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sunshineangel0 · 21 days ago

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「 𐔌 . ⋮ off limits ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ 」

.・゜⤑ dbf!bang chan x reader ⤷ “I’m going to hell for this,” he mutters. — your dad couldn’t pick you up from the airport, so he sent his best friend instead. bang chan. older. broader. still single. still unfairly hot. something about it hums, something neither of you are supposed to touch. ➶wc: 1.6k ↺ tw: age gap, sexual content (explicit), unprotected sex (dont do that guys), power imbalance (father’s best friend),potential dubcon undertones (due to authority figure + age gap, even though consent is present). ⋆ a/n: culprit is THIS VIDEO that inspired me to write this. his fault. all his fault. also imagining chan as with silver streaks and experienced hands makes me ahsgzashfdjwh. btw im trying out a new layout rn? tell me how you like it!! enjoy the story hehe・。.

The first thing you see when you step out of the terminal is him.

Bang Chan. Leaning against the side of his car like a photo in motion—arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, one foot propped against the bumper. He’s broader than you remember. Hair a little messier. Tan deeper. But the same dimple shows when he smiles. And the sight of him still punches a little too low in your stomach.

You pause, blinking like maybe you’re imagining it. Like maybe this is some private fantasy you shouldn’t still be having at twenty-two.

He pushes off the car when he sees you, grin sliding lazy across his face.

“Didn’t recognize you for a second,” he says, stepping close. His voice is lower than you remember. Rougher. “You look… older.”

You arch a brow as he pulls your suitcase out of your hand with one casual tug. Like it weighs nothing. Like you weigh nothing.

“That a bad thing?”

He opens the passenger door for you, gaze flicking down your body once—quick, but not quick enough. “No,” he says. “Just dangerous.”

You pretend you didn’t hear that. Slide into the seat. Try to ignore the way the leather’s still warm from the sun.

The car smells like cedarwood and mint. Something clean but lived-in. Like him. Like his hand lotion and the gum he always used to chew when he was helping your dad in the garage.

The ride starts out quiet. The engine purrs low. Music hums under it—some soft indie playlist he probably didn’t think twice about. Outside the window, the city blurs past in streaks of concrete and light. Your legs stick slightly to the seat. His elbow brushes the edge of the console every time he shifts gears.

You glance at his hands. Big. Tanned. Veins prominent across the back like a roadmap. One of them drums against the wheel in a rhythm too steady for how fast your heart’s beating.

He glances over. “Sorry your dad bailed on pickup duty. Got called into some last-minute meeting and figured I was a decent stand-in.”

You smile. “I don’t mind.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t look away from the road. “It’s good to see you.” “You too.”

Silence settles again. But this time, it feels loaded. Stretched tight, like the air’s thinner somehow. Every little sound magnifies—the low buzz of tires, the squeak of the leather when you shift, the scratch of his nails against the steering wheel.

You tug your shorts down an inch. Not because they’re riding up—because you suddenly can’t stop thinking about how bare your legs are. How close they are to his hand on the gearshift. The console between you feels smaller than it should.

Suddenly, as if another symptom of whatever was happening to you just now, your troath started feeling dry. You reach for the water bottle in the holder. His. Cold to the touch, beads of condensation slipping down your fingers.

“Mind?” you ask, even though you’re already unscrewing the cap.

He glances, just briefly, then back to the road. “Help yourself.”

You sip, slow. Let the water hit your lips, then hold his gaze in the mirror above the dashboard. His jaw flexes. His grip tightens. You set the bottle back down, letting your fingers linger on the rim just a second too long.

“You always this quiet now?” he asks.

“Depends who I’m with.”

He laughs, but it’s short. Breathless. There’s something restrained in the way he shifts in his seat, like he’s trying not to look at you again. He pulls off the freeway and into a quieter neighborhood—trees lining the streets, golden-hour light cutting across the pavement. You know where he’s going before he says it.

“My place is closer. Figured I’d bring you by, let your dad catch up with whatever he’s buried in.”

You nod. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

But when he parks in the driveway, neither of you move. He sits back, one hand still on the wheel, the other dropping to his thigh. His chest rises slowly. He looks at you then—really looks. Not a quick glance. Not a polite check-in.

His eyes drag over your face, your neck, the way your collarbone curves beneath your shirt.

“You’ve changed,” he says, voice low.

“So have you.” He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps looking at you like he’s trying to memorize something he shouldn’t be seeing.

Then—slowly—he reaches over. Fingers brushing your cheek as he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear. His knuckles skim your skin, linger just a beat longer than necessary.

You don’t lean away. His voice, when he speaks again, is rougher. Like it’s being dragged out of him.

“You’re making it really hard to be good right now.” You whisper, “Then don’t be.”

He groans—quiet, guttural. His hand moves to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His eyes flick between your lips and your eyes like he’s still fighting something in himself. But it’s losing.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he mutters.

But his belt is already unbuckled.

And you don’t stop him. His belt clicks open, the sound sharp in the quiet space between you.

You watch his hands move with purpose—undoing the top button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow. Like he’s daring you to stop him. You don’t.

You shift in your seat, breath caught in your throat. Your thighs press together involuntarily. Everything feels too tight—your shorts, your skin, the air in the car.

He leans over, crowding your space. His hand curls around the back of your neck, warm and steady. His thumb strokes just beneath your jaw as his lips hover close.

“This is a bad idea,” he murmurs. You nod. “Yeah.”

But you still tilt your chin up to kiss him.

The second your mouths meet, something snaps. His grip tightens. His lips crush yours with weeks—months—of pent-up restraint unraveling all at once. The kiss is rough. Starved. Tongue and teeth and heat. His free hand slips under your thigh, dragging you closer across the leather seat. It squeaks under the shift of your weight.

You climb over the console without thinking, knees braced awkwardly on either side of his lap. The steering wheel digs into your back, but you don’t care. All you can feel is him—his hands on your hips, the hard line of him pressing up against you through his boxers.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he breathes against your mouth, voice low and frayed.

“Pretty sure I do,” you whisper, grinding down against him.

He swears—soft and filthy—and yanks your shirt up, lips trailing down your neck to your chest. He mouths at the swell of your breasts, biting just enough to make your breath hitch. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he pulls one cup of your bra down and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Wet heat. Tongue flicking. You cry out, hips rolling against him with no rhythm, just need.

His hand slides between your legs, cupping you over your shorts.

“Fuck,” he mutters, feeling the dampness there. “You’re soaked.”

“Do something about it.” That’s all it takes.

He pushes your shorts aside, fingers slipping under your underwear, finding your clit with maddening precision. You jerk against him, moaning quietly into his shoulder. His touch is practiced—slow circles, pressure just right. He watches you unravel like it’s the only thing in the world he wants.

“You gonna come just like this?” he asks, voice husky. “Grinding on my hand in the front seat?”

You nod, desperate. He presses two fingers inside you, and your whole body clenches.

“God, look at you,” he groans. “So fucking tight. So wet for me.”

You whimper, burying your face in his neck. His fingers move faster. The heel of his palm keeps pressure on your clit. Your thighs tremble.

It builds quick—hot and overwhelming. You fall apart in his lap, jaw slack, breath catching on a moan as you come around his fingers. He holds you through it, whispering praise into your skin, mouth brushing your ear.

When you come down, he pulls his fingers out slow and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean without breaking eye contact.

Your breath catches all over again. Then he lifts you just enough to free himself—hard, thick, flushed at the tip. You reach down to wrap your hand around him, stroking once. He hisses.

“You sure?” he asks, voice ragged. “Because if I fuck you right now, it’s not gonna be soft.”

“I don’t want soft.” That’s all the permission he needs.

He lines himself up and pulls you down in one thrust. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. He curses, low and broken.

“Gosh—so tight—fuck.”

You bounce in his lap, seat creaking beneath you, the whole car shifting with every movement. The windows fog. Your thighs slap against his. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You ride him like you’ve wanted to for years—needy, reckless, filthy. The angle is deep. Every grind hits something electric inside you. Your second orgasm sneaks up fast, faster than you expect, and you cling to him as it rips through you.

He follows with a growl, hips jerking up into yours as he spills inside you. One last thrust. Another. Then stillness. Breathless. His forehead pressed against your chest, sweat beading at his hairline.

The car is silent except for the sound of your breathing. The smell of sex hangs thick in the air.

Neither of you speaks right away. Then, voice rough, he mutters, “Your dad is going to fucking kill me.”

You laugh, breathless. “Guess we better make it worth it, then.”

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

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bewitchabyss · 4 months ago

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— THE LOVE & DEEPSPACE MLS' NSFW HEADCANONS

PAIRING(S): rafayel + sylus + xavier + zayne x afab! reader

TAGS: bathroom sex + bondage + exhibitionism + fingering + marking + mirror sex + missionary sex + oral sex (cunnilingus) + riding + rough sex + sensory play + spanking + voice play

NOTES: the new set of cards is insane and you bet i'll be whipping out oneshots for them once they drop ;) anyway the grip that these cards have on me is insane, i'm on my knees frfr 🧎‍♀️

— RAFAYEL | QI YU

oh sure, he will play nice at the beginning and let you have your way — he will let you do anything you want to him. that is, until you push him to a point where he's too riled up to sit back and pretend it does not affect him at all. that's when he will uno reverse you and put you in your place.

on some occasions, he likes holding your arms over your head and watch you squirm as he thrusts into you, completely at his mercy. other times, he enjoys the sensation of your nails scratching his back, leaving red marks across his shoulder blades. after all, it's proof that he made you feel good, right?

he lives to serve you and puts your needs first before his. he could eat you out and his dick could be throbbing and call it a night.

i assume ebb day works similar to a rut cycle, so he would get especially needy during this period. he would be rubbing himself all over you and would, quite literally, take you right there and then at his doorway the moment you walk into his studio. (have you had sex on his couch before? multiple times.)

he would always check in on you to make sure he didn't hurt you in any way. he could be biting you and leaving a whole trail of hickies down your neck, but once the high is over, he will look at your neck wide-eyed, run his fingers gently down your skin, and ask, "sorry cutie, did it hurt a lot?"

— SYLUS | QIN CHE

he is big on sensory play and particularly enjoys blindfolding you during sex. he claims it's because your senses are heightened when you are deprived of sight, but mayhaps it fuels his innate desires seeing you so helpless without being able to see. ("who's the hunter now, kitten?" he purrs as he licks your neck, eliciting a choked gasp from you.)

he particularly enjoys eating you out this way. he enjoys hearing the sounds you make when he goes down on you like this and he swears you're a lot more vocal when your sight is impaired.

when you take charge, he can be an absolute brat and enjoys teasing you to push you (and himself) to the limit. you can tie him up or spank him and he would still cock an eyebrow up, as if challenging you, "oh, was that it? we both know you can do more than that, sweetie."

there have been multiple occasions where an innocent (or is it?) shower together leads to bathroom sex. he will hoist you up with his arms and lean you against the shower wall, then push his dick inside you as you wrap your limbs around him and ask him to start moving.

he is very open to any ideas you have in the bedroom, but will draw the line at exhibitionism, because, in his words, "i'm a selfish man; i want to be the only one who sees you in that state."

— XAVIER | SHEN XINGHUI

he would 100% be into mirror sex. he would take you from the back while standing in front of a full length mirror, hand cupping your jaw and guiding your head to look at your reflection in the mirror, making you watch how you come completely undone under his touch.

he is also lowkey a freak and would be into exhibitionism, but he doesn't want to get caught (or does he?). he would fuck you with your chest pressed against the glass for the whole of linkon to see (a hundred floors up), hot breaths fanning across your ears, "do you want the whole city to see you unravel under me, hm?"

he enjoys marking you up, no matter who is in power. he enjoys leaving marks in places that are subtly visible so that 1) it's within your view when you look in the mirror and hopefully it reminds you of just how much of a space you have in his heart and 2) any good-for-nothing guy who tries making a move on you will see the mark and know that you already belong to someone else.

if you're inexperienced, he will guide your hands to the places that make him feel good. he will gently lead your hand towards his lower abdomen and whisper, "try here, honey."

he likes you being rough with him. you could be aggressively biting down on him and that would probably turn him on. ("harder, my love, i can take it," he says as you push a second digit into his twitching hole.)

— ZAYNE | LI SHEN

he is not very kinky per se, but simply enjoys being close to you. he wants his hands on you at all times, and in such moments, his lips. he wants you to know what effect you have on him and how much he needs you.

he enjoys missionary a lot. zayne is a traditional lover and wants to see your face during intimate moments like these. he wants to see your every reaction to every move he makes and wants to memorise the things that make you feel good. he is very diligent and dedicated like that.

he may or may not be into roleplay, and it doesn't matter who's in charge. he enjoys it either way, and all in all wants it to be an experience that both of you enjoy. however, he does let you initiate things first because he's afraid he might overstep some (unsaid) boundaries that you might have.

we all know he enjoys having you on his lap, riding him. there have been many a time where he has had you bounce on his dick late at night at the hospital when he has late night shifts (with the doors safely locked at zayne's behest, of course). you guys also have a rocking chair in the living room for the said riding purpose.

no matter the dynamic, he would always speak in that low, breathy voice of his (very similar to a boyfriend asmr, if you will) and it always makes you weak in the knees

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retrosabers · 3 months ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

*relationship hcs written with fem!reader in mind*

contains: a little bit of everything. some relationship fluff, a bit of angst (mentions of death and past trauma), very flirty and filthy logan, 18+ CONTENT AT THE BOTTOM. MINORS DNI (body worship, praise kink, pain kink, dirty talk to the nines.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: not me posting something for the first time in a) over a month and b) in 2025 😍😍

it’s been ROUGH in the brain and writing department for me, and this is the best i could come up with right now. i hope i can get back in my real groove soon, i miss writing real bad.

in the mean time, please enjoy my wolvie brain dump. feel free to share any of your own personal hcs in the comments or reblogs!!

GENERAL/PERSONALITY:

he’s secret tea drinker. always drinks coffee (no cream no sugar; nasty ass) in the morning but also drinks tea at night. though nothing can fully calm him down in the evening, the tea does relax him in some capacity, and logan takes whatever reprieve he can get. plus it was one of the first things you started doing together, so it’s become a part of his routine he can’t be without.

typically the first person up, and the last person in bed. you’d think logan wouldn’t be a morning person, but he’s surprisingly at ease in the early hours. as relaxed as someone like him could get, anyways.

likes to read a lot. he was in complete awe of the mansion’s library the first time he saw it. will often sneak in when no one’s around and read for an hour or two by the window if he’s got the time. when you discover he’s a secret bookworm, you start to leave a book on his desk that you think he’ll enjoy every once in a while. it’s a small gesture logan holds very near and dear to his heart.

can’t remember people’s birthdays or important dates to save his life BUT can recall something minor in a fleeting conversation from a long time ago. also remembers very random useless facts that have actually come in handy on more than one occasion.

if and when logan sleeps, he snores. so. fucking. LOUD, to the point where it can wake people up depending on how close quarters are. he denies it constantly.

likes to make sure his deodorant and cologne have the same general scent (i just know he smells like a sexy ass manly man URGH).

a lot of people hc him as a history professor but i have a hot take: gym teacher logan. not in the typical “let’s run laps and play dodgeball” way, but in the sense that he teaches the kids how to control and utilize their mutations to their advantage (with help from the rest of the xmen of course), and maybe even some light sparring to practice self defense. i personally just don’t see the history teacher thing working out because i fear he would subconsciously be reliving a LOT of trauma.

gets really anxious whenever someone is sick or injured. he’s been gravely reminded before that not everyone is indestructible like he is, and it scares him to see others get hurt in any capacity, because he’s terrified of losing them. the first time you get seriously wounded on a mission? logan damn near wears his boots down to the sole from pacing back and forth outside the medbay so much. he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he can’t focus on anything other than you. time stops for him; and won’t resume until he’s certain you’re going to be okay.

legitimately purrs like a cat if you scratch his head just the right way. he will once again deny this until the end of time, but with less resistance and a much more flushed complexion.

“whatever,” he mumbles into your stomach, while guiding your nails back to his scalp.

hates ANY music made after the year 2000, but anything before that he’s pretty keen on. he’s got his preferences for sure (a little country, some rock, and maybe a bit of bluegrass), but isn’t above admitting that a pop tune is a little catchy from time to time.

IN A RELATIONSHIP:

you better not even THINK about ever opening a door for yourself ever again because if you do he’s taking personal offense to it.

he may be a slut in the sheets but he’s a near perfect gentlemen in the streets. i’m talking walking on the outside of the sidewalk at all times, always helping you out of the car even if you don’t need it, carrying your jacket or shoes after a night out, making sure you’re obscured from view if you need to adjust a revealing top; any chivalrous boyfriend thing you can think of, and he’s done it. with suaveness, might i add.

“here honey, gimme that, i got it.”

“hold on a second sweetheart, your strap’s all twisted.”

the definition of “you fell first but he fell harder.”

makes it a point to take you on a “real date” outside the mansion once or twice a month because he knows how much you enjoy getting dressed up for different occasions. whether that be dinner, dancing (yes, if you beg hard enough he’ll go dancing with you), and maybe even a trip to the museum or planetarium.

both the big and little spoon, it depends on the day, but he’s an insane cuddler either way. a human teddy bear for you and only you. this? he won’t deny, not for a second. and he’ll tell anyone who cares to tease him about it to fuck off.

always touching you in some capacity. a gentle caress on the back of your neck, or cold palms sliding underneath your sweater, logan has no qualms about being a bit handsy.

“if your girl looked like this, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her either.”

his favorite (and yours too secretly) is a hand in the back pocket of your jeans. there’s something equally sweet and sultry about it that makes your stomach flutter every time. a slightly possessive gesture, that when coupled with a cocky smirk and a shameless squeeze, never fails to drive you wild.

you thought he was a worry wart about your safety before you were dating? it amplifies by a million when you’re together, almost to the point of annoyance because he’s adamant on not letting you out of his sight. eventually after a few arguments and a scolding from charles, you remind him that you’re perfectly capable of handling things on your own, and yes, sometimes he does need to look out for you, just in case.

SMUT:

handsy logan = body worship logan. this man will make it his life mission to appreciate every single inch of your body. he doesn’t care if you’re tangled in between sheets for hours on end. you’re not leaving the bed until you know just how much he’s smitten with every part of you.

pain kink king who will cum significantly faster if you break skin with your nails raking down arms or back. gets an immediate hard on when you slap him in the middle of a dangerously intense argument, and implores you to do it again in a dark, lust driven tone.

to make up for the fact that you can’t mark your territory, with logan’s regenerative capabilities and all, he goes above and beyond to mark his. this man leaves hickies everywhere, and i mean everywhere. your hip bones, your navel, damn near the entirety of your sternum, your neck essentially a human canvas that he gladly paints in brilliant hues of lavender.

he may be a man of few words with most, but with you? logan can never shut the fuck up about how good you make him feel.

