you gasped, a sharp stabbing in your shoulder that contended with the darkness that threatened to pull you into a slumber.

he just shushed you, the sway of his body rocking with each of his steps along the railroad track.

you didn’t have enough energy to say a thing, forehead throbbing, feeling like there was an invisible band contracting around your head with every movement.

“you’re freezin’,” he said in your ear, but it resonated somewhere very distant.

he curled you closer into his chest and that made you jolt back to life from the sharp sensation racing across your shoulder, biting down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood.

your vision went hazy for a long moment, ears ringing with a muffled dizziness. the pressure in your head warped when you were being lowered down, to what you assumed, might’ve been the forest floor, leaning you back against something solid and hard and cold.

you gasped when you felt his bare fingertips skimming across the skin of your shoulder beneath your blouse.

he just tutted, muttering something in your ear. you tried to hone on it, but it was so distant and muffled and hazy.

then, he was turning your head from side to side and pressing a cool hand to your forehead. you winced when his hands came back to your shoulder, rubbing over it, one hand to the front and the other cradling your shoulder blade.

he twisted your shoulder with a sickening pop, and you were violently dragged back to your senses.

you bit back a loud scream, keeling over at the waist, everything pouring into your mind at once. the rushing and chitters of the forest, the prickly, dry pine needles beneath your legs, the icy rock at your back, and the acute shadows the moon was casting through the holes of the canopy.

it was too overwhelming. groaning, you screwed your eyes shut and slid down the rock to press your ear to it, your good arm to the other ear.

Ghost’s voice was still too loud through the makeshift covers. “dislocated shoulder,” was all he said, hand tapping against your knee lightly.

his hand stopped tapping. “you hit your head hard as well.”

he reached behind your head and pressed his fingers across your scalp. when he found a sensitive, swollen spot, you squirmed away.

“s’just bruised. no blood.”

you felt like there was blood pouring from your ears.

he pulled you toward him and carefully drew your hand from your ear, replacing it with his gloved ones.

“better?”

there was a pleasant, cool muffle over your ears—pleasant enough to open your eyes.

two earthy brown eyes stared back overshadowed by a strong blonde brow and pale skin—

you yelped, scrambling back onto the rock.

Ghost’s outer masked layer of red was vacant from his face, leaving behind the black fabric beneath it. torn rough, he pulled up the remains of it to reveal the skin of his neck, jaw, and lips.

it left little to imagine. the fabric sat on a high, curved bridge of his nose, and the deep-set of his dark eyes made them appear larger than you believed with the red shell of his mask—owlish almost. and then there were the handsome, strong brows furrowing at you.

he just blinked before inching forward in a crouch, covering your ears with his hands again.

your voice was swollen raw, sounding entirely unlike your own. “your mask…”

he was half-maskless.

“it broke,” he offered with a shrug and a very blank look.

Ghost was half-maskless.

his leather palm sneaked around your ankle.

“how’s your ankle?”

“fine.” you were lying. you couldn’t feel anything save for the painful pulse in your shoulder that throbbed in time with your head.

he nodded but the twitch of his lips made it look as though he wasn’t convinced. peeling back his trench coat, you watched as he easily tore through the sleeve of his dress shirt from his arm.

your breath hitched as he slid forward to wrap it around your shoulder.

“what are you doing?”

“returnin’ the favor.”

you thought back to two nights ago, when you had clutched at the bullet wound in his stomach, ripping off your own sleeve to desperately stave off the red deluge rushing from it.

he had wanted you to leave him for dead that night.

you stared up into his profile, captivated by the plains and curves of it, a slithering heat running circles in your chest.

when he was finished with the bind, wrapping it around your bicep, up over your shoulder, and tugging it tight with a loop around your breast, he had sat back on his haunches, watching you with quiet eyes.

you watched the pink of his lips twitch, his hands curled into fists at his knees. there was a menacing cold circulating through you, and the softness of his eyes, his face, his lips radiated a warmth—

there were a thousand things running through your mind—

instead, you croaked, “what happened on the train?”

he sighed, turning his gaze from you to the dark forest. “we convened with los vaqueros in yuma before boardin’ the train Kate arranged. the owner of the railway company owed us a debt and we—” he cringed, “—we thought we could trust ‘em. turns out, Turner’s men were on the train with us the whole bloody damn time.”

you swallowed hard, feeling even colder. shivering, you drew your good arm around your body. “the porter?”

he nodded. “a fight broke out after brunch. thought it was just some stupid squabble but they drew guns and hell broke loose.”

he pitched forward, hand coming down to loosely clutch at your knee. “i couldn’t find you.”

you pulled back from his touch and his brows pinched together before falling impossibly blank.

“what were you doing with Gaz?”

you gave him a sidelong glance, fighting back the pout that spilled onto your face. “he proposed to me.”

Ghost stiffened, falling back to his haunches. you cocked your head, watching the stoney look on his face.

“and what did you say?”

you scoffed. “none of your business.”

that’s what you wanted to believe, but it seemed that Ghost had one foot in your business at all times, and you didn’t know if you liked it or not.

the absolute image of indifference in his face had a low, simmering anger crawl up your back.

“he doesn’t even like me,” you hissed, remembering the way Gaz would lean away from your touch in the boxcar, stepping back when he felt too close.

you lamented deeply, wondering, why would he want you to marry Gaz?

Ghost’s voice was even. too even. “he’ll marry you if i ask. he feels like he owes a large debt to me.”

your breath hitched, a hot, tight feeling choking your throat. “do you always exert yourself over others like that?”

his voice turned icy, eyes narrowed. “like what?”

you almost snarled. “you’re using Gaz to your advantage—”

“you don’t know Gaz,” he snapped, before adding in a low timbre, “or me.”

his words shouldn’t have hurt you as much as they did because you knew that he was right. you almost knew nothing about the man in front of you. he was an imperceptible enigma you’d only met five days ago, and yet you felt as though you knew him better than anyone in the world, all his tell-tale habits, the facade of his stoicism, the warmth beneath…

it was nothing like the cold, sour feeling curling in the air between you and Ghost right now.

with a humph, you clambered to your feet, an angry immaturity brewing above the grief that pinched at your nerves. he didn’t move from his position on the floor, eyes hard and staring.

you hiked up your skirt ungraciously and began to move in a random direction in the forest.

“what are you doing?” he called from behind you. there was a satisfaction hearing the annoyance lashing in his tone.

“i’m sorry, sir, but i don’t know you,” you gritted back loudly, not even looking over your shoulder. “i don’t talk to strangers.”

the forest was tipped deep into the night now, a murky dark surrounding you. it was hard to make out the stretching, slithering forms of the underbrush that swayed in the breeze. but you were too angry to feel scared.

after a long bout of silence, and several more bounds of your indignant act, your anger waned into worry.

what if Ghost did leave you in this forest? he was giving you up to Turner as soon as you reached san francisco—because you were useless to him now. so what was stopping him from just leaving you to the darkness of the woods?

to the coyotes?

you shivered, and allowed yourself a glance over your shoulder. you shrieked with a jolt at the sight of him looming just a couple steps behind you, looking impossibly large in the stretched shadows of the forest, and moving with an eerie silence.

he huffed. “what? did i scare you, princess?”

you whipped your head back in front of you, hiking up your skirt higher to step over a log. “sorry. i don’t know you.”

“so stubborn,” he mumbled, and you shrieked again when he wrapped an arm around your waist to hoist you over the log with ease. you swatted him away.

“i can do it myself,” you griped, turning sharp on your heel in another direction. he just sighed, trailing after you, steps noisy against the twigs and pine needles underfoot.

when he knocked his boot against a tree, you could tell the noise was purposeful—making sure not to scare you. it didn’t quell your anger any less.

“do you even know where you’re going?”

that was a stupid question. no, you didn’t.

“yes,” you said instead.

he made a noise between a grumble and groan. “i didn't mean for Gaz to propose so soon.”

that made you stop dead in your tracks.

“i wanted…” he trailed off. you didn’t want to look at him for fear that he may see the tears welling in your eyes. there was nothing but the rustling woosh of leaves streaming through the canopy.

you jolted when you felt the tip of his nose press into the back of your head, voice impossibly deep. “he’s younger. he’s polite. he doesn’t care about purity.”

you heard him swallow. “he’s a good man to marry.”

you screwed your eyes shut, feeling a bothersome wetness come down your cheeks. “that’s not your decision to make.”

his voice was gruff, raw. “i know.”

sighing out, you turned to him slowly, finding a morose and withdrawn scowl twisting his face. he swiped a thumb over your tears.

“how would i have even married him anyway?” you asked in a low tone, surprised by the ice of it. “you would’ve handed me over to Turner the second we landed in san francisco.”

speaking it aloud yourself made the reality of it so much more crushing than hearing Kate say it that morning.

“to keep you safe,” Ghost hissed, eyes flashing with a clenched jaw. after your train escapade, you recognized the expression as something bordering on panic.

“safe?” you scoffed, “with Turner?”

he just shook his head. “Turner’s men outnumber us. with your parents, you’d at least be protected—”

you lurched forward, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, shoulder aching in protest.

“with Turner!” you articulated, voice rung through with frustration. “i would be his mistress. he could… we would…”

the suggested words went unsaid and Ghost’s flashed—this time with something dark and imperceptible.

“i would kill him before it even got to that,” he said, mouth drawn into a hard life, deadly serious as he grasped your hands on his collar.

“and then what? after the war is over, i leave my parents again and Gaz sweeps me off my feet?” you pressed, trying and failing over and over to pick apart the expression on Ghost’s face.

your anger deflated, words falling flat and soft. “where would you go? back to southern california?”

he just stared at you, and you felt your heart drop. “Ghost? where would you go?”

he looked away from you, fixing on a distant point, and pried your hands from his collar. “i don’t plan on making it that far.”

oh. you gazed at the vacancy of his eyes, the clench of his jaw. he wasn’t planning on making it out the war alive.

your skin felt hot all over, and you lurched forward to jab a finger in his chest and make him look at you.

“to hell with that.”

but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “it doesn’t matter now. you won’t be going anywhere near Turner.”

now, he pinned you down with a hard look, and you reeled back a bit. “what?”

“the porter,” he chewed out, brow furrowing, “he was trying to kill you.”

your mind whirled. that’s right—you remembered what he said, tears in his eyes when he cornered you at the end of the train.

he said he’d kill me and my family if i didn’t do it.

he had obviously been Turner. you swallowed, remembering the next slew of his words.

but i can’t let my daughter die.

he, a pullman porter with an inadequate paycheck, had risked everything, including his life, for his daughter. you couldn’t say the same for your own father.

you held your forehead, feeling the throbbing pulse of it through your fingertips. “why would Turner want to kill me?”

desperately, you trained every fiber of your mind to run through the notion, coming up with absolutely nothing in the end. you balked. that almost never happened.

Ghost’s thoughtful silence seemed to mirror yours.

but he just huffed, brushing a knuckle to your cheek briefly. “you’re a smart girl. i’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

rolling your eyes, you pushed his hand away, a tugging ire in your stomach. “so what now?”

he turned on his heel, giving you a lax look over his shoulder. “we walk to san francisco.”

it turned out that Ghost was a lot more hurt than he made you believe. you had walked a mile through the dark, led by his broad shadowed form and, with the practiced strike of a match, a torch he coaxed to life until you returned to the divide in the forest where the railway drove a split through the plains.

its pathway was ignited with moonlight, and you walked in silence, nothing but crunching gravel underfoot, till you reached a freshwater lake embedded in a softly swaying field that lingered a couple hundred feet from the railway.

Ghost had stripped the bushes of gooseberries and currants along the way, giving you a brief grumbling explanation—we used to eat ‘em during the spanish-american war.

you could imagine Soap and Gaz popping them in their mouths as gawky teenage boys, laughing along the way and a quiet, stoic Simon in their tow.

you ate them slowly, watching Ghost set up a fire with an ease to the task but with strange shuffling movements whenever he turned. you cocked your head. he wouldn’t twist his body.

“Ghost,” you called, and he didn’t even look at you. “why are you moving like that?”

in your stupor through the forest, or maybe the low lighting of the night, you hadn’t noticed it before. using another one of the matches stowed in the breast pocket of his trench coat, he bent down and blew on the small flame, blooming it to life over a nest of tinder. when it crackled and popped, and he added bigger branches to the fire, you moved closer, shivering in the dark, and spread the collected berries over an unsoiled rock.

your jaw clenched. “Ghost.”

he ignored you again, instead stepping back from the fire and turning so all you saw was the shadow of his back as he discarded his trench coat. then unbuttoning his vest and shirt, he shucked them off, tossing them to the ground by his other clothes. you gasped at the mottled, purple swell of his bare back.

from the bottom of his shoulder blades to his lower back, he was covered in bruises.

“is it bad?” he looked over his shoulder at you. you couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

your mouth fell open and then closed. “yes. very.”

then he turned, and the fire illuminated yellow and green bruises littered across his ribs and the angry red, puckered stiches across his lower abdomen. your stomach dropped. they looked worse than the last you had seen them—on the bed in the train.

he brushed a knuckle over his ribs and winced. “i think they’re broken.”

you looked up at him with a pinched expression and he raised his brows, mouth twitching with a huff. you hated that he looked amused.

“worried about me?”

you turned to the fire again. “no.”

there was more rustling from behind you and an unmistakable clink of a belt. you screwed your eyes shut and willed yourself not to look back. there was a thud against the grass by your hand, and you looked down to see his boots discarded by the fire. you saw his foot just behind it and a bare calf that turned and padded down the slope to the small lake.

you wanted to scream. “what are you doing?”

he called out, “care for a swim, princess?”

you narrowed your eyes. no, you didn’t.

“it’s improper for men and women to bathe together.”

you just barely looked over your shoulder, watching him in your peripheral. his naked back shone in the moonlight, a white glow cast over the bruises and scars of his back before it slowly descended into the water. he reclined against some rocks, arms spread wide and head lolled back.

“lots of things between men and women are improper to you, princess.”

a strangled noise of frustration left your throat. “what if your stitches get infected?”

he shrugged. at this point, a sliver of the darkness in you hoped they did get infected for not heeding your warning.

standing to your full height, you turned to him, looking over the expanse of the lake, and then the darkness of his lazy eyes trained on you.

you watched him swallow, blonde lashes illuminated by the firelight, he spoke considerably softer, “you looked lovely this morning.”

that morning, when you had dolled yourself up, a pretty, airy skirt and flowery blouse and makeup and all, telling yourself that you wanted to look like the sun after such an awful night. maybe it was for yourself, or maybe it was for Ghost. the latter you would never admit.

but now, you realized, more than anything, the act was for your own bout of revenge. to watch Ghost’s face twist at the sight of you—someone he couldn’t have.

you, who would never let him have you again.

at that thought, you gave him a pretty smile like you were bashful, and the way his eyes widened in surprise was a crush of satisfaction.

but you kept up the act, intent on playing with him. if Ghost had taken so much from you for revenge, you didn’t see why you couldn’t do the same. the idea had a twinge of displeasure curling under your skin. but thinking back to last night had you angry all over again.

“i’m still angry at you,” you said instead, crossing your arms and turning like you were mad. in all technicality you were.

very.

his voice was low. “you’ve got something on your face.”

what?

“what?” you voiced, head whipping to him.

he cocked his head. “your hair too…” he squinted like he was trying to see you better. “it’s a mess.”

you scoffed. this was not going according to your plans.

“well i’m sorry i don’t look my best after falling off a train—”

“and your clothes too.” his dark eyes raked over your body. “all ruined.”

you looked down at the state of your clothes, torn in places and stained in others. the hem of your skirt was a very discolored smear of brown.

“looks like you’ll have to take them off,” he said with a casual shrug.

your jaw dropped open. “you…”

you searched for the words you couldn’t find. “you’re awful.”

with a nod he said, “just as bad as the devil.”

narrowing your eyes, you gave him a sidelong look. was this another one of his revenge ploys? another way to get you undressed and take another sliver of your innocence?

he shifted on the rocks, arms spread along the wide berth of the bank, and beneath the water you saw his knees tip wide. he cocked his head at you.

an invitation.

of which you could easily say no to, if you liked, but just as much as he tried to trick you, the devil wasn't foolproof. you could weasel your way into one of those cracks and trick him instead if you wanted to. and in that moment, you decided you did.

with the calmest look you could muster, you took off the makeshift sling of your shoulder, and unclipped the back of your blouse, sliding it from your torso with ease and letting it fall to the ground. between the laxness of your face, you glanced at Ghost who, you noticed with disappointment, looked absolutely undisturbed until your gaze trailed down his exposed arm and to the clutch of his hand in a tight fist.

suppressing a smirk, you dropped your holster, then the delicate pink skirt and moved to unlace the back of your corset. you undid it as fast as your aching shoulder could let you, watching the way the warm glow of the fire danced in his black eyes.

the corset fell to the ground, and his head was perked up now, eyes going impossibly dark, as you pulled down the last of your undergarments—completely bare in the moonlight.

but his eyes never left yours, didn’t even look down to your body, as you stepped carefully forward over the pebbled lake bank, heart thundering in your throat. you kept your hands in fists to keep yourself from covering your body, shivering when a gust danced over the field.

as you sank into the water, you were surprised to find it not so unbearably cold, avoiding Ghost’s gaze entirely as you neared him, close enough so that you could feel his foot brush against your calf under the water.

he looked up with hooded eyes, chin close to his chest, breath shallow and wanting—

but you waded right past him to a spot on the rocks a good distance away. you were close enough to see his eyes narrow in your peripheral.

