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Skinny Chocolate Mocha Shake You won't miss the calories in this delicious cold mocha, which is made with cold brew coffee concentrate, sugar-free hot cocoa mix, soy milk, and chocolate syrup.
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Skinny Chocolate Mocha Shake Cold brew coffee concentrate, sugar-free hot cocoa mix, soy milk, and chocolate syrup make a delicious cold mocha--and you won't miss the calories.
#thing#chocolate syrup#skinny chocolate mocha shake#envelope sugar#cold mocha#cold brew coffee concentrate#calories
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Eddie Dear (Welcome Home) stimboard ✠- â° - ⟠ ✠- â° - ⟠ ✠- â° - âŸ
àŹ(à©*Ëá”Ë)à©* à©âĄâ§âË
#đ sugar life posting đ#stimboard#Welcome Home Puppet Show#Welcome Home ARG#Welcome Home#Eddie Dear#Frank Frankly#animals#animalcore#dogs#cutecore#mail#envelopes#mailboxes#cosmetics#shea butter#art#artwork#arts and crafts#coloring#markers#paper puppets#puppets#paint#paint mixing#puppies#puppycore#white#orange#yellow
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You need to give us a reason to feel proud
(I also) Felt this in my stupid bones. Also the chibi, goddammit, the chibi, I laughed like a maniac
#gintama#my art#gintama fanart#gintama redraw#gintoki sakata#felt this in my bones#i have two moods: I can't draw a chibi for my life and it's chibis all the way down#i like the new year's envelopes episode a normal amount why do you ask?#colored pencils#our sugar king
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The OfferâSalesman x Fem!Reader
summaryâ After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.
warningsâ sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.
The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.
âRough day?â a deep, smooth voice said.
You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.
âUh, yeah, you could say that,â you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.
He chuckled softly. âWell, I can help,â he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. âHow about a game?â
âA game?â You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.
He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. âDdakji,â he explained, holding up one of the tiles. âWe take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,â his smile widened. âI get to slap you.â
Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. âWhatever,â you said, your voice shaky but firm.
The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.
âNot your game, is it?â he teased after you failed again.
âNah,â you replied.
He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.
âHere,â he said, his voice low and warm. âTake my card instead.â
You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. âWhatâs this?â
âFor something bigger than a subway game,â he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, âHow about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, andâ possibilities.â
Your heart raced as you nodded.
You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.
âYouâre nervous,â he said, his lips curving into a small smile.
âNot nervous,â you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.
He chuckled, taking a step closer. âYouâre interesting. Most people I approach donât look at me the way you do.â
âAnd howâs that?â you asked, swallowing hard.
âLike youâre trying to figure me out,â he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.
âMaybe I am,â you admitted, clutching the card tightly.
âGood,â he murmured. âKeep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.â
You werenât sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldnât deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.
âYouâve got a fire in you. I like that.â His voice softened as he added, âBut you donât need to play any games to fix your problems.â
Your brow furrowed. âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean, I could take care of you,â he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. âYou wouldnât have to worry about loans, billsâanything. We could come to an arrangement.â
You blinked up at him, your heart racing. âAn arrangement?â
âYouâd be surprised what Iâm capable of.â He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. âI can take care of you in more ways than one.â
The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. âIâm down for that,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
âGood girl,â he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. âBecause I think youâve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.â
Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.
His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.
âYouâre something else,â he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.
âYouâre not so bad yourself,â you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.
He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. âThis could be the start of something very interesting.â
And boy, you couldnât help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.
âYou smell incredible,â he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. âToo good, really. Makes me wonder if youâre even real.â
Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. âI think youâre the one whoâs too good to be real,â you teased back.
âFlattery, huh? I like that. But donât think for a second I donât see through you.â His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. âYouâve been wanting this, havenât you?â
You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. âNo need to lie, sweetheart. I know.â
His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. âIs this okay?â he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.
Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. âThatâs what I thought,â he muttered.
His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldnât help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. âLook at me,â he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. âI want to see those pretty eyes.â
You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. âThatâs it,â he said, âYouâre such a good girl for me, arenât you?â
You couldnât form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. âSay it,â he murmured, his tone coaxing. âTell me.â
âYes,â you managed, your voice shaky. âYes, IâmâIâm your good girl.â
His grin widened. âThatâs my girl.â
Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldnât help but clamp around him.
When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. âCum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.â
And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.