“look at you. doin’ so good for me honey.” “y’feel like fuckin’ heaven, you know that?” “my perfect girl. made just for me.”

cannot handle when you return the favor. immediately shoves his flushed face into whatever part of your body he can find and picks up the pace. praise is another surefire way to get logan to blow his load in record time. he thinks it’s a little embarrassing but you think it’s SO HOT.

loves a good tummy bulge OOP who said that

really enjoys sex in the shower or bath. there’s an additional layer of intimacy with it that makes logan particularly warm in the chest. will often suggest round two in the bathroom so he not only has the pleasure of ruining you again, but helping gently put you back together with a tenderness reserved only for you.

the ceo of teasing. loves to watch you get all flustered and squirmy so you best believe he’s teasing the fuck out of you any chance he gets. logan’s got wandering hands and a filthy mouth and that he uses to his advantage both in and out of the bedroom.

“what if i bent you over this desk, right here right now, hm? would you like that?”

“your skirt’s real pretty baby. think it would look a lot better on the floor of my room.”

“been thinkin’ about you all day. gonna let me fuck you real good later?”

aftercare is a learning curve. he’s not completely careless the first time you have sex, but he’s not as caring and attentive as he knows he probably should be. logan was used to quick one night stands, not getting intimate with someone he had romantic feelings for. once he realizes how in-deep he is with you, he takes the time to learn the ins and outs of true aftercare.

* for more smut headcanons, check out my logan nsfw alphabet here*

thanks for reading! <3

#retrosabers #sid writes shit #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fic #logan howlett #wolverine #xmen #marvel #hugh jackman

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emilys-bangs · 5 months ago

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unspoken requests | e.p

Tags: shy!reader, fluff, established relationship, use of petnames, soft soft soft emily, severely touch starved reader, YEARN <3

Summary: In which you need affection from your girlfriend and can't find the words to ask.

Word count: 2.1k

The apartment is hush quiet. There’s still warmth to it—the silent TV blinking, the fire throwing an orange glow over the living room, lining the furniture in gilded edges. There’s warmth to it, but it’s still cold. Empty. Too much void, and not enough of your girlfriend.

You hadn’t fully realized how much Emily encompasses the apartment with her physicality, even when she’s silent. She takes up space, flows with warmth.

So even when she takes a short trip to the 7-eleven down the street, you ache.

Sitting on the couch, face tilted to the frosted window and eyes searching the streets for someone who isn’t there, you feel a ridiculous urge to bear the weight of her chin on your shoulder. The softness of her hands wrapping around your middle, her fingers cupping your sides as she’d speak into your cheek.

Your skin tingles with her phantom warmth.

“It’s ridiculous,” you say out loud, so suddenly that Sergio chirps in surprise. His furry head raises up from where it was tucked beneath his paw, the sleepy blink of his eyes making you rub a consolatory path between his ears. “Sorry, buddy.” Your voice lowers. Sergio closes his eyes on the beginnings of a purr, your nails gently scratching through his fur. “It’s stupid to miss her. Right? Totally ridiculous.” You sigh, face between your sweatpant-covered knees. “Doesn’t make sense.”

She’s only been gone—you look at the clock—12 minutes. And while you know her list of snacks is extensive, you also know the convenience store won’t hold her for long. You only wish she was here to trace herself into your skin, leave you with threads of her perfume that wind their way between the fibers of your clothes.

Sergio purrs up an engine beneath your fingers. Though his eyes are closed you scoop him up, smiling at the bemused protest he meows out.

“Cuddle me,” you demand softly, settling his slight weight on your chest, “until she’s here to do it.”

But even when Emily does come back, your ears perking at the twist of her keys in the lock, your request remains tucked firm under your tongue. Sergio is placed carefully back on the couch before you slide across the hardwood to meet her, your smile stretching as she closes the door with a low sigh.

“Hi.” You greet, hands clasped behind your back—just in case they take over without your permission and aimlessly smooth over her thick coat.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Emily intones softly. Quick as the wind that had ruffled her hair, she leans in and steals a kiss from your cheek, her lips cold. Warmth barely spreads through your skin before she’s leaning back; distance grows between the two of you too fast for your liking, the bag in her hand crinkling as she digs a hand through it. “Got you that chocolate you like.”

“Hershey’s?” Your brows raise, your question answered when Emily holds up said chocolate bar with a grin. A jittery spasm makes your breath stutter, hands unhooking from behind your back to take it. “T-Thank you. You didn’t have to,” you mumble.

“Sure I did,” she says easily. You take the bag from her hand to let her strip off her coat, though you rather wish it was your hands peeling it off. “It would’ve been mean for me to eat my snacks in front of you if you didn’t have any. Not fun, either.” Her face scrunches in a playful wink that you smile at.

She hangs her coat and turns, the hem of her sweater rising to expose a sliver of her stomach. That, coupled with her rosy, cold-bitten cheeks, coupled with the chocolate you’re still holding, makes you set the snacks on the floor and take her cheeks in hand. Your fingers tremble a little at your boldness; you curl them into the silky threads of Emily’s hair and kiss her. Not hard, but purposeful.

It takes both of you aback for a minute, before Emily’s hand cradles your jaw. She hums—pleased? surprised?—and the feeling of her lips curling up against yours turns your knees to jelly. Her other arm hooks around your waist, slipping home between the downy softness of your sweater. The weight of it brings you flush against her chest.

A blazing fire unfurls across your cheeks, boiling the blood under your skin as you lean back to shove air into your lungs.

“Thank you.” You say again. The hushed timber of your voice is breathless, filled with entirely too much gratitude over a singular Hershey bar.

Emily beams at you, her eyes sparkling. “You’re very welcome, dolcezza,” she says warmly. Her dimple winks at you, the flushed plushness of her lips pulling over her teeth. “If I’d known I’d get this reaction I would have gotten you the whole box.” Her cold knuckle traces over your cheek.

You think the heat emanating from your face could warm it right back up. You clear your throat, your eyes dropping from hers as you take her hand. It’s so icy your brows slip into a frown as you enclose it between both sets of fingers.

“You’re freezing. It must be arctic out,” you tug her to the living room, in front of the fire. You think the bag of snacks is left abandoned at the door.

“Arctic.” Emily echoes, dutifully letting herself be dragged. She kicks off her shoes at the edge of the carpet, and then you’re tugging her down to sit in front of the fireplace. You tuck your legs beneath you; she crosses hers, and when Sergio spots her and the triangle of her legs, he situates himself between them.

It’s odd to be jealous of a cat.

Swallowing it down, you focus on the hand in yours. It’s strangely soft, in spite of the guns she handles every day. Soft with short nails, their edges smooth and her knuckles an angry red. The rest of her skin is pale snow, twice as cold.

“You should’ve worn gloves,” you kiss her frigid knuckles.

Emily huffs out a laugh. You don’t feel the loving press of her gaze, too preoccupied with kissing warmth back into her skin. It takes a few minutes of massaging circles on her hand before you’re satisfied. When you reach for her other one she lets you, though you’re almost desperate for them to be wrapped around your body, bringing you into her chest.

She’s your girlfriend. It won’t be that hard to ask.

At least, it shouldn’t be.

You finally drag your eyes from the hand in your lap and look at its owner. The red in Emily’s cheeks is hidden beneath the orange glow of the fire. It reflects in her eyes, amber swirling through brown so dark it’s nearly black.

She smiles and the words crumble in your mouth.

But you really, really want a hug.

“Are you…is the rest of you cold?” you ask stiltedly. Emily cocks her head, a crease settling between her brows at your strange wording. “I mean are you still cold, is there anything I can help with? Been inside all day, I’m quite warm.” You shrug jerkily, words tumbling from your mouth with no rhyme or rhythm.

Emily smiles softly. Her lashes cast spidery shadows on her cheeks, the flutter of them enchanting as she leans in. You’re briefly breathless, trapped beneath her gaze as she crowds your space. You inhale and her perfume forms clouds in your lungs.

Your heart kicks.

“Arctic out, isn’t it?” You mumble, dropping your eyes. The warmth of Emily’s hand leaves yours; her finger sidles under your chin, oh so gently tipping it up to meet her eyes.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” you squeak.

Emily grins, honey slow and Cheshire bright. “Can you warm me up?” She asks, her voice low and dulcet. Her thumb skates along your jaw, catching your uncertain pulse.

“I guess.” You swallow. Her finger is still skimming over your pulse and god, it’s giving you away; your heart almost beats out of your chest. “Yeah, I can do that, if you’re cold.”

“I’m really cold.” She nods.

For a moment you think she’s making fun of you. Then you scan her face, taking in the firm set of her mouth and the twinkling brightness of her eyes. The way she’s looking at you is nothing short of adoring; it’s the warmth of her irises, flowing with more heat than the fire next to you, that makes you relax. She’s your girlfriend. She’s Emily—she would never make fun of you, even if it was just the two of you for miles on end.

“Well, we can’t have that,” you whisper as your arms loop around her neck, finally, finally squishing your chests together, “you’ll get sick.” The tail end of your words trail out in a sigh.

Emily’s hands find their place on your waist. She squeezes, you melt, and Sergio meows in protest and departs from her lap, leaving ample space for you. You don’t climb on top of her thighs, though; you’re more than content with slotting your head into her neck, breathing in the warmth of her.

“We definitely can’t have that.” Emily murmurs. Her voice gets muffled into your hair; she turns her head and finds your temple in a kiss. One of her hands skates up your side, finds the threads of hair at your nape. You almost purr like Sergio. “You’re right, you really are warm. Like a furnace.”

Been saving up warmth for you, you almost say. It’s not true, but sometimes you wish you could flirt with her the way she flirts with you. She constantly charms you, knocks you off your feet though you’re hers already, and from time to time you can’t help but feel the urge to do the same. Can’t help but wonder if she’d stumble over her words like you do, if her eyes would go wide and her cheeks the loveliest pink.

And when she holds you like this, you want her to stay holding on and not let go. Your brain tells you enough, let her go, but your heart yearns to get closer, burrow into her shoulder and maybe sleep there for an eternity or two. She always comes to you for affection. Maybe you could learn to do the same.

Emily’s lips find your temple again. To be fair, it’s the only place she can reach.

“Y’didnt….” You begin then trail off, embarrassment flaming your cheeks. Closing your eyes, you dig them further into Emily’s sweater and snap your mouth shut.

Her fingers comb through your hair. “Didn’t what, babe?”

A grunt-whine gets muffled into her shoulder.

“It’s stupid.”

“I’ll bet my life it’s not,” she says soothingly, her voice a comforting rumble next to your ear. “Tell me, sweetheart, what didn’t I do?”

By the time you gather the courage to voice your thoughts, your cheeks have cooled. They start heating up again when you press your tongue to the back of your teeth.

“Didn’t kiss me before you left.” You mumble in a mortified whisper. Emily wouldn’t judge you, you know—and she would never let it show if she did—but even to your ears it sounds childish. You were in the bathroom, she was already dressed, it makes sense that she’d leave with a muffled bye through the door.

It makes sense, but you still don’t like it.

Emily’s then nudging your head up again. Coercing your eyes to meet hers, manipulating you into holding her gaze as she holds your cheeks. Your stomach twists in knots, the ones you’ve now come to associate solely with her. Your Emily butterflies.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” she whispers. Distantly, you realize her hands are warm on your cheeks. But the thought dissipates, your brain classifying it as unimportant when her lips hover above yours. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Don’t say sorry,” you manage, almost dizzy with her closeness.

“But it’s such a terrible mistake.” Emily murmurs. Between each word, a feather-soft kiss is brushed on your lips. “I’d hate to do it again. You wouldn’t forgive me if I did, would you?”

A trapped bird flutters around your chest. You close your eyes, putting more weight behind your kiss when your mouth meets hers again.

“I don’t think I would.”

Emily hums and takes your lips in a proper kiss. A slow one, gentle, as if she has nothing better to do than this. She takes her time, does it thoroughly and tastes the love you feel but can’t say, her lips finally warmed to the same temperature as yours. She robs you of breath, sweetly, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When her forehead presses against yours, you spot the smallest blush under the glow of the fire.

“Neither would I.”

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi @temilyrights@moonlight-simp

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss blurb #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fic #divider by saradika

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

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Who wears the pants. || husband!John Price

[MASTERLIST]

Rating: M Words: 3.4K without the extra!! (this one got away from me, I'm sorry.) Pairing: husband!John x wife!reader CW: quick smut!, yelling mentioned, slightly dubcon (if you squint), john got angry and jealous Tags: you/your pronouns, afab!reader, smut, fingering-ish, slight exhibitionism, love bites and marks, established relationship, jealous!john price, anger mentioned, ghost's stirring the pot. Summary: John is embarrassed of the fact you 'wear the pants' in your relationship... But only after the lads come to stay over and a snarky comment from Simon, does he decide to show you what's what. a/n: my first attempt at writing smut that I wanted to post... Also Ghost/Simon is a dick in this one...

John simultaneously is and is not ashamed to say how much he loves you.

Of course, he loves you to bits, finds you the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, and would kill and die for you in a heartbeat. His love was the epitome of “If I ever were to lose you, I'd surely lose myself.”

However, he would never risk introducing you to his teammates. Not if he can avoid it. And not just because he cares about you and wants to keep you away from prying eyes, safe and sound in your family home…

More like… they don’t need to know how John purrs when you scratch his beard right beneath his chin and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. They don’t need to see how his pupils almost morph into hearts equally if he sees you in one of his shirts, or in your work clothes, or in joggers and a sweaty t-shirt, or a sexy little number, or nude…

And they especially don’t need to know that their tough-as-nails Captain figuratively rolls over and bares his neck in submission when in the presence of his wife… Or that your voice is like a goddamn foghorn making him genuinely quake in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy at Sandhurst, getting yelled at by drill sergeants…

He hasn’t left the toilet seat up in 12 years. Hasn’t tracked mud into your shared home (whose floors you had just mopped!) in 10. Hasn’t eaten the last of your snacks or used the last of the tea bags without replacing it in 6.

There is no weaponized incompetence in your home because you know John is not incompetent and you will not allow him to feign being it to make you his maid. You take care of him and your home, and you refuse to let him disrespect you in any way… And he knows better than to try.

His teammates have no idea how hopelessly in love he is with you. With the way you seize control from him in a way he allows no one else to. Not his soldiers, not the rest of his family. He’s been the ‘man’ of the house in all aspects for as long as he can remember… But that stops the moment he crosses the threshold of the front door, hangs his coat and his gear in the hall closet, and pads through the home in search of you.

He always finds you busying yourself with something or other and you beckon him close like a puppy, with a pat on the chair next to yours as you work at the dining table, or a come hither motion of the fingers as you water the plants, or reach your arms out for a hug as you stand atop a ladder halfway through repainting the accent wall in the living room. He always hugs and burrows himself in you, inhaling your scent, basking in your warmth, leaving kisses and touches in every inch of exposed skin.

He’s not embarrassed of you, he’ll gladly shout out to the world about his love for you. But he’s embarrassed by how he acts around you. Soap and Gaz would tell him he’s “whipped” if they ever knew what you do to him. So he doesn’t want them to meet you.

But he doesn’t have a choice. December 23rd, at 11 P.M., he and the lads have just touched down from a mission. The weather forecast speaks of a rainstorm and severe weather warnings extending right over Christmas… And John knows what he must do.

So disgruntled, your husband walks off to his office and calls you. In a low tone of voice, almost hushed, because he woke you up, he grumbles about the storm, about how Soap won’t be able to drive up to Scotland for Christmas, that Gaz can probably risk driving to Birmingham, but it’s still pretty unsafe, and that Ghost, as usual, was going to lock himself in his quarters on base and drink himself until he passes out…

You don’t need to be told again. You spring into action immediately. You simply reply that you’re getting up and getting the guest rooms ready, asking if one of the lads would mind getting the pull-out sofa in John’s study, and telling John to drive safe, that the roads are dangerous with the rain…

It’s midnight when you hear the front door opening, and the hall light turns on, flooding the space with a bright warm-toned yellow-ish light. “Shoes off, you lot. The missus doesn’t want water or mud inside.” He demands in a gruff tone.

As they go about unzipping coats and undoing their muddy boots, you can hear John still chastising them. “I’ll stress again: I want you on your best behaviour. No work talk, no cursing, no disrespect. The missus is doin’ you a favour.” He adds as if the poor lads are children who cannot be trusted to be polite.

Unbeknownst to you, he had already spent the whole drive over from base warning them about picking up after themselves, about being respectful to you, about putting the toilet seat down, about making their beds… reaming them out as if they were wild animals who had never once been inside a house and would break and dirty up everything they touch.

You move to stand at the step that separates the lowered entryway from the sitting room, silently observing them, arms crossed as you lean your shoulder against the wall, wearing a robe and your house slippers as you look at them.

They’re all taller than you, moving surprisingly efficiently and quietly, trying not to disturb the peaceful home too much. They’re dripping wet, probably from rushing from the car in the driveway up to the front stoop. A set of four backpacks or duffle bags are on the floor by the door, their clothes for the days they’ll spend here inside.

“Give them a break, Jonathan, you can keep bossing them around in the morning, love.” You quip and you immediately feel all their backs stiffen, four pairs of eyes glued to you.

“Hi, lovie…” John says, already crossing the small entryway to wrap his arms around your waist, dropping a deep open-mouthed kiss to your awaiting lips. Your hand touches his face, caressing his cheek over his mutton chops.

“Steamin’ Jesus, the Captain’s got taste…” You hear a voice murmur, followed by a sharp ‘ow, what was that fo’?’ which causes both you and John to look at the other soldiers. The offending man, the shortest, with a mohawk, rubs at his arm, which seems to indicate the tallest one on his left side smacked him into shutting his mouth.

You don’t need to be told who’s who to realize that it was ‘Ghost’ who smacked ‘Soap’, while ‘Gaz’ stands on Soap’s other side and shoots John an apologetic look. He told you everything about them, without ever revealing names or pictures, for you to know more about them than you should. John himself as his lips pressed together, his mouth nearly disappearing behind his mustache, as he glares at the lads (aka Soap) for making comments about you.

You quickly approach the three men. “You must be the lads my husband talks so much about!” You say with a chuckle. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the men responsible for bringing my John home in one piece every time…” You tell them gratefully while shaking each of their hands with two of your own, your eyes shining a bit.

“Please, come in!” You gesture behind you into the home as you flick the sitting room lights on. “John, will you show them their rooms while I put the kettle on?” You ask your husband as you slink into the kitchen.