“what are you planning, princess?”

you shot him a glare. “i’m still mad at you.”

he cocked his head. “are you trying to tease me?”

you sucked in a breath entirely by accident, and you knew it was the most telling answer in the way he shifted over the rocks with an infuriating smirk.

feeling bitter, you asked with a sourness, “are you still trying to bed me for revenge?”

he went completely still at that and you turned your head away from him, looking over the field into the forest. in the distance, those mountains loomed on the horizon, looking like a large void that spearheaded the sky. you tipped your head back, clutching onto yourself, and looked up to the stars that splattered like bright, white paint over the sky.

like the white paint you had splattered over the pale blue wallpaper of your room when you were child, and your mama had lost half of her mind at the sight.

that thought only soured your mood more. there were tears in your eyes now.

biting back a string of unholy curses, you tucked your head away, really hoping Ghost wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was when there was a moving rush of water as he stood

you could hear him near you, till he was standing over your crumpled form, his hand brushing along your neck.

“can i?”

you should’ve said no. absolutely not.

your plans to fool the devil had gone absolutely wrong. you glanced up at him, the softness of his face, his big hand moving to brush over your injured shoulder.

you should say no.

with your curt nod, he sank down into the water beside you, and pulled you flush against the warmth of his body, and you just melted into him, your arms curled against his chest, shoulder aching in reply.

you pressed your forehead to his shoulder, embarrassed when wet, warm tears slid from your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and jaw to his skin.

“your ribs…” you sniffled, trying not to lean so hard against his torso when he was practically crushing you to him. but he only wound around you tighter, pressing some of your hair to his face.

your heart ached at the familiar gesture.

“so you are worried about me then?” his eyes glinted but the sullen look on his face quelled any humor in them.

you closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. “i’m always worried about you.”

when there was a long silence, you felt him tap your nose lightly.

“what are you thinking about in that pretty head of yours?”

your mind flashed with more images of your mama. “my mama.”

he hummed, digging his nose in your hair. “tell me.”

you sucked in your lower lip between your teeth, draping yourself over him with an ease. “my mama used to get so mad at me all the time.”

you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “i used to paint on the walls in my bedroom when my nanny wasn’t there and my mama was busy. it drove her crazy.”

“yeah?” he smoothed his thumb over your cheek, and you opened your eyes, finding yourself cradled in his arms and the tip of his nose inches from yours, dark gaze lapping over you in warm waves.

you wanted to drown in them.

“you have pretty eyes,” you told him, feeling your eyelids droop. “kind of angelic.”

he huffed a laugh. “i thought i was the devil?”

“you only want me to think that,” you said dreamily, losing a whole reign of control over your tongue, “satan was an angel once too.”

he pressed his lips to your ear.

“so what’ll it be? devil or angel?”

“s’up to you,” you whispered, clutching at the wet planes of his muscled chest, “are you going to use me for revenge?”

“no,” he said immediately, though his voice was calm. “not again.”

you weren’t exactly sure if that made it any better.

you could hear his bated breath—the way it was shallow, and sharp. he turned his head away from yours. you caught a glimpse of his blonde lashes curling from the shadow of his black mask.

“what are you hiding from me?”

it was a question you knew he wouldn’t answer as he helped you up from the cold water, wrapping an arm around your bare waist and leading you back to the fire. he just stretched out, completely bare, over a big flat rock embedded in the bank, and orange glow over his skin, and pulled you down to nestle into his side, letting the waves of heat emanating from the fire settle over the both of you like a heavy blanket.

his hand came down in featherlight touches over the curves of your body, trailing up the back of your thighs, to your back, to your neck where he pressed his lips. then his fingertips spidered across your wounded shoulder.

his voice sounded fragile. “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

even you? you wanted to ask, tracing the pleasing curves of his face with your gaze.

you brushed your knuckle along the strength of his jaw, the curve of his nose, his lips…

he just peered at you with dark eyes, blinking gently, pressing the most gentle kiss to the corner of your lips that had you falling into another slumber.

Ghost watched your eyes flutter close, waiting till your breath went deep and even, before he even tried to pry himself away from you.

it was hard to not stay. the inviting warmth of your body warmed his cold heart.

he watched the swell of your chest rise and fall, brushing a hand over the softness of your abdomen. the fire light danced across your peaceful face, the plushness of your parted lips, your hair…

god he loved your hair.

but he pulled away, carefully shifting you in a comfortable position over the rock, where you curled up in his absence. he sat up, wincing from the slide and crunch of his ribs beneath his skin, the sore thrum of the bruises up his back, and listened to make sure the lull of your breath was still even and calm.

then, he tore off his mask and balled it up in his fist.

what the hell was he doing?

he inched further away from you, putting a marginal difference between your bare body and his. but you shivered and something inside him jolted with a stupid, muddled flurry.

quickly, he reached for his trench coat near the fire and laid it over you, feeling a full, fuzzy feeling when you stopped shaking. it was strange. he couldn’t put a single word to the feeling but he knew it was something foreign, something dangerous…

something he couldn’t afford.

but your soft voice was always running circles in his head, and it echoed back out to him.

are you going to use me for revenge?

he sighed out long and hard, tapping his balled up first to his forehead. more of your voices clambered into his weak mind.

do you always exert yourself over others like that?

liar.

i hate you.

liar, liar, liar.

liar, liar, liar, liar—

and you were right. you were almost always right with that brilliant mind of yours, he thought with a twinge of wonder.

Ghost was a liar. he was lying to you, and he was lying to himself most of all. and he knew it too.

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

why had he lied like that?

he watched the side of your peaceful, youthful profile. he allowed himself to reach over and wrap his trench coat around you snugger, content when you exhaled deep, and stroked slowly at your hair. you looked so young. too young.

why had he lied like that?

he knew why. but he didn’t want to admit to that either.

instead, he picked himself up, muffling a groan as his stiff body worked itself to move, and kicked his clothes into a pile over the dirt. then, he reached for your own and folded them neatly into a pile by the fire to warm them by the time you woke.

maybe, he thought to himself, trying to be a sliver of an honest man, if he told you that you were right and that he was a liar, you would forgive him.

or maybe he would have to beg on his knees for your sweet forgiveness until the day he died.

he wouldn’t mind.

he jolted at his own thoughts, beating them down till they were a silent pulp in his mind.

he knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this war. that knowledge only soured the feeling unfurling in his chest, every thump of his dead heart aching with effort.

Turner was gunning for him and only him at this point—he was the brand mark of one-four-one. the mask was a tell-tale sign of who he was. even if, in the beginning, it had only been to preserve his anonymity, it ended up becoming an infamous emblem that became an endlessly useful tool of intimidation wherever he went—for business or more violent affairs.

he took a knife sheathed in the outer pocket of his trench coat, making sure not to wake you, and pressed his mask to the rock, cutting out the lower torn portion of it so that it was only half the piece of fabric it was previously.

maybe when he had lied to you about his true intentions one night ago, even if he wasn’t thinking, he knew it’d be easier to break your heart if you hated him.

because he knew if you didn’t hate him, you’d never leave his side, and he wouldn’t be able to protect you like he wanted to when Turner killed him, and you’d be left…where?

hopefully as Gaz’s bride, he thought morosely.

he couldn’t forget what you said last night—i would’ve been married.

even if he knew that was your own lie, if that was what you wanted, he would give that to you as best as a dead man could.

because the truth was—

you were precious. like porcelain glass. all those nights ago, when you first laid together, he was never planning on touching you. even when he first took you, he was never planning on touching you. least of all for revenge.

not even when he first saw your pretty eyes go wide at the sight of him walking into your daddy’s saloon, in that beautiful blue skirt of yours and the loose clutch of your blouse exposing an indecent amount of your dewy skin when you leaned down. not even when your hands trembled, body just shivering in his proximity. you told him you weren’t scared. he didn’t believe you until you gave him everything that first time.

now, he chided himself for taking anything at all. hated himself for it even. he wanted to be…

dead.

he ruffled at his matted hair, screwing his eyes shut before pulling back on the mask. everything in him quieted—the confusion, the thoughts, the circling endless regret having him bite at his own tail.

it wasn’t one-four-one’s plan to get you personally involved in their lives. when you showed up at the base, it was like you had single-handedly wedged the knife of your innocence into the bottled up lot of them, and pried the can wide open. John, Kate, and Soap adored you. and Ghost had seen the way Gaz looks at you.

or at least he thought that he had. maybe it was his own jealousy contorting his thoughts.

jealousy, he cringed, flipping the knife in his hands, why would he be jealous?

the rustling in the woods answered him, and he twisted around on his haunches, ignoring the stabbing pain blooming into his lungs, and watched something prowl out onto the far clearing of the field. a long snout furrowed deeply at him, and the coyote drew back its upper lip, fangs glinting in the moonlight with a growl.

Ghost only stared back, gripping at the knife tightly, leaning forward onto his fingertips to cover your sleeping form with his body, muscles bunched to spring forward at any moment.

the coyote only crept forward a bit more, lapping at the very edge of the water at the lake, before retreating backwards, ears flattened to its head as it disappeared into the shrouded darkness of the treeline. its tail was tucked in between its legs.

maybe even coyotes were afraid of the devil.

the next morning you woke, Ghost was up, dressed, and fiddling with a knife in his hands. he was perched on the rock beside you, staring off into the horizon and looking pensive which was… uncharacteristic of him.

the fire was put out, embers still burning as a trail of smoke wafted up into the thin morning light.

your stomach growled.

Ghost’s head turned down to look at you and he pushed back the hair from your face with just his glove fingertips. “hungry?”

you nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed, and shifted to sit up beneath his trench coat with a shiver. the rock beneath you still felt a tad warm from the fire last night, but it had cooled, leaving your bare backside feeling numb.

“here,” Ghost offered, shifting in that awkward movement of his to keep the pressure of his wounds, you noticed with a twinge in your heart. he gestured to an array of things spread out over the far rock by the far littered with the berries he collected last night, now coupled with pale looking tubers.

you rubbed at your eyes with a yawn. “you cooked last night?”

he nodded. “wild parsnips.”

they were peeled and cut carefully off the top. he gave you an expectant look, and you supposed he thought you would take them, but instead you shifted over the rock again, shivering with the breeze at your back.

“can i change?” you asked meekly, and he blinked.

“‘course.” he handed you the pile of your clothes folded neatly by the fire, and with a blush, you noticed they were warm.

had he done that on purpose?

“thank you,” you said, looking up at him with a smile, but he just looked away with an indifferent huff, poking at the parsnips with his knife.

he turned his back as you redressed in your ruined clothes, rebounded your shoulder in the sleeve of his dress shirt to the best of your ability, and joined him for breakfast. you split the berries and parsnips into groups—trying and failing to give him a larger portion to compensate for his muscled stature and severe wounds, but he pointedly refused without so much as a bat of his eye and a deep scowl, and when you pressed, he ignored you entirely.

when you both finished a portion of the food, he kicked over the fire and made sure the embers were doused, before you set off across the plains back in the direction of the railway. Ghost told you, from the last time he checked with the conductor, that the train was fifteen miles from san francisco.

you’d be walking the whole day, sure, but it was better than you could’ve hoped for. testing your shoulder with a swing, there was still a sharp ache to it, and you winced, ignoring the side glance Ghost gave you.

you were worried more for his wounds anyway.

about two hours into the trek, you could hear the rasp of his breath and the shallow nature of it. his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides.

“Ghost,” you called, “i think you should take a rest.”

you weren’t even surprised when he chose to ignore you.

“Ghost,” you repeated, rephrasing your words in a careful deadpan, “i’m tired. i want to rest.”

at that, he stopped with a curt nod, and you both moved to sit in the grassy bank by the railway. he sat with a stiffness and slowly stretched back out over the incline of the slope, hands behind his head and eyes closed. you sat with your chin tucked between your knees beside him. you knew him too well to see that he was playing pretend.

“Simon.” he jolted at the word. “let me see your ribs.”

he opened his eyes and looked at you, lips in a stale line. “they’re fine, princess.”

you rolled your eyes, moving to do it yourself. he hissed with protest when you began to unbutton his vest and you shushed him with a harshness that had him falling silent. you undid his dress shirt next and pushed the fabric aside, gasping at the sight of them.

it was worse. much worse. the strange patches of yellow and green bruises stretched over his rubs had become darker, more pronounced, and a swollen, madly red purple. looking down to his bullet wound, you almost wanted to faint.

it was bright red—angry and puffy with a crust of yellow goop around it. you gasped again.

“Simon this looks—”

infected.

he just stared up at you. the absolute indifference on his face had you balling up your hand in a fist and smacking him lightly over the head with it.

he flinched, reeling away from you with a scowl. “what was that for?”

“your lack of desire for self-preservation irks me,” you shot back, and settled over his hips with your thighs in a bind around him. you could feel him stiffen beneath you.

“i told you it’d get infected if you swam in that lake water.”

very gently, you traced your hands up his torso, and with a twisting impulsiveness, you leaned down to kiss the swell of chest, pressing down into its brawn. then you kissed up his neck, his jaw, his cheek.

maybe each kiss would make him better like in those books you used to read as a child.

he huffed out, and you looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, swirling and dark and tinged with a lazy hunger. “are you teasing me again?”

you blinked up at him, and he reached down to press a thumb to your lower lip.

“i’m distracting you. is it working?”

he smirked. “too well, ” he hummed, before sighing out, “you’re too good to me, lovely.”

you nodded. “i know.”

pitching forward, you gently pecked that silvery scar on his upper lip and he jolted, breath going more shallow than before. when you leaned back, watching his expression with a fit of anxiety rolling around in your stomach, you watched him lick over his upper lip like he was tasting you.

the jittery feeling in your stomach turned into something else entirely.

“quit bloody teasin’,” he chided, pulling you back down to him and pressing his nose to your ear, face smushed against your hair.

you bit back a snicker and rubbed at the back of his neck. typical Simon.

so easy to please, so easy to make him surrender.

usually, an ill-tempered voice in you said, flashes of the coldness of his tone, face, body on your bed in the train seeping into your mind.

remembering yourself, you pulled away and stood again. he watched you with an owlish blink—a look of confusion and question that you chose to ignore as he pushed off the ground to trail after you and back down the railway.

for the next couple of hours of aimless walking, nothing eventful happened, save for Ghost randomly brushing along the edge of the forest, poking around amongst the foliage. you shared few glances and even fewer words, but that didn’t make it uncomfortable.

in fact, as you eyed the side of his handsome profile, black trench coat fluttering softly in the wind, you wanted this to last forever.

right now, you were just two people in the woods. no war. no gangs. no guns. no violence.

even if he had hurt you.

you stepped closer to him, catching the fabric on the back of his elbow, but he barely even glanced at you when your hand slid down his forearm and pushed shyly into his hand. he easily swallowed your hand in his, lacing your fingers together tightly and squeezing.

later, he pulled out a couple of leaves from the inner pocket of his trench coat and offered them to you. mint, he had explained, chewing on the herbage, it staves off hunger.

you would need it by the time noon came and your stomach was growling again. you both stopped by the tracks to finish the last of the berries and cooked parsnips, chewing more mint Ghost picked from the underbrush of the forest.

the glare of the sun had waned by the time you reached the afternoon, and the railway seemed to stretch on forever, sloping over hills, cutting through landscape, till the trek flattened and the woods drew even tighter to the railway, trees towering overhead.

finally, you reached a crossroads in the railway, where a paved road cleaved through the woods, and on the horizon, revealed a sprawling skyline of buildings—smoke billowing above it, and a strange sort of humming raucous drifting across the terrain.

the sound of it made you apprehensive, and you eyed the hazy gray film in the air. you had never seen such a large town—city, would be better perhaps. you stopped in the road.

Ghost’s shoulder brushed your own. “what’s wrong?”

you squirmed with discomfort in your spot. “what is that?”

he squinted at the horizon. “s’a city.”

just as you suspected. but it didn’t make you any less reproachful. “i’ve only seen them in picture books,” admitted, sniffing the air. “it stinks.”

he gave you a twisted smile. “you should see manchester. my father used to work in the factories.”

your eyes widened, and he just kept walking, leaving you scrambling to catch up. “your father?”

he nodded. “my father.”

“and where is manchester?” you pressed, prying for more out of him, as you peered at the side of his face which was trained on the road ahead.

“england. s’where i grew up.”

you snuck your hand into his again. “did you have siblings?”

his grip stiffened around your hand. “an older brother. Tommy.”

your mouth opened and closed, watching the way his shoulders were tightened now. he obviously didn’t want to talk about either of them, you thought weakly, mourning, and instead changed the subject.

“what was it like in manchester?”

he glanced at you. “dreadful. i never want to go back again.”

“besides…” his thumb brushed against your palm. “i have everything i need in america.”

you nodded slowly, trying to chew that information, and desperately wanting more.

from behind, a growing assortment of noises approached you quickly, the clopping of hooves at your back, and Ghost drew an arm around you as he pulled you off the road. a horse and buggy bumbled down the road with a friendly looking coachman in the driver’s seat.

he had a scraggly white beard and a fray of white hair strewn over his balding head, a big toothy grin, and a beet, splotchy redness to his entire face.