âBeautiful,â he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. âAbsolutely beautiful.â
You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.
The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.
âYouâre addictive,â he murmured, voice rich and low. âI want to taste every part of you.â
Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. âCan I taste you?â he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.
You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. âYouâre so perfect,â he whispered, his voice soft. âAnd all mine.â
His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.
âIâve never seen anyone as stunning as you,â he said. âLet me take care of you.â
Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldnât help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. âI want to hear you,â he murmured, his voice almost a growl. âDonât hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.â
You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. âThatâs my good girl,â he said. âSo beautiful, my perfect girl.â
As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.
âYouâre incredible,â he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. âDonât forget that.â
When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âYouâre everything I need,â he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.
His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.
âRelax,â he murmured, âIâve got you, baby.â
You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. âAre you okay?â he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.
âYes,â you whispered, and he smiled.
âGood,â he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. âIâll take care of you, always.â
The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. âYouâre so perfect,â he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. âSo good for me. Taking my cock so well.â
Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. âCum on my cock,â he said, his forehead pressed to yours. âIâve got you. Just cum for me.â
You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. âThatâs it,â he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. âYouâre incredible, such a good girl for me.â
The moment lingered, but you didnât let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.
âYouâre mine,â he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. âNo one else gets you like this.â
The bedroom door swung open, and he didnât hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. âYouâre so fucking sexy,â he muttered in awe.
You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.
âThere we go,â he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. âJust like that, absolutely perfect.â
A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. âCouldnât resist,â he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. âYou look too good like this.â
He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. âYouâve got such a gorgeous body,â he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. âYou donât even realize how stunning you are, do you?â
You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, âThatâs it, bring that ass back just like that for me. Youâre so perfect.â
You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.
âFuck, youâre really enjoying this baby,â he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.
He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. âYouâre incredible,â he said, his breath brushing against your ear. âEvery single part of you fucking especially this.â He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.
He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.
âLet me hear you,â he murmured, his voice low and commanding. âCum for me.â
Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, âThatâs my good girl. Youâre incredible.â
As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.
When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. âYouâre breathtaking,â he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.
Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.
âSo,â he said casually, folding his arms, âabout those bank account details.â
You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.
âRelax,â he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. âI said Iâd take care of you, didnât I?â
#salesman x reader#the salesman#the salesman x reader#the salesman smut#the salesman squid game#salesman smut#squid game smut#squid game fanfic#squid games#squid game netflix#squid game#squid game x reader#squid game season 2#squid game fic#squid game salesman#salesman squid game#gong yoo#gong yoo x reader#squid game s2#squid game 2#netflix squid game#squid game imagine#squid game x you#squid game x y/n#squid games x reader#smut#x black reader#black reader#squid game fanart#squid game spoilers
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Bread - Chef John's Blueberry Muffins
A perfect recipe for blueberry muffins made with sour cream and extra blueberries. Great served slightly warm.
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Red Velvet Cinnamon Rolls With this recipe, you can enjoy warm cinnamon rolls and the rich flavor of red velvet cake. baking spray, 1 package red velvet cake mix, 1/2 cup unsalted butter softened, 2.5 cups all-purpose flour, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, 1 teaspoon oil or as needed, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup milk, 1 envelope active dry yeast, 1 cup powdered sugar, 1 package cream cheese softened, 1/2 cup white sugar, 3/4 cup warm milk, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, 1/2 cup warm water, 1/4 teaspoon salt
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The empty tacos. Could feed on them all night long not kidding
Pick your favorite treat from Brittas pre party snacks. I like the half eaten mini chocolate donut and what looks like ketchup
#i love food skin#like taco shells#or the wrap envelope#or the kebab envelope#i call it skin#i love it#i love carbs#love the texture of it#burrito skin too#french tacos skin#it tastes like sugar#chewy and bready but thin at the same time
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Hi idk if u have already written this if u have pls igonore but what about the first time bombshell reader calls Spencer beautiful?