A few muffled footsteps, created by socked feet, are heard as they walk inside, with John directing the boys to the different bedrooms (and study), and you hear a gruff voice murmur something about taking the pull-out sofa. You assume it’s Ghost.

Your husband then comes to hug you around the waist as you wait for the water to boil, dropping kisses to your temple and cheek, doting on you while his big, calloused hands squeeze at every part of you, your thighs, especially, but your tummy as well, along with gentle words. “I missed you so much, lovie…” “Thank you for doing this…” “You know, I can never sleep right without you in my arms…” “Just missed you so much…”

Five minutes later, you hear their steps coming back as you’re finishing pouring the water into a few separate mugs. Your husband dislodges his arms from around you. He doesn’t need the others to see he’s so crazy about you.

“Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Price.” Gaz says as you set the tea mugs, the sugar, and the milk within their reach on the island counter. He takes one of the mugs and tops it off with some milk. The way the young boy calls you ‘Mrs. Price’ has nothing if not respect dripping from it.

It makes you tingle on the inside, even after so many years, the realization that you’re John’s wife, John’s choice, John’s priority. Your husband preens himself a bit when he catches the look in your eye. He loves that you’re his, of course, but loves it even more that you like being his.

“Thank you, Gaz. I’m glad you like it.” You remark with a smile as you sip your own tea. Herbal, different from theirs, so you can resume your sleep which John interrupted with his phone call.

“Aye, real cosy!” Soap quips from beside him as he slides up to a stool on the island. He doesn’t drink tea, so you didn’t prepare any, per John’s request.

“I hope the beds are to your liking… I kinda made them in a hurry.” You quip, which causes the boys, and your husband, to laugh, as they seat themselves across from you, in the bar stools. You barely even noticed Ghost taking the last cuppa and sliding up next to Johnny, his mask rolled up just enough to allow him to drink.

“We’re soldiers, ma’am, we’ll sleep anywhere,” Gaz told you, ever polite, with a sweet smile on his lips. John has told you all about Gaz, his protegé, of sorts, a respectful lad, the youngest, but one that has proved himself to be useful.

Your eyes flitter over to John for a moment, watching as he drinks his tea, two fingers laced through the handle of his navy blue mug, rather than around him, his behind leaning back on the counter beside you. While doing that, however, you miss the glances the lads exchange with each other, and then to you.

“As true as that might be…” You trail off after sipping your tea and look back at the soldiers again. “I still hope you have some good rest. And, I’m sorry about the pull-out sofa… it’s a bit old, came from John’s old apartment… Has gotta be a decade old now.” You quip as you look toward Ghost.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep fine.” Ghost says. “Like Gaz said, we can sleep wherever.” He adds.

Soap nods along. “Anything’s better than sleeping on the ground with your rifle between your legs and your jacket folded up to serve as an eyemask.” He adds and laughs.

“Johnny.” Your husband calls out, chastising him. “No work talk.”

“Aw, c’mon, Captain, that hardly counts as work talk.” He retorts with a little boyish grin.

“Them’s the rules. No bloody talk about service.” John insists.

“John.” You scold him, and your husband stiffens next to you, his eyes flittering over to you, eyebrows scrunched and his eyes softened as he meets your eye… nothing short of a puppy.

It was stronger than John at this point, to respond to your tone of voice with nothing but a baring of his neck, not a baring of his teeth like he would with anyone else. The boys all noticed it, the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes looked at you with utter devotion.

“Let the boys talk about work. As long as it’s nothin’ too gory or confidential…” You trail off. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy ‘earing all the stories they have to tell about you at work... Right, lads?” You ask as you look at them again.

“Oh, we’ve got stories alright.” Soap says with a giggle and a wagging of his brows, which causes Gaz and Ghost to snicker under his breath.

“Well, then, regale me with them during Christmas dinner, ye?” You ask them, to which they nod along with smiles. You could swear even Ghost had one in the corner of his scarred lips.

After a bit more small talk, you kissed John goodnight, while he told you he’d stay downstairs and talk with the lads a little longer, so you waved at them while trekking your way upstairs, the boys once more thanking you for the hospitality.

The moment John’s trained ears honed into the fact the bedroom door has closed, he finishes his tea and glares at the lads.

“Don’t be bloody flirtin’ with my wife.” He tells Soap directly, though his comment extends to Gaz and Ghost as well, which is why he glances to both sides at the other two.

“Sir?” Gaz asks while blinking.

“You ‘eard me, Garrick.” He adds and points a finger at the young Sergeant.

“We’re not flirtin’, sir.” Soap tries to defend himself.

“Aw, that’s rich that there, MacTavish, yeah.” Your husband says bluntly.

“Weren’t flirting.” Ghost retorts as he looks at John. “I was more so interested in the way she has your balls in her little purse.” He adds.

Both Soap and Gaz turn to look at Ghost with eyes so wide you’d think he just tried to kill the Captain directly… and he might as well have, the way John choked on nothing and started coughing up a lung.

The other two are trying to muffle their chuckles and hide their smirks as Simon continues. “Don’t give me that look, boss. We all saw it. Pretty thing might as well be walking you around on a lead.”

“Nonsense.” John says defensively as he snatches the cups of tea from the island and turns to deposit them all in the kitchen sink. He starts washing them quickly, shoulders stiffened.

“Bunk down.” John demands. “We’ve got plenty to do tomorrow.” He adds. The light screeching of bar stools being pulled back and pushed back into place is heard, as the boys vacate the kitchen with curt ‘Goodnight, sir’ murmured before they headed upstairs as well.

“Balls in her bloody purse, my arse.” John grumbles under his voice as he finishes doing the dishes, drying his hands, and then setting them on the island across from him, head hung in shame.

He knows Simon’s right. Hell, he revels in the fact you’ve got metaphorical balls of steel to confront him, to steal control right from under him, to wear the pants in the relationship. Lord knows it took him years to meet a woman who could not only keep up with him but put him in his place…

So why does it embarrass him so to hear them snicker at that fact? Why does it annoy him to look weak for you in front of his men? Why does it anger him that he loves to be weak for you?

Those are the thoughts in his head as he turns off the sitting room and kitchen lights and marches upstairs... And as he approaches your bedside in the dark, pulling the covers out from atop of you, exposing your body to him.

Under that robe you came to welcome them in, you were only wearing one of his t-shirts and no pants whatsoever, which he had peeped by the way your bare legs had shown through the slit between the two sides of the fabric whenever you walked.

“John?�� You ask him in surprise, his breath is a bit ragged, more so huffing like a bull through his nose, as he grabs you and pulls you up into his arms, only to drop you on the bed further in the middle of the bed.

The giggle that escaped you when he did so annoyed him even more. He’s angry, pissed that he had been humiliated in front of his men, that you had humiliated him by merely existing and going about your relationship with him the way you always did…

So why are you giggling? Is he really that weak for you that you’ve grown to not fear his anger?

He grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up and over your head, tossing it to the side before he attacks your neck with nothing but kisses and bites, his hands touching your naked body, rough skin dragging over every inch of the softness he has left on display.

“John!” You giggle some more as he keeps touching and kissing you, his body weighing down on yours, your legs parted to accommodate him. “We can’t… We have guests!” You try to negotiate as his fingers dig into the pudge of your thighs and slide around to grip a greedy handful of your ass.

You still haven’t spotted the anger in him… And, as such, your playful attempts at negotiating postponing sex only annoy him more. You’re still trying to call the shots…

His left hand wraps around your face, quieting you with a strong palm holding your lips, his fingers digging into your jaw on either side. “You’re mine.” That’s all he says as his fingers continue exploring your body.

“You think you can embarrass me like that in front of the blokes?” He asks you in a whisper as his teeth catch your earlobe and suck and bite at it. “Hm?” He beckons, his tone aggressive. “Make me look like a big girl’s blouse in front of my subordinates?” He continues.

A shiver runs down your spine as his free hand wraps around the waistband of your underwear and yanks it off, down your legs, tossing them to a random spot, barely giving you time to react before his fingers drag up your thigh.

“You think you’re oh-so-box-clever, innit?” He asks you as his fingers slowly drag across your slit, finding your clit effortlessly, years of practice aiding in his torturing of you. You find yourself moaning and sighing against his hand, hips stuttering a bit, your feet looking for a perch at the edge of the bed so you can rub yourself into his hand.

“Walking around in just my shirt and those knickers and stupid bloody robe, making my boys see how lucky I am to have you, make them jealous… Only to embarrass me, make me look weak…” He trails off and tuts loudly, his tongue clicking disdainfully.

The things he’s saying make no sense to you. You didn’t try to seduce his friends, and you sure as hell didn’t try to embarrass him! It’s just the way you always act around him, around the house. He’s never complained, in fact, he’s praised you plenty of times for being ‘perfect’ for him… So where did this change of his come from?

Frankly, you don’t know, but you don’t care… It has been weeks since you were last together, sure, but you know that’s not the main reason why you’re loving this. The unbridled rage in his voice, combined with the way his experienced fingers touch your body, is making you feel things John’s never made you feel before. Your mind is clear of nothing if not a pang of hunger for him, your hands gently pawing at his shoulders atop his charcoal grey t-shirt, soft whimpers muffled by the hard palm pressing you into silence, into submission.

“I’m afraid I’ve let you gone unchecked for too long, lovie...” He grunts in your ear as his fingers draw circles against your clit, the rough pads catching at the throbbing bud, making you whine and whimper, your whole body shuddering against him. “I’m going to fix that attitude of yours...” He clicks his tongue again, sounding all the more annoyed.

“Now you’re going to be good f’r me…” He says as he uncovers your mouth, his hand, wet with saliva, slipping from atop your mouth to grab your wrists and pin them above your head, flush to the mattress. “And make the lads know exactly who’s in charge in here. Clear their doubts...”

[MASTERLIST]

extra: 500 words-ish

The next morning, you wake up before John, as usually tends to happen when he comes back from a mission. The silence and lack of stress, the warmth of you in his arms, the cosy atmosphere of the house… It’s all the perfect sedative to keep him as good as dead for many, many hours. You slip out of his embrace and check the clock… it was just past 9 A.M. You pad quietly to the hall bathroom after fishing out a change of clothes from the wardrobe, and rinse off the sweat from the night before, as well as the dried slick and cum between your thighs. You’re still unstable on your feet, your thighs and the space between them deliciously sore, your body covered in marks of the night you spent in your husband’s arms… You feel like you’re floating as you drift downstairs and into the kitchen… “Fuckin’ hell!” You jump, startled. In your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea is Ghost… You think. The height seems about right, though you didn’t expect a broad-shoulder, bare-chested blond in your kitchen. “Good morning.” You say softly as you shuffle inside, hearing him return that same greeting in a way-too-deep of a voice, standard of man who’s just woken up. “Go put a shirt on, this isn’t the beach.” You scold him, as you open the fridge, looking for the eggs. Your voice is as fierce as it usually tends to be with John. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him, noticing his mask is missing. You assume John scolded him about it, how you’d likely be startled by seeing a masked man in the night. The look in Ghost’s eyes is unreadable, stern, unwavering, and eerily calm, as if he’s seeing through you. They flit over you, up and down, with a certain glint you can’t quite decipher. You straighten your back in the face of his look, portraying nothing if not confidence. Ghost leans against the counter, one hand holding his tea cup and sipping from it, the other resting on the counter to support his weight, before one of his eyebrows shoots up. “Nice night, huh?” He asks you and, immediately, you feel your entire confidence bleed out of you, your eyes widening like saucers. Of course he heard it… You’re sure all the lads heard you, especially considering John and you started right as they had gotten to their respective rooms to sleep, all of which were located in the same hallway as the master bedroom… It’d surprise you if they hadn’t… Hell, it’d surprise you if the neighbors across the way didn’t! The way John had you last night, crying out his name at the top of his lungs and making you apologise repeatedly for something you didn’t even do (on purpose) definitely leaked through the walls… Just like the shame you currently feel leaks through your pores. You turn away to fix your eyes on the fridge, too embarrassed to face him again after realizing he knows. Your brain rushes to find something to distract you, to hide what you feel… “Are you hungry?” You end up asking softly.

#ikea writes 💚#captain john price #john price x reader #price x you #husband john price #cod fic #cod modern warfare #captain price #task force 141 #masterlist #cod smut

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redr0sewrites · 1 year ago

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How would the hsr characters react to an afab!reader obsessed with their hands...

🥀Cw : nsfw, heavy smut, fingering, hand kink, reader is afab

🥀 Pairing(s) : Blade x reader, Kafka x reader, Luocha x reader, Sampo x reader

Blade:

blade's hands are rough, and he has plenty of scars littered across the pale skin

i also think that they're always super cold, and its extra stimulating when his hands are freezing against your warm skin

his hands are deliciously big and veniny as well, and his fingers are long and slender. he knows what to do with them, and his long fingers always reach so deep inside you and curl so well...

while his hands are pale, his knuckles and joints have a slight blush to them and are pinker than the rest of his hand

blade has some callouses on his palms from always handling his sword, along with thin white scars across his knuckles and larger, longer scars on his wrists and lower arms

hes the type to go slow when fingering you as his hands are so large and rough; he would never want to hurt you but his thick fingers feel so damn good inside of your sloppy cunt-

you flinched subconsciously as Blade's hand gently stroked the fluttering lips of your pussy, the freezing temperature of his fingers making you tremble as he teased you. two fingers spread your folds and he stares, mesmerized by the wetness of your dripping cunt. he gently rubs over your slit, so, so close to your fluttering hole. you clench around nothing, bucking upwards as his free hand gently holds your thighs. "be patient", he whispers huskily, "you'll get what you deserve".

Kafka:

kafka's hands are slim and fair with long, nimble fingers and sharp pointed nails. she is big on self care and keeps her hands very well-maintained, she never has any dry skin or cuts and always wears gloves on missions

her naaillllsssssssss

theyre so sharp, and they're always painted a seductive red or pink

she keeps her cuticles well maintained and always trims her nails if they get in the way of her work, but they're definitely long enough to trace and claw your sensitive skin...

kafka often trails her hands down your abdomen towards your core before even touching you, she always giggles when goosebumps rise in the wake of her nails as she scratches thin lines into your trembling stomach

"so sensitive..." Kafka purrs, circling her thumb over your clit in tight circles and watching as you squirm beneath her. "i haven't even gone inside yet and you're already whimpering.. what a slut", Kafka crooned, pressing onto your pearl as she scratched thin lines down your thigh with her free hand. you let out a needy whine, she had been toying with you for what felt like hours, and she had barely touched you. "p-please-" you were silenced by Kafka's fingers in your mouth. her free hand still circled over your twitching, puffy clit, watching as your hips involuntarily humbed against her hand. "hmm, how greedy. you will take what i give you, won't you, bunny?"

Luocha:

luocha takes very good care of his hands, he always has lotion and cream on him and cleans beneath his nails at the end of each day

speaking of his nails, luocha always files his nails and keeps them smooth and short. he does this for both of your sakes', partially for cleanliness and also for your comfort when hes fingering you

he is another one with slender hands, and he has very boney fingers with exaggerated knuckles

i feel like his hands are slightly shaky but still very strong

luocha always fingers you with intensity and the intention of giving you pleasure, and his hands are very skilled

i also think he has a few beauty marks on his hands and wrists that are lovely to admire

"relax," Luocha whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he curled his fingers inside of you. a needy mewl escaped your lips as you grinded against his skilled fingers, your puffy clit sloppily riding the heel of his hand as your legs trembled. Luocha's other hand came to rest on your inner thigh, gently reopening your legs as your cunt squeezed his fingers. he slipped in a third finger and you sobbed, pretty tears streaming down your cheeks. "Lu- m'close-" you whined, and a grin spread on his face. "go on then, darling, let go f'me".

Sampo:

Sampo's hands are especially nimble and swift, he is a thief after all, and his hands resemble pianists hands

they're very veiny, but each finger is thick and flexible

hes got large palms as well, hes DEF the type to compare hands with you

Sampo has nice nails too, they're a boxy shape and he keeps them short but not super short

like they're trimmed but they have the tiniest bit of length to them just for the sake of fashion

sampo has insanely steady hands, its a good trait to have as a thief and their steadiness applies to sex as well

hes also a major tease, he KNOWS how much you like his hands and will sometimes purposefully tease you by taking his gloves off with his teeth or "innocently" stroking your inner thigh...

"ya really do like this, huh?" Sampo smirked, toying with your cunt and gently running his fingers through your folds to gather your slick on his fingers. "suck," he commanded, bringing the pads of his fingers up to your tongue, watching as your own arousal dripped into your mouth. your lips pursed around his boney fingers and he suddenly pushed them in deeper, making you gag and whine. Sampo snickered, pulling his spit-soaked hand away form your mouth. "y're gonna have to work for it, poor sampo here is so tired, i don't think i can fuck my pretty doll's cunt all alone..." he sneered, bringing his hand down and shoving three fingers into your needy pussy. "now, get off on my fingers on your own, or you're not coming at all tonight".

HEY YALL! finally another hsr post lmao- i promise im working on reqs but i NEEDED to get this out of my brain. hope u enjoyed!!

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tehrevving · 30 days ago

Text

Dante Takes You Home From The Bar

You couldn’t not notice him at the bar. He was older, effortlessly attractive, drinking whisky and acting like he didn’t really want to be here. His form was obscured by a large red coat, but every time he shifted on the bar stool you could tell he was in good shape. Large, veiny forearms rippled from pulled up sleeves and his broad shoulders flexed each time he took a drink. You were bored of the young and sleazy crowd that tended to approach you, and you wanted a bit of a change. He seemed perfect.

You sat down next to him, putting your hand softly on his leg while you pretended to struggle to keep your balance on your own bar stool. It was barely 20 minutes before you were laughing at each other's jokes, until he had an arm carelessly slung around your shoulders pulling you slightly to his chest. He seemed slightly apprehensive to your touch, but also leaned into it, he must be pretty touch starved, and that excited you.

You asked him to dance, this place was just a bar, not really a club, but the music was decent and the small dance floor had tiny crowd of drunk people making out in the middle of it. He refused a few times but eventually you were able to pull him to the dance floor.

He was incredibly receptive and pulled you to his body with his hands on your waist as you wrapped your own around his shoulders. He leant down for you and you eagerly met him for a kiss. Soon you were making out on the dance floor, well, more grinding than dancing.

His hands were underneath your ass, groping and pulling you up and against his chest so he didn’t have to lean down so far to kiss you. His stubble tickled at your jaw and when you pulled on the ends of his long, shaggy hair just to test the waters he practically growled against your lips.

He pulled away from you, almost panting for air and adjusted you against his hips until with a slight moan, and you felt something very hard and hot to the touch pressing against your core.