“hullo there!” he called, slowing his horses as he neared. Ghost’s arm went tighter around you.

“hello sir,” he said with a politeness you didn’t know he could have.

“s’a beamin’ day, is it not?” the man’s eyes mosied up and down your body but not in a rude way. you suddenly felt embarrassed by the state of your clothes and crossed your arms over your torso.

Ghost shook his head. “it’s been awful.”

“oh?” the man leaned in, apparently unperturbed by the mask covering half of Ghost’s face. “pray tell, what happened to you folk?”

“we were comin’ down the same path as you last night,” Ghost said, tipping his hat to the place down the road. “and a couple of coyotes came out of the woods.”

you stared at him. coyotes?

where did that come from?

“scared our horses half to death and they went ballistic. tipped over our buggy and everything and galloped off into the woods.”

the man gasped, spluttering. “heavens! how can i help you kind folk?”

Ghost paused like he was apprehensive. you cocked a brow at how easily the act came to him. “well, we were just trying to make our way to san francisco.”

“well i can do that, no problem!” the man said, scooting over his buggy to make more room. “i’m headin’ there right now to visit the ol’ missus.”

“Ghost,” you whispered, feeling a panic when he pushed you forward gently. “can we trust him?”

“unless you wanna walk another two miles, lovely,” he shot back, though not unkindly, as he dipped his head politely to the man in the buggy.

hesitating, you stepped forward towards the thing.

“this yer lovely missus?” he said with a friendly smile, and Ghost nodded.

“my lady.”

you wanted to smack him.

“howdy, ma’am,” the man said to you, offering a polite hand to shake. you stretched up to the buggy and took it with a tight-lipped smile.

“nice to meet you, sir,” you said, voice coming out weaker than you intended and he only grinned wider.

“well climb on in!”

you hesitated. it was only a two-person carriage, and Ghost might barely be able to squeeze into the space left that the other man left. looking back at Ghost over your shoulder, he just squeezed your waist softly, and slid around you to step up into the buggy himself.

rude, you thought with a huff, but only realized his intent once he was settled in the thing. he spread his arms as an invitation, one hand held out for you to climb into his lap.

his raised his brows at you. you looked from him to the beaming man beside him, something twinkling like knowing in his beady eyes, and you bit back a sigh, taking Ghost’s big hand and letting him pull you onto his lap.

you sat on one of his broad thighs, his chest flush to your back. he snaked an arm around your middle and kissed your cheek softly, hand still intertwined with yours.

you dug your nails into the glove of his palm in warning, withering in his arms, and wholly enjoyed it when he winced.

the man beside you sighed out but it sounded happy.

“oh, i remember the days when i just married my missus!” he said dreamily, hitching the horses with a snap of the reins.

Ghost chuckled in your ear, and you sent him a scowl over your shoulder when the other man wasn’t looking, but he only smiled wider, pulling the hair from your shoulder to kiss the back of your neck.

you stood on the edge of the street, bidding the kind stranger goodbye as he drew away from the sidewalk, hitching his horses down the wide san francisco avenue.

entering the city had been an enigma for you. it was even stranger now.

people littered the street. too many people. your mama had let you go to a bigger town now and then near your home with the girls from church, but never too far. she had said it was the role of your future husband to expose you to such harrowing conditions.

standing in the midst of one of the largest cities on the western coast, you could better understand what she meant. women and men sauntered down the road in tight-knight groups, business men in three-piece suits and bowler caps shot past you, and a slew of buggies blundered down the streets that Ghost guided you through.

some peered weirdly at the mask but most didn’t even care to notice at all—didn’t even look up from the point they were trained on getting to.

in all honesty, you found their behavior quite rude as they passed you.

watching a woman in a pastel, flowing dress with pearls adorning her ears and neck, and silk gloves drawn to her elbows, she had her arm linked with a man with a well-trimmed mustache and pristine suit.

feeling strangely exposed, you inched closer to Ghost and linked your arm with his as well. you looked up at him with wide eyes, a whine building in your throat.

you were uncomfortable. very. very uncomfortable.

he huffed, taking your arm in his. “city life overwhelming you, princess?”

you nodded blearily, wincing when a man almost brushed against you through a tight pass on the sidewalk. you had never been flanked by so many people.

“what about Turner’s men? what if they recognize you?” you whispered out, curling closer to him, and he just shook his head.

“they won’t without the mask.”

right. you had become so accustomed to the revealing nature of his black mask that you had completely forgotten about the broken, bloody skull layer of it.

you passed through more blocks, buildings scraping the sky so high that you felt dizzy and small.

you craved to be out in the wide array of the demanding western landscape again. you wished you were still walking along that railroad, chewing mint leaves, and your hand in Ghost’s.

eventually, the skyscrapers dwindled into crumpled, shorter, dingy buildings and the avenues tightened into busy marketplaces. but it was different than you had ever seen before.

men wore linen suits—in grays and blacks with small hooped knots down the front—and bowlers caps. some women wore dark blouses with loose sleeves and low collars that gleamed in the evening’s light, curling with patterns of clouds and the fine leaves of bamboo, and flowing bright skirts over heeled shoes that looked binding.

Ghost watched your face closely, and you slowly turned in the spot. you had never seen a culture that wasn’t of your small western hometown before. “where are we?” you asked him, voice tinged in awe, and he put a hand to your lower back and led you down the busy market street.

“this is chinatown,” he said, and you just nodded slowly, trying and failing to digest it all.

“why are we here?” you pressed, and Ghost pushed you further towards a big brick building at the end of the road that dwarfed the dingy places beside it, a throng of people swarming in front of it.

“Turner’s men won’t come here,” he explained, seeming utterly casual. “they think the bubonic plague’s still lingering.”

you stiffened. “plague?”

he nodded. “it came through san francisco in 1900. it’s been gone for years but Turner doesn’t think so.”

“why not?”

he gave you a sidelong look but his voice was soft. “why do you think, lovely?”

feeling saddened, you gave him a meek look and he just smiled, brushing your cheek with his knuckles briefly. “smart girl.”

when you entered the building, there was a reception at the front and a large folding divider with intricate ink brushes over its surface shrouding the rest of the narrow establishment from view. the interior was extravagant—tipped in gold, marble, and lush patterns and a stark disparity to the image outside of it.

there was a tinge of something sweet in the air, a hazy smoke drifting through the place. you wrinkled your nose.

a man came from behind the folding divider in one of those linen, knot-button suits, hair shaved close to his head, with a big smile and a gold tooth. at the sight of it you went cold.

he spoke in a language you couldn’t understand—taking in its foreign inflections with a feeling of awe, and hearing the word Ghost between the slew of his words.

it startled you when Ghost spoke back in the same swinging rhythm. staring at the side of his blank face, he just ignored your burning gaze.

suddenly, the man turned to you with a slick smile, eyes crawling down for a long moment before crawling back up. the hair on the back of your neck bristled.

“good evening, ma’am,” he greeted in a gentle accent, “how can i help you?”

Ghost braced against the desk, speaking low and fast in that language. the man’s eyes went dark, but that slick smile never left his lips. then, he grinned, gold tooth flashing, before he gestured with his arm to the intricate divider.

“please follow me.”

Ghost’s grip on your waist was tight as you followed the man behind the divide, walking down a dim, but equally decadent hallway. you jolted away from one of the doors—there was an intermittent bang and shout from inside of the room.

a splinter of fear cleaved your heart, and you shot a look at Ghost before he just urged you forward without so much as a glance.

“here is your room,” the man offered generously, waving his arm to a wooden door with an intricate carving over the front.

you muffled a gasp at the sight of the girl standing beside it. she must’ve been only a few years older than you, with milky skin and long black hair that came down her slim frame like the brush of swirling ink. the crimson dress she wore wasn’t constricting at all, and exposed so much skin.

from the elbows to her wrists, her ankles, calves, and knees, you could see her bare skin. you averted your eyes immediately, fumbling with your hands, but her gaze was solely trained on Ghost.

he wholly ignored her as the man shooed her away with a rude gesture and fast words. her dark eyes flashed, sending Ghost a nasty look, and then you, before turning on her heel and marching down the hallway.

the man handed Ghost a key and you followed the broad, masked man into the room, quickly shutting the door behind you. the strange, elongated noises from the hallway was diminished now. sighing out with relief, your breath hitched when you noticed the intricacy of the room.

there was a low-lying bed strewn with pillows and rich draperies. the room was littered with different wooden furniture pieces with ornate carvings like geometric mazes in the chairs, wardrobe, canopy bed frame, and sunken table in the far corner of the room. you observed the rolls of paper hanging from the walls, the vases covered in gleaming blue brush strokes, and the dim lamp overhead with red tassels hanging down from its silver sheath.

Ghost sat at the edge of the bed with a crumbling sigh, kicking off his boots. your heart sunk, cringing at more of the gentler noises wafting through the door.

“where are we, Ghost?”

you had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t like it.

he cleared his throat, sending you the most apologetic you had ever seen on him. “a brothel.”

you spluttered. “a brothel?”

he had brought you, a good, christian woman, to a brothel?

you did a quick prayer, closing your eyes and clasping your hands together, murmuring under your breath. you could hear Ghost move from the bed and pad closer to you, impossibly silent.

you ignored him, continuing to pray, as he wrapped his arms around you, impossibly warm and comforting, and tucked his chin into your neck.

“i’m sorry.”

you jolted. opening one eye to look at him, two of his own peered back at you.

you shut your eye, ignoring him and continued to pray in low murmurs. he pressed a kiss to your neck, another i’m sorry falling from his lips. and then another and another wherever he kissed across your neck, jaw, cheek.

you could get used to him saying that.

it was his warm breath across your lips that startled you back to the present.

when you opened your eyes again, hands still clasped in a bind at your chest, he leaned forward, clothed forehead pressing against your own.

“i’m sorry.”

a trickle of something muddled dripped down your spine. a new suspicion pricked up in you.

“about what?” you asked, working your jaw slowly.

he buried his forehead into your neck, speaking softly. “about lying to you.”

your brow quirked.

“about the brothel?” you asked, feeling confused, and he stiffened against you before nodding slowly.

“mhmm.”

that muddled feeling was back again. was he lying about what he was lying about?

you snorted at the thought. that muddled feeling told you he was probably apologizing about a lot of things at the moment—what, exactly, you couldn’t discern. there was a lot to choose from.

“i’m still mad at you,” you said with a tenderness, brushing across the back of his neck with your fingertips.

he just nodded again with a hum.

a much darker furl of despair in your stomach said that this may be the last time he would say sorry to you.

you didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or tonight even, as the hazy dusk settled outside the carved windows. when would the war break out? where was one-four-one and los vaqueros? why had he brought you to chinatown? why a brothel?

when would he be leaving you again?

would he be dead in the next couple of days like he kept promising?

your silence must’ve been telling because he sighed out across your skin and untangled himself from your body and led you to the edge of the bed where you both sat.

your brows rose expectantly as he shifted over the bed and took off his hat, putting it down. you took it into your hands to have something to fumble with as his hand came to the length of your hair, playing with it in between his fingers.

when his silence was too long, you cocked your head. “tell me, Simon.”

it was more of a command than anything.

he rubbed a hand over his jaw with a curt nod, but he wouldn’t look at you. “i know the owner of this establishment. he owns a brothel chain in san francisco. for the night, we’ll be safest here.”

your hands paused, glancing up at him. “you do business in prostitution?”

the relief that bloomed when he shook his head came as a surprise. you released a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“an enemy of Turner is a friend of mine,” he said decidedly. “so i learned mandarin.”

you changed the subject. “so what about one-four-one and los vaqueros? where are they?”

“we’ve got a base but it’s across the city,” he said, scratching at his neck, not revealing anything further. you didn’t really expect him to.

“when will you see them?” you asked, sullen.

what you really wanted to ask was: will he take you with him?

“tonight.” his hand dropped from your hair. “only rich politicians come through here. you’ll be safe. i promise.”

you closed your eyes. that was that.

you didn’t really know if you wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say.

“then, you and i will reconvene with them tomorrow. together,” he said, the pad of his thumb brushing over your closed eyelids.

you took a breath of relief. you could work with that.

“and the war?”

his eyes were dark, swirling. “i don’t know. i’d rather stop it before then.”

and still get the revenge one-four-one promised?

you cocked your head. “how?”

the corners of his lips twitched and your brows rose. “it’s a surprise, princess.”

you groaned, exasperated. “no more surprises, Simon.”

“will you allow an awful man to fix a date with you, lovely?”

you gave him a bitter look and his smile only grew. “what makes you think i want you to court me?”

he slowly slid off the bed and you watched in amazement as he kneeled in front of you, hands on your thighs.

“what do i need to do?” he asked softly, eyes wide and beseeching.

you were in awe at the sight of him—on his knees in front of you, broad body bowed down. you looked over the plains of his masked face, and all that was revealed beneath it. his pale skin, littered with scars, and the silvery one on his upper lip, that blonde brow and tall nose, his telling dark eyes.

you blushed. “more than that.”

“how about this?” he offered, stretching up to kiss the tip of your nose.

“more than that.”

“this?” he kissed over your jaw, down your neck, lips warm and soft and wet when his tongue slid out, sucking at the flesh of it.

“more,” you whined, feeling hot all over when his hands expertly came to unclasp the back of your blouse.

it was perplexing in the way he could strip away your facade in mere seconds, melt the stubbornness from your shoulders, and evaporate any reign of control over your intent to be furious with him.

he had you completely bare in seconds and all your ruined clothes in a pile on the floor, pushing you back onto the soft bed, and then it was his turn. he stood up and undressed in front of you, and you watched with a greediness, that familiar dark, needy pulse between your thighs.

you pawed at that ache, feeling relentless, and his pupils blew wide, hands flying to get out of his clothes.

swallowing, you tried to not let the shame consume you when you dipped your hand beneath your thighs, and touched that spot for the first time. his hands fumbling with his belt stuttered to a stop.

experimentally, you dragged your fingertips against its wet softness, gasping when it came in contact with your clit. it was a little nub that swelled against your fingers, fluttering in time with the pulse of your heart in your throat.

you kept your eyes on Ghost, fighting the droop of them, when you started to circle around it like he had. a pleasure bloomed through you, and you gasped again. curious, you jerked your hand faster, and the intensity of it only spread, through your core, dipping into your stomach, and you thought you saw gold.

with a loud moan, you realized you never knew that you could make yourself feel so good.

you jolted when Ghost let out a guttural, low sound, and pitched forward, pressing his knuckles into the space beside your head, towering over you on the bed.

“you touchin’ yourself, pretty thing?”

you whined with a nod, his words only spurring you on.

when he reached down to grip your hand rubbing against your cunt, you hissed. “no.”

“no?” his brows shot up, eyes searching yours.

“no touching. just watch,” you commanded, deadly serious, arching into your own magical touch.

the sound that left his throat was in between a groan and a whimper, and it made your hips buck up, a whine tearing through you in response.

he sat back, hands twitching against his thighs, and a painful looking swell in his pants, you noticed, but you were perfectly content with the way you were touching yourself.

rolls of aching sweetness unfurled through you.

“are you teasing me, princess?” he asked, head tilted and voice incredibly deep, the swell of his chest fast and breathy.

“mhmm,” you whimpered, slowing your hand painfully so, then quickening again, gasping when a thick wave of pleasure poured over you and swept you into a distant haze.

“s’your punishment—” you went even faster, “—for bein’ an asshole.”

he groaned at that, leaning down to kiss your bare ankle, and you hissed, pushing him back with your foot to his shoulder. the look he gave you was steeped in such an obvious display of desperation that you almost wanted to give in.

“let me do it,” he rasped, leaning forward to tower over you again, hands by your head, but still not touching.

“no.”

he leaned down to your ear. “please?”

you whined, bucking into your hand, feeling the edges of your vision fade and flutter. you were getting closer to that telltale, delicious, precipice—but frustratingly, it still felt so far away.

“no,” you whimpered, and you chased that edge desperately.

he licked over his lips. “struggling, pretty girl?”

you shook your head, whole body jolting when a new flare of intensity coursed through you. it was almost too much, and suddenly, you wanted to take your hand away.

you looked up to the man perched between your legs, his bare muscled torso gleaming in the dim light, and the sharpness of his jaw spurring you on.

he cooed, “you sure you don’t need my help, pretty thing?”

sniffling, you mewled, feeling defeated when you pulled your hand back, your sensitive clit twitching in response to the cold air that filled the absence where your hand had just been.

Ghost hummed, looking positively pleased at your surrender, and he tentatively brushed his fingertips over the softness of your inner thigh.

“may i?” his eyes were dark and malicious, and a shudder of something bordering on fear slithered down your spine as you squirmed against the blankets.

“please.”

he lurched forward, and you squeaked in surprise when one of his arms slid beneath your back, the other beneath your thigh, as he threw you further up the bed.

“shoulder?” he asked softly, though his hands were rough as he positioned you the way he liked, pressing the back of your thighs up so that almost touched your chest, legs lolling over his shoulders.

you could barely feel anything in your shoulder—all the blood had pooled to your cunt, pulsing with a wild, aching need.

“please, Simon,” you said instead, grabbing his shoulders and pushing them down to where you needed him.

but he was too strong. much stronger thank you, as he pinned your wrists to the bed.

“answer me,” he said, voice thick and dark, and you whimpered.

“s’fine.”

“you sure?” he breathed over your cunt and you whimpered.