fem, 1k
âGideon has a new prodigy.âÂ
Your head rises of its own accord. âYeah?âÂ
âHe's younger than you. Twenty three, I think Hotch said. Fresh out of college, two degrees and working on a third? Or maybe he was getting his doctorate? I couldn't keep up.â Morgan shakes his head in disapproval. âOvereducated and under-experienced. He failed his physicals. The ones he took, anyways.âÂ
âOoh, ouch. A baby on the team before me,â you joke with a smile. âGenius baby, but a baby.âÂ
Morgan smiles when you smile, he's too nice not to, but he picks up soon enough, crossing his arms where he's stood and wrinkling what was once a finely steamed suit jacket. âI don't know what Gideon's thinking.âÂ
âDoes anyone ever know what he's thinking? What's Hotch say about it all?âÂ
Morgan reads what you're typing from over your shoulder and corrects a mistake. One day you won't need his help, but for now you take as much of it as you can get. You're not too proud to acknowledge when you mess up, you're a realist. Super sensible (in mind if not action).Â
âHotch lets Gideon do what he wants, mostly. What can you do when he's one of the originals?â Morgan leans heavily onto his desk by the forearms and shrugs. Youâre similar in this regard; complain, move on. You're similar in other ways, too. That's why you get along.Â
âWell, I want to meet this guy,â you say. âWe'll be teammates just as soon as Strauss stops hating me. I'm one strategic boxed bouquet from a full pardon.â He laughs and touches your arm like he believes you. âIs he around?âÂ
âHere they are now.âÂ
You spin in Morgan's desk chair slowly. Jason Gideon is stalking through the office with his head in the contents of a manilla envelope, while a new face follows behind him talking a mile a minute.Â
âObviously,â you hear Gideon interrupt as they get close enough. âAgent Morgan can explain that to you. Don't overthink it, Spencer, just try to get through it.âÂ
He doesn't acknowledge you nor Morgan as he leaves Spencer and hurries up the steps leading to his and Hotch's offices. You aren't expecting much else from him. What little Gideon knows about you he doesn't like. If you ever get over the Strauss hurdle, it's him you'd have to convince next. You don't watch him cross the landing, your gaze focused on the man making his timid way toward you. Your lips part briefly, and then quirk into an overjoyed smile.Â
âOh, you're beautiful,â you say without thinking.Â
He frowns at you.Â
âReid,â Morgan interrupts, âThis is Y/N L/N. She works in the sex crimes division. As you can imagine, we get a lot of crossover.â You stand, holding out your hand. âY/N, this is Spencer Reid.âÂ
âI don't shake. Sorry.âÂ
You press your hand to your chest. âOh, that's okay. I shouldn't assumeâŠâ Your voice melds into a silkiness that has his shapely brows furrowing further, âIt's nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. You're really pretty, do you know that?âÂ
Spencer peeks at Morgan quickly, who laughs good-naturedly. âShe's serious, Reid. She's not making fun of you.âÂ
âYou'd know,â Spencer says. It isn't malicious, but it isn't exactly friendly, either.
You twist to frown at Morgan deeply. âMorgan, you're not being nice to him?âÂ
âI'm being plenty nice, sweetheart, but this is how it works. I gotta haze him a little.âÂ
âNo, you don't.â You tip your cheek toward your shoulder to look at Spencer through your lashes. âHe pretends to be worse than he is, I promise. But don't let him neg you, okay? You're smarter than he isââÂ
âHey.âÂ
ââand he's used to being the office pretty boy. It's jealousy, nothing else,â you finish. Spencer really is gorgeous now you're close enough to see his eyes. A brown like caramelised sugar tented by dark, dark eyelashes. When he smiles, the very slightest hint of teeth shows, and it makes him even prettier. You endeavour to make him smile again. âSorry if I'm coming off a little strong. It's not my intention.âÂ
âShe's just nervous. You have everything she wants,â Morgan says.Â
You sigh forlornly. âOh, doesn't he?â Spencer's confused pout is even cuter than his smile. âGetting into the BAU is about as easy as walking on water.âÂ
âFor a human,â Spencer says. âEasier if you're smaller. Like a water strider.âÂ
There's a silence. Morgan is aghast, you think. You're in love.Â
âYeah?â you ask, stars in your eyes as his own spark to life.Â
âBecause water strider's can transfer their weight, but also due to their hydrofuge hairpiles. Their microhairs.â He catches himself, measuring your expression carefully. âDid you really wanna know?âÂ
âDo you wanna get a cup of coffee and tell me about it?â you ask.Â
His lips part as yours had when you first saw him.Â
He's prevented from answering as Hotch's office door opens and the man himself walks out near the railing. âGood, youâre here. I have something to talk to you about.âÂ
You grin at him. âI'd love to chat, Agent Hotchner, but I'm getting to know your new protĂ©gĂ©.â
âI see.â He waits.Â
You would ignore him âHotch has a soft spot for you (or rather, he likes you enough to put up with you, which is more than can be said about other members of his division) and he'd shrug off your dismissalâ but you're really keen to hear what he has to say. Perhaps Strauss has changed her mind about your proposed trail basis with the team.Â
âI'm so sorry,â you say to Spencer, immediately re-dazzled by his pretty, lovely face. âIt was really nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Maybe next time you can tell me more about it.âÂ
You give Morgan a quick thank you for the help with your paperwork and trust him to log out of your emails. In your rush up the stairs, you hear a wisp of conversation.Â
âWas she messing with me?âÂ
Morgan laughs. âNo, kid. That's how she is.âÂ
"Oh... She's nice."