Suddenly the grinding and making out was much more intense. Your hands wandered on his body, squeezing at his broad chest and scratching nails against his waist. You slipped a hand between your hips and gave a long - actually very long, wow - slow stroke against his crotch.

“Damn,” you shuddered and he smirked down at you, “take me home cowboy.” He grinned and within moments was leading you out the front of the bar.

He brought you to a very custom looking motorcycle, pulled out a helmet from somewhere and put it on your head. He did the chin strap for you, slowly trailing large, gloved fingers across your neck.

He helped you up and onto the bike, making sure your arms were wrapped snug around his waist. “Hold on tight Babe,” he laughed and then pulled out of the parking lot.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you figured it probably wouldn’t be too far. The air rushing against your skin felt amazing as he smoothly sped through the streets. The purr of the engine underneath you was strong, really strong and you slightly adjusted your hips against the seat until the vibrations sent surges of pleasure through your body.

It wasn’t long until you were playing with the bottom of his shirt, the buckle of his belt. It wasn’t long until you were palming at the hard fucking outline of his dick through his pants. You could feel his body tensing with each touch, feel the bike swerve slightly on the road.

Admittedly it took a while but you trailed fingers across the clothed head of his cock and his hips bucked as he ran a red light. You could feel vibrations through his chest of him saying something, but you couldn’t make it out. It was probably a warning but you didn’t care, you took it as encouragement instead and kept doing it.

You followed up with a buck of your own hips, and a short groan at the vibrations of the bike. By the time you finally pulled up in front of a decrepit looking building his chest was vibrating against your palm in practically a purr, the sound almost as loud as the bike engine as his cock throbbed underneath your other palm.

After about ten minutes of him swearing and fumbling with the key while you fondled his ass, the two of you finally made it inside. He pushed you against the closed door, towered over you with a hungry and feral look on his face. He picked you up with one hand and pressed you further back against the door, slotting your hips together until the big bulge at his crotch was pressed against your own hot core, sensitive from the ride home. His tongue is almost down your throat, his kisses desperate and you tug on his hair once more. He moans, his hands dig into your ass and he tells you to do it again. Somehow you end up with his lips on your neck while his teeth press against the heavy beat of your pulse.

It’s not long until you both somehow make up upstairs to his bedroom and you’re both trying to take your own, and each other’s clothes off with a desperation that makes it nearly impossible. His shirt ends up flung across the room, and you’re immediately clawing your nails down the front of his broad chest.

He takes your hands in his much larger ones and stops your movements. “We have to slow down a little bit,” he says to you when you whine.

You take your hands from his grasp and then remove your shirt as quickly as you can. His eyes immediately move to your chest as he’s distracted by the swell of your breasts.

He wolf whistles and then shakes his head. “There’s some stuff I have to tell you, show you, before we keep going.”

You nod.

“One, well I’m really going to struggle to not be rough with you. I’m strong and it’s hard to control and I really want you.”

You smile, “oh I like it rough. I hope you can deliver”

He just shuts his eyes and moans and then starts to speak again, visibly flustered. “Second, well umm. My dick sometimes ….. All the time. Scares people off.”

You pounce on him. Yeah the bulge in his pants was big, but you didn’t think it was ridiculous. You undo his pants as quickly as you can, pulling out a very thick, very long and very swollen cock. It’s big, maybe the size of your forearm, throbbing visibly and coloured dark. Yeah it’s big, but you can handle it, you’ve got a toy that’s just about the same size. He’s looking down at you with embarrassment, longing, lots of things and you don’t say anything, simply stroking it a few times with your fingers before leaning down and taking the tip of it between your lips.

He swears lowly, a sinful, ‘fuck,’ escaping from his lips and then you find yourself flat on your back, suddenly and inexplicably naked with a very hungry and very feral man towering over you.

You pull him down for another rough kiss and the movement presses your hips together until you can feel the throbbing heat of him at your core. He swears and adjusts his weight until his large fingers are toying with your clit and teasing at your entrance.

You rake your nails down his back and call his name as he slowly pushes them inside. You’re dripping wet and sensitive and they slide in easily. He fucks you with his fingers, he’s not gentle but he’s not too rough either. He stretches you open while you claw at his chest and bite at his neck. You’re not sure how many of his big fingers are inside of you, but you’re bucking your hips with each jolt of pleasure, tightening around him as he swears and moans.

He pulls away and you whine at the loss. He shushes and coos at you as the heat of his body leaves you for a moment. He rummages through his bedside drawers and pulls out and puts on a condom with a speed that you’ve never seen before.

Then he’s sliding inside of you, groaning and swearing and praising you while you dig your nails into his shoulders to help with the burn and stretch.

There’s disbelief on his face when he bottoms out inside you, when you take all of him in. He murmurs your name like a prayer and begs for you to let him be rough with you.

You tell him to break you in half.

What follows is the roughest, most incredible sex of your life. His big hands are everywhere while your own spur him on. Your teeth dig into his muscular shoulders, into his throat as his hips slam into your own. His hands are on your ass so he can get more leverage, he’s practically picking you up with one hand so he can use you. The slapping of skin on skin is impossibly loud in the room, your skin sticky with sweat.

He groans as you beg for him to go harder, faster as his bed frame slams against the wall over and over again. The sound of your cries fill the air and he reaches down to press a thumb against your clit because he just can’t fucking take it anymore.

You come around his cock with a scream as he swears and bites down hard on your shoulder. He pushes his cock all the way inside you while he grunts through a release so strong that you can feel each heavy pulse of his cock deep inside you.

He falls on top of you, heavy and sweaty but you’re too exhausted to care. He offers for you to stay the night because and you’re sure it’s only because he feels guilty that you practically limped your way to his bathroom to clean up afterwards.

It’s not awkward as he pulls you against his warm chest underneath the covers. The soft sound of his breathing is comforting and as you find yourself falling asleep you wonder if you’ll be able to convince him to go another round in the morning.

#dante #dante sparda #DMC #devil may cry #Dante x reader #Dante x you

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missaengg · 6 months ago

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Servicing Lord Sukuna

Day 31 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Jujutsu Kaisen | Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, pwp, Lord Sukuna, servant reader, Sukuna has two cocks, p in v sex, anal sex Prompts: Non-human characters/traits A/N: Part 2 to Massaging Lord Sukuna found here! ao3 link here.

“I won’t be done with you until morning.”

You freeze, Lord Sukuna’s hand still gripped around your arm, the feeling of his breath still hot on your ear. His eyes bore into you, pinning you in place with their sheer intensity, and he grins dangerously. You swallow thickly. His expression is reminiscent of a predator who’s cornered its prey, and there’s no mistaking the ravenous hunger darkening his gaze. He is the hungry predator, and you are his helpless prey.

You’ve heard Lord Sukuna eats humans as all Curses did, but surely the King of Curses wouldn’t eat his own servants? Would he?

It isn’t fair. You’ve pleased your Lord. He’s praised your efforts, but he’s staring at you as if he wants to devour you whole, and while some of the servants under his rule have disappeared without a trace, it can’t possibly be because he’s eaten them… Can it?

“M–m–my lord?!” you sputter.

“Tell me, little one. You’ve never been with a man before, have you?”

What does having been with a man matter when it comes to how you’ll taste? Unless…

“No– No, my Lord.” You throw your shaking body to the ground because maybe… maybe if you remain compliant, he’ll spare your life.

Sukuna hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, and before you can stop them, they’re spilling down your cheeks.

“Plea— Please don’t eat me, my Lord,” you plead. “I’ll do– do better– I’ll work twi– twice as hard– I’ll–”

You’re babbling, begging him to reconsider because you know you can be an asset to your Lord if he’ll just give you a second chance, if he’ll just allow you to prove your worth.

“Hm?” Sukuna frowns and then breaks into raucous laughter as if he’s amused by your frantic prostrating. “Oh, I plan to devour you, brat. But not in the way you think.”

You gape at your Lord. You don’t understand what he’s saying. Is there more than one way to devour a human being?

“Your clothes have gotten quite soiled, little one. So unfitting for your King,” he purrs, his voice low and silky.

Lord Sukuna traces the outline of where your yukata parts, his long, sharp nails lightly scratching the skin underneath – his nails are so deadly, it would be more appropriate to call them claws. You should feel frightened by how they’re one whim away from gouging your delicate human flesh, but instead you shiver, the sparks flying in their wake confounding, yet thrilling.

“Be a good girl and strip,” he commands.

Oh, he doesn’t mean devour as in food, but devour as in…

Your cheeks burn, the meaning of his words finally dawning on you. You’re relieved you won’t be losing your life, but also embarrassed because how naive and silly Lord Sukuna must think you are…

“Forgive me, my Lord.” You scramble to remove your clothing, peeling off your drenched yukata as well as your underclothes and kneel before him as bare as the day you were born.

“Good girl.” Lord Sukuna gestures for you to join him. “Come here.”

You crawl to where Lord Sukuna lounges upon his futon following his beckoning hand until you’re seated on his lap. Something firm is nestled beneath you, and you realize with a start that it’s Lord Sukuna’s erection, still solid despite bringing him to climax just moments ago.

“Do you still wish to please your Lord?” he coos into your ear.

“Yes, my Lord,” you whisper.

“Good.”

His arm snakes around your waist, pressing you close into his impressive chest, and before you can process what’s happening, his searing lips are brutally crushing yours with a demanding ferocity. You gasp in surprise, and as your lips part, his tongue darts in, entwining harshly with your tongue, almost as if he’s trying to swallow you whole.

There’s nothing gentle about his kiss. You always assumed your first kiss would be tender, yet passionate like in the stories, but his bruising lips feel even better than any kiss you’ve previously imagined.

He holds you so tightly you can barely breathe, what little air you can suck in being stolen by his greedy inhales, and you burn in his embrace. His body is scorching, and you find yourself lost in his blistering heat, ravaged by the flickering flames.

His hand squeezes your breast, his fingers pinching your pert nipple, and you jolt, sparks tingling from where he’s pinching and prodding your heaving chest. You barely notice his lips leaving yours and moving down your neck so consumed by the delicious ministrations of his hands, you’re shocked when he bites down without warning.

You yelp. It stings where his teeth have viciously sunk in, but you find yourself relishing the pain, growing even more feverish from the radiating pain. Lord Sukuna soothes the mark with his tongue only to bite down again, leaving yet another blemish on the canvas of your skin.

He repeats himself, biting and soothing, locking you in a cycle of pain and pleasure. While you’ve never been one to associate one with the other, the combination has you losing your mind, and you pathetically whimper, putty in his roaming hands.

Lord Sukuna chuckles, the throaty vibrations sultry and smooth rumbling through his broad chest and rippling through your flushed body. “You like being marked by your Lord?”

“Y–yes,” you whisper, clinging to his shoulders.

You’ve lost count of how many times your Lord has sunk his teeth into your flesh, the swirl of affliction and bliss melding together until you can’t decipher one from the other.

Something swells beneath you, the hard tip of which pokes between your cheeks, and an involuntary gasp leaves your lips because it can only be one thing. Lord Sukuna’s… member is already so big, it can’t possibly get any bigger! You can’t imagine how he’d fit as it is!

“M–my Lord?”

Lord Sukuna pauses from biting your shoulder, noting the questioning fear wavering in your eyes. He smirks diabolically, clearly entertained. “Did you not know I had a second cock?”

His second…? You gasp again, your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide. What does he mean two? You barely know what to do with the one!

Lord Sukuna shifts, hauling you off his lap until the tips of both his monstrous cocks are positioned by both of your entrances. “Such a good brat, so wet for your Lord.” He’s sneering at you, delighting in your innocent distress.

You look straight into his devilish eyes, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. He’s so massive you’re certain he’ll break you in two when he enters, but you know you have to try. You have to try for your Lord.

“I will do whatever it takes to please you, my Lord,” you say in a shaky whisper.

Lord Sukuna hums in satisfaction, and both his appendages are pushing into you before you can blink. You almost faint, tears welling in your eyes. A strangled cry rips from your throat.

While your cunt sucks him in, your ass struggles to reject him, the muscles clenching securely together around the head. Lord Sukuna hisses, but he savagely drives in, bullying his thick second cock through the puckered opening until both of his cocks are nestled deep in your abdomen.

You cry – fat, heavy tears rolling down your spluttering cheeks and splashing on your Lord’s torso. You feel as though you’re being ripped apart, stretched to your absolute limits. You’re fluttering around both of his shafts, and you hear your Lord groan, his grip on your hips digging in until his nails have drawn blood.

“Tight… so fucking tight…”

You barely register the ragged agony of his hoarse grunts. You struggle to adjust to the sensation of feeling stuffed, the feeling of your organs rearranging themselves to fit both his cocks. The pain subsides, and it’s replaced by a thrumming ecstasy humming through your veins. Lord Sukuna has yet to move, but you’re already moaning, lightly rocking your hips back and forth on his lap.

“Be still, brat,” Lord Sukuna snarls.

You can’t stop. You can feel his shafts pressing together between your thin walls, and the friction of them sliding together, sliding against you is unbearable. You need to feel more.

You rock harder. Electricity buzzes through your bothered body, and you’re swept up in the irresistible lust of exhilarating ecstasy. The other ladies have always made being with a man sound so sinfully pleasant, but this… You let out a long, drawn-out groan. This is just heavenly.

“Lord Sukuna…” you lewdly moan. “Please…”

You’re barely moving on his lap, and you’re aching for more…

Lord Sukuna growls as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, the heady pain intermingling with the juddering electric tingles careening through your center. He re-positions his hands so he’s grasping your ass, and then he thrusts sharply bouncing you up and down on his lap.

He slams into you fiercely, and you see stars, overwhelmed by the white-hot heat sizzling up and down your spine, desperately mewling your Lord’s name.

“Lord Sukuna… Ngh… my Lord,” you cry out.

His hips are bucking into you at an inhuman speed, and you’re keening, practically frothing at the mouth, drool leaking from the corners of your lips.

You’ve never felt rapture like this before in your life.

“Fuck,” Lord Sukuna rasps, each word tumbling out of his mouth laced with a bite. “Such a good… fucking… brat.”

All the sensations… the sound of Lord Sukuna’s guttural grunts, the feel of his blistering body, the woody scent of his musk, the heat of his cocks… builds into an all-consuming, overpowering pressure.

Lord Sukuna’s teeth sink into you again, and as if a pin has poked a bursting balloon, you explode. You’re blinded by a vicious white light, violent tremors shuddering through your taut body.

One of your hands curls in his hair, yanking the strands wound in between your fingers, and your back arches, your breasts pressing into his firm chest, your closed eyes rising to the ceiling.

“Sukuna… Sukuna… Sukuna,” you passionately scream your Lord’s name so overcome you forget to add his title to his name, a crime punishable by death, but neither you nor your Lord realize the indecency of how you’re calling out his name.

Your screams throw Lord Sukuna into a frenzy, rutting into you even faster than his frightening pace before.

“Goddamn… brat…”

You’re clamping down on him uncontrollably, and then you feel it… You feel his body tense under yours, and you feel spurt after spurt of his cum flooding into you, spraying your insides white and coating you with his seed. Relentless waves of his release fill every crevice and ridge, and with nowhere else to go, it spills out the sides, puddling beneath you in a torrential, sticky mess.

You slump forward, supporting yourself against his built shoulders, weakly shaking from the violence of your euphoric climax. You don’t have to see yourself to know your eyes are glazed over, your mind a muddled daze.

Lord Sukuna gently lifts you from his lap and lays your worn out form on his futon in a manner uncharacteristic of his usual gruff demeanor. Your cloudy eyes droop half-closed. Your limp limbs quiver. You almost don’t notice him covering you with a light blanket or calling for Uraume because you’re far from lucid, so drained and spent you're barely clinging to the last shred of consciousness.

You don’t hear Uraume enter. You don’t move when Uraume lifts you in their arms.

You’re quickly fading.

You close your eyes, surrendering to your exhaustion, but before the cloying tendrils of sleep can steal you away, Lord Sukuna’s command floats into your foggy mind. Your last thought before you drift away completely.

“Get her cleaned up and settled in the adjoining room. I think I’m going to enjoy this one.”

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 months ago

Text

Soft Spots – Part 2

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, domestic Simon, reluctant-but-hopeless cat dad behavior, reader being smug about it, cozy home vibes, cat-induced chaos, and lots of cute moments.

Author's Note: I’m sick again, to no one’s surprise since it’s common for me. Anyway, enjoy more Smokey, Beans and Simon :)

Summary: Simon Riley doesn’t let himself get attached easily—but somehow, between the soft weight of Beans in his hoodie and Smokey claiming his favorite chair, he’s lost the battle. You, of course, plan to use this to your advantage.

Masterlist | Part 1

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The expensive, ultra-plush cat bed had been your first mistake.

You had picked it out with care—soft, lined with faux fur, the kind of thing that looked so comfortable you almost wanted to curl up inside. It was supposed to be irresistible.

Simon had been skeptical from the moment you brought it home.

“They won’t use it,” he had said flatly, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. His stance screamed this is a waste of money, but he didn’t argue when you set it down beside the couch with a satisfied huff.

“They will use it,” you had countered. “They just need time.”

That had been a week ago.

Now, the cat bed sat completely untouched. Not a single tuft of fur in sight. Meanwhile, Beans had developed a habit of burrowing directly into Simon’s hoodies, while Smokey had claimed the armchair as his personal throne.

One evening, you walked into the living room and nearly laughed out loud at the sight in front of you.

Simon was stretched out on the couch, book in hand, but he wasn’t alone. Smokey was curled against his thigh, tail flicking lazily as Simon absentmindedly scratched behind his ears. And Beans—tiny, absurdly attached Beans—had somehow tucked herself into the front pocket of his hoodie, little head poking out as she dozed against his chest.

Simon didn’t even look up as you leaned against the doorway.

“You’re the one who said they didn’t need a bed,” you teased, crossing your arms.

Simon let out a low sigh, turning the page of his book. “She likes it.”

You smirked. “Admit it. You love it.”

His fingers twitched against Smokey’s fur. “You’re insufferable.”

But he didn’t deny it.

——

The first time you sat in his chair, you noticed exactly when Simon hesitated.

It was subtle—just the briefest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, his body shifting like he wasn’t sure whether to sit somewhere else or kick you out.

Smokey, who had been lounging on the floor, also stared.

You looked between the two of them, then raised an eyebrow at Simon. “You’re kidding.”

Simon shrugged, but you caught the flicker of guilt in his expression. “He’s used to it.”

You scoffed. “Are you saying I have to move for the cat?”

Simon didn’t answer, but before you could push the issue, Smokey made the decision himself—jumping onto your lap and immediately settling in.