“y-yeah.”

he hummed. “we’re going to do something different today.”

that piqued your interest, pulling you from the muddled haze of your mind. he splayed a big hand over your stomach, pressing against it, the rough pad of his thumb reaching down to rub lazy circles over your clit.

you melted back into the bed, a deluge of relief coursing through your veins. you think you could come just like this—Ghost leaning over you, sucking the skin of your neck, whispering low murmurs into your ear, and a circling pressure growing against your clit. you think you could mostly because it was Simon.

“Simon,” you whined, and his eyes snapped to yours, turning warm and buttery when he kissed your eyelids.

then, you felt something circling the entrance of your core.

a confused hum left your lips, and you looked down to see his other hand spreading his fingers down the slick of your entrance.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, sliding a hand over his.

“do you trust me?”

your breath hitched, looking up into his hooded eyes. you didn’t take a second to even think—

god, yes, you trusted him. you needed him.

“need you,” you whimpered, truthfully, and his eyes went even darker as he bent down to kiss your clit softly.

then, you watched him push a finger into you, swallowed up by your cunt inch-by-greedy-inch.

you gasped, arching at the new feeling of a stretch that felt… good.

“Simon?” you squeaked, and he just shushed you gently, kneading at your breast as he sucked on your clit, pinning you down as you squirmed.

then, he began working the finger inside you, rubbing against your gooey inner walls, and then he was pressing in a second finger, and that delicious stretch swept you away into a haze.

breathy moans were torn from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them when he curled his fingers, pressing even deeper and against something that had the sweetest feeling unfurl deep, deep, deep inside you.

“Simon!” you mewled, feeling your climax approaching quicker than ever as he fucked you open with his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit, a sinful squelch harmonizing with the breathy tones of your voice.

your whole core convulsed, clenching, then—

he stopped.

your chest fell in rose in heavy pants, that delicious edge receding slowly. picking up your head up to look at him, your brow furrowed when you found him just staring back at you.

whining, you picked up your hips to press your swollen clit to his plush lips, but he just shifted back a bit so the tip of your nub barely brushed his lower lip.

he cocked his head with a malicious smirk.

“you’ve been teasin’ me for days, minx,” he said, eyes so empty and cold that you shivered. he slid a hand over the goosebumps of your thigh.

“at the lake. today by the railroad.”

he began pumping his fingers again, slowly, and you whined, trying your best to grind down on it so the tips of them would find that swollen place in you that felt heavenly, but he just pulled his hand back every time you pressed down.

his eyes darkened. “touchin’ yourself in front of me like i’m not allowed to do anything about it.”

“please,” you whimpered, and the smirk dropped from his face.

“you’re not allowed to come until i say so, pretty thing.”

a shockwave went straight through your tummy at the words, eyes blown wide with shock. you didn’t know why those words made your heart drum harder, the slickness between your thighs feeling unbearable with the way he just slowly fucked you with his fingers.

you wanted more. you wanted him deeper. something bigger.

his fingers brushed over your clit, and you jolted. “ready f’more?”

“mhmm. please, Simon.” your voice was a keen, and you whined louder when he completely pulled his hand away from you, feeling desperately empty, but he just grabbed your hips and flipped you with ease onto your stomach.

he pulled your hips up, one hand smoothing down your back so you were arched, arms braced against the soft pillows. it was a strange position, left you feeling awkward and exposed, but he pressed a soft kiss to your injured shoulder and you ignored the throb from the weight it bore.

then, he slid off the bed and you heard the clink of his belt, something dropping on the floor, before the bed dipped again, and then silence.

looking back at him, you blushed at the sight of him just shamelessly staring at you in the position.

“Simon!” you chided, curling out of the position before he gripped at your hip tightly with a sly smirk, pushing you back down into the arch with a low rumble of protest.

he crowded over the back of you, settling down over your body, and pressed you further into the bed, his warm chest flush to your back and knuckles pressed to the space next to your ears. you gasped when something warm, sticky, and hard brushed along your inner thigh.

he stroked a hand along your neck, words a throaty whisper in your ear. “comfortable, lovely?”

you felt him press himself against your soft slit, the thick head of it pressing against your clit.

it felt hot, big, throbbing, and—

you gasped, a cracking dawn of realization washing over you.

“it goes…?” inside.

your whole body shook in anticipation, a strange muddle of fear and desperate want making your hips press further back into him.

he hummed, kissing your neck.

“figure it out, pretty?”

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, wiggling yourself against him in impatience, and he just gripped your hips tightly.

“inside,” you retaliated, and he huffed in your ear, the curve of his smile pressed to your hair.

“needy girl. you don’t even know anything about this,” he chided, a hand coming down to rub at your clit, and you squirmed with relief.

“what do i need to know?” you squeaked, grinding against his fingers.

“it hurts.” your movements slowed, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“it hurts?” you looked back at him from over your shoulder, his eyes only inches from your own where his lips were against your shoulder.

his stopped moving. “mhmm.”

you reached down between your legs and gripped at his wrist, willing him to move again.

“i don’t care. i can take it.”

he smiled against your shoulder.

“im sure you can, but save it for your marriage.” his words were hushed, and you just frowned, a ball of frustration building in you, arching back into his touch.

“i don't want anybody but you.”

he went stock still, and you swallowed hard, feeling an edge of unease bubble up between your desire. you wished you could see his face but you didn’t dare look behind you.

his hand slid away from your core again, leaving you wanting and cold. but you took a breath of relief when he didn’t move away, only pressed his body down into you harder, the heady weight of him a pleasant pressure.

“i guess you’ll just have to wait till we’re married then.”

the breath was stolen from you, and you fought to whimper out, “no. now.”

“that’s improper, lovely,” he whispered, dark and throaty, hot tongue licking over your ear.

he slid his hips forward between your thighs, and you felt his hard length glide smoothly over your cunt, catching against your puffy clit, ripping a gasp out of your throat.

your eyes drooped shut. “don’t care.”

“so bratty. can’t you let me court you first?”

you grit your teeth, fighting back the breathy noises from the back of your throat, as he thrust forward between the hot clutch of your plush thighs.

“no,” you moaned out, letting his hands guide your hips in a slow roll over him, your cunt clenching with every movement.

“even when i’m being so nice to you right now?”

“you’re being mean,” you whined, pushing back against him, meeting the snap of his hips with a string of breathy gasps as your head fell forward.

he snaked a hand into your hair and pulled, tugging you back over his sticky length with every thrust. you felt the telltale beginnings of a rolling, sweet burn stemming from your clit to the rest of your body that you needed to satiate.

“please,” you begged, and he hummed, curling an arm beneath you to play with the sensitive swell of your nipples, holding you close to him as you jolted with each brush of your clit.

“wanna come?” he asked softly, and you nodded eagerly, feeling the first waves of your orgasm pulling you under—

then he pulled his hips back, pushing you back down to the bed, and you almost sobbed at the loss of friction against your core.

he leaned down to coo in your ear softly, “what’s wrong, princess?”

that desperate, squirming ache in your stomach melded into something angry.

“stop teasing me!” you snapped, sending him a teary-eyed look from over your shoulder, jolting when his eyes snapped up to yours.

his face was hooded—lustful, pupils blown wide, and dark with something sinister you’d never seen before.

“stop teasing?” he growled, pushing his hips forward between your thighs again, your clit twitching against the tip of him. “like how you were teasing me earlier?”

you whined as he began rolling his hips, the combined slick coming down your legs in a sticky, mixed muddle, and gasping when he hooked his arm beneath you and pulled you up so you were leaned back against his chest—his teeth sinking into the skin of your shoulder.

you grabbed at the back of his neck, a pleasurable pain gliding across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. a dark, slithering heat tightened that inevitable knot in your tummy when he slid a big hand up and wrapped it around your throat.

“bratty girls get punished. didn’t church teach you that?”

the moan you let out was downright sinful, breathy, and left your throat raw and aching, as you clawed at his hand around your throat, trying and failing to anchor yourself to anything.

he pitched forward, grabbing at your hand and pinned it down to the bed beneath his, intertwining your fingers tightly, and you watched his length between your thighs leak white pearls that glided down your skin with every heavenly thrust.

“are you gonna be good?” he whispered out, and you nodded eagerly, a slew of little whimpers and begs falling from your lips like a breathy flood.

he purred a sound of approval. “i know you will. bein’ such a good girl lettin’ me fuck your thighs like this.”

“yes, Simon, i’ll be good, i’ll be good—”

god you were so close—

“pretty girl. my sweet girl. you’re mine.”

his growled words guided you right through those convulsing shudders and a hot, searing haze welled up in your throat—tears pricking in your eyes from the intensity of it.

you only realized that Ghost came too when you felt ropes of something warm and thick splashed against your cunt and inner thighs, his groans a pretty song right by your ear.

he practically crushed you to the bed, his warm, sweaty body pleasant against your skin. you stayed like that for a long time, listening to his deep breaths, a tickling drip down your spine—the after-effect of your shared pleasure.

you never wanted the sensation to leave you.

you searched for Ghost behind you and came into contact with his shoulder, then grabbed at his neck, and he hummed contentedly, sliding his arms beneath your stomach, pressing fleeting kisses to your shoulder and neck.

you squirmed, giggling at the ticklish sensation, but you were trapped there, and he only kissed you more with a soft smile against your skin, up to your ear, your cheek, before he leaned back to turn you over.

you looked up at him, his brown eyes warm and lips twisted in a wry smile, and curled your arms around his shoulders to pull him back down. he settled between your thighs, cheek pressed to your breast, and you scratched at the back of his head lightly like your mama used to do to make you fall asleep after a bad nightmare.

he practically purred, sinking further into the big bed, his arms winding back around your middle.

his voice was a raw rasp. “does this mean you’ll accept my request?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on your face. “where are we going for a date?”

he inched up your body so he braced his forearms beside your head, the tip of his nose brushing yours. he blinked at you, face blank.

“don’t get mad at me, alright?”

you quirked your brow, sliding your hands up his shoulders, filling the dips and grooves of the bunched up muscle.

“what’re you hiding, Simon?”

he cocked his head. “it’s a social event.”

your brows rose. a social event?

you thought back to your daddy’s letter, such a strange and hazy memory now—i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

was that the same social?

you turned your cheek, giving Ghost a sidelong look. “the same one my daddy was talking about?”

you saw something flash in his eyes before his face became impossibly imperceptible again.

“how did you know about that?”

you snorted. “i snooped through your basement, remember?”

his brows rose, a very slow smile creeping up on his lips.

you frowned at him. “what?”

he shook his head, grinning, “nothing.”

you dug your nails a bit into his shoulders. “tell me.”

“it’s just—”

he wouldn’t look into your eyes. he leaned down closer to you, lips against your cheek, voice a seductive, low sound. “your mind. i lust for it.”

your breath hitched. “lust for it?”

he nodded. “you’re brilliant. it’s sexy.”

you scoffed, swatting at his shoulder lightly, and a laugh rumbled through his chest into yours.

you wondered what he would think about your brilliant mind if he knew that you were periodically going through… mental struggles. you thought about something else instead.

“tell me what this social’s about.”

you watched him close his eyes, fingers fumbling with your hair. “Turner’s having a masquerade ball. somethin’ ‘bout going back to historical roots.”

your brows shot up. “and you want to go with me?”

his smirk was devilish. “who else? i was invited.”

now, your brow was furrowed. “why would Turner invite you?”

he shook his head. “he didn’t. it’s his way of having a little victory party over this war before it’s even really begun. s’basically an invitation.”

there was a bitter taste in your mouth.

“i thought you said i wasn’t going anywhere near Turner?”

he shifted above you, eyes open now, and hand still tangled in your hair.

“changed my mind.”

you scoffed. for Ghost, changing his mind wasn’t surprising. in the matter of Turner and you however…

“why’d you change your mind?” you pressed softly, meeting his buttery warm eyes.

he smiled, whole body going lax and soft against you. “last night.”

that didn’t clarify anything at all. when your jaw dropped open to reply, he filled the words in for you.

“s’just a stupid omen. there was a coyote. it was scared just at the sight of me, but i was more scared than anything.”

you stroked along the soft, warm skin of his back. “why?”

“because i wanted to protect you.”

his eyes were wide and open, and you bit your lip, a new burning ache pushing up between your lungs.

“i promised i’d never let anyone hurt you again,” he said with a hush, pressing his forehead to yours. “i want you to be with me when you’re in danger.”

then, he slid down pressing his ear to the steady thrum of your heart. “just be with me all the time.”

a rush of sweetness poured through you. just be with me all the time.

you felt giddy, your grin big and making your cheeks ache.

“is that what you were getting all thoughtful about this morning?”

you remembered him sitting on the rock beside you, fumbling with his knife, face shadowed and faint with a furrowed brow.

he craned his neck to look up at you.

“you noticed, smart girl?”

you wanted to scoff. “i notice a lot of things.”

you drew lazy circles into his skin. “i noticed how you always like to fold my clothes. i noticed how like to put your face here—”

you pointed to the area where your hair pooled around your neck, and with that, he pulled forward to press his face to that spot with a contented hum.

you held the back of his head, feeling like you were in a hazy, surreal dreamscape.

had you really wanted revenge on him only a night ago? a few mere hours ago? did it really matter what his original intentions were with you when he displayed his feelings so clearly like this?

yes, a voice hissed out, leaving you feeling uneasy, but you beat it down so it wouldn’t cloud the blissful moment.

soon, he pulled away, shifting off of you, and slid off the bed to kneel on the hardwood floor again. the absence of him felt wrong—cold and too light. like you needed his heavy warmth to pin you back down again.

he gripped at your splayed hand from the edge of the bed. “will you go on a date with me, lovely?”

his question was completely simple and pure, but you found yourself wanting to tease him, lips twisting into a sly smile, enjoying the way he blinked in response, a bit perturbed.

“and what will we do on this date, Simon?”

you flipped over onto your stomach, propping up your head up over your elbows with your knuckles, in love with the way his blonde lashes fluttered against your cheek when your noses brushed. his lips were a mere breath away from yours.

“dine. dance…” he whispered, dark eyes flickering from your own to your lips.

his lips parted, head tilting. “maybe i can hold Turner down, and you can torture him to death.”

at that you laughed, pulling back away from him and curling onto your side into the sheets. he remained at the edge of the bed, grin wide and wolfish. once your fit of laughter stopped, you peered back over your shoulder with a hum.

“i’ll tell you what i decide in the morning,” you sang, sitting up, watching with delight as a curiosity burned in his gaze.

“did i not teach you well enough what happens when you tease me?” he asked, voice throaty, and you shivered, suddenly very aware of the exposed nature of your bare skin.

you shrugged. “guess you’ll have to remind me.”

his eyes darkened and you squirmed away from him with a giggle across the big bed so he couldn’t reach you so easily. his brows rose carefully.

“think i can’t catch you if you run away like that, bunny?”

a low, kicking thrum came back to life between your thighs.

“what are you?” you asked with a laugh, gripping at the sheets, “a wolf?”

he cocked his head in a predatory manner, words low and deep. “when i want to be.”

you shuddered and he just shook his head with an amused look, padding away from the bed to a door across the room. behind it was a bathroom, and he disappeared inside, the sound of running water accompanying you as you laid back down on the bed, reclining back into the soft blankets and even softer pillows.

the more you laid there, the more you could feel a growing, painful ache returning to your shoulder. it was stiff, hot and swollen to the touch, and you chided yourself for going so… rough in your intimate moment with Ghost.

but when he sauntered back out of the bathroom, footsteps eerily quiet, a damp washcloth in hand, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

he helped clean you up, swiping away your shared fluids from your skin as his kissed the crown of your head with a tenderness. you reached for the cloth, grabbing his bare hip, and were about to return the favor when you were reacquainted with the battered state of his body.

the bruises had reduced but there were still a blotchy, purple mess, and his stitches were just as bad as before—that same dried crust around it. now, you really chided yourself, angry that you hadn’t taken a moment to take care of him before…

you wiped away any residue from his nether regions, before thumbing gently over that strong, muscled v-line of his hip.

“what is it?” he asked, touching a knuckle to the bottom of your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

you blinked. “it’s really bad.”

his expression was blank. “honestly, lovely, i’ve had worse.”

“like what?” you pressed, and when his face contorted, you waved a hand.

“nevermind. don’t tell me.” you might be sick if he did.

“just please let me take care of you,” you practically begged, sliding a hand down his bare thigh as his eyes narrowed.

your frown deepened, trying to give him your best doe-eyed pout, and he heaved a sigh with a nod, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

you walked to the bathroom, casting a look over your shoulder to make sure Ghost was still sitting obediently at the bed, and when he cocked an impatient brow at you, you bit back a smirk as you entered the bathroom.

there was a big tub pressed to the corner of the room, and a wash bin where you rinsed off the wash cloth and grabbed an extra cup from the sink, filling it with water. you fished around the ornate cabinets, smiling in victory when you found a jar of vaseline pushed to the very back of a cabinet filled with sparse miscellaneous items. your mama had spread it over any injury of yours like an invisible gauze.

taking a moment to inspect your appearance in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, you splashed your face with a bit of water and calmed your hair with your hands.

on the back of the bathroom door, you took the simple silk robe in a pale yellow pattern and tied it around yourself, walking back out to Ghost who was lounged back against the bed and still stark naked.