"You have no idea."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
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LOGAN HOWLETT 18+ thoughts bc I canât get a grip
mdni, fem!reader. 685 words
Thinking about Logan playing with you from behind:
His back to the headboard, yours to his chest â warm skin pressed to his as you lay into him. Itâs lazy, itâs comfortable. Your thighs parted loosely, bent knees resting against his straightened legs either side of you.Â
Itâs all so casual, one of his hands teasing at the fabric of your underwear, fingers extended down as he toys with you. Pad of his middle one circling your clit, working up that growing patch of wet. His other hand wrapped around your middle, palm large and warm over your stomach â holding you to him, keeping you firm to his chest.Â
Your head hangs back on his collarbone, crown of your head resting slackly against his shoulder. You feel as though youâve been run through the wringer, the minimal, inconsistent touch of where you wanted him causing you all sorts of anguish.Â
He was teasing you, every touch calculated despite its relaxed environment. Just absentmindedly playing with you through the fabric, working you up to hear those soft, breathy whines of yours he loves ever so much.
And while you thought your patience was being tested, that was not solely the case. His toying coming from a place of reluctance â like he was seeing how long he can go without sinking a couple fingers in you. It was hard, and he was growing antsy. Just like you.
So after what feels like forever of faint, featherlight pussy play, he slips his hand down the front of your underwear, his fist protruding in the thin fabric. The bow sitting on his thick wrist, the lewd view of something so dainty and pretty against something so rugged and manly was overwhelming. The feeling making you tighten on nothing. The feeling releasing an involuntary soft moan.Â
âBarely touched you yet, sugar,â he whispers behind you, voice gruff and low.Â
The grip he has around your stomach raises, his touch light as he finds himself cupping under your tits â arm wrapped securely, fingers clasping at the one on the opposite side. Breasts resting on his meaty forearm, holding them carefully.
The hand in your underwear is barely moving, his fingers resuming their prior pattern of fiddly touching. Though, this time itâs beneath the fabric, not over. He dips his two middle fingers between your lips, tips of each immediately being coated with the eager anticipation betwixt your thighs. The tapered width of his fingers parting your folds ever so obscenely.
Heâs hesitant, not because he doesnât know what heâs doing, rather, the opposite. Heâs hesitant because he knows what heâs doing. Waiting and waiting â being a tease with his hand grazing heavy against your wet cunt, the palm of his hand feeling the clamp-like, jitter motion of you beneath.Â
He reaches his middle finger downwards, the tip delving inside of you âonly up to the first knuckleâ the feel giving you a brief, momentary wave of relief.Â
Itâs not enough, so you find yourself extending a hand down to his, your fingers struggling to envelop the meat of his wrist as you push him further into your underwear. Silently, desperately asking for more.
All he can do is chuckle faintly, the deep sound amused. Heâs mean, but heâs not evil. So he gives you what you want â the full length of his middle finger, those few inches sinking inside with the greatest of ease. His ring finger easing in shortly after.
âBetter?â he asks, the question almost rhetorical. He knew it was better.
Your grip around his occupied hand loosens, and instead moves to hold onto the arm around your upper torso â fingers pawing at the muscles. You go limp, melting into him from behind, your soft, dulcet noises echoing everything he does. Each of you looking down between your thighs, watching his fingers disappear inside you, his head resting against yours as you both stare at the near pornographic view.Â
And as he begins to pump slowly inside âhooking his fingers up into all the right spotsâ you twist into him, pressing kisses into his bulging, veiny bicep. Wordlessly thanking him.
just watched dp3 again, christ
#thot#logan howlett#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett xmen#logan x reader#logan xmen#wolverine x reader#wolverine smut#wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#xmen x reader
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Red Velvet Cinnamon Rolls This recipe combines the rich taste of red velvet cake with the simple pleasures of warm cinnamon rolls.