Simon smirked. “Reckon he likes you better now.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, shifting under Smokey’s warm weight. “Great. Stuck between two grumpy old men.”

Smokey let out a deep, contented purr.

Simon shook his head, but you didn’t miss the way his lips quirked upward before he turned away.

——

But the final nail in the coffin? The sweaters.

You had been scrolling online, minding your own business, when you saw them—tiny matching cat sweaters.

Simon came home that evening to find you wrestling Beans into a pink cable-knit sweater.

He stopped dead in the doorway, staring at you like you had lost your mind.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not putting that on Smokey.”

“Why not?” You beamed, adjusting Beans’ tiny sweater as she wriggled excitedly in your hands. “She loves it.”

Simon’s expression remained stony, but you saw the way his gaze softened slightly when Beans let out a happy chirp, rubbing her cheek against your palm.

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not a chance.”

But then you pulled out the second sweater—a deep gray, almost the exact shade of Smokey’s fur.

Simon squinted. “You’re sick in the head.”

You grinned. “Just try it. If he hates it, we take it off.”

Smokey, perched on the couch with his usual judgmental stare, barely flinched as Simon reluctantly knelt beside him, pulling the sweater over his head.

You expected a fight. What you didn’t expect was for Smokey to settle almost immediately, stretching out his front paws and sinking into the fabric like it was the best thing he had ever felt.

You gasped dramatically. “He likes it.”

Simon sat back, arms crossed, staring at Smokey like he had just been personally betrayed. “You traitor.”

Smokey blinked slowly. Then, with a deep sigh, he curled up right there and promptly fell asleep.

Beans, meanwhile, launched herself at Simon, landing in his lap with her little pink sweater still intact. She chirped again, rubbing her face against his chest before curling into a tiny loaf.

Simon let out a long, exhausted sigh, fingers drifting to scratch under her chin.

“You love this,” you whispered smugly, shifting closer.

Simon didn’t respond immediately, his hand continuing to stroke Beans’ fur. Finally, after a long pause, he muttered something under his breath.

You tilted your head. “What was that?”

Simon exhaled, shoulders slumping. “I said… maybe.”

Your grin widened as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Knew it. Cat dad.”

Simon groaned, tilting his head back like he was in deep suffering.

But you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched upward, even as he shook his head.

He was doomed.

And honestly? He didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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ak319 · 4 months ago

Text

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒─

Warnings/MDNI: Slight fluff, angst, abuse , reader being called names e.g. harlot // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: New beginnings or the....end? ✰ 9K

★ Prev I concept m.list

Two weeks had passed...The mornings at camp always began too early for your liking, the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks of the canvas tent like unwelcome intruders.

You had grown up in silk and lace, with meals served on porcelain , peaceful, and quiet environments. Now, you woke to the distant clatter of pots and pans, the sharp bark of someone’s laughter cutting through the cold morning air, and the unfamiliar scratch of coarse blankets that smelled faintly of damp wood and tobacco smoke.

Suki, your beloved, was your only source of comfort. Her soft purrs against your chest at night were a balm to your wounded spirit. She stayed close to you, a reminder of the life you’d left behind. But there was also the reality laying behind you...his snores making you remain awake. Awake to the new truth, the bitter truth.

Arthur brought you food without asking if you were hungry. He made sure your tent was stocked with rations, even as the others made do with far less. His instructions were on the second morning when you still couldn't process anything. Just more control disguised as care.

Don't walk to the river alone

Don't even think about walking too far from camp. (as if you can even walk to the stables...considering the tight watch on you from him and the men)

Don't get out of the tent at night for unnecessary reasons.

Stay in the tent when strangers come to camp.

If anyone gives you trouble, you come to me, not Hosea, not Dutch, just me.

Keep your voice down, no one needs to hear you arguing with me. (which must be a joke--because....what? Not happening.)

Don't do any hard labor around. For anyone. No matter what anyone says.

"Don’t need you breaking a nail." The words stung, a bitter reminder of the prison disguised as protection. The audacity to say that after shattering your whole life.

What a gentleman.

But you didn’t let it touch you.

When he handed you a plate of food, you ate in silence, your expression unreadable. When he tried to drape his coat over your shoulders on a cold night, you shrugged it off the moment his back was turned. Always facing the canvas wall and not him at night and shivering with fear. Sleep never came easy for you. And when Arthur left the camp, you felt Bill’s eyes on you, not subtle in the least, his broad figure often leaning against a post or pretending to tend to some task, but always nearby. It wasn’t protection, it was surveillance.

You didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or cry or beg. You knew it wouldn’t work. You’d seen the set of his jaw, the steel in his eyes that said he wasn’t letting go. So, you resisted in the only way you could, being quiet and in your shell. Inside the prison.

A cold silence when he spoke. A pointed look when he tried to touch you. A refusal to acknowledge the small gestures he thought would win you over.

Arthur didn’t say much about your resistance, but you could see it in the way his hands tightened into fists when you ignored him, in the way his jaw clenched when you sat stiffly beside him at the fire (which he dragged you to) , not saying a word. Not exactly a picture perfect newly wed couple others hoped. Or perhaps he lived in the delusion of.

When Grimshaw came by, she didn’t carry the same judgment as the others. Her tone, usually sharp and commanding, softened around you. Once, she even sat beside you, her hands busy mending a shirt as she said, almost too casually, "It gets easier. This life, I mean. Not right away, but… it does."

You didn’t reply, but she didn’t seem to mind. Grimshaw didn’t push; instead, she surprised you with an unexpected patience. She offered small gestures of comfort, a steaming cup of herbal tea to "settle your nerves," as she put it. Or heating up some water for you to freshen up.

Her vigilance extended even to the simplest of tasks, like when you went to use the girls’ makeshift toilet/bathroom. It was yet another struggle, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen. Gone were the days of soaking luxuriously in your own bathtub. Now, even basic necessities felt like a downgrade.

Every now and then, she’d drop off chores she thought were manageable, like sorting linens or cleaning a few utensils, tasks that didn’t require you to step far from your tent. “Something to keep your mind busy,” she’d say, leaving before you could refuse.

You hated how grateful you felt for her small kindnesses, didn't actually mind it, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When you’d reluctantly finished the tasks she left, there was a quiet understanding in the way she’d nod at you from across the camp or leave another small task the next day. It was the closest thing to routine you’d found here.

Still, even her attempts to draw you out fell flat most days. You could see the pity in her eyes, the way she lingered as though waiting for you to say something , anything , but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Even when she tried to talk about mundane things, like camp chores or the horses, complaining about men here, all you could do was nod or mutter a half-hearted reply.

The girls would occasionally stop by, trying to talk to you or cheer you up, asking questions to piece together fragments of your life. But their curiosity, their attempts to connect, never went far. You rarely engaged, and when you did, it was clipped, distant. You didn’t miss the taunts about your so-called "lavish" past either, were they innocent jabs or something more bitter? You couldn’t tell, and truthfully, you didn’t care.

You would never trust these people. Not after everything. And then there was this incident with Mary Beth, on what? The third day? You don't even fucking remember. You came to know about her calling this all..... "romantic" as if sprinkling more salt on your wounds and you lost it.

The night had been calm, the campfire casting a warm glow while everyone gathered for supper. Mary-Beth sat on her usual spot, her knees tucked under her as she read, her face serene.

Before she even realized it, her book was in your hands, and then, rip. Pages tore from their spine, fluttering like wounded birds to the ground.

"Romantic, huh? This is what you read?! The fuckin' nerve of you. You think this is all fun?! LOOK AT ME!" you screamed, your voice shaking as you threw the remains of her book aside and grasped her face making her freeze in fear and shock. "AM I FUCKING PRANCING AROUND HERE, GIGGLING?!"

"Hey! I-what-"

Before she could get a word out, Tilly stepped between you, untangling you, her hands raised, her tone firm but careful. "We didn’t mean it like that-she didn’t mean it like that. Trust me. We were just talking-"

"Then don’t fucking talk about me!" you snapped, now turning to her. "Don’t even DARE! How dare you all even think that?! Only people like you can celebrate such a shit and cruel tradition! Bunch of morons!"

You didn’t care how you looked, wild-eyed, trembling, growling like a maniac. You didn’t care about the stares or the silence that followed, broken only by your ragged breathing. You now grabbed Tilly's arms shaking her. "Nobody here should even say my name out of your nasty TONGUES! I'll kill someone if I hear such shit again. YOU HEAR ME?!" Your voice echoed across the camp, sharp and seething with fury. Then a strong hand clamped around your arm. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Arthur.

"That’s enough."

"Let go of me! ASSHOLE!" you hissed, trying to wrench free.

But he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, and with one sharp tug, he spun you around and started dragging you back toward the tent.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Enough!" He shoved the flap open and all but pushed you inside, stepping in after you and yanking the flap closed again.

"You done now?" he asked, his voice quieter but no less sharp.

"FUCK OFF! I HATE YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

The tears were already spilling over, and before he could say another word, you threw yourself under the covers of your bedding, burying your face in the fabric as the sobs came harder, relentless.

Arthur stood there momentarily, his hand falling to his side, unsure whether to press or leave you alone. He sighed his jaw tightening as he turned away. He wasn’t going far though. Not tonight.

And then days passed in cold, depressive silence from you until last night...

The cot creaked under the weight of his broad frame as Arthur lay down beside you, the narrow space forcing his presence against yours. His arm brushed against your shoulder, and though he made no move to pull you closer, the heat of him was impossible to ignore. You lay stiff as a board, your back turned to him, your entire body practically vibrating with anger and fear.

The tent was dark except for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the canvas. Outside, the muffled voices of the gang were distant and always the same to you.

“Y’ain’t gonna say a damn thing, huh?” His voice broke the silence, low and raspy, laced with irritation.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t answer. The effort to stay silent was exhausting.

Arthur shifted beside you, making the whole cot shake in protest. “You’ve been mad at me for days now. Hell, darlin’, I’m startin’ to think you enjoy it,” he said, his tone teasing, yet tired.

Your fists balled up under the blanket, your nails digging into your palms. You stared at the canvas wall ahead of you, refusing to dignify him with a response. The fucking audacity of this monster.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “This ain’t gonna fix anything, y’know. You bein’ all cold and quiet. It ain’t gonna change what’s done. If I could’ve done it different, I would’ve. But I can’t. And I ain’t lettin’ you go."

His words made your blood boil. What’s done?? As if he hadn’t ripped your life from you like a thief in the night.

"Go to sleep." you muttered finally, your voice cutting through the dark like a knife.

Arthur let out a low chuckle, humorless and rough. "Now, that’s the first word you’ve said to me in forever," he drawled, the smirk clear in his voice. "Progress, I guess."

You bit your lip almost to the point of eating it off.

He shifted again, his arm brushing against your waist under the blanket to which you immediately moved even further away if that was even possible. The casual contact felt intentional, as if he was testing you.

"You’ll get tired of this eventually," he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Can’t keep runnin’ on anger forever."

Shut the fuck up already.

You wanted to tell him he didn’t know the half of it. That he didn’t understand just how deep your resentment ran. But instead, you stayed silent.

"Fine," he murmured, his voice trailing off. "Be mad all you want. I ain’t goin’ anywhere...I ain’t good at this, I’ll admit it. But if you think I don’t care, you’re wrong."

And with that, he settled in, his arm resting just barely against your back. Even as your eyes burned with unshed tears, you stared into the dark, resolute.

And as if matters weren’t bad enough, someone else decided to get under your skin.

Marston.

Of all people decided to bother you today for the first time since you arrived as he wasn't at the camp before. The man you assumed wouldn’t even remember your name with the peanut-sized brain he seemed to possess.

"Came back as a Morgan now, huh? Well, I’ll be damned," he said with a whistle, his voice dripping with mock surprise. He stood outside your tent, leaning against one of the poles, his arms crossed as if he had the right to judge. "Honestly, I’m shocked. Didn’t think anyone could tie down Arthur. But not completely shocked it turned out to be...you. So childhood love, eh? And he did the word....damn. First in our gang. Shit, I missed it all.."

Your teeth clenched at his smug tone. The insinuation was too much. You shot up from the cot, the anger bubbling over as you shoved him back.

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic piece of shit."

"Whoa there!" he said, stepping back with a laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Still no manners, huh? Well, if you’re gonna live here, might as well start being nice to your brother-in-law. Oh, it's going to be much more fun annoying you now.'

That smug wheeze of his was the final straw. Your hand shot to the nearest object on the small table a tin cup and you hurled it at him. He ducked, barely missing it, his laughter only growing louder.

"Rich words coming from a man who still has to pay women just to glance at him. Exactly what I envisioned you’d grow up to be, John. You didn’t disappoint."

His grin faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back, shaking his head with a low, humorless chuckle. "Same ol’ spoiled you, huh? Guess some things never change."

"And some people never grow up."

"You think you’re better than us? Look around at where you are. To end up here, with him... surely you must’ve been no less than a harlot yoursel--HEY! GET OFF ME!"

"Complete it! Go on, I dare you, asshole!" He tried to shove you off, but the moment your grip loosened on his collar, you struck, delivering a sharp smack across his face.

"YOU LITTLE-"

"John!" Dutch’s voice boomed from his tent across the way. "Go do something productive! Leave the girl alone. NOW!"

John froze, his lips tightening as he registered the command. "…What? I was just greeting her. Y’know...family and all.'' He let out a defeated snort, shoulders slumping, and muttered something under his breath as he sauntered off.

You didn’t bother watching him leave. With a huff, you grabbed the tent flaps and yanked them shut, the fabric swishing angrily in your hands. You flopped back down onto the cot, the reality of everything crashing into you again.

Tears blurred your vision as they spilled freely, your shoulders trembling as you hugged yourself, swaying back and forth.

(Y/N) Morgan.

Harlot.

(Y/N) Morgan....

Harlot.

The words kept burning like acid.

No matter what they do, I get blamed?! Of course. Another Saturday being a woman.

Pieces of shit, dirt.

Absolutely the fuck not.

You clenched your jaw, wiping at your cheeks harshly. Don’t let a loser’s words get to you, you told yourself, trying to drown out the echo of John’s taunting voice and your own festering anger.

You are , yes , still are more accomplished and better than anyone here. Not a thief, not a murderer and definitely not a harlot.

But deep down, it wasn’t just John’s words that haunted you. It was everything, the name, the camp, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in someone else’s world.

You will always be (Y/N) (L/N), fuck this tradition. It means nothing.

❀˖°

"Finish this. C’mon."

He held the spoon in his calloused hand, leaning closer. You turned away, clutching Suki tightly to your chest, her soft fur grounding you.

'Why can't he just get lost in a ditch somewhere? Why does he keep coming back? Why doesn't death encounter him with all the dangerous shit he does?'

Should you tell him about John calling you names- NO. You don't need him to deal with your problems, as he would have done if you both were young. You don't need anyone's help.

"I ain’t bringing these for free, y’know. So they ain't gonna rot, you are gonna finish them."

"I didn’t ask you to," you snapped.

"Good thing I ain’t waitin’ for permission, huh? So yeah, I’ll keep doing it anyway because it's my duty."

Your grip on Suki tightened as you turned to glare at him. "I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Arthur. Trying to create this illusion, ‘Oh, look at me, I’m bringing her fruit and meat so she’ll forget what I did.’ No, Arthur. It doesn’t work that way. None of this is worth anything. It’s not going to reverse anything, not even come close to the comfort I had."

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze darkening further. "I don’t care what you think or had. This is your fucking life now. Why do I have to keep reminding you , huh?!." he growled low, his voice like a warning rumble of thunder. "Don’t piss me off more right now. Eat. It. Right. Now."

You held his glare for a moment, your hands trembling with restrained anger as you snatched the fruit plate from him and placed it on your lap. You didn’t touch it, though not with him standing there like some damn lieutenant, watching your every move. But thankfully he went away, probably to freshen up.

You take a few hesitant bites. Your thoughts drift to your family, mother, father, and brother. What might they be doing right now? Are they sitting down to supper together, or is your absence too heavy to ignore? Your work, you miss going to the office with your father. And Omar, is he well? You prayed for him daily. His family? Well, they must be cursing you. Your heart broke that they might be regretting the whole engagement and calling you names too. Is your father doing anything!? Is he trying to find a way to bring you back? He must be. He should be.

But every time you let yourself believe in that fragile hope, Dutch’s cold, calculated words clawed their way back into your mind.

"And you damn well know that even if the law gets here, they won’t care about this. It’s only a crime on paper… in reality, the sheriffs and marshals? They won’t lift a finger. They don’t give a damn about this."

If that’s really true, then… is this it? Is this your life now?

No.

Money can turn heads, grease palms, and open doors. If your family offered enough, those same indifferent lawmen would find a needle in a haystack if it suited them. And your family? They don’t lack for that.

But your reputation.

Your hands trembled, clutching Suki closer as the tears threatened to spill again. The voice in your head....why doesn't it go away...?

No. No, I didn’t lose anything. I don’t give a fuck. Let people think and talk all they want. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last. They always need something to talk about.

You exhale sharply, forcing the tears away as though the pain will evaporate with them.

And once you get back, no, once you’re free, you won’t stay in this Godforsaken country anyway. Neither will your family. Let this place rot. It doesn’t deserve you. It's hurt you enough.

Another thought had been gnawing at the edges of your mind, something your ears had picked up unintentionally the other morning.

Pinkertons.

You knew about the agency hell, Arthur had mentioned them in passing during one of your 'old' meetings, which were just distant unreal memories to you now. A band of relentless hunters after outlaws, but they weren’t saints themselves. You remembered your father’s words about them, greedy, opportunistic, willing to do anything if the price was right.

Mhm...

Your attention snapped back to the present as a heavy presence settled beside you on the cot.

Suki leapt off your lap, stretching lazily before sauntering off. Almost as if she held the same disdain for his presence. Ain't she your good girl.

You felt his eyes on you, his silent scrutiny made your skin crawl, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you lifted another bite to your mouth, not because you were hungry or needed the sustenance, but because you didn’t want to engage with him again.

Arthur’s lips pressed into a thin line as he took another bite of his meal, his gaze flicking to you out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he minded bringing the food from the fire or making sure you didn’t waste away, but the whispers and sidelong glances from the other men by the fire in camp grated on him.

"Our boy got himself a pretty little wife now."

"Maybe she’s got you on a leash, huh? How’s it feel, boy?"

"Careful, Arthur, don’t forget to tuck her in tonight."

"What kind of outlaw plays house, huh? Real sweet, Morgan."