“has my pretty nurse come to my aid?” he asked, eyes half-lidded.

you just nodded with a sheepish smile, crawling over to him and dipping the washcloth in the water before dabbing at the stitches. you watched his whole body tense with a hiss, and then relax again, his eyes screwed shut.

“sorry,” you squeaked with wince, wiping away the yellow ooze around it. you bit your lip, brows furrowed as you looked down at the fleshy wound—red and swollen with a loose thread pulled through it. you pressed your fingertips to it and he jolted, jaw clenched. it was hot to the touch.

“it didn’t reopen, did it?” you asked sullenly, and his eyes barely fluttered open.

“i’d be bleeding if it did.”

with that, you spread the cool vaseline over it, and he sighed, sinking back into the bed. then, he wrapped an arm around your waist, and you muffled a squeak as he tugged you towards him into pillows.

his lips were against your hair. “shoulder?”

you pushed away from him with a hand to his chest, and he grumbled in protest as you moved to put your gathered medical supplies onto the nightstand.

“s’okay. kind of swollen but nothing like yesterday.”

the sound that left his throat was full of disapproval.

instead you changed the subject, turning to him with a hand on your hip.

“are you gonna change?”

his brows raised slightly, knees tipping wider as he picked up his head to look at you with a smirk. with a blush, you refused to look down at his bare, muscled body.

“nope.”

rolling your eyes, you clambered back into the bed and he tugged the silky robe loose from your body, and you just let him do as he liked as he positioned the both of you beneath the thick blankets.

he pulled you into his pleasant warmth and you hummed, your cheek nestled to his chest and his lips against your hair.

the room was dim, a lulling quiet darkness over the room now, pitching deep into the night. you drew circles over his forearm cast over your waist.

“when will you leave?” you whispered, sullen, because you knew these tranquil, soft moments were dwindling with uncertainty.

he smoothed a hand over your back. “in a little bit.”

you bit your lip. “why can’t i come with you?”

he shook his head, and you closed your eyes, a pinched feeling in your chest.

“i have to do this on my own. you won’t be in danger here.”

you thought back to what he said a mere moments ago.

“what happened to just be with me all the time?”

his words were soft. “you are with me all the time.”

you craned your neck to look up at him and he inclined his head against the pillows, tapping with a finger to his chest lightly.

oh.

“i think i’ve read about that in a children’s fantasy novel, Ghost,” you said with a cocked brow and he gave you a wry smile, then shifted to tuck his chin over your head.

“what happened to Simon?”

you closed your eyes. “Simon privileges revoked.”

he scoffed. “bratty.”

you smacked at his arm and he didn’t even move—like a big rock you could anchor yourself to.

a big rock you wanted to anchor yourself to, except that he was always leaving it seemed.

and when he left, would he actually come back as promised? or would he leave you to the streets of san francisco as you feared—without a use for you?

unless your use was turning up to Turner’s masquerade as Ghost’s lady for the evening in another display of their battle for… ownership.

at that you stiffened and Ghost roused against you, his even breaths hitching.

the question you posed was careful and calculating. “if i wanted to run away and never look back, would you let me?”

he went impossibly still at that. then, he pulled back far enough so you could see the grim lines of his face, even through the darkness and the shroud of his mask.

“yes.” the word was so strained it almost didn’t sound like his own voice. “i think it’d kill me though.”

you cocked your head.

“when are you gonna take that mask off?”

his eyes flashed. “full of questions are you?”

you nodded. “always.”

he looked away from you. “i can’t answer all of them yet.”

always hiding something from you.

“why not?” you pressed, and he frowned, taking up your hand to press to his chest.

“in time,” he whispered, kissing the back of it, before sliding out from under the blankets.

you gripped his wrist to keep him tethered to you, voice cracking wide open.

“did you mean what you said?”

he cocked his head, eyes a placid coolness.

you swallowed hard “about courting me? about me being yours?”

your breath was shallow when you added, “do you really think you’ll die tomorrow?”

he stared at you for a long moment before sighing out, climbing back onto the bed and over you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours softly. you jolted with a gasp, straining up to kiss that silvery scar on his upper lip carefully. he was stock still, eyes following your movement with a familiar stoicism.

“i will be back tomorrow morning,” he promised and you grimaced.

“will you?”

he nodded strongly. “before dawn.”

you curled an arm around his neck. “promise me?”

“honest to god.”

you winced, remembering your words from two nights ago.

how can you be honest to god?

as he redressed to go out into the night, you watched him to try and find any tightness in his movements. the stiff motion of his body looked pure and simple—easing off the pressure of his injuries.

there wasn’t a trace of apprehension as he slung his gun back into his holster, sheathed knives back into the layer of his trench coat, and put on his stetson, that silver skull pendant on its brim glimmering in the dull light.

but you had seen how easily he lied to the kind man earlier.

how easily he could lie to you.

before he left, he pressed his forehead to yours, cool leather palm against your chest, and then to that spot where your hair and neck met, and then he stepped out into the hallway and the door shut behind him.

you twisted in the sheets, searching for a sliver of warmth that he had left behind.

there was an emptiness in your heart when you couldn’t find it.

you couldn’t sleep almost the entire night—desperately waiting for when the sun would breach the horizon, and Ghost would crawl back into that space in your heart you left vacant for him.

the night steeped into an black sky, clouds drifting across the moon in splotchy patches. you fell into a half-slumber, perched between the soft pillows of the bed when there was a quiet thud from a distance.

you startled, picking up your head and searching in the darkness in a sleepy haze.

“Ghost?” you whispered out, only a silence answering you, as a form materialized, prowling forward from the entrance of the room.

it was the girl with milky skin and an inky black hair, in that same revealing dress as before, skin reflective in the moonlight, and a revolver in her hand.

important note: if anyone wants to learn more about san francisco’s chinatown in circa. 1900, here’s are two articles i found interesting: time magazine (bubonic plague) and history.net (prostitution & Donaldina Cameron)

that being said, i want to clarify that much of san francisco’s chinatown culture became characterized solely about prostitution, opium, and gambling in the media (movies, tv shows, etc.) because of racial prejudices in the 1900s. while i talk about those themes in this story, they don’t make up even half of the rich culture in san francisco's chinatown and i do not want to create that impression!!

ugh anyways i didn’t mean to make this chapter so angsty 🙁 it will get better i promise i promise i promise but thank you for all your guys’s amazing support <33 i hope you enjoyed this chapterrr <33 next up... character development 🌚

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya

@havoc973 @mentallynot-here @aqua7ofana @ccerviee @haleidontknow @imjusttheretofightforlove @moonstonedeluluera @tieflingteatime @syddieuh @savakewl @shinebright2000 @bakugo-apologist98 @queenie-b- @whenyoushipuponastar @cloufie @belm412 @thriving-n-jiving @skyxskywlkr @yellooaaa @simplyreading @sucka2me @koreoftheunderworld20 @mr-sol @riverbutghost @salsa-reads-stuff

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months ago

Text

✨On My Knees for You✨

Dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a fic for a while that was all about making Joel Miller feel good. So thank you to @lotusbxtch and @mountainsandmayhem for feeding me ideas and letting me scream with you about this one 🩵 I wrote this one for my Halloween writing event!

This is a one-shot for my series Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller. It takes place a little over a year into their relationship. I hope you enjoy these two love birds! Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading 🩵

Summary: You’re supposed to be getting ready for a Halloween party, but maybe you’ll just have to be late because all you can think about is getting on your knees and making Joel Miller feel so good.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: Porn with plot, getting ready for a Halloween party, angel and devil couples costumes, cock/ball worshipping, deepthroating, dirty talking, pet names, use of daddy, no use y/n, age gap (reader late 20’s, Joel late 40’s), teasing

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Sparkles shimmer across your light pink eyeshadow, sprinkling down your glowing cheeks. Dark red lipstick stains your lips a cherry-coated color. The black eyeliner that’s sharpened into pointy cat eyes makes your eyes pop under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Your hair spirals into perfect waves as you adjust the halo that sits atop the crown of your head. With one more spritz of cotton candy perfume, you’re ready for the Halloween party.

When you exit the bathroom, you linger in the full-length mirror, adjusting the feathery wings that lay flat against your back. You circle slowly, examining your lacey angel costume for the Halloween party. One that Joel was taking you to, even if he wasn’t normally one to get excited to dress up or participate in Halloween parties. He was doing it for you. Plus, you might’ve got Tommy and Maria to convince him to go.

He eventually gave in after a few times of pressing, but he’d never say no to you. He was always going to go, if that’s what you wanted. Because he loves you and would do just about anything for you, even wear matching couples costumes. One an angel, the other a devil.

You giggle as you think of the events that unraveled over the past few months. Joel Miller, your father’s best friend, the man who was off-limits to you for so long was now your boyfriend. It was all a silly little flirting game until it wasn’t. All that changed when he gave in and kissed you under his living room lights a little over a year ago. Back when he gave you that handsy guitar lesson that turned into crowding your body and fucking you relentlessly into the leather of his couch.

You still remember it so clearly. Just like it was yesterday. His plush lips nipping at your delicate neck, licking flames into your sweat-coated skin. His meaty hands teasing up your thighs, enticing words making you give in, his smoldering eyes lighting you on fire as he slipped two fingers beneath your drenched lace. And then, you were gone.

And now? The two of you were unstoppable, unbreakable. Two flames that couldn’t burn without the other. He was your favorite part of every day. Your infinite. Even if your father wasn’t thrilled when he found out, he eventually came around. And now, Joel Miller was all yours.

The almost sheer mini skirt barely grazes the tops of your thighs, your thigh-high shimmering tights teasing your tanned skin. The white satin corset hugs your curves tightly, silk ribbon spilling underneath your pushed-up breasts, sparkly heels flashing diamonds under the dim lights of Joel’s room.

He’s going to absolutely lose it when he sees you in this sexy getup. Especially when he gets a peek at your new lacey white panties. The ones you’re hoping he’ll rip off later tonight.

You hear him shuffling around downstairs, truck keys jangling by the front door, leather boots making their way toward the staircase. Suddenly, you have the best idea. A little Halloween treat to satisfy his hunger. The kind of surprise that’ll leave him tongue tied and speechless.

You perch yourself on the edge of the bed, letting the navy comforter pull up your mini skirt higher, almost exposing your brand new lingerie. You arch your back, lean against your hands and wait with bated breath for him to find you all splayed out just for him. Like a present he’ll get to savor over and unwrap slowly.

You can’t wait to see his reaction.

His heavy footsteps shake beneath the wooden steps, voice deep and booming as he shouts up to the bedroom. “Baby, you almost ready? Think Tommy’s gonna beat us there.”

“Mhm. Can you come here for a second? Need a little help with something,” you call out, pushing your breasts together so he gets the best view of your sexy Halloween costume.

It was your idea to go as an angel this year, and Joel chose to be a handsome devil. And God, he was handsome alright. Even if he chose to wear his favorite green flannel and dark blue jeans. He pulled it off just fine with red devil horns and a glowing pitchfork.

Two more steps and he’s turning right into the room, his broad body filling the expanse of the doorframe. “Okay, sweetheart. But we gotta… go.” He freezes in the doorway, wide brown eyes gawking at you as his mouth drops to the floor.

And… jackpot.

“Surprise,” you say in a lilty voice, biting your bottom lip to tease him even more. Get the blood pumping in just the right places.

“Baby, you’re—you’re…” He drops the plastic pitchfork to the floor with a bang, his mouth hanging open like a thirsty hound dog.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” you tease, sliding your heels along the grey carpet, eyefucking him while you lick your bottom lip enticingly slow.

That does it right there. You can see it in his glassy brown irises. He’s done for.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. That outfit. It’s—fuck,” he replies, voice husky and shaky from your relentless teasing.

“You like it?” You cock your head and give him a sexy smirk, eyelashes fluttering his way.

He takes a step inside the room and drags a palm over his patchy beard slowly, his eyes gliding down your body like he’s memorizing every single inch of you. “Baby, I don’t like it. I love it. Never seen such a pretty angel look so sexy before. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you beautiful girl.”

“Bought it just for you. And these…” You slowly spread your legs, exposing the lacy panties that are now slick and wet from anticipation of him seeing you.

He audibly groans, curses under his breath as he takes a few steps forward, mouth dropped as his eyes slide over your core.

“Don’t you dare start that. Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls, his towering body hovering over yours like he’s about to pin you down on the bed. “‘Cause if you do, we ain’t leavin’ this house for another hour.”

You lift your leg and push him back with your bedazzled heel, making him back up a few steps so you can slide down to the floor. He looks at you with questions swirling in his caramel pools, one eyebrow arching as he watches you get on all fours. He mutters a curse under his breath when he realizes what you’re doing.

You’re teasing the hell out of him.

“I just want to do one thing first,” you whisper, voice low as you start to crawl toward him, dragging your hands and knees unhurriedly, clawing the soft carpet until you’re right beneath his looming form.

Your hands languidly snake up his legs, fingernails digging into the denim of his jeans, leisurely making your way to the jagged zipper.

“Baby…” he mutters, choking out when you start palming him through his jeans.

“Joel,” you smirk, working his hard length through the material of his blue jeans. You’re basically drooling at the feel of his thick bulge against the palm of your hand. Can already tell how badly he wants you.

God, it makes more slick run down the gusset of your white lace.

“We’re gonna be late,” he breathes heavily as you pop his top button open and lazily drag the zipper down.

“So, we’ll be late,” you whisper, smiling up at him while you bite your bottom lip seductively. Your hands pull his leather belt through the belt loops, and then you start to shimmy his jeans and black boxers down to the ground.

He places a hand swiftly on yours and halts you before you go any further. “You’re gonna ruin your pretty red lipstick, sweetheart,” he tries to warn, his chocolate eyes growing darker by the second.

“Then let me ruin it.” You push him down into the light brown lounge chair and tug his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free of the confines of the tight material. You gasp when you see how hard and swollen and thick he is. He looks like a fucking work of art. Art that you want to devour.

“Goddamn it,” he groans as you work his length up and down, hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Sliding the precum that bubbles over his swollen red tip up and down his shaft. Just the way he likes it.

“Let me make you feel good, daddy,” you beg, teasing your tongue over the head of his cock and running it slowly over the slit. He groans as you taste his salty precum. “Wanna taste you, swallow you, choke on you.”

“Yeah?” he croaks, one hand pushing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear. “My pretty girl wants to choke on me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, licking up the underside of his cock, tongue gliding over the large vein that wraps around his thick length. “Choke me, handsome devil. Wanna gag on your fat cock.”

He grips the back of your hair roughly and pulls hard, forcing your eyes up to meet his deep black pits. But the way he’s smiling at you, a playful smirk curling over his plush mouth, tells you he’s letting you take control just as much as he is. “C’mere then. Be a good girl and wrap those pretty lips around daddy’s cock,” he chuckles darkly. You happily oblige with a smirk.

Taking your time, you kiss up the length of him, languidly flicking and swirling your tongue in circles against his angry tip. You giggle when he curses under his breath and audibly gasps when you take him deep in your mouth. Bobbing your head up and down, you take him deeper and deeper. Until your nose is hitting his coarse, wiry hairs at the base of him, sputtering and choking as his tip kisses the back of your throat.

“Fuckkk, baby,” he whimpers while his hand holds your curls back from getting in the way.

You love to tease him, love to savor his salty flavor all over your tastebuds, let his seed run down the back of your throat when his orgasm bubbles over. You could do this all day. Get down on your knees while he takes you to church with his thick cock thrusting deep inside your throat. Being choked never felt or tasted so good. Not until Joel Miller showed up. Not until you got that first taste of him over a year ago.

You’re addicted, obsessed with making him feel good after he gets home from work. He always makes you feel good, so there’s nothing you love better than making him feel twice as good. He’s a good man, the best you’ve ever had. Now it’s your turn to show him just how much he means to you.

You gag around his hard cock, sputtering as you pull your mouth away, leaving behind a bead of drool that connects from your puffy lower lip and ends at his swollen tip. Your eyes are watery, mascara clumped on your wet eyelashes, and you feel how smeared your red lipstick is. But never mind that because Joel’s looking down at you like you’re the shiniest diamond in the world, pupils blown out and a cheeky grin plastered on his mouth.

“Feel good, daddy?” you ask, hand sliding in smooth motions over his massive cock, tongue licking at the bottom of one of his balls while you continue to fist him up and down, smearing more precum and drool in the process.

He hisses when you begin to suck, drool caking his skin while you start giving the other one attention with your other hand, squeezing and licking back and forth. “Yeah. Feels real good, babygirl. Makin’ daddy feel so good,” he moans while you massage his balls and work your tongue back up his shaft, leaving red lipstick marks all down his ballsack.

You fucking love worshipping his cock, his balls, his everything. And you love the way he moans, bucks his hips when you deepthroat him, mutters out curses when he’s so close to coming undone. You savor his salty taste, memorize his guttural groans, praise the way he moans your name when he’s thrusting deep inside your throat.

You just love him. And you love making the man cum.

Deciding to tease him more, you flick your tongue in tantalizing circles, right over his most sensitive spot where his slit pumps more precum out.

“Babygirl,” he warns in a husky voice, a deep growl biting at the edge of his throat.

“Yes, daddy?” you ask innocently, batting your long eyelashes up at the love of your life.

“I’m gonna need ya to stop teasin’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs, eyes slightly narrowed.