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Recipe for Chef John's Blueberry Muffins A perfect recipe for blueberry muffins made with sour cream and extra blueberries. Great served slightly warm.
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Bestie what is your fave drink ? (Tea/coffee/energy drink) đâšđž
dr...peppy....
i dont actually like coffee, tea, NOR energy drinks
its dead ass just water or dr pepper or like sunny d because i'm apparently an 8 year old
#with tea and coffee its the taste i dont like#ive tried so amny different kidns and flavors and shit#and i just dont like any of them at all.#with energy drinks i just dont need that kind of energy#since all i drink is dr pepper it gives me the sugar rush that i need to live my life#sal speaks#thank you for the ask btw#i was real confused when i saw the notification cause im super fuckin sick atm#and i was like....... the fuck is that-? OH someone sent me n ask#dead ass forgot what the lil envelope thing was for
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Then I'll go triple the money so I have enough to give everyone!
(This fucking idiot)
#gintama#my art#gintama fanart#gintama redraw#gintoki sakata#moped#he's an idiot but he's my idiot#i like the new year's envelopes episode a normal amount why do you ask?#our sugar king
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I think my favorite thing in Marie Kondo's work is the section in The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up where she talks about branding and labels contributing to visual clutter.
She explains that if you go through the whole tidying process and still feel cluttered and anxious in your own home, one thing that might help is looking around to see how much visible text and logos there are in your home. It can make you feel like you're constantly being advertised to, which makes you less comfortable in your living space, because you're basically in a showroom.
She suggests taking labels off of packages, storing items in different containers if you can, and making sure you take every purchase out of its packaging when you bring it home.
I think about that advice a lot when capitalism starts to get to me and I feel like I'm never gonna escape. Taking all the branding and advertising off of things has genuinely helped make my home feel more like my home. Peeling labels off candles, storing envelopes neatly on a shelf in a plain box, putting flour and sugar in canisters instead of leaving them in the bags, creatively covering logos on my tech...it all helps so much. Like, goddamn, it really made me realize just how much we are constantly being advertised to even when we think we're not.
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language
first chapter >> last chapter
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Sinking into fear is the bodyâs natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldnât be one that youâd win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs. Â
It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead.Â
You canât feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.
âDonât feel so clever now, huh?â
Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries.Â
âWell?â he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. âGot anythinâ to say?â
You open your mouth but nothing comes out.
âYou a mute, girl? I know you ainât deaf since you heard Iâd been sniffinâ around lookinâ for ya. âLeast Iâm guessinâ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.â He sniffs. âTook me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldnât believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.â
You finally muster up the nerve to speak. âY-youâre making a mistake.âÂ
The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. âIâd try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyinâ just rubs me the wrong way is all.â
âNo, youâyou really donâtââÂ
He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. âNow, I know youâre a slippery little bitch, so Iâll level with you, alright?â Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. âYou make so much as a peepâso much as a fuckinâ whisperâand Iâll shoot. Wink and Iâll shoot. I am dyinâ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.â
Thereâs no point in lying. It mightâve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.
âNow get to steppinâ.â
He doesnât tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesnât so much as glance towards the door before itâs swinging shut behind you.
âRemember,â Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, ânot a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.âÂ
That kills the impulse to shout for help.Â
The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you canât see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile.Â
Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. Youâve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right.Â
The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesnât abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if heâll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him.Â
âMy husbandââ you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. ââHe canâhe can pay you.â
He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. âIâm sure heâd like to, sugar. Jus' ainât sure heâs got the cash to pay your price.â
âAt least let me askââ
At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. âWhat part of shut the fuck up donât you get?â
That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still thereâs so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why hereâwhy now?Â
The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. Itâs almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world.Â
Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, âMorning, Mrs. Priceâ before sweeping by in a hurry.Â
None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a momentâs notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death.Â
Thereâs something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isnât quite happening, like you canât quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like youâre watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesnât resonate within you as real.Â
He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. Youâre less than meat to him, less than human evenâno more than a meal ticket.Â
When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Gravesâ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning.Â
âIf you think I was kiddinâ before, just try me,â he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince.Â
Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someoneâs attention.Â
He doesnât lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy.Â
This far from the center of town, thereâs hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you canât find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then youâre alone again.Â
A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches.  When he suddenly unhands you, it doesnât click until heâs several paces away from you, running his hand down his horseâs neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt.Â
âBought the horse off a drunk three towns back,â Graves explains while loading up the horse.