The words clung to the air like the smoke from their cigarettes, thick with mockery and amusement. Arthur didn’t flinch at their jabs, but he didn’t rise to them either. As for the additional rations and snacks, he brought them in secret, stashing them away like contraband treasures. Caring for his wife, it seemed, was a sin in their eyes, an act that invited ridicule from men who barely knew the meaning of responsibility, let alone love. He couldn’t give you the life you once had, not completely, but he could offer enough to make you forget it or at least dull the ache of its absence. Spoil you rotten in his own way. And if it meant robbing, killing, or bleeding himself dry until his last breath, then so be it.

Because you were his, and no one, not Dutch, not the gang, not even the damned world, and even you, could take that from him.

He told himself it didn’t bother him, but he couldn’t ignore the edge in their voices. Greed? Jealousy, maybe. Or perhaps they just didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom why he’d go to these lengths. Arthur didn’t need their approval. Let them talk. They always yap. They’d never have what he has, even if you still looked at him with cold disdain and fear.

But his pride did bristle every time someone insinuated he was soft as if keeping you... alive and halfway sane somehow made him weak.

And then there was you. Lost...and yet fighting. He wanted to snap at you, to force you to listen to him for once, but he knew how that would end. Another night of tears, of you retreating further into yourself, and him sitting outside the tent wondering what he was doing wrong.

What he in fact, did wrong.

Damn it.

Hell, he still felt shit for leaving you tied up on the cot on the first night for hours to teach you some lesson, which resulted in bruises on your wrist which he could still spot under your sleeves. He was indeed totally lost that day.

He looked down at his plate, then at you, the frustration in his chest threatening to boil over. But beneath it, buried deep where even he didn’t like to look, was something else.

Guilt.

He didn’t miss the way your hands trembled slightly when you reached for another bite, or the shadows under your eyes that hadn’t been there before all this. If you’d let him, he’d feed you himself daily. If he had all the time in the world, he’d spend it making amends, caring for you, pampering you from head to toe, and trying to piece together what he’d broken. You were different now. Smaller, quieter....almost soulless. He missed your laugh, jokes, and teasing that could pull a grin from even the most miserable bastard. The light in your eyes...

He craved what any man would, a wife waiting for him, dolled up or simply present, a comforting sight to return to after long days. He remembered his mother doing just that, though his father had been far from the best. Well… that was another story.

Sometimes, the thought crossed his mind to demand it, to make you adorn yourself as he wished. But again, he didn’t want your compliance born of fear, he wanted it to come from you, willingly...which only felt like a dream.

Snap out of it. Don't let this get to you. It's done. And sooner or later she'll come around. She has no other choice.

Even going on jobs in these two weeks felt different now. Before, his concerns were solely for the gang, their survival, their next meal. But now, you were part of the equation. You weren’t just another responsibility, you were something altogether separate, fragile in a way that set him on edge. He had to think of you, your safety, your future.

And yet, every morning, he pressed a kiss to your head, as quietly and discreetly as he could, fearing you’d stir. It was a small, selfish ritual, one that whispered his own fears. What if he didn’t come back one day? What if everything he’d done, the risks taken, the damn word, ended up being for nothing?

But you, in your own quiet way, were a motivation too....as in your mere existence back at the camp in his tent made him stronger.

"Finish the damn fruit," he muttered finally, his tone softer now, though still edged with irritation. "I’ll be back in a few with the stew. But don’t get comfortable thinkin’ this is how it’s gonna be. If I ain’t lettin’ you work for others, that sure as hell doesn’t mean you ain’t gonna do my work and your own. Ya' ain't gonna be cooped up here as some princess forever."

You glanced at him, finally breaking your silence, though your voice dripped with venom. "Your work? O-h, you mean cooking your food, cleaning up after you, and playing the perfect little captive wife?. Should I start callin’ you ‘sir’ while I’m at it?"

"You’re real good at smartin’ off, but I don’t care if you’re mad, this ain’t a damn vacation."

"Mad? Oh no, Arthur, I’m thrilled. Thrilled that you think you can steal my life and then bark orders like I’m some ranch hand. I am not doing shit for you or anyone."

Arthur’s gaze darkened, his hand tightening around his fork. "You think I like this? I don’t. But it’s better than sittin’ here wasting away. You think I stole your life? Maybe I did. But I’m tryin’ to keep you in it."

You leaned back against the cot sighing in disbelief at his words. "If you wanted a servant, you should’ve hired one. But I guess stealing a wife was cheaper, huh? And I don't care about wasting away. Sounds a thousand times better than whatever this is. I'd rather die-"

"Watch your mouth, woman." His hand as on it's own shot out to your chin giving a reprimanding shake.

"Why? Bec-ause I didn’t like losing my freedom either, but here we are. And I am not scared of you Arthur...you already showed the worst of yourself. I won't be surprised if it gets worse than this."

For once, he didn’t respond. He stood, his boots scuffing the ground as he left the tent in utter silence which you smelled as guilt but does it change anything for you? No. Does it make him take you back? No. Then fuck him.

❀˖°

The faint orange hues of dawn barely began creeping over the horizon when a rough hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. Disoriented, you blinked up at the shadowed figure looming over you, the faint smell of tobacco and leather unmistakable.

"Get up," Arthur’s voice was low but urgent, a gruff whisper that didn’t match the stillness of the early morning.

You groaned, clutching the blanket tighter around you. "Wha-?"

"We’re movin’," he said, already turning away to toss a saddlebag onto the cot near your feet. "Pack your things. Got no time to waste. And don't forget anything here." He was well aware how precious your stuff was.

"What?" You pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air biting against your skin. "Why? What’s going on?"

"Don’t ask questions, just do it," he snapped, though not with anger, more like the sharpness of someone who had too much on their mind and not enough patience to explain it all. His movements were hurried, shoving items into a chest without care, the clinking of metal and the rustle of cloth breaking the fragile silence of the camp.

"We ain’t got time for your temper right now. Pack what you need and be quick about it. I need to tear down the tent too. Hurry!."

Your mouth opened to retort, but the tension in his jaw and the way his hand hovered near the gun at his hip made you think better of it. He wasn’t in the mood for arguments. With a huff, you threw the blanket off and started gathering your belongings, half of which you hadn't unpacked anyway.

"Where...are we even going?..."

"Somewhere safer. Don’t matter where right now, just that we ain’t here when the sun’s up. Wear something warm too."

"Wh-where's Suki-?"

"She'll be-" He left mid-sentence as Dutch called him over.

Typical.

God, how far could this new place be? What if you were this close to being found by your parents, and now you were moving further away again?

First things first, you need to find your pet. And with that, you dashed out of the tent, eyes scanning the camp until you spotted her, comfortably perched on Hosea’s lap as he cooed at her.

"Oh… here, (Y/N). Hope you didn’t mind-"

“It’s fine.” You were already turning to leave when Hosea stood up from the crate. “Where are we going?” you asked, catching him just before he walked away.

“Just another, safer place. Up the hill.”

“Why, though?”

He shrugged, his gaze distant. "Dutch wanted a change of scenery."

Oh really?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another move. It felt like an escape, an escape from something you weren’t allowed to know.

"Are you serious?"

“You know him,” Hosea added, his voice tinged with an understanding sympathy before he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling more annoyed than ever.

Geez… Dutch’s mood, huh? Pfft. And they say men aren’t emotional.

"(Y/N)!".

What the fuck now?

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, "God, help us, Suki. You alright girl, hm?" The last thing you wanted was to deal with him again. You didn’t rush your steps as you turned back toward the tent, taking your sweet time, not bothering to acknowledge his call just yet.

The thought of sharing a horse with Arthur made your stomach twist. The last thing you needed was him too close, breathing down your neck, holding you like his personal doll, a constant reminder of the mess you were stuck in. But you had no choice.

Grumbling to yourself, you finally made your way back to the tent, knowing full well what he’d want next. Anything to keep you under his watchful eye.

Great. Just great.

❀˖°

Taking you back home or at least letting you meet your parents was something you’d stopped asking about after the second day. But today, after settling into the new camp, Silverpine Crossing, situated on rather a height, not too far from the previous camp though. As if the weather wasn't cold enough and waking to the stillness of yet another isolated morning, you felt the misery again. He was being sent on a supply run, and you wanted out. Not just to interact, fuck that--but rather just to see a fresh face, smell something different, anything that wasn’t this suffocating place or these people.

The idea was barely out of your mouth when he shoved you back into the tent.

"Wha-"

“You can’t understand a word, huh?"

"B-but it's not like I am going alone-"

" I said fuckin’ no. So sit your ass down!”

“F-or like what? Forever?!”

His hand shot out, grabbing your bicep with bruising force, his grip making your breath hitch. "Until you learn to be fuckin' grateful and nice. Now quit whinin'. And when I come back… see that pile over there?"

Your gaze darted to the heap of clothes by the cot, his clothes.

“They better be fuckin’ washed. Or you’ll make me do something you’ll regret yourself. Ya hear me?”

"Excuse--me?--- laundry?! I don't know shi-"

"THEN FUCKING LEARN!" Each word was punctuated by the bruising squeeze of your arm and making your fear heightened. With a warning shove and a glare that seared through you, he turned and stalked off without another word.

You could hear him calling for Susan...no, please, no.

Learn , my foot. Asshole.

❀˖°

You huffed as you scrubbed one of the shirts against the bucket. The water was icy against your hands, but the repetitive motion of washing was at least keeping you occupied, even if it felt degrading.

"Never thought I’d see the day," came a sly voice behind you.

You glanced up to find Karen standing nearby, hands on her hips, her signature smirk plastered across her face. She looked amused, tilting her head as she studied you.

"Look at you, being all in...the picket fence character," she teased, crouching down beside you. "Arthur got you washing his drawers now, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes, irritated by her tone, but you didn’t stop scrubbing. "How about you shut it and walk away."

Karen chuckled, leaning back on her hands. "Don’t take it so personally. Men like him? They expect it. Don’t mean you gotta roll over, though."

You frowned, her words stinging even though they weren’t entirely wrong. "First of all , nobody here is rolling over and secondly what do you want?"

"Easy, now. Take no wound to the pride. Just thought I’d keep you company. Ain’t like anyone else’ll do it," she replied with a shrug. "Besides, I figured you could use a little girl talk."

You scoffed softly, tossing the shirt into the rinsing bucket. "Girl talk? Right. And what would that be about?"

"Oh, I don’t know," she said, pretending to ponder, "maybe 'bout you ending up here in the first place.."

"Isn't it clear how I ended up in rags from riches huh?"

"No... I mean... why? Because none of us-well, I speak for the girls here--never thought he’d actually go this far. Never thought Mr. Morgan'd do it," she said cautiously, her hands busily sorting through the clothes.

You let out a hollow laugh. "Well, he isn’t a saint, and he’s made that crystal clear. No less than the devil. No, he is the devil."

A painful silence hung between you, the kind that seemed to stretch endlessly, until finally, she broke it again, her voice softer this time.

"But... he wasn’t like this before And by that, I mean... he could have done this before too. If he’d wanted to."

Her jumbled, hesitant words made your neck snap toward her, your curiosity getting the better of your anger. "Hm?"

"There was this lady. Rich, too. City girl. Like you, almost. They had a thing, a good one. They were even engaged. Mutual love, that’s what I mean. But then..." She hesitated, glancing up briefly before looking back down at the fabric in her hands. "Things didn’t work out. Her father, her name’s Mary Linton, by the way--yeah, so, her father married her off to some bloke. Happened...like three years ago."

Your mind reeled, and every word hit you like a blow.

What

The....

"Y-you-you're telling me that-" You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to choke you. "There was a woman he could’ve done this with, but he didn’t, and instead-"

"I-I mean-yes-but she got married and he probably found later...this is just a hunch though. But-"

"He took what? His anger, or I don’t fucking know--revenge out on me?!" You were on your feet now, your whole body ablaze with rage and confusion. "H-how-why?! God, why?!"

Before she could say another word, a voice cut through the rising tension, smooth and calm yet dripping with authority.

"Mrs. Morgan, a word."

You froze, your head snapping toward Dutch’s tent, where he sat, as composed as ever, watching the scene unfold like he was enjoying just another sunny afternoon.

Oh, this fucker.

Your body stormed towards Dutch's tent while he sat there as calm as ever, thumbing through a book like he hadn’t just summoned you out of thin air.

"Come in, come in, missy," he said smoothly, gesturing to the space before him. "I wanted to-" But you couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you happy? Hm? All of you? How could… you do this to me?" Your voice cracked as sobs wracked your chest, but you didn’t care. The words poured out like complaints of a child. And at this moment you were a child again. Lost and vulnerable once again. "I can’t believe there was a time…" You gasped for breath. "A tim-e when I held your hand and… came here, blindly following you. And for years… I-I was grateful to you… and this is what I get f-for that?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond you. For a fleeting moment, there was something in his expression a hint of reflection, perhaps regret?

Oh you were mistaken if you took that for guilt.

"Sometimes," he finally said, "good things happen… for the worse too, girl. A curse in disguise." He tilted his head slightly, his tone hardening. "Believe it or not… accept it or not, I wasn’t the one who webbed this. It was in your fate. Because if you’re going to play the blame game," he continued, his voice cutting deeper, "then there are plenty of others. Your own parents, for leaving you alone in the care of greedy relatives. Your relatives, for treating you like garbage. And then yourself, for giving a thirsty dog water and not expecting it to follow you home."

"So being nice is a crime? Being a friend is-"

"Man and woman, friends?" He barked a chuckle sharply. "You young generation sure have your own beliefs. But that is a hoax, girl. A trap. And you fell for it." He leaned forward, jabbing a finger in your direction, his eyes hard.

"What about her then?! That Mary girl! They weren't friends, they were engaged! He should’ve done this with HER! Why me?! Why did you all ruin my life?! Why didn't you stop him!?" The words tore from your throat like a wounded animal. Your fists lashed out, colliding with his chest and face over and over, your anger and desperation boiling over. He stood firm, his jaw tightening as he absorbed every blow.

"Dutch! Hey- what is she doing?!-" Molly sauntered hurriedly to the entrance.

"Miss O' Shea, give us a moment."

Without a word, he reached over and shut the tent flaps, sealing you both inside and ignoring your latest panic-fueled outburst.

"Listen here," he growled, pushing you away. "I don’t need more drama in this camp from you. I understand this may not be ideal for you, but life ain’t always ideal, missy, is it? So stop this at once! I won’t have this nonsense. Him, being the hard worker he is, loyal to the bone, and you," his eyes narrowed, "his spouse, acting like a damn lunatic. He made his own decision and you need to accept it!."

You froze for a second, seething, your body trembling with fury. Then you straightened, glaring at him with all the venom you could muster. "You people...made me a lunatic!! And I'll act however the hell I want, Watch me. And I’ll tell you this-I won’t ever forgive any of you for this. EVER! Ya'll think you are on top of the world? You are...going to one day fall deep in the same pit you all are digging. And it's Ms. (L/N) for next time."

❀˖°

Arthur held up the tattered remains of his shirts under the firelight, his fingers brushing over the jagged holes that mocked him. His scowl deepened as he turned them in his hands. Karen stood a few paces away, putting on her best performance.

"I swear I saw her hang them up, and these shirts were pristine, Mr. Morgan. I am tellin' you, it’s gotta be one of the boys pulling a prank. Y'know how John gets when he's-"

Well, none of it was true of course. She was the one who washed them and hung them which you later slashed. Karen regretted telling you everything altogether.

Arthur’s glare cut her off. "Do I look stupid to you, Ms. Jones?" and without another word, he stormed toward his tent, the worn fabric of the shirts clenched in his fist.

Can’t have one damn evening in peace.

His jaw tightened as he moved, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted things to be normal, to make them better for you, but you made it so damn hard. So difficult to keep himself in check.

He yanked the flap of the tent aside and stepped in. "What is this, huh?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness as he displayed the ruined shirts in front of you one by one. You flinched as they hit the floor in a crumpled heap. His anger was evident in every movement, in the way his chest heaved and his eyes burned into you.

"I asked you somethin'-" His hand shot out, grabbing your chin to force your gaze upward. "Fuck--look at me!"

Your eyes locked on his. For a fleeting moment, you saw it, his anger faltered, his grip loosening as his eyes softened, regret flickering in their depths like an ember struggling against the cold.

"Why, Arthur?" Your voice wavered, but you steadied it with a bitter edge. "That’s what you wanna know? Hm? Well, I do too." You patted the cot beside you, your tone turning mockingly bright. "Have a seat, here. Let’s figure it out together."

He didn’t move, his jaw tightening again as he studied your faux-bubbly smile and his frown deepened as he watched you rise from the cot, the firelight catching the tension in your movements.

"What? Don’t wanna sit with your wife? Oh... hm. I understand. Must be hard, huh? Coming back here, to this-" You gestured vaguely around the tent and his shirts, your tone teetering between anger and despair. "And maybe--just maybe--you dream of seeing someone else. But what did you get? Or rather, what did you take? A replacement for your broken heart?"

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

"And this?" Your voice was sharper now as you raised your hand, the ring catching the dim light. His earlier warnings still echoed in your mind, but you ignored it. Recklessness burned through you as you slid the ring off your finger, holding it up like it was a mockery of everything between you.

"Is it hers too? Damn...you never told me about your tragedy filled love-story before. Why not?" The anger you felt was just. You wished she was in front of you so could beat her to a pulp and ask her 'Why didn't her ass marry him!?' because now you are the one paying the price for these discounts Romeo and Juliet.

Arthur’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, his presence looming, his voice low and cold. "Don’t."

But you didn’t stop. You held the ring out, your own anger a match to his. "What, Arthur? Don’t what? Don’t ask if this belonged to the woman you couldn’t have? The one you let go? Who I guess didn't even agree to running away with you?" Your chuckle was biting, venomous and you wanted to hurt him as much as you could. "Or more like you were too late to snatch? Guess, someone else beat you to it."

"You don’t know what you’re sayin! It's yours! Put it back right now, I swear to God-"

"Why did you destroy my life!? ANSWER ME! WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THIS WITH HER!" Your hands collided with his chest with full force but he didn't budge.

"BECAUSE I JUST DID! I COULDN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! Fucking accept it! How fucking--dense can you be! You are not the first woman it's ever happened to so stop acting like this!"

"But...does it make it right? I won't be the last too...I jus' know there must be some girl right now...out there...relaxing, hell, just existing, and next thing you know....a man, like you comes and...plucks her away-"

"Did you forget what I confessed to you?! That meant nothing to you?!"

"And I rejected YOU! You still have time. Go on, GO! Kill her husband and bring her here and let ME GO!"

"You--you think this is a joke?"

You wiped your tears putting on a firm mask again. "You made my life a joke, Arthur..... made me...a joke."

He, however, wasn't in the mood to hear all this again.