You giggle, popping him out of your mouth for just a second to catch your breath. “Or what?” you challenge, hoping he’ll catch on or give you what you both want.

“You know what,” he smirks, his fingers tangling around your loose curls tightly and drawing you closer.

You tick your head to the side and smirk while he matches your fiery stare. He wants it just as badly as you do because you fucking love to swallow him. “Is the big bad devil going to choke me?”

“Mhm. That’s right, angel. The devil’s gonna choke you alright.” He pushes your head down until your lips are molded to his cock, driving you down down down until you’re gasping for breath. When he brings you back up for air, he has the biggest shit-eating grin on his mouth you’ve ever seen.

“Look at you. Fuckin’ droolin’ and makin’ a mess on my cock, babygirl,” he smirks, pupils blown wide as he takes in your tear-soaked face.

“Mhm. Your mess,” you breathe out with a gasp.

He chuckles and nods his head, his tousled curls now messy and disheveled against his sweat-drenched forehead. “That’s right, love. My mess,” he smiles, his light brown irises glistening under his blown-out pupils. “Wanna deepthroat me, sweetheart?”

You nod up at him with tired eyes, wanting nothing more than to make him cum. “Yes, daddy,” you mewl.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

You settle your palms on his strong thighs, hovering just above his swollen tip. He repositions his hand and fists your hair gently, slowly pulling you back down until you’re sliding your pursed lips over his thick length, taking in his deep musk that masks the stifling air.

Taking a deep breath, you get in position and let him work you up and down his length, his hips starting to rut up until he’s fucking your mouth at a rapid pace. You hollow your cheeks, suck him deeper as he thrusts his cock in and out, making you gurgle and gag around his thick width.

“Jesus Christ, takin’ me like such a good girl. Feels—fuck. Feels good, baby. You still okay?” he chokes out, sweat beading down his tanned forehead as you squeeze his thigh and look up at him through watery eyes. The signal you give him to show him you’re just fine.

“I’m so… goddamn it. Need to feel you,” he groans, fucking his cock deeper down your throat. As deep as he can go without suffocating you. You just take it, let him pull your hair forcefully, let him hear just how full of him you are, let him use you to get the release he deserves.

“I’m ’bout to… ‘bout to cum. Ahhhh fuck. Right there. I’m right fuckin’ there,” he moans, throwing his head back as he fucks your throat relentlessly.

The room starts to spin like a tornado as he shoves you down, deepthroating you as much as you can take. Drool coats your chin. Sputtering, obscene noises fill the room as your throat constricts around his fat cock. You have to breathe through your nose to get any airflow because you’re suffocating.

Your vision blackens, throat so full of drool and his cock that you think you’ll pass out. Think you might just see heaven’s gates before Joel orgasms.

Just when you think you’re done for, Joel’s guttural groans pull you out of the fog. Your nose nudges against his coarse hair, lips molded around his huge width, throat open and squeezing around him as tears stream down your ruined face.

“That’s it. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Want you—want you to swallow,” he moans, fingers locked tight in your hair, pulling your head down until you feel him start to spill.

“Right there. Right—ahhhh fuck.” He’s coming undone, hot ropes of cum leaking down your throat. That salty taste that makes you cross your eyes and suck him down.

You can’t feel anything but his seed coating your throat, cum spilling over your smeared red lips, drool caking your chin and sliding down his balls. He’s fucking wrecked. Just like you are.

You stay right there, hands firmly on his thighs, lapping up the delicious salt of him until he’s slowly coming back down from his high. And then you’re slowly getting pulled off his long length, drool coating his softening cock.

You sputter out, coughing violently from being choked by Joel’s thick cock. His large hand glides between your shoulder blades, trying to help you swallow it all down, get ahold of yourself once more. And when you finally feel like you can breathe the stifling air, you collapse against his thigh, cheek pressed against tanned skin as you focus on deep breaths.

You feel his hand gently massage the back of your scalp, rubbing light circles on the crown of your head as he whispers for you to relax. It feels good. Feels relaxing when he’s caressing you like this. Like you’re his best girl.

You are his best girl.

“Easy now, baby. Jus’ breathe. Did so good for me,” he coos, fingers lacing through your now messy curls. You know you’re a fucking mess, but you just don’t care.

“Did I make you feel good, daddy?” you ask, speech a little slurred and voice hoarse from deepthroating Joel.

He lifts your chin up, index finger and thumb stroking your skin, starting a warm flame kindling in your body. When you lift your eyes, you’re met with warm, syrupy eyes. Eyes that you fell in love with the moment you saw them that first day at the lake.

His smile is so warm, so big. He looks like he has stars in his brown eyes the way he’s looking at you. All in love while his thumb caresses lovingly against your cheek. “Mhm. Made daddy feel real good, pretty girl,” he grins, eyes shimmering like onyx under the dim lights.

God, you love this man.

“Yeah?” you ask, giggling when he leans down and gets right at eye level with you, a huge smile curling over his plush mouth.

“Yeah,” he confirms, pushing a loose curl behind your ear before he pulls you into his broad body. His lips crash against yours. His whiskey taste serenading your tongue, woodsy scent making you heated and dizzy from the smell of him. He’s like a drug you can’t get enough of. Addicting and dangerous but yet bottled up with love and care.

When he pulls away from you, he smirks, hand trailing down your breasts, going south until he’s trying to slide between your thighs. “Now, let me take care of this—”

You stop him right there, shoving his hand away with a tsk. “We need to go, baby. We’ll be late.”

“But I…”

“Later,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, brushing your lips against warm skin and leaving a red lipstick mark on his cheek.

He chuckles and nods, teasing his calloused fingers along the nape of your neck. “Alright, sweetheart. Jus’ know that when we get home tonight, I’m takin’ real good care of that pussy. Understand?” He gives you that look. The one that makes your skin tingle and clit pulse with need. You’re going to suffer through this entire Halloween party if he keeps teasing you like that.

“Understood, handsome. You going to do that one thing? You know, that special trick with your tongue. What do you call it? Tongue twister,” you giggle while he throws back his head and lets out a belly-aching chuckle. One that makes warmth bubble up inside you. You could listen to him laugh for hours. That melodic, carefree sound. You love to see him happy.

He wipes off some of the drool and red lipstick on the sleeve of his flannel, laughing as he cleans you off. “You’re such a mess. You know that?”

You give him a big toothy smile and nod. “Mhm. You love it, though.”

He sighs and shakes his head, chuckling while he strokes his thumb under the bottom of your lip. “Mmm, yeah. I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you too, Joel,” you murmur, eyes glossy. You’re so in love. You give him a quick peck to the cheek and smile up at him, like he’s your entire world.

He scoops you up off the floor and leads you to the bathroom, littering kisses up and down your jawline. “C’mon. Let’s get your cleaned up before we go. Don’t need ‘em knowin’ what we’ve been doin’ tonight,” he laughs.

After he cleans you off with a warm washcloth, you fix your costume and hair. Red lips glossy again, halo straight, wings flat against your back, corset back in place, miniskirt grazing your thighs. And then he takes your hand and leads you down the stairs, into his truck, and to the party.

Halloween parties were always something you loved, but what you loved more was making Joel Miller, the love of your life, feel good. And that’s exactly what you did tonight.

You made his entire Halloween once again.

Tagging a few moots 🩵 @almostfoxglove @almostempty @magpiepills @sanarsi @ace-turned-confused

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @sawymredfox @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn @burntheedges

#joel miller x you #dbf!joel #joel miller #kinktober #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel x female reader #Jamie’s Halloween writing challenge

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cookybananas · 7 months ago

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It's Been A Long Time, Old Friend (Part I) - Unburnt!Darth Vader x Reader

summary: where Darth Vader arrives on the planet of Lianna. Only to discover that the Queen of Lianna was once his old flame during his Jedi years.

"And there you are! You're all set to go your Excellency." Chira, your handmaiden said after putting some final touches to your look.

"Chira, you know you don't have to call me that when we're alone right?" You responded, looking at yourself in the large vanity mirror. Your husband, Kairos, King of Lianna, was having meeting with the Emperor's right hand man, Lord Vader. Ever since your arranged marriage to him, it is expected of you to appear alongside him in his meetings to get a second opinion and to look like an accessory.

Never in million of years you would find yourself in an arranged marriage to a man you've never met, but here you are. Two years after the fall of the Jedi, you've traveled from planet to planet, evading inquisitors from finding and capturing you. There was one day you found yourself in a slave trading operation, where you sold off as a promising bride to your now husband, King Kairos of Lianna. At first, Kairos was hesitant in marrying you since you were a slave, but he had a duty to give his father a long lineage of heirs and his people a beautiful Queen to follow.

However, the marriage had been rocky from the get-go and continued to remain that way. You were never interested in him nor was he into you. No matter how hard you both tried to like each other, and understand one another, you both would always have opposing viewing points and would always clash. Maybe it had something to do with your Jedi beliefs instilled in you or your distaste towards members of royal families, or the fact your husband was a bootlicker for the Emperor and his Galactic Empire, and was a constant supplier for their TIE fighters.

Because of this, you both decided to remain separate from each other from all hours of the day, as you both had your own duties to fulfill. You both eventually agreed to sleep in separate chambers due to how sour the marriage had turned.

As dangerous and stupid of an idea it was at the time, you believed it was somewhat a smart plan on your end to marry a royal family member. The inquisitors couldn't suspect a former Jedi to marry into royalty, right? Luckily, it helps that women who are apart of the Royal Family of Lianna, are expected to wear face paint and makeup to cover up their real identity. A similar practice that derived from the Royal Family of Naboo.

You had also cut yourself off the force right after the rise of the Empire. After Obi-Wan had told you that Anakin had turned to the dark side, you both knew what was expected to come for the both of you. Obi-Wan had gone his separate way, and you followed suit onto your own path.

Now here you were, covered in white face paint, heavy purple eyeshadow, and bright red lipstick embellished your facial features.

Chira assisted you in your royal gown. The gown was a deep purple, adorned with thousands of beads from the waist down. Chira placed your large halo crown onto your head, securing it place.

"Andddddd we're done! It looks like it's time for your meeting!" Chira said, eyeing you up and down, making sure you were looking like royalty.

"Thank you Chira. You are free to leave." You replied. Chira bowed before exiting your chambers.

You met your husband on the landing pad to the palace, where you both awaited for the arrival of Lord Vader.

"Darling, don't you look delightful today." Your husband, Kairos spoke up, lending his arm for you to take.

"Don't I always do?" You quipped, wrapping your arm around his. The whirring sound of a ship approached the landing pad. The door to the ship opened, revealing a line of stormtroopers, as they walked down the ramp. Right behind them, stood the terrifying Darth Vader.

"Ah, Lord Vader, shall we began our discourse?" Kairos spoke up, bowing to him, to which I silently followed his action.

"As always King Kairos." Lord Vader responded. The three of us, alongside the stormtrooper and our guards made our way to the conference hall.

The meeting was long and agonizing, as per usual. Kairos would argue for a larger price, the opposing party would try to bargain for a lower price, and yadda yadda.

Though this was your first meeting with the Emperor's apprentice, you have to stay, you weren't as intimidated as you thought you were. Yeah, you've heard grisly stories about the Sith Lord and cruel he can be, but after having to sit 2 hours straight across from him wasn't as bad. However, you did feel small under his gaze. His attention may be focused on your husband, but you couldn't help but sense the seeking glances from the Sith Lord himself from time to time.

"Perhaps we could ask your wife about her thoughts on this matter." Vader's mechanical voice shook you out of your thoughts and brought you back to reality. You looked at your husband, then at Lord Vader, before speaking up.

"Well, I do think it's possible to increase production and have our men producing 20,000 TIE fighters per week the next four weeks with the price of 7,000,000 Imperial credits." You offered, the amount that was way less than what your husband had originally offer, that being 20,000,000. Kairos feigned a smile as he squeezed your thigh in response to your offer, indicating that he was not satisfied with the amount you've offered to Lord Vader.

"We have a deal. I will return in two weeks to see the progress. It was a pleasure doing business with you as always King Kairos." The Sith Lord responded, now standing abruptly from his seat. Both Kairos and I followed suit. Kairos shaking his hand with Lord Vader, sealing the deal.

"And I see you have a wife. From what I recall, I don't remember you being married." The Sith Lord piqued. I adverted my gaze away from Lord Vader's intense gaze. Kairos squeezed my arm before speaking up.

"Well, we haven't been married that long Lord Vader. We had just gotten married shortly after our last meeting, so it's been 4 months." Kairos smiled down at me, to which I returned. "You will see her more often in our future encounters my Lord."

"I look forward to them." Vader responded, eyeing me up and down once more. Kairos and I assist Vader and his stormtroopers to his ship on the landing pad. After watching his ship depart, Kairos releases his arm from mine and walks back inside the palace, into his private chambers. I sigh to myself, watching Lord Vader's ship fly off in the horizon, before making my way into my chambers.

He couldn't put a finger on it, but something about you stirred something inside him. He didn't want to stare at you for too long, he knew it would make you uncomfortable, but there was just something about you that seemed familiar. Upon landing on the landing pad, he felt a faint force signature. Though you cut off yourself off from the force two years ago, some parts of you still lingered in the force.

After Vader's departure from the palace, he hadn't left the planet's atmosphere yet. In fact, his ship was on autopilot in the sky as he was busy sending a message to his master to tell him his discovery. Vader had a mission to get rid of every last Jedi, whether it meant to turn them into inquisitors or kill them off entirely.

"Master, it would seem I've made a discovery." Vader spoke to the blue figure on the holotable to his ship.

"And what would that discovery be Lord Vader?" The Emperor's tone sounding a bit impatient at his apprentice's words.

"It would appear that Queen of Lianna could be a force-sensitive individual, Master."

"Is that so my apprentice? What an interesting discovery... Perhaps we could turn her into a pawn, or a weapon... I would keep an eye on this one, Lord Vader. Perhaps she is a lot stronger with the force than we may realize." The Emperor responded, somewhat surprised that a Jedi had found themselves entangled in a royal family.

"Yes my master." Vader responded before the figure of Palpatine disappeared from the holotable. He had a new objective now. Vader wanted to alter the deal now. Instead of visiting in two weeks to check on the progress, he in fact, wanted to oversee the progress every day until he had gotten his TIE fighters. With this, Vader had made his way back to the palace.

"Your Majesty! You must come quickly!" Chira, your handmaiden had barged into your chambers. Unsure what was happening, you dropped the book you were reading and followed her.

"What's the matter Chira? Has something happened?" You asked, both of you fastening your pace in the direction of the throne room.

"I-it's Lord Vader. He came back...The King requested your presence." Chira huffed out. Both you and Chira arrived outside the tall doors to the throne room. You took a deep breath and corrected your posture before entering the room. The doors slowly opened, revealing the backsides of numerous stormtroopers and Lord Vader. Kairos, was seated on his throne, talking to Lord Vader when you caught his attention.

"My love, come." Kairos stood up, gesturing for you to come sit in your throne next to his. The stormtroopers and Lord Vader turn around to face you as you hurriedly made your way over to your royal seat.

"I have altered the deal. I will be overseeing the progress on the TIE fighters from now." Darth Vader's voice echoed throughout the room. You nervously looked over at your husband, unsure what he had gotten yourselves into.

"Y-Yes, your Lord. May I ask-"

"There will be no questions. I ask that you will provide my men lodging and meals for the duration of their stay." The Sith Lord interrupted him. To which Kairos could do nothing about nod enthusiastically at Lord Vader's requests. "Tomorrow, you will provide me a tour of your facilities as I will begin to oversee all production of my TIE fighters."

"Of course my Lord." Kairos stood up, bowing to Lord Vader. You sat there, staring at your husband, anxious of what was yet to come.

"What the hell was that Kairos?!" You exclaimed. Both you and Kairos were having another one of your disputes in his chambers once again. This time, it was about Lord Vader's little vacation at the palace and overseeing the planet's assets. "When are you going to stop kissing the Empire ass and stand up for yourself for once?"

"I had no choice Y/N! Have you forgotten that Lord Vader and the Emperor are the most cruel and powerful beings in this star system?! They'll cut off my arm if I were to disagree with them." Kairos retorted. You scoffed at the same excuse he had used ever since you brought this topic up. "The Empire is funding our planet. We are an asset to the Empire. We're becoming richer and richer with every TIE fighter and Imperial weapons we sell them. With this, we can help our people."

"I don't know want to hear it anymore Kairos. Our people still suffer at the hands of the Empire, whether it is happening directly or indirectly." You made your way to the door. "You may not see it now, but the damage done to the planet and the people will be irreparable when you come to your senses." With that, you slammed the door your husband's door shut. You huffed out in frustration, your heels clicking on the marble flooring as you stormed toward your chambers. Little did you know, Vader was around the corner, eavesdropping on the argument that you and Kairos had moments ago. The Sith Lord smiled to himself, realizing that he use this to further manipulate the King of Lianna with the knowledge that his marriage was crippling.

After taking a long soak in your bath and finishing your nighttime routine, you were eager to get some rest. Shutting the lamp on your nightstand, you began to snooze off.

Images of being in the Jedi Temple began to flood your dreams. Realizing what your mind was doing, you tried to shut down those dreams, worried that it would pull you deeper into the force and down the path of memories that you did not want to relive. But what you didn't know, Darth Vader was in the meditation chambers that the Lianna medical staff and engineers had constructed for the Sith Lord. Darth Vader was using the force to encourage you to reveal yourself. There was something oddly familiar about you that made him curious.