You donât respond, still unsettled. Itâs the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasnât been aimed at you. It wouldnât be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your momentâa moment to scream or run away.
But you donât. You donât scream and you donât run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. Youâve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind.Â
Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you canât stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust?Â
âHow did youââ you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. âI thought youâd left town.â
âYouâdâve liked that, huh?âÂ
You donât answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun.Â
He sighs when you donât rise to the bait, almost pettish. âWedding announcement. I saw it in the paperâby then, Iâd moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethinâ about that bit in the paper about the sheriffâs wife hailing from the east coast didnât sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sureâretrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.â
You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known.Â
(âIn the paper. The county sheriff got hitchedâof course itâd be a story.â)
âTo be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.â He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. âSorta thing youâd read about in a dime novel.â
A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, youâve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin.Â
âIâm not a murderer.â
The look he gives you is withering. âSugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.â
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems.  But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out.Â
âHe deserved it,â you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest.Â
Graves doesnât even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps.Â
âHe deserved it,â you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you.Â
âThatâs not somethinâ I usually concern myself with,â he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes.Â
Youâre struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would.Â
Itâs the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt.Â
âHe wouldâveâhe wouldâve raped me otherwise. I didnât have a choice.âÂ
At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank.Â
âBetter that than whatâll happen now,â he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in.  When they do, you have to swallow back bile.
His glibness shatters whatever hope youâd had left.Â
In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency wonât lead you anywhere because it simply doesnât exist within him. Youâve known men like him beforeâthose more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You shouldâve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter.Â
There wonât be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation youâve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, heâs happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins.Â
How many times do you have to ask yourself if youâre brave enough to do something before you answer?Â
When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you.Â
âAnd here I thought youâd stopped pissinâ me off,â he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it.Â
âWhatâs the point?â you retort, nostrils flaring. âYou either kill me here or I die there.â
You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together.Â
Gravesâ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. âOh, I wonât kill you, sugar. Iâm a better shot than that.â
Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg.Â
âIâm surprised you wonât just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldnât hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?â
Thatâs been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing thatâs kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. Youâd convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldnât bend the rules for anyone, much less you.Â
But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, itâs love. Heâs proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, heâd come running.Â
Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesnât align at all with the man you know. Heâd go to hell and back for you, would rip out a manâs tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear.Â
You meet his eyes, intention set. âIâd rather just ask him.â
Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm.Â
Heâs on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat.Â
âShoulda done this before,â Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away.Â
When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest.Â
âGet your hands offââ you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight theyâre bound. âLet me go, let ME GOââ
He pulls you in close again. âDonât think I wonât tape your fuckinâ mouth shut too,â Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly.Â
âPleaseâ please donât do thisââ you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now.Â
He sighs, long suffering. âLord knows I tried to warn you.â
Despite the threat, Graves doesnât tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You donât have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it.Â
âThere,â he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. âThatâs better. Can finally hear myself think.â
The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesnât apologize for his rough handling.Â
Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified.Â
âSave your tears, sugar,â he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. âYouâll need âem for later.â
The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat.Â
Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. Heâs too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if heâs someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your handsâanything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong.Â
You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town.Â
You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun.Â
The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.