"Put. It. On. Now." He stepped closer as his fists clenched. He didn't even know that he possessed this much restraint until now. He grabbed your hands but you struggled.

"Put Omar's on too, make it even then at least-"

Before you could fully register the shift in his expression, he twisted your arm, forcing you off balance and sending you crashing to the ground with a thud. You barely had time to breathe before he was towering over you, his rage evident in the wild flickers of his eyes.

"Repeat that."

"I loved my life too! You h-ad no right! No right!--I love him too! He didn't deserve all that too! NOBODY DID!"

Love him too?

A pained scream left your lips as he slammed his boot on your bare hand pressing on it with brutal force.

And again.

"Done acting like a wench?!" With that, he grabbed the numb hand and forced on the ring again. " This ring ain’t comin’ off your finger, not while I’m alive."

You struggled to catch your breath, the pain too much to even register and tears clouding your vision. But before you could even react, Arthur’s hand was on your hair, dragging you up with such force that your head spun. His movements were quick, and cold, and there was no mercy in them. You gasped, trying to free yourself.

"Arthur-" you cried, but your voice was swallowed by his fury.

"Shut the hell up!" he roared, his voice vibrating with anger as he dragged you across the dirt. You tried to dig your heels in, desperate to break free, but it was no use. His strength was overwhelming.

With one final yank, he threw you into the back of the wagon, your body hitting the wooden floor with a painful thud. Before you could sit up or gather yourself, he slammed the door shut, trapping you inside in the pitch-dark, cold space.

"Fuckin' stay there," he growled from the outside, his voice harsh and final. "I won’t have you disrespecting me, not like this. You’ll stay in there until you get your damn head on straight. This is the only language you seem to understand."

"Mr. Morgan--stop-please-let (Y/N) out!" Grimshaw's voice cut through from beside him.

Arthur's head snapped toward Grimshaw, his expression hard, his eyes like ice. "She will stay here until I say so. And if anyone dares to come near her or try to help, they’ll answer to me. And tell the girls to fuckin' stay away from her. They don’t talk any nonsense to her. Got it?"

With a final, warning smack against the wooden door, Arthur turned on his heel and walked off, his boots thudding against the ground as he headed back toward his tent.

Susan turned toward Hosea who met her gaze, his worry evident as he nodded, then slowly made his way to Arthur's tent. Inside, Arthur was calmly sitting on the cot, casually removing his boots as though nothing had happened.

"Arthur, enough," Hosea's voice broke the stillness. "I won’t sit here and watch you treat a woman like this, the woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?"

"SHE DAMN SHOULD! I really am trying. But it ain’t workin', and I’ve got no choice now. So don’t meddle."

"You’re only pushing her further away, Arthur."

"Gentleness won’t always solve the problem."

"But it sure as hell won’t make it worse. You’re handling this all wrong."

Arthur stood up, a hint of defensiveness in his posture. "She’s the problem, Hosea. She doesn’t fuckin' understand-"

"No," Hosea interrupted, his tone heavy with conviction. "She ain’t a problem. She’s someone’s daughter, and now, unfortunately, your wife. Even if you've done what you’ve done, roughness will only shatter what little is left of her. A hammer may break... the glass, but it does nothing for the vase."

❀˖°

The enforcer's thoughts still sharp with anger, but the sharpness had dulled just enough for him to notice the start of morning chill in the air. His hands gripped the edge of the cot as his mind lingered on the coldness between him and you, the things he’d said and done in a moment of blind rage.

He didn’t want to be this man. Not again. Not with you.

But he couldn't control it.

His boots scraped against the dirt as he made his way toward the wagon. The camp was still quiet, the morning still young, and as he approached the wagon, he saw her, Suki, curled up down by the wheel, her small body trying to make the best of the cold rough ground. The sight of her, peaceful and innocent, did something to his chest. If she could curse...she would be doing it too for what he has done to you until now.

His hand moved to scratch behind her ears, the motion automatic, a familiar comfort. But as soon as his fingers made contact, Suki stirred, her small body tensing as her golden eyes flicked open. With a flick of her tail, she stood and slinked away, padding off a few feet before halting, glancing back at him with a clear sense of judgment.

Arthur's heart sank as he watched her move, the way she embodied a certain grace, withdrawn, distant, unwilling to let him in after what had passed between you two. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt his own anger twist back to the forefront. The cat had always been your companion, your comfort. And now she was moving away from him, just like you had.

It hit him harder than he cared to admit. She wasn’t just a cat to him right now, she was you.

If he's soft...you hate him, when he's mad...you hate him.

You.... hate him.

"The woman you brought here yourself. Isn't this inevitable? Were you expecting her to bend to your will?" Damn man is always right.

He slowly and with a deep sigh undid the chain on the lock and then...he saw you curled up inside, your back to him. The vulnerable position made his heart ache once again.

“(Y/N),” he murmured, almost a plea in the softness of his voice. He couldn’t force you to face him, couldn’t drag you into another fight. He knew you needed space.

You didn’t respond, didn’t even stir at the sound of his soft murmur.

With a sigh, Arthur stepped back out of the wagon, leaving the door open. He made his way over back to the tent with his thoughts swirling in a confusing mess. He didn’t know what else to do.

He grabbed the thick, warm blanket and returned to the wagon, crouching to get halfway inside. He carefully draped it over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin as he settled it around you. He couldn't see your eyes as it was shadowed with your arms and hair. He wanted to say something, anything that might make you feel seen, understood. But the words got stuck in his throat, due to guilt.

"I won’t drag you back in," he whispered softly, not wanting to force anything on you. "But... it’s cold out here...."

He took a step back and let the blanket rest gently on you, pulling the door flaps of the wagon back slightly to let in the morning light and some fresh air. All he could do was wait, try to be patient...

Arthur didn’t leave, though. He wasn’t going to walk away. He pulled a nearby chair over, sitting down just outside the door of the wagon lighting up a smoke.

Patient.

Patient...

It was hours later when he watched from a distance as Susan approached the wagon. Moments later, Arthur saw you emerge, wrapped tightly in the same blanket he’d left draped over you. You looked... weak, exhausted, and withdrawn, leaning heavily on Susan as she guided you down. His jaw tightened when he saw how carefully Susan covered you, pulling the edges of the blanket tighter as if shielding you from everything, including him.

His heart twisted as he watched her take you to his tent, her voice low and comforting, her hand steady on your shoulder. He stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the two of you until you disappeared inside. His chest ached with a mix of guilt, knowing that it wasn’t his arms guiding you, wasn’t his words offering comfort. Instead, he was the one that hurt you. He wanted to run inside and apologize...but where would he even start. His apology would be nothing but a joke...a painful reminder...to you.

"Arthur."

"Dutch…"

The older man leaned in, his voice calm but firm. "What you need is a bit of distance. Cool your head, boy. I’ve got a few jobs to need doin’, away from camp. Might take you a few days."

Arthur hesitated, a protest forming on his lips. "Yeah, but-"

"Her hand might be broken..." Susan’s voice cut through the moment, matter-of-fact, her sharp eyes fixed on Dutch as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Shit.

Guilt once again rose like a wave, crashing hard against his already frayed nerves. He took a step forward, instinct driving him, but Dutch’s hand shot out, firm on his shoulder.

"No. You go. Charles will take her and Grimshaw. If it’s not too serious, Hosea can just treat it here."

Arthur tensed, his jaw tightening at the mention of Charles. The thought of you going anywhere with him, trusting anyone else. “I....don’t like that idea,” he muttered, his voice rough.

Dutch arched a brow, a faint, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, I know you don’t. But it ain’t your call now, is it? Don't worry though, we are here, aren't we? Ms. Grimshaw, tell Hosea to check her."

Arthur stood there, torn between guilt, frustration, and something he couldn’t quite name. Dutch gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"Come, I will give you the list of tasks."

After receiving that, he strode to the camp's edge finding Bill lounging idly near the horses. "Bill," he barked, his tone short. "Keep watch over the camp while I’m gone. I’ll be back in four to five days, maybe less. And uh...her too. No one bothers her, got it?"

"...Got it."

Arthur nodded once, curtly, before turning to his horse. With a final glance at the place he should’ve been, where he should’ve stayed, Arthur swung onto his horse.

He didn’t look back as he rode out of camp. He couldn’t.

★ Next

─AN: To be added or removed, you can always comment. Interactions are always appreciated.

★ tag list: : @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa

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elllisaaa · 8 months ago

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desperately need you to make a jihoon version for bf thoughts huhu 😭😭😭

BF!JIHOON who sometimes gets lost in his own world, but you're always here to bring him back to reality, and he never fails to show you how grateful he is for you.

music takes such a huge part of his life, it's impossible for him not to involve you in all of this. he tried to keep it away at first - because it was work and he didn't want to annoy you. but as soon as you show him that you're interested in what he does, in how he produces his music, jihoon is more than happy to introduce you to his universe. he makes you sit on his lap while he explains to you how he creates his music step by step, and he feels both so shy and so proud whenever you tell him that he's talented or that he's a genius. it leads to him letting you spend a lot of time with him at the studio - jihoon loves to have you there because you're his main source of inspiration, and you love to be with him because it motivates you to work too. you're always the first one he shows a song to, because he values your thoughts a lot, the most important opinion is yours. jihoon has definitely written so many songs for you, or about you. one time, you listened to a song he wrote before the two of you even got together and you noticed that jihoon was talking about you. you always get emotional when he does music for you and your boyfriend melts inside everytime you listen to the songs he made for you.

"can you listen to this and tell me if you like it, jagiya ? i'm not sure about what i've done with the vocals but maybe your voice could be a cute addition, don't you think ?"

jihoon gets so sleepy around you. some would argue that it's because he often comes by after work or because his sleep schedule isn't the best, but he knows that it's much more than that - it's because you're his home, and when he learned that you tend to feel sleepy when you're with people you deeply trust and love, he was sure that you were the one. jihoon also loves it when you're the one falling asleep on him, be that on his lap, on his shoulder or against his chest, he will wrap his arms around you and caress your hair every time. he has so many pictures of you sound asleep in his arms that he cannot count them - it means that you're just as comfortable around him that he is around you, and it makes him feel like the luckiest man in the world. jihoon always gets shy when you decide to attack him with random marks of affection. it makes him blush like crazy, but he's so cute with his red cheeks that you can't help it and he's so in love with you that he doesn't stop you - plus he cannot deny how it makes his heart melt every time.

"you won't ever stop, right ?" - "never." - "good, i like it when you kiss my nose…"

he's very attentive to every detail about you and your habits. jihoon knows literally everything about you, and it's so soothing to feel this loved. he always makes sure that you feel included in every conversations, especially when you're spending time with his members. he knows that thirteen people can be a lot, so he always take care of you so that you feel heard and listened to. if you're talking about something and you stop mid sentence because you think no one he's listening, he makes sure to remind you that he always listens and he asks you to continue, fully focused on you. he loves, loves, loves when you do your nails - that he obviously pays for - and especially when they're very long because it feels so good when you scratch his back or his scalp with them. jihoon almost purrs like a cat when you do that, his eyes fluttering shut and he nuzzles his head in your neck. you love it so much when he gets so cuddly and soft, and jihoon loves to be babied by you sometimes.

"let's just stay like this for a little while, please ?"

BF!JIHOON who's sweet when he's with you, but who cannot hold back his possessiveness once the two of you are alone.

jihoon works on his muscles too much to not use them to his advantage. it all started when you began to compliment his muscles every time he came back from the gym. it fuels his ego, yes, but it also makes him hard in his shorts. to know that you find his strength attractive, to know that he could overpower you every second when you're playfully fighting, it drives him crazy. so now, everytime you piss him off, everytime you're being a brat, he's using his strength to manhandle you in every position he wants. the fact that he can do anything with your body is turning him on too. when he's fucking into you and not letting you cum, he grips your hips tightly to stop you from squirming around. when you're not allowed to touch him but you try either way, he pins your hands down to the mattress. when he's having you from behind, he holds your hips up and forces his cock into you no matter how much you moan and cry. jihoon loves to know that he's able to take over you so easily, loves to know that he can do whatever he wants from you and that you're gonna love it.

"you're not moving until i let you, you know that so why are you trying ?"

he's a producer, he loves people's voices and he loves to work with them. so it's no surprise that jihoon is addicted to the way your voice sound. he thinks it's soothing when he's stressed, and it's so sexy when he's fucking you. he loves how he can always tell how you're feeling by the sounds you're making. he drinks every noise you make - gasps, moans, wimpers, whines and mewls, he loves it all. that's the reason why he prefers to fuck behind closed doors, where he can make you scream his name without risking anyone hearing you, where he doesn't have to muffle your pretty moans that make him even harder. when you gasp and whine against his mouth when he's kissing you, he speeds up his thrusts, and when you wrap your arms around his neck and whimper against his ear, he has to squeeze your waist harder to not lose his mind. jihoon even goes as far as holding back his own moans to hear yours better. he loves your noises so much that he might put them in one of his songs, and he seriously considers releasing it, just to make it clear that you're his.

"that's it jagiya, let everyone know who's making you feel good… shit, i love your pretty moans so much."

one thing about jihoon is that he loves to hear you moan, yes, but he also likes when you're begging him, begging for him. when he's already fucking you rough and that you plead for him to go harder, it makes him lose his mind. he asks you to beg for virtually anything in bed - you want him to eat you out ? beg. you want him to fuck you from behind ? beg. you want to suck his cock ? you have to beg for it. jihoon will never admit it, but he kinda likes it too when you're teasing him in public by begging him for something simple but you both know he cannot help thinking about your words in another context. one thing he will never tell you either is that he thinks it's hot when you are the one making him beg sometimes. not gonna lie, it's not easy to get him there - you have to catch him on a day he's tired because then he lets you take care of him and ride him. but when he does beg for you, it's so attractive you just want to do it all over again. jihoon is shy about it though, and he still prefers when you're the one saying please and being putty in his hands.

"you want me to fuck you ? then you know what to say, uh ?" - "please, jihoon, please fuck me." - "that's right, good girl."

#thinking about my bias in this way was not good for my mental health seriously #eli answering your questions #eli's anonie #seventeen x reader #seventeen hard hours #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen smut #lee jihoon #woozi #jihoon x reader #jihoon smut #jihoon hard hours #jihoon hard thoughts #woozi x reader #woozi smut #woozi hard hours #woozi hard thoughts

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gatorbites-imagines · 5 months ago

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on my hands and knees begging for a victor creed/sabertooth fic. one of the finest mutants in the comics and he gets so little attention

Victor Creed x male reader

Headcanons

Love this fellow… big fan of cats… Heres just some all over the place relationship headcanons :3c

The silly… the very very deadly silly. He really has you going “what murderrrrr, he’s the best guy around???” because he’s actually nice to you. Or well, as nice as Victor can be.

You obviously know all the shit he’s done and that Victor is very much a hater down to the very bone, its very obvious. But you love him anyways. And how can you not, hes very handsome and warm.

Victor is not the most verbal when it comes to his feelings for you, like, at all. He has only said I love you on very rare occasions, and that’s when he or you are near death, or if you guys are getting married.

He shows his care and love in other ways, like beating up anyone who looks at you wrong. Or bringing you dead stuff, like some kind of big cat.

Speaking of cats. Victor purrs, because I said so. He also likes to lay and laze in the sun and will drag you along to lay against his chest as he just basks in it, rumbling deep in his chest and snoring.

Victor can sleep 16 hours a day like a cat, something you always joke about when you catch him. Logically you know it’s because he gets less sleep than he should and needs to catch up, but teasing him is just very fun.

Victor is a very gruff and mean guy in every way, hes a huge dick to say the least. Even to you, in the beginning. And the beginning of your relationship was a lot of arguing or tension. You honestly have no idea how you guys really started dating.

A lot of the issues stem from Victor just leaving whenever he wants for however long without telling you or keeping you in the loop. Theres also the issue that he just doesn’t communicate anything that might be wrong, instead just letting it fester.

But with a lot of work, you two figure it out. Sure, he still runs off to throw down with Wolverine on the semi-regular, but he gives you a timeframe he will be home, and actually looks sorry when he doesn’t make it.

At times when you are extra angry you’ll make him sleep on the couch or in the guest room, and Victor will stand at the foot of your bed, holding his blanket and looking so sad and pathetic. This should be impossible for a guy like him, but somehow, he does it.

Speaking of cuddling, I think Victor thought he wouldn’t like doing it. but then he realized how good it felt when you scratched your nails across his chest or through his hair, and that he could actually purr, since he first started purring with you.

If you are a mutant, then you have lunch or dinners with some of the x-men, if you aren’t a member. Victor gets dragged along, and he and Logan have to behave for the day. At least Victor bakes a great pie for these luncheons.

You make sure to reward him for behaving, as well as Victor is able, when you guys get home. How that reward goes depends on the day ;)

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1800bitchcraft · 1 month ago

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more dom-reader?

A/N: Yes!! So excited for this, I have way more fun than I should writing dom!reader tbh. Also thought this would be a good opportunity to write more vampire!reader and I threw in a little primal play for good measure! Anon, I hope you don't mind! If, of course, this isn't to your liking I'd be more than happy to write you something different! Don't be afraid to reach out, lovely! I hope you enjoy either way~

CW: sub!Ford, dom!reader, vampire!reader, monsterfucking, blood drinking, pinning, marking, strength kink, blood play, mild pain play, primal play, edging, orgasm denial, whiny Ford, desperate Ford, nipple play, begging, aphrodisiacs, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise, hand jobs, overstim, kind of chasing??, there's a small amount of running

!!! MDNI OR ILL GET THE BROOM !!!

Smut under the cut!

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Your incredulous tone matched the shock written out on your features as you turned your head to stare at Ford. Ford, who was resolutely not looking at you, instead staring rather intently at the open book in his lap but you knew he wasn't reading any of it. The blush you so adored was making it's appearance, crawling across his cheeks and you could hear the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.

"...you heard me," he mumbled. He was clearly embarrassed and you softened your expression. Standing from where you'd been perched at your vanity, engaging in your usual before-bed ritual, you crossed over to the bed. Standing at the foot of it, you lifted a knee, placing it on the bed and using that to leverage yourself. You crawled over the comforter, pleased when he immediately spread his legs to accommodate you.

"I did," you admitted, tone soft and gentle. He shivered when you slid a hand up his leg, starting at his ankle. "But, I want to make sure I heard you correctly." He still wasn't looking at you, but you heard his breath hitch when your other hand came to rest on his inner thigh, nails scratching lightly over his skin. You waited until his eyes flitted to yours, finding your expression open and eyes darkening with desire. "Humor me, darling. Please?" You murmured, and he swallowed. You fought against the smile, trying to pull at your lips when he looked away again, flush beginning to crawl down his throat.