After trying to get into your mind, he couldn't. Either you had nothing interesting going in your mind or that you were really good at blocking him out. Vader knew he had to be careful. He couldn't give away his true intentions to why he was here on the planet of Lianna. Yes, he and Palpatine need the TIE fighters, however this is different now. A force-sensitive woman who was a Queen was the topic interest at the moment. Plus, Vader needed to be away from the Death Star. Staring at the dark gray walls and into hyperspace just wasn't cutting it for him. Luckily the planet of Lianna was filled with lush gardens and vast lakes that Vader and his men could enjoy the duration of their stay.

next part: It's Been A Long Time, Old Friend (Part II)

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 52

part 1 | part 51 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, canon-typical violence, blood

"I'm just saying!" Eddie laughs as he swings himself around the slender base of a young tree, cigarette dangling from his lips. "I could absolutely rock the blue eyeshadow look the main chick was wearing."

Steve doesn't disagree. They're in a dark alcove on the side of the movie theater, Eddie's hair all lit up from behind, a frizzy halo of pinks and blues from the neon radiating off the front of the building, and he looks fucking gorgeous, and he smells like menthol and strawberry shake, and he's been tapping Steve's wrist so much tonight that he might as well be drumming up a new song just for them.

"Can't argue with that," Steve murmurs as he steps up onto the concrete planter. Gets up in Eddie's space; borrows his cigarette, his words floating out on a thin wisp of smoke. "You look beautiful."

"Beautiful," Eddie mimics, tasting the word, looking unbelievably pleased with the flavor that he finds. His eyes go hooded, and there's a sly tilt to his mouth as his tongue slips out to tease the edge. "You tryin' to start somethin', Harrington?"

Steve's answering hum rumbles deep in his chest. His cock aches in his jeans. God, he wants him; wants to back him up a good ten feet until his body scrapes the bricks. Wants to rough him up a little, like Eddie did to him the first time they kissed — make his breath hitch and his skin buzz and his back arch under his touch.

"Oh, you are," Eddie purrs. He takes the cigarette back, their fingers brushing on the exchange, and they're standing so close now, nothing but this skinny tree between them, just a twig of a thing, really, the toes of their shoes touching on either side of the base.

Steve looks down at the snowy soil. Taps Eddie's wrist. Desperately. Frantically. Take me home right now, so help me—

A low whoop echoes off the pavement.

A predatory jeer, and Steve looks up to see three men approaching �� three boys, about their age, and drunk, by the looks of it. He grits his teeth.

Their ringleader looks like a caricature; classic bad boy who thinks too highly of himself, some cheap knock-off mash up of Billy Hargrove and Rob Lowe. Steve eyes the shaggy mullet, the dangly earring skimming the lapel of his black jacket, the silver flask and the stupid swagger, and his blood runs hot. Thrums with the promise of a fight.

“Well shit, boys,” the guy grins to his sidekicks, taking a long swig and wiping his mouth. Gleeful malice in green eyes. Little asshole gets close enough for Steve to make out the color; gets right up in Steve’s face and sneers, “Looks like we got ourselves a couple of queers to smear.”

Really? Steve thinks. We’re doing playground games right now? He folds his arms over his chest, flattens his voice; disinterested. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Eddie smokes his cigarette, and the smoke curls around them in short, unsteady puffs.

The guy snarls, “Do you?”

Beside him, his friend’s hands ball up in fists. A vicious voice in Steve’s head whispers: plant your fucking feet.

“Nah,” Steve answers. He takes a step in front of Eddie; widens his stance, digs his heels into the mulch. Slight crouch; deep breath. “Think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Fuckin’ freak,” the guy spits at the ground. He sways and pivots just a little, like maybe he’s about to slither back off to wherever he came from. Or maybe he’s about to throw his full weight into a swing.

Eddie’s breath whistles. His nose still healing from the break. “Seriously, man,” he tries as he drops the cigarette, crushing the butt under his boot. His voice is thin; hands up; don’t shoot. “Just- just fuck off, alright? We don’t want any—”

The first punch is slow. Sloppy. Steve sees it coming and dips low to dodge, and the jab cracks against the tree, spraying ice and splintered bark, the sound sharp in his good ear. It’s a plate over his head; it’s Billy cackling while the world dims, and Steve sees fucking red. Tastes metal and acid and rot, and all his ghosts are with him; all of Eddie’s, too. Hargrove, and Andy, and Jason fucking Carver; all the faceless specters of whoever pummeled him that night at the bar, whoever dared to lay a finger on him when Steve wasn’t there to be a shield.

But he’s here now, and his answering punch lands hard — sickening crunch as his uppercut connects with the kid’s ribs, knocks the wind out of him. The guy grunts and doubles over, but he gets in a good swing on the way down.

Steve tastes blood at the edge of his lip.

Someone grabs him by the collar.

One of the guy’s friends, freezing fingers pawing at his shoulder, at his throat, and he pulls back hard until his shirt rips at the neckline and frees him from the hold. Ducks again to dodge a blow, swivels and pops discount Rob Lowe right under the chin.

The kid’s teeth clack together as he bites his own tongue. Steve watches his head fly back like it’s about to fall off — like a ragdoll, like a bobblehead, like it’s happening in slow motion. He collapses on the sidewalk and cracks his head against the bricks, and he's down, he's out, but there’s two more still coming, one in front and one on Steve's right, and that one looks tall and broad enough to do some real damage.

Steve squares his shoulders; braces himself for another concussion, because this is— fuck, is the guy on the ground bleeding?

This is bad.

This is really bad.

And then he hears it.

A familiar thwick, a metallic slice through the sudden stillness in the air as Eddie pulls his knife out of his boot and flicks it open.

"Back the fuck off!" he growls; lunges forward with the blade and stabs at empty air, the metal gleaming like an oath. His expression is wild, sweat on his lip and at his temples, bangs sticking to his brow.

Steve spits blood onto the concrete.

Everyone backs the fuck off.

—

"Holy shit," Eddie pants as they haul ass out of the lot. Fingers trembling on the steering wheel, knee jiggling so badly it jangles all his pins and chains. His whole body is shaking. The radio is off.

In the rearview, Steve gets a glimpse of their attackers dragging their limp friend by the armpits through a snowy flowerbed. He thinks he sees a streak of blood.

“Did you know them?” he asks, his eyes glued to the reflection.

Eddie rolls the next three stop signs.

“No,” he finally says. Swallows hard in the simmering quiet. “They were just some guys.”

—

part 53

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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simsimulation · 3 months ago

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TS4 OCCULTS CC MASTERLIST 📋

I was asked for the CC for these occult sims so here's a masterlist of all the CC that I used: ↘

001: Genetics: - Skintone, Skin, Skin Overlay, Tattoos (1)(2)(3), Highlight (1)(2), Eyeshadow (1)(2)(3)(4), Contacts (112), Hair, Clothes: - Outfit 002: Genetics: - Skin Overlay, Highlight (1)(2)(3), Eyeliner (1)(2), Eyeshadow (1)(2)(3), Blush, Lips, Veins (1)(2)(3), Facial Scar, Eye Mask, Tattoos (1), Hair Clothes: - Head Acc + Wings, Outfit, Blood Acc, Earrings 003: Genetics: - Skintone, Skin Tint, Skin Overlay (1)(2), Ears, Face Structure, Contacts (54), Body Highlight (1) (2)(3), Eyebrows, Scales (1)(2)(3), Gills (1), Tattoo (1), Blush, Eyeshadow (1)(2), Hair Clothes: - Crown, Fish Net Top, Hand Pearls Acc, Earrings, Tail 004: Genetics: - Skintone, Skin Overlay, Gradient Overlay, Skin Tint, Tattoo, Blush, Hair Clothes: - Dress, Arm Band, Halo, Claws

Poses by @helgatisha

CC CREATORS:

@northernsiberiawinds @obscurus-sims @sims3melancholic @jarisimcc @crilender @shandir @katrina-ysims @astya96cc @ddarkstonee @remussirion @faaeish @pyxiidis @sakuraflora @poyopoyosim @oydis @saturngalore @joliebean @stamsim @lamatisse @evoxyr @wistfulpoltergeist @ms-marysims @nv-games @pralinesims @ice-creamforbreakfast @regina-raven

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 lookbooks #ts4 simblr #sims 4 screenshots #ts4 occult #ts4cc #wcif #the sims 4 #the sims community

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honeyedmiller · 1 year ago

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Mask | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!neighbor!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, partying, mutual pining, neighbor!reader, no outbreak, Joel’s anxious for a tiny bit, reader has a slight mask kink, porn with a plot lol. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 5.6k

synopsis: Joel throws his annual Halloween party and you’re both determined to settle your aching need for each other.

simply in honor of kinktober & inspired by @nostalxgic’s joel x ghostface edit

not revised, per usual (what’s new tbh) sorry for any mistakes.

divider by @ saradika 🖤

“So I’ll see you this weekend then, right darlin’?” Joel Miller, a.k.a. the neighborhood dilf, asks you. You were going for a run when he stopped you right in front of the sidewalk of his house, inviting you to his annual Halloween party he throws every year.

You absolutely loved Halloween, so you couldn’t pass up his offer.

“Of course you will. Can’t wait.” You toss him a smile, and he nods before you’re on your way back to your house, which was only two doors down from his.

It was Monday, so you had to figure out what you were going to be for the party this weekend. You wanted to be something that would catch the older Miller brother’s eye. You’ve been trying for a while now to express your interest in him, and either he’s just very oblivious, or he just doesn’t want you.

You’re hoping it’s moreso not the latter.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel’s younger brother Tommy had pointed it out to him several times. Joel always thought you were so beautiful. He was just apprehensive about asking you out, mainly because he hadn’t been out in the dating scene for awhile. He was rusty when it came to impressing women.

Little did he know, all the neighborhood women would gawk over him every time he even stepped outside of his house.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah, hated the way these women talked about her dad. It was weird to her that these married women would talk about someone other than their husbands in such a vulgar manner.

Funnily enough, you were the only single woman in this neighborhood. The only one with no kids and no husband.

Sarah’s taken a liking to you, as you’ve watched after her a few times Joel and Tommy would be home late from work. You were close to her dad’s age, beautiful, smart, and most definitely Joel’s type.

There was always this weird tension between you and Joel. It wasn’t awkward. It was moreso full of desire and neediness for the other, but again, Joel just didn’t know how to go about expressing that he wants you in such a way.

You ended up settling on letting him take the reigns, because if he wanted to ask you out then he’d have full control.

The week went by, and you finally decided on what you were going to be: an angel. A little cliché, you must admit, but you already had most of the costume in your wardrobe. You just needed wings and a halo, which you picked up from the Halloween shop earlier in the afternoon. The party started at eight, so it gave you a couple of hours to get ready.

You started off with your hair, giving it a dream-like appearance before diving into your makeup. You were going for a bombshell look to give a mixed element of sultry and sweet.

Once you were sure Joel would at least do a double take on you, you slipped on the parts of your costume one by one. You went for a white lace corset top with a short white skirt, angel wings, the halo, and a pair of silver sparkly strappy heels.

You dusted diamond bomb body glitter across your collar bones and gave yourself one last look in the mirror. Your pink lipstick gave you the perfect innocent pout you were going for while your eyeshadow and lashes accentuated the color and shape of your eyes.

You grab your little clutch and tossed your phone, lipstick, lash glue and keys inside before grabbing the six pack of beer you bought and locking up, heading two houses down. The music was already blaring and the laughter and chatter of people from all over the neighborhood was prevalent as it echoed through the chilly night.

You stopped on the Miller’s porch, wondering if they’d even hear if you rang the doorbell. You thought it’d be rude if you just let yourself in. You decided to ring the doorbell anyway, and not even a minute later, Tommy opened the door.

“Hey you! You look real pretty.” He grinned, and you smiled politely.

“Thanks Tommy, so do you.” You joke, admiring the Greek God costume he was sporting. That costume choice was very fitting for Tommy Miller’s ego.

“Thanks sweets,” He chuckled, eyeing the six pack in your hand. “Let me take that, and c’mon in.” He nods his head toward the loud house, and you stepped in as he followed suit.

It was nice seeing all of your neighbors so dressed up and having a fun time. It was a side you rarely got to see from any of them.

“Drinks are in the kitchen and there’s a variety of food and snacks in there as well if you’re hungry.” Tommy shouts over the thumping music, and you nod.

“Thanks Tommy.”

You headed to the kitchen to mix yourself a drink, nerves easily seeping in as you weren’t the best in social situations. Your anxiety often got the best of you, and some liquid courage would definitely help your case.

You were pouring yourself some Malibu rum mixed with cranberry juice when a voice called from behind.

“Well I’ll be damned, you sure do look good darlin’.” That Southern drawl that had your core aching constantly rung through your ears, and you bit your lip to try and fight off a smile.

You turned on your heel to face the older Miller brother, adorned in a black long sleeve, black jeans, black boots, and black leather gloves. He held a ghostface mask in his hand, and your eyes trailed back up to his gaze before giving him a more seemingly collected smile.

“Hey Joel,” You say, taking a sip from your drink. “Nice costume.” You smirk, eyes averting back down to the mask in his hand.

“Sarah forced me to actually dress up. Said I couldn’t be a lumberjack again this year.” He chuckled, and you smiled and shook your head. Sounded exactly like something she’d do.

“Where’s your, uh, dress?” You tease, noticing he wasn’t wearing the exact full getup.

“Got too damn hot so I took it off.”

“Mm. Well, you look real good, Joel.” You toss a sweet smile his way, sipping on your fruity drink in the infamous red solo cup.

Even in the fairly dim-lit kitchen, you could see the sprinkle of pink dust his cheeks.

“Thanks, darlin’.”

“‘M sure all the moms of the neighborhood are drooling just looking at ya.” You tease, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

“Even if they are, I only got my sights set on one person.” He shrugs, taking a step closer to you. Your breath catches in your throat and you back up against the counter as he stands right in front of you, so close that you can feel his breath fanning your face.

He reached behind you on the counter, eyes never leaving yours. He smirked slightly at your reaction to the proximity between you two as he grabbed the bottle opener that was laying on the counter, retracting his hand.

“C’mon, let’s go enjoy the party.” He smiles softly at you, holding out his leather-bound hand. You take his hand as he leads you out of the kitchen, weaving between the neighbors. You stop here and there to greet them before you eventually make your way to the living room.

You see people playing beer pong in the backyard, chatting with other neighbors, and playing cornhole. Early 2000’s throwbacks were bumping over the speakers, and you assumed Tommy was in charge of being DJ for the night.

Joel sat down on the leather couch, patting the spot next to him. You sat down, wiggling your hips so your legs could get comfortable against the somewhat sticky leather. Joel draped his arm across the back of the couch, and Tommy made his way up to his brother so he could take the bottle opener from Joel.

The opener clinked against the top of the bottle, a release of pressure sounding as the cap was taken off.

“Thanks Tommy.” Joel semi-shouts, leaning back into the couch even further. His arm slides down, now wrapping itself around your shoulder. Tommy raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“Finally manned up and got the balls to ask her out?” Tommy’s words are a bit slurred now, and you can tell he’s teetering from being heavily buzzed to completely drunk.

“Tommy, don’t you have some other people to patronize?” Joel rolls his eyes, grip tightening on your shoulder.

Even the slightest touch from Joel sent an electric shock down your spine and into your core, which was already aching and throbbing with pure need and desire.

Tommy holds his hands up in surrender, chuckling.

“I’ll leave ya alone, but for the love of god, just do it already.”

Joel gives the younger brother a warning glare, pointing the neck of his beer at him, then to the back sliding door.

“Out.” Joel grits, and Tommy’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he walks away from you two.

“So what was that about?” You lean into Joel so he can hear you better. The look on your face conveys pure amusement.

Joel knew he couldn’t beat around the bush with this one, so he simply confessed. “Been wantin’ to ask you out on a date for awhile now.” His lips form into a thin line after he takes a nervous swig of his beer.

You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling rather bold yourself so you place a hand on his lower left thigh as you lean in even closer.

“Yeah? And when were you going to? I’ve been waiting.” You grin, eyes averting down to his lips before moving back up to his gaze. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, and it finally feels like he’s able to grasp something that had been slipping out of his hands for months.

“I was plannin’ on it, but I kept puttin’ it off cus I didn’t think you felt the same way.” He shrugs, taking another sip of the half-full bottle of beer that was now balanced on his lap.

That was half the truth.

The other half was him just simply being petrified, anxiety taking over his whole being at the thought of going on an actual enjoyable date after, god, fourteen years? Nonetheless with a brilliant, gorgeous woman like yourself?

He’d been so accustomed to taking care of Sarah (hell, Tommy too), making sure she was always his first priority. Sure, he’s had hookups here and there down the line, but none of them ever meant anything at all. It was always just a rendezvous in passing. Never anything serious.

But, when he first laid his eyes on you, he knew he wanted a real connection. He wanted something real with you, a relationship of his own that he could be proud of as you two built from the foundation up together.

“Joel.” You whisper, eyes darting back and forth between his. The once beautiful dark brown eyes seemed to turn black with lust, but remained soft as they scanned your features.