The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves wouldâve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff.Â
âYou never know with men whoâve gotten a taste of married life,â he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. âThey get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Canât be trusted to do the right thing.âÂ
Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that youâre alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man whoâd be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasnât been quite so explicit, itâs apparent in the way he doesnât offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder.Â
The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. Heâd taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didnât matter if you screamed or not. Thatâs what stays your tongue nowâthe creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight.Â
âHow much was the bounty?â you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other.Â
âNow, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ainât you collecting the reward.â
Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. Itâs not like knowing would change anything.Â
The break ends sooner than youâd hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because youâre not far enough away from town that you couldnât still be rescued. Thereâd be more of a chance of John or someone elseâone of his deputies, perhapsâcoming across you out here. But you donât have much of a choice.Â
Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush.Â
The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. Thereâs hardly a cloud in the sky now. Itâd be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. Youâre still damp from riding through the rain earlier.Â
A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place.Â
Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. Itâs impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will.Â
The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot.Â
Graves dismounts his horse about a stoneâs throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property.Â
âShit,â he remarks, sucking his teeth. âA local back in town swore a family still lived here. Donât look like anyoneâs lived here since Abraham.â
Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwellingâs vacancy. Youâve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; itâs common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores.Â
But youâve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldnât be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified.Â
You shake the story from your head. ââŠAre we spending the night here?â you ask tentatively.Â
He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. âDonât go gettinâ any ideas in that head of yours. Jusâ because a manâs gotta rest his eyes, donât mean I gotta give you a peaceful nightâs rest. No, Iâm leavinâ those hands of yours tied.â
Your hopes deflate at that.Â
He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man.Â
The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust.Â
At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You canât imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasnât tried anything untoward so farânot so much as made a licentious remarkâyou donât know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and heâll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you.Â
Itâs enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesnât try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets.Â
One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin.Â
âWell,â Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. âIâm gonna hit the hay.â
âDoâŠdo I get to sleep as well?â
He cocks a brow. âNot much I can do to stop you.â
âItâs just thatâŠâ You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you wonât be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists.Â
Graves scoffs. âYou canât think Iâll just uncuff you âcause we ainât in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.â
âYou could use rope instead?â you suggest.Â
The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons.Â
Finally, he shrugs. âAlright.â
The relief that washes over you is almost palpable.Â
He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut.Â
He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. âI donât usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Donât go tryinâ anythinâ stupid. Iâm gettinâ a good nightâs rest and so help me if you wake me upââ his eyes flash, gray going steely ââyou wonât like the consequences.â
You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat.Â
True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements.Â
You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but youâre far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you canât help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory.Â
Itâs all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that youâre gone. It isnât fair. After everything youâve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward.Â
Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle.Â
Then your eyes drop to your wrists.
The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesnât cut into you the way the metal did.Â
Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesnât snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable.Â
The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That thereâs a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.
Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as theyâll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow.Â
Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat.Â
Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm.Â
When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though.Â
You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know itâs within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out.Â
Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until youâve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet.Â
Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, itâs hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.
Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement.Â
Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Gravesâ sleeping form. He doesnât so much as shift. Itâs another beat before youâre able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel.Â
The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you. Â
The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. Youâre out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right.Â
If you had less strength, youâd fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once.Â
The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that youâre on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky.Â
Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldnât waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. Theyâve only ever led you off course.Â
The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, heâd starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on.Â
You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence.Â
âHey there, honey,â you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you arenât a threat. Its nose twitches.
Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.
âI wonât hurt you. I promise.â You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words.Â
You arenât John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.
It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door. Â
The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb.Â
Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Gravesâ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged.Â
âHey!â Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. âGet back here!â
Thereâs no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didnât exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you.Â
All you can do is run.
The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You donât have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where youâre goingâjust away from him. Youâd jump off a cliff if you came across one.Â
Heâs close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then itâs too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow.Â
You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs.Â
Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth.Â
âInsufferable bitch,â Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken.Â
Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face.Â
âPleaseââ you beg, blood dripping from your split lip.Â
âKnew I shouldnâta trusted youâconniving little cuntâcâmere now, get upââ
He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body.Â
Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you canât believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden.Â
âAh, hell, I didnât mean to do that,â he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. âAlright, sugar, one secondâIâll pop that back in.â
âNonononoââ you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words.Â
The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.
âYouâŠbastardâŠâ you gasp.Â
âWouldnâta had to do that if you hadnât run,â he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage.Â
It doesnât stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding.Â
He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. Thereâs no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods.Â
The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. Youâd rattle if someone shook you.Â
âI hate you,â you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. âRot in hell.â
Graves doesnât respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins. Â
No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that youâve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You shouldâve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon.Â
The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow.Â
Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit.Â
âGet up,â a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. âWe got places to be.â
He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he wonât let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that.Â
Thereâs no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him.Â
The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints.Â
The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. Itâs all wastelands and portents. Evil omens.Â
Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves.Â
âCheer up,â Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. âYou should be glad I didnât jusâ shoot you.â
Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing.Â
A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.
"What in the hellâ"
You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.
#this is a long one because it's 2 chapters that i didn't feel like posting separately#but they're separated on ao3 if you wanna go read there#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#john price/reader#john price x reader#price x you#john price x you
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