"I-" His breath hitched again, nerves making his belly flutter as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt spread open, pinned beneath your gaze. Vulnerable. And even though he knew you'd never make fun of him for anything, it was hard not to feel embarrassed by admitting his less than conventional desires so openly. "I want you... to... ch-chase me- oof!" His breath left him in a grunt as suddenly your hands gripped him behind the knees and pulled. Yanking him from his reclined position on the bed to lie flat on his back, your weight settling over his hips as you pinned him beneath you. He couldn't have escaped if he wanted to, your preternatural strength keeping him captive. It made his heart rate, heat suffusing his veins and making him squirm. You grinned, sharpened fangs glinting as your slitted pupils dilated, expanding like a creature on the hunt.

"Do you want me to chase you or..." You trailed off, leaning closer just to hear the way his breath quickened, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. It made the predator in you roll and roil, wanting to sink your teeth in and mark him. Claim him in the most primal way. "Do you want me to catch you?" Your lips were at his ear, and you were pleased when his head shifted, baring his throat before he could think better of it.

"Yes," he said in a rush, voice breathless and choked by desire. "I want it, want both, want it all." Your chest rumbled with a pleased purr, and Ford arched into you, seeking out the press of your fangs when you let them graze his skin.

"You know I would deny you nothing," you murmured softly and the boundless love Ford felt for you warmed his chest. Your thumbs stroked along the insides of his wrists where you held them, pinned to the bed in your hands. "But I worry you don't really know what you're asking of me." Ford began to protest, wanting to insist that he was a grown man, thank you, and though you had many, many years over on him he was more than capable of knowing what he wanted, goddamnit. He was silenced, though, by his own instinctual whine when you nipped gently at his throat. The points of your double fangs catching his skin.

"Hush, puppy," you murmured, voice fond and teasing. You knew the face he was making would be equal parts flustered and indignant from the rarely-used nickname. You wanted to look him in the eyes, needing to see his face for the conversation, but you were loathe to leave the soothing cloak of his scent that enveloped you. You nuzzled at his throat, placing a kiss against his racing pulse before you finally pulled away, looking down at him as you sat over his hips.

"I only mean that you have a habit of asking questions but not the right ones." Your voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that caught his attention. He kept his eyes on you, even as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and he turned his face into the touch. You smiled, wholly in love with the beautiful man beneath you, and stroked a thumb across the top of his cheekbone. "Have you really thought all the way through this request of yours?" You arched a brow, considering how best to word this. "I think sometimes you forget I'm not human anymore. Haven't been for a long time. This... act I put on is just that, an act. If you run, I'll chase you. If you hide, I'll find you. I... can't promise I'll be gentle when I do. Or that there will be any stopping me if you decide it's too much. At least, not with our usual ways when we play." Ford swallowed thickly. He had considered that, of course, but hearing you say it, admit to what he could have only guessed at, brought it all into stark, startling clarity. You watched him, watching you. Saw him consider the weight of your words before his gaze flickered back to yours and held it, lips parting.

"I'm okay with that," he said, voice unwavering and strong in its conviction. Your belly fluttered, anticipation turning your blood hot in your veins. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, forging onwards. "I'm well aware of your nature, and that's part of why I want this. I want... to experience you, all of you." He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, and you swallowed, a shaky smile on your lips.

"And the other part?" You asked once you were sure your voice wouldn't tremble. Ford blushed, biting at his lower lip, and you could smell the shift in his scent. The way desire made it sweeter, thick, and cloying on your tongue. He nuzzled at your palm, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"I want to feel you, all of you," he murmured softly. Want laced his low voice, and you shivered atop him when large palms came to rest on your knees. Sliding up your bare thighs, feeling your soft skin beneath his touch. "I want you to hurt me, to hunt me. I-" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as your eyes darkened, tracked his every twitch and movement. "I want to know what you're like when you lose control. You're always so careful, even when you tie me up and make me beg. Is it so wrong for me to want to know what it's like when you're not?" Your hand shifted, thumb moving down to trace over his lower lip, and he nipped lightly at it, flashing you an impish smile. You were quiet for a few, long moments, and the nerves in Ford's belly rioted every second. He was grateful when you finally broke the silence.

"We'll be having a more in-depth discussion about this before we do anything," you said finally, carefully. Ford nodded, eagerness tightening his throat. "I'm serious, Ford. I'm not leaving anything to chance; the last thing I want to do is hurt you in a way you don't want." His hands flexed, squeezing lightly at your thighs. He nodded, eyes bright.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less." You chuckled softly, shifting to allow him space when he sat up suddenly, crowding into your space. He hummed softly in pleasure when you held his face in your hands. The slight chill of your skin sending a shiver up his spine. "Kiss me?" He asked and you were all too happy to oblige, deciding the necessary conversations could wait for now.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Ford's breath came out in soft, short pants. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation crawling up his spine and making his skin prickle. Around him, the woods were silent, save for the usual noise and chatter of the more nocturnal creatures that called it home. The air was warm, a light breeze blowing through and making him shiver. He felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched, knowing you were hiding somewhere nearby, silent and deadly. But, unlike the paranoia and fear this would normally instill in him had it been anyone else, he only felt anticipation and desire churning hot and heavy in his belly.

"I'd start moving if I were you," your voice, low and heavy, interrupted his thoughts and the relative quiet of his surroundings. He whirled around, turning a big circle as his eyes scanned the tree and darkness. He couldn't see you, however. Wherever you were, you intended on staying hidden from him a little longer. His eyes darted left, in the direction of where he knew your house was waiting, tucked amongst the trees. You chuckled, and the sound reverberated through him.

"If you're going to run, I'd do it now, darling. I'm afraid I don't know how much longer I can hold back; I can taste your desperation," the word trailed into a low, near feral growl, and Ford broke out into a run. Your laughter seemed to follow him, taunting him, and it only made the heat in his belly grow hotter. You'd fed before your little game, and the aphrodisiac of your venom was starting to burn through him, making his knees feel weak and sweat dampen his forehead and the back of his neck. He could've sobbed with relief when your cabin finally came into view.

He had just managed to shimmy in through a low open window when he felt you. Almost as if you'd materialized out of thin air. He felt your hand, skin warm with the blood you'd taken from him only an hour before, as your fingers curled around his ankle. He fell back to the ground with a soft oof and a dull thud. The impact of his knees hitting the hardwood flooring of your cabin might've hurt if a dull, throbbing need hadn't begun to settle just under his skin. Rising to the surface and heating him from the inside out at the first touch of your hand on him. Your other hand planted itself between his shoulders, shoving him to the ground. Your knees settled behind his, pinning his legs, as you gathered his wrists in either hand. Stretching them over his head and pinning them, too. Your claws pricked at his hypersensitive skin, and the moan he let out was shameful, though he couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed. He pressed back eagerly into the cloak of your warmth when you settled your front against his back, and he blushed to realize you were practically mounting him right there on your living room floor. That thought was quickly wiped from his mind, however, when you planted your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply and rumbling a low, pleased growl.

"Look what I've caught," your every word was tinged with a growl and your voice was thick, like you were having trouble talking. It wasn't until you dragged your mouth along his skin that he realized why; your fangs had grown well past what he was used to seeing when you fed from him. So much so it felt like they were crowding out of your mouth, poking past plump lips and scraping across the skin of his neck. He shuddered beneath you, pressing back into you on instinct. A gasping whine ripped itself from his throat as suddenly the heat that had been just a low simmer beneath his skin melted into a blazing fire, like it had been waiting for your touch.

"Such a sweet little treat and so desperate, too." You nuzzled at his neck, fangs catching and making him whimper. His cock, which had been half hard since the start, was now rigid and dripping down his thigh. You released his wrists with a low growl of stay, and Ford nodded, eyes fluttering and rolling back as you dragged your hand down over his skin, still frustratingly clothed.

"H-Hot, s'too hot, please," he moaned, gasping as his thoughts were clouded by a thick haze of desperate need. The noise you let out was pleased, and his hips bucked when your seeking, searching hands slid under his shirt, finally touching bare skin.

"So pretty like this," you sighed against his ear. "So desperate; just a needy little toy, aching to be played with." Your words stoked the fire in his veins, arousal burning through him. Your hands groped along his belly, the soft fuzz of his happy trail, and up towards his chest. Wicked fingers found sensitive nipples and he whined, jerking and arching forwards into your touch, filling your clawed hands with the meat of his chest and you squeezed appreciatively.

"Oh, oh fuck," he gasped out. He writhed beneath you, nerves sparking with pleasure as you teased and toyed with his nipples. You shushed him gently, a soft coo leaving your lips.

"Shhh puppy, don't fight it. Be a good little toy, and let me play with you." Your voice wormed its way through the sticky molasses of his thoughts, and he clung to it, a lifeline amidst the dualing sensations washing through him. His body obeyed before his brain could catch up, and his overzealous squirming beneath you ceased. You rumbled a purr in your chest and licked at the throbbing of his pulse in his throat.

"So good for me," you cooed and the praise was almost like a physical caress, making him shudder and moan. "Love you like this; all pliant and desperate, bet I could make you cum just like this." He throbbed where he was trapped behind his zipper, hips bucking into nothing with a pitiful whimper of your name. You could smell his desperation, so thick you could almost taste it, and it made you ravenous. Made the incessant chanting of your instincts louder, a dull roar of fuck, claim, mate, mine, mine, mine.

"Yours. Yours, all- fuck, all yours, please," he was panting the words, lips hung open and almost drooling. The need coiling at the base of his spine ready to snap but unable to, not without you. You squeezed roughly at his nipples in a sharp pinch, soothing the sting with your thumbs, and he sobbed. "Please! Please please please darling, mistress, wanna cum, want- wanna be good for you, please please let me cum." You moaned, gritting your teeth against the sudden urge to bite, to mark him as deeply as he'd marked you. You trailed a hand down, not giving Ford a single moment to mourn the loss of stimulation before you were cupping long, slender fingers around the shape of him through his trousers.

"Fuck!" His hips jerked into your hand and he sobbed your name, desperation clawing at his throat. You let him buck and grind into your hand, simply holding it there and squeezing around him. He tipped his head back against your shoulder, throat bared to you completely, and you were helpless to resist the siren call of it. Not like this, not when you were so lost to your baser instincts already. Ford lifted a shaky hand, threading it through your hair and tugging you to plant your face firmly in the curve of his throat.

"Bite me," he begged, breathless. "Bite me, please, please bite me, mark me, claim me. I need - I need to be yours, please, please, mistress." You couldn't stop the snarl that ripped out of you, and it only seemed to spur Ford on. Your beautiful, perfect Ford. How could you deny him anything? You couldn't, really. He had barely a moment to think when he felt the prick of your fangs, and then they were sliding in. Cutting through skin and muscle like butter, flooding his veins with your venom. The keening, desperate cry caught in his throat as his hips bucked and grinded into your hand and he was cumming. His orgasm tearing through him so forcefully it left him dizzy. You growled against his throat, jaw clamping tighter as his blood seemed to turn sweeter in your mouth. You drank him down in heavy, greedy gulps, hand idly squeezing at his still hard cock just to hear him whimper.

When you released him, tongue laving over the mark left behind until the blood clotted and the wound started to close, you slid your hand up to splay over his belly. You stayed like that for a moment, both of your panting as the desperate, clawing need seemed to subside for the time being. Though it stayed a low, steady thrum in your heads and veins. Ford was the first to crack, breath coming faster as the heat began to build again, encouraged by the new flood of venom through his system.

"Let me- I want to see you, please?" He asked, voice soft and slightly cautious, unsure of how you'd react. You paused, hesitating.

"I'm not- I don't look... the same," you said haltingly, unsure how to prepare him for the way you looked now that you had dropped your usual glamours, unable to keep them up as you tapped into your more primal instincts. Ford huffed, and you thought you could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"Really, I had no idea," he deadpanned, and you nipped at his ear in retaliation for his cheek. You nuzzled at his throat, feeling the mark your teeth had left behind when you'd bitten him.

"It might scar." You murmured, only just now realizing. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Good. I want it to." He huffed a laugh when you rumbled a low, pleased purr despite yourself. You lapsed into silence once more, seemingly content to nuzzle and lick and kiss over his throat as you let the heat build up once more, slower this time. Ford allowed you to avoid his request for a few moments longer before he spoke up again, voice gentle.

"Darling, please? For me?" You paused again, the heaved a long-suffering sigh. He had barely a moment to bask in his success before you were pressing him gently to the floor, shifting back and your weight up to allow him to turn over. You straddled his hips then, and his hands came up to rest on your thighs, reminiscent of the night he'd first brought this up.

"Look at me. Please?" He lifted a hand and held it up, halfway to cupping your cheek, letting you close the rest of the distance. After a brief hesitation, you did, leaning forwards and into the press of his palm. You looked down at him through lidded eyes, and Ford's heart thudded in his chest.

Your fangs weren't quite as large as they'd first felt, though definitely larger than usual. He could see the sharp tips, then at least half an inch more, before they disappeared back behind your lips. Your secondary pair glinted slightly in the low light, tips just barely visible where, normally, he wouldn't be able to see them at all. His blood was smeared over your mouth, giving your full lips a flushed, deep red color. Your ears were longer, larger, and he vaguely thought they resembled something of a bats, but he couldn't be sure as they were largely hidden by your hair. Everything about you seemed... sharper, wilder. More dangerous, but no less alluring. Perhaps most striking was your eyes. They glowed stronger than he'd ever seen them, seemingly lit from within. The whites of your eyes had gone black, and your pupils were slowly returning to the thin slits he normally saw.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, and you might have scoffed. You might have brushed off the compliment and reverent tone of his voice if you couldn't see in his eyes how true they were. Your heart swelled with love for this beautifully strange man beneath you. He curled his fingers around the back of your neck, threading through your hair, and tugged you gently towards him. "Kiss me? Please?" You sighed and leaned down, letting him guide you where he wanted you.

You took your time learning how to kiss him like this, and it felt like the first few months of your relationship all over again. How nervous you both had been, though, for different reasons. You enjoyed the slower pace. You liked that you got to savor each other, let the heat build slowly. It was when you slid your tongue into his mouth, and he felt the long split through the middle, that the low, simmering heat in his veins kicked up, and he whined into the kiss. His hands gripped roughly at your hips, and you rocked yourself down, grinding against where you could feel him, throbbing and hard against you. You wound a hand through his hair and wrenched his head back so you could look at him, gratified by the flush on his cheeks and the way his mouth hung open, panting.

"Awww, look at you~ haven't had enough yet?" Your voice was edged with a low, rumbling quality like a growl. It made him moan, cock twitching where it sat, still sticky with cum, in his boxers.

"Never." He murmured breathlessly. Mesmerized by the feral grace you exuded. The next few moments passed by in a blur, punctuated by flashes of sensation. The cool warmth of your hands on his skin as you divested him of his shirt. The feeling of the hardwood against his back as you pinned him, pressing bodily against him just to shove your tongue down his throat. The way every part of him started to ache and burn with the sweetest pain the longer he went without your hands, your mouth, or, oh god, your cunt. He could feel you, wet and soaking the gusset of your panties as you rocked against him, long skirt hiked up to your hips before it was gone, too. When your clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, both of you naked as you could be, he seemed to come back to himself. Aided by the sight of you between his legs, wicked grin curling your otherworldly features as you ran a long, split tongue over the curve of his cock, tasting him.

"Fuck!" He shouted, hips flexing against the hold you had on them, though he was no match for your strength. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the floor beneath him, heaving out soft, gasping breaths. "Fuck fuck fuck, darling- darling, please," he sobbed, high and breathy. You hummed softly and wrapped your lips around his dripping tip. Mindful of your fangs, you hollowed your cheeks, tongue flicking at the sensitive spot just under the head that had his toes curling. He fell back on his forearms, head dropping and baring his throat, bringing the bite mark on the curve of his neck out in stark relief. "Darling, I- darling, I can't, I can't- please," he huffed, voice edged with a whine.

"You can," you rumbled lowly, already knowing what he was whining for and wrapping your fingers around the base of him tightly. Squeezing, cutting off the orgasm threatening his sanity as he sobbed above you. "And you will. I want you crying with how badly you need it, and I won't settle for less." And with that, you set back to your task, lapping at the precum beading along his slit.

Ford moaned above you, sagging back against the floor. He knew there was no dissuading you. He'd seen that feral little glimmer in your eye enough times to know that. And you always kept an ear out for the safeword, but it never came. Only his desperate moans and whines of your name, pleas for your touch. You used the flexibility of your tongue to your advantage, widening your jaw to allow the split muscles to wrap around the shaft of his cock as you kept your lips around the head. Ford jerked under you, unable to get far with you, pinning his hips. But you felt his muscles tense and bunch beneath your touch. He brought his hands down to tangle in your hair, and you hummed around him, pleased. You brought him to the edge and back, over and over, just like this. You didn't have to wait long for him to break.

"Fuck, fuck please darling, please please I need it, need you now, I- I can't-" he cut himself off with a desperate sob, and you glanced up at him through your lashes. The sight of him was breathtaking. Cheeks red, eyes dazed and glossy with tears as his mouth hung open, moans pouring out freely. It pleased you in a vicious, primal way. You pulled off of him with an obscene pop! All but prowling your way back over him, until you were able to slot your dripping cunt over his cock. His hand immediately went to your hips, squeezing and moaning.

"Darling, please," he panted, then groaned when you rolled your hips. A moan pagted your own, and, like that one noise had broken the floodgates, you couldn't stop more from pouring out. You kept up your steady rocking, unable to stop as the desperate, clawing need you felt for him built higher and higher. He sat up abruptly, one hand supporting himself and the other wrapped around your neck, tugging you forward as his knees came up to support your back, giving you further leverage. "I need to be inside you like I need to breathe, fuck, please. Please, I- shit, I can feel how fucking wet you are, let me take care of you? Please? Use me, use me however you need to, I'm yours." He panted the words against your open mouth and you could taste the desperation in them.

Nodding, unable to find your voice, you lifted yourself up on your knees. Taking him in hand, you lined him at your entrance and sank down in one smooth glide to the hilt. You moaned in unison, and Ford pressed forward until he had you beneath him. Your knees hooked over his shoulder as he pressed down, down, down into a filthy mating press, and waited. You flashed a filthy, fanged grin. Even now, when he had you pinned beneath him and your needy cunt clenching around him, he knew who was in charge.

"Well? What're you waiting for? Be a good puppy and breed me."

#ford pines x reader #ford pines #ford pines smut #gravity falls #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls smut #smut #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls x you #dom!reader #Sub!Ford #next one I post will be a continuation of bimbo!reader i promise #ive just had this one sitting for AWHILE

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