“Darlin’ I think it’s about time we do somethin’ about… this.” He gestures between you both, and a saccharine smile curls onto your lips.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

His eyes flitted to your lips this time, and the tension was insanely hot and heavy. You could barely even hear the thumping music anymore as your heart nearly leaped out of your chest from how hard it was pounding.

You two just stared at each other, quite literally enthralled with one another. You wanted to kiss him so bad, but in front of all these neighbors? They were good people, but were nosey as hell. Loved to gossip.

You didn’t need them in your business and you’re sure as hell Joel didn’t want them in his either.

You opened your mouth to say something, but were cut short by Tommy yelling into the living room.

“Shots in the kitchen everybody, c’mon!” He pointed at the two of you, and you laughed at his utter display of just not giving a fuck.

You tap Joel’s thigh with your hand. “C’mon cowboy, let’s go appease your brother before he calls us both out for not joining him.”

You stand up from the couch slowly, well aware of the fact that the back of your thighs were sticking to the leather at this point. You held your hand out to Joel once you were up, and he gladly took it. You both maneuvered your way into the kitchen, a small crowd of your neighbors already gathered around the island in the middle.

Tommy poured tequila shots into miniature red solo cups, passing them out to each individual around him. He put the plated cut up limes on the counter and two salt shakers on each side of the plate.

You lick a spot on your free hand and grab the salt, tapping it onto your hand before grabbing a lime. Tommy waits for everyone to be settled before raising his shot glass to the crowd before him.

“To my brother Joel for agreeing to throw this party yet another year. And to, y’know, Halloween.” Tommy chuckles, and everyone cheers to Joel. You look up at Joel as you lick the salt off your hand, toss back the shot, and stick the lime in your mouth.

Something in the way you looked at him when you moved to fluidly made his cock ache. The hungry look in your eyes, and the sweet smile you offered after you took the lime out of your mouth.

“Joel!” A voice squeaked, breaking your eye contact with him. You both turn to look at your neighbor, Tiffany, who was dressed as a sexy police officer.

“Hey, Tiffany.” Joel greeted, curtly nodding at her.

“Great party. I think it’s nice you invited the whole neighborhood.” She giggled, twirling her pin-straight brunette hair around a manicured finger.

“‘S all Tommy, really.” He shrugs, looking back down at you. You watch the two of them in amusement, noticing that Tiffany was getting closer to Joel. She eventually wrapped her arm around his bicep, to which he stiffened at her touch.

“Well, it’s sooo fun. You like my costume?” She inquires, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks up at him, feigning innocence, but he’s truthfully not paying attention to her. She seems to notice that he’s more focused on you, and she rolls her eyes.

She’s always been pretty rude to you since you moved into the neighborhood, and you didn’t know why. Now you had an inkling. You could’ve sworn she was married, so a devilish smile curled onto your lips as you tilt your head to the side.

“How’s your husband, Tiffany?” You ask, and she shoots you a glare.

“Fine, thanks.” She scoffs, and Joel shakes her hand off of his bicep.

“Let’s take another shot, darlin’.” Joel suggests to you, and you grin up at him.

An idea popped into your head, and you were hoping he’d go along with it.

“Wanna do a moonlick shot with me, Miller?”

He looked down at you in shock, abruptly pausing his movements.

“Mhm.” Was all he could muster up. Most of the crowd still lingered in the kitchen, so you knew you were about to put on a show.

And, well, licking salt off of Joel’s neck seemed extremely gratifying for the both of you.

You poured another shot of tequila into your little shot glass, grabbed the lime and salt, and stood in front of Joel again.

Tiffany watched you both closely, realization suddenly dawning on her.

She thought there was no way you two would actually do a moonshot in front of all the neighbors gathered in here, but with how heavy the tension was between you and Joel, you both didn’t care at all at this point.

Your eyes scanned the room swiftly, thanking the universe that Mrs. Adler was nowhere to be found. You’d never hear the end of it from her if she saw you and Joel like this.

You wrapped a hand around the back of Joel’s neck, standing on your tippy toes as you brought your face into the crook of his neck.

The warmth of his body sent chills down your spine. He smelled like an earthly musk. It was heavenly.

He gripped your waist as you moved your lips closer to his neck, finally poking your tongue out to slowly lick up the side of his warm flesh. You leaned back down to sprinkle some salt into your hand, pressing it into the wet spot on his neck. You grabbed your like and tequila shot, holding the backside of the lime up to his mouth. He graciously bit into it, and you smirked at him as you went to move your face back into the crook of his neck.

You licked the salt off of Joel’s neck, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest. His arm wrapped completely around your waist as you threw the shot back, taking the lime from his mouth with your own. You put the lime into the small shot glass before looking back up at Joel.

The fire behind his eyes was inevitable, and he finally closed the gap between you two. He enveloped his plush lips to yours, and you tossed both hands over his shoulders and let them dangle as both arms securely wrapped around your waist.

A few of the neighbors in the kitchen whistled, a “finally” thrown into the mix, and Tommy being utterly obnoxious by cheering his brother on.

Joel’s chest swelled with a bit of pride knowing he made his little brother proud.

Your lips moved in perfect sync, your core suddenly throbbing terrible as you felt your slick completely coat your panties. You moaned softly into the kiss, having barely any willpower to break apart from him.

Joel knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you, especially physically in this moment. He wasn’t going to waste another opportunity to finally let himself indulge in something he’s wanted for so long.

“My room?” He asks breathlessly, and you nod. You briefly noticed that Tiffany wasn’t standing in the kitchen anymore, and you smirked to yourself in a little victory.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to lead you out of the kitchen, but Tommy stopped you both.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Tommy was completely unaware of how much of a cockblock he was being at the moment.

Joel faced his brother and pursed his lips into a thin line.

“Upstairs. Cover for me, yeah?” Joel says, and Tommy’s shit-eating grin returns.

“Oh hell yeah, big brother. Have fun.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He slips his ghostface mask back on to try and blend in a bit more with the crowd, both of you slipping upstairs seemingly unnoticed.

Once you were in Joel’s bedroom, he locked the door and took the mask back off, setting it on his bedside table.

Joel mentally thanked himself for making his bed this morning. The man was notorious for leaving the duvet completely crumpled.

You took in your surroundings. His room was cozy and simple, but felt like home. You smiled up at him, shimmying your wings off before hanging them on the bedpost. Joel took the halo gently off of your head.

“Reckon you definitely don’t need’ta be wearin’ this.” He chuckles, putting it to the side.

“Mm, I think you’re right.” You step forward, hands landing on his solid chest as you move them up to the sides of his neck. You can feel the vein in his neck, pulse racing under your touch.

“Listen, darlin’,” Joel starts, gently grabbing your wrists. “I haven’t done… this… in awhile. I really like you, too, and I really don’t want this to just be a one-time thing.” He confesses, and your heart melts at his words.

“I really like you too, Joel. I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, either.”

“Good.” He breathes, cupping your face into his hands before smashing his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss as he leads you back toward his bed. The back of your knees hit his mattress and you sink down onto it. Joel lays you down before parting your legs with his knee, putting pressure onto your throbbing cunt.

You find yourself unintentionally grinding your hips so your core is rocking against his leg, desperate for friction by any means. Joel feels how hot and wet you are, even through the fabric of your panties and his jeans.

“Christ, doll. Y’this fuckin’ soaked for me already?” Joel tsks, and you can’t help but let out a lewd moan.

“Yes, Joel,” You pant. “Wanted you for so long, can’t—fuck,—can’t wait any longer.”

“Baby, you don’t know how much that fuckin’ turns me on. You touch yourself thinkin’ about me?” He questions, slowly bringing a hand underneath your skirt to rub your soaked core over your panties.

“God, fuck, yes. All the time.” You admit, eyes squeezing shut as your breath begins to increase rapidly.

Joel groans at your confession, cock constricted by his jeans just begging for release.

“‘M gonna ruin every single man for you, baby.”

“Ruin me, Joel.”

That’s all he needed to hear before hastily sliding your panties off of your legs. He spread your legs as he got down on his knees, admiring how your pussy glistened in the low light of his room.

“Fuckin’ perfect little pussy.” He murmurs, lifting your skirt up all the way. You gasp as Joel kisses your inner thighs, dragging his tongue up your tender flesh, littering kisses along the way before he finally places a soft kiss to your core.

Joel wastes no more time teasing you and delves his tongue right into your folds, not wanting to hold out any longer on tasting you.

And, good god, you tasted heavenly. Ironic for being dressed up as an angel, but you really played the part.

You moaned loudly as he drank you up like a glass of water in the middle of the night. He was relentless with his tongue, the muscle swirling around your folds, flicking onto your clit, then moving down to your entrance to prod in and out of you.

His mouth felt divine. You truly don’t think any man has ever eaten your pussy this good, and you’d be damned if another man besides Joel ever did again.

“Joel, holy fuck.” You cry, and he moans praisingly into you. The vibrations sent a shock up your spine, causing you to arch your back off of the bed.

All of your senses ignited with just Joel. His mouth, his touch, his scent, everything about him was surrounding you all at once. You genuinely don’t know how you went about not doing this any sooner.

Joel moved his tongue back up to your clit, flicking over it expertly as he inserted his ring and middle fingers into you. You cry out once more, instinctively grasping onto his hair as you slightly tugged on it. He switched from flicking his tongue over your clit to sucking on it instead, fingers driving in and out of you at such an enchanting pace.

His fingers were so much longer and thicker than yours, so the feeling of it was becoming all too consuming. He hit that sweet spot inside of you once he started to curl his fingers upward, and you nearly choked on a gasp.

“Fuck, yes, right there right there right there—” You chant, feeling your orgasm rapidly approaching as it bloomed quickly within the deepest depths of your core, clawing its way out to the surface. “‘M gonna—”

“Let go, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” Joel praises, and your orgasm comes crumbling down, washing in electric waves through your body. You moan loudly, crying out Joel’s name as you gripped his duvet.

Joel admires how you writhe beneath him, riding out your intense orgasm. You’re nearly breathless, panting rapidly as you lay on his bed completely dazed. Once you finally composed yourself enough, your eyes fall on his face. Half of it was covered in your slick, and you whine at the sight.

“How was that?” He asks, standing up.

“I’m convinced you’re a fucking wizard or some shit.” You breathe, and he gutturally laughs. You love the sound of it, tucking it away in your memory to keep.

“Nope, just regular ol’ me, baby.” His smile is soft as he gazes down at you, and you lean up on your elbows, shaking your head.

“Nothing about you is regular. You, Joel Miller, are extraordinary.” You slowly get up from his bed on shaky legs, but he grips you for support. You switch spots with him, turning him around to softly push him onto his bed. He sits down and watches you closely, admiring how you look at him. It makes his stomach do a flip, and a blush tinges his cheeks ever so slightly.

“My turn to take care of you.” You whisper, sinking to your knees before him. You undo his belt buckle, pop the button of his jeans, and slide his zipper down. He lifts his hips for you as you pull down his jeans and boxers simultaneously.

Joel’s cock easily hits the shirt over his stomach, weeping and dribbling with pre cum. Your mouth watered as you took in the sight, appreciating the pink and tan silky flesh before pumping it a few times, causing Joel to suck in a breath and squeeze his eyes shut.

He lets out a low groan as you tug back to the top slowly, lowering your head to swirl your tongue around the tip. The salty taste of pre cum coats your tongue, and you hum in praise before licking a warm stripe over the vein of his cock. He curses, head lolling back as he tries hard not to cum right then and there.

It’s been far too long since someone’s touched him like this, and now that he has the woman he’s been fantasizing about daily at his discretion, he knows he won’t be able to contain himself for long.

His cock was heavy on your tongue as you slid more of him into your mouth slowly, trying to keep yourself from gagging. Your throat constricted slightly as the tip of his cock met the back of your throat, nose nearly buried in coarse, curly hair at the base.

“Fuuuck, sweet thing, ‘m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that.” He moans, loving the feeling of your soft lips wrapped around his cock.

You flatten your tongue against him and start to bob your head up and down, setting a rhythm you could easily keep up with. Hearing him moan your name while you pleasure him shot straight to your core, aching for more of him.

You moan against him as your nails lightly scratch what’s exposed of his tan thighs, and you open your eyes to look right into Joel’s.

The nearly sinister look in his eyes when you look up at him makes you want to touch yourself while you made him feel good.

“Such a good girl, takin’ my cock in your mouth so well. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous like this.” He praises, cupping your cheek gently. He was refraining from touching your hair and face because he didn’t want to ruin your hairdo or your makeup, despite how badly his fingers were nearly itching to either cup your face harshly or thread his thick fingers through your hair.

You took him all the way into your mouth once more, swallowing around the tip of him before moving up to the tip to focus on just that. You swirled your tongue again, licking the slit on his head before Joel’s breath caught in his throat.

“Shit, baby, don’t stop, ‘m close.” He feels like he’s floating when his orgasm shoots down his spine not even seconds later, and you moan around him as you swallow everything he gives you.

He pulls you up gently but hastily from the ground, kissing you before pushing you onto the bed again. He had to be buried inside you now. He gave his cock a couple of strokes to harden himself again as he stood over you, a feral look in his eye.

Your eyes glanced over at the ghostface mask sitting on his bedside table, and his eyes followed yours. He quirks an eyebrow up at the mask, looking back at you.

“Want me to put it on?” He asks, and you felt your cheeks get hot.

“You don’t have to.” You’re suddenly shy, but the thought of Joel fucking you with a ghostface mask on turned you on immensely.

“I’m asking you.” A hint of questioning demand was behind his tone.

“Yes. Put it on. Please.”

“Kinky little thing, aren’t ya? Gotta mask kink?” He teases before grabbing the mask, slipping it on before towering back over you.

Seeing his tall, broad frame hovering over you like this with the mask on makes your pussy clench, a delicious lick of satisfaction shoving its way into your mind.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin this pussy.” Joel’s voice is slightly muffled, but somehow the mask makes it sound deeper. You bite your lip and look up at him as he spreads your legs apart, coating the tip of his cock with your slick.

He pauses abruptly, as if remembering something.

“Should I get a condom?”

“Only if you want. I’m on birth control.” You give him a reassuring nod, and he visibly relaxes.

He continues where he left of, sliding his tip between your folds a couple of times more before slowly pushing into your entrance.

You both moan loudly at the sensation, feeling so warm and full and whole. Joel pushes into you until his hips are flush against yours before pulling out slightly. He grabs your legs and tosses them over his shoulders, a new feeling of deeper pleasure rippling through every fiber of your being.

“Fuck, feel s’good.” You toss your head back against his bed, reveling in the feeling of being stretched out.

“So do you, baby. Pussy’s so perfect. Was made f’me.” Joel starts to snap his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing off the four walls of the master bedroom.

Joel’s hands snake around your ankles on his shoulders as he drives himself deeper into you, pounding his hips into the back of your thighs.

The way you clench around him nearly has him choking, wanting to come undone right then and there.

You gazed up at Joel—well, ghostface—with your eyebrows threaded and jaw slack. There was something so deliciously fucking hot about the way his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you, fucking you into oblivion.

He bent down ever so slightly to wrap his leather-bound hand around your neck, squeezing the sides. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as all of your sensations suddenly became so full of him again.

You were seeing stars, silent screams escaping your mouth as you tried to move up onto the bed. Joel gripped your thighs harshly and tugged you back down, pulling out of you swiftly to smack your pussy before completely filling you once more.

“Joel, fuck, oh god, oh god, JoelJoelJoel—”

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ pretty slut likes when I pound into her sweet pussy, hm? Likes getting choked?” Joel’s words drip with venom. You couldn’t even form a coherent word, leaving you to nod frantically.

“Fuck, baby girl, I need you to cum for me.” His voice is strained and desperate, needing to feel you pulse around him again. He brings a hand down to your clit to rub tight, deft circles around it.

You couldn’t even process one more thought before that same blooming, clawing sensation nearly paralyzed your body as you stiffened, orgasm completely washing over your body. You jolted up, crying out Joel’s name.

“I know baby, I know. Fuck, ‘m close, where d’ya want me?” He rips off the mask and tosses it aside, eyes meeting yours once more.

“In me, need to feel you.” Your words are slurred, starting to sound just like Tommy. But you two were very, very different types of drunk.

Joel spills into you, hips stuttering as he groans, jaw clenched. He leans down to kiss you fervently, moaning into your mouth as his orgasm finally rides out. He slowly pulls out of you, hissing at the sensation. You softly whine at the loss of such fullness.

He tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans, pulling them up, re-buttoning his jeans and re-buckling his belt. He sits beside you on the bed, warm leather landing on your thigh as he traces circles into your skin.

“Fuck, baby, that was just,” He pauses, trying to catch his breath. “Unreal.” He huffs, falling next to you so he’s laying down on the bed beside you.

“It was. Thank you.” You shudder at one last aftershock of your orgasm, and Joel chuckles.

“Anything for you, baby.” Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you roll onto your side to face him.

“Kinda don’t wanna go back downstairs. They’re all gonna see this angel really isn’t such an angel.” You huff a laugh, shaking your head.

Joel kisses your forehead before standing up, reaching for your hands to help pull you up from his bed.

“Gotta show Tiffany how good you got fucked somehow, right?” Joel grins, and your jaw drops.

“Joel Miller, you petty man!” You laugh, slipping on your wings and halo once more.

But, he was right—

You totally wanted to show everyone just how good ghostface really fucked you.

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @party-hearses ; @tinygarbage ; @cool-iguana ; @bastardmandennis

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