kvnimago

[kvnimago]

please.....one shot of flirty ghost with fem!reader...

flirty ghost... 😫

thank you for the request!!

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x bartender fem!reader

synopsis: Price invites the team out to a night at a renowned club in London after a job well done. Team 141 watches in surprise as Simon flirts with the hot bartender ;). I made simon rich, because I find rich guys hot, so yeah. a bit sub!ghost because he'd do anything for a girl like you.

warnings: allusions to smut (dirty ghost), flirty (probably ooc) ghost, alcohol, pining, hints at sex and arousal, etc.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

(gif's not mine)

The strong reek of alcohol brought a sigh of relief to the team, watching a variety of people mingle and chat as they maneuvered through the crowd. Team 141 had a rough month filled with death, pain, and shitty drinks which consisted of mostly tap water or anything else they could find that wouldn't kill them. So as a treat for their success, their Captain suggested a night out in London, more specifically in a bar that he had visited with Laswell and some colleagues in the past.

"Alright gentlemen. This isn't your average pub so, behave will ya. I'm not draggin' your arses outta here tonight." He spoke, adjusting his button up shirt with a look shot at Johnny who gave him a mock offended look. Simon rolled his eyes, looking around and ignoring the weird glances at him for the mask he wore. He didn't see the point. He'd much rather drink whiskey on his couch with a shit black and white film rather than waste his money on unnecessarily expensive drinks that'll taste just the same.

But he was there, and he was dying for the liquid gold of a nice drink after the hell he endured for the last month. He strayed from the group, making his way to the bar and taking a seat. His eyes scanned over the brands on display behind the counter.

"Fuckin' hell." He muttered to himself, catching the attention of the bartender who just chuckled. A shiver ran up his spine from the sound as a woman appeared in front of him.

"Take it this is your first time, haven't seen you around before." You started, his eyes widening slightly at you. Your voice was smooth, he thought. Your American accent differed from the various European ones that flooded the room around him.

You took his appearance in with a slight raise of your eyebrow. He wore a black button up that hugged his muscular and beefy frame, the fabric straining as his arms tensed. You noticed the dog tags that hung out as he leaned on the counter, his face entirely covered by the skull mask he wore.

"Yeah, first time." You hummed, gesturing back to the bottles behind you. You glanced behind him, watching as other men that you recognized as regulars seemed to divert their usual tactics away from you tonight, focusing on other women around who'd leave them high and dry all the same. It didn't surprise you, the sheer size of the man in front of you was enough to intimidate anyone. Nobody sat next to him, his presence practically demanding his own space as others squeezed in between people two seats away on both sides to avoid being next to him.

"What can I get for you..." You trailed off, gesturing for a name to put to his masked face. He was usually cautious about who he gave his name to, years of paranoia to thank for that. But this was just one night, and he'd like never see you again.

Damn it to hell.

"Simon. Simon Riley. I'll take the Macallan, the bottle and a glass with no ice." Your eyebrows jumped in surprise, looking at him a bit unsure about how much military made in general. You only had one bottle of Macallan whiskey that night, and it was not cheap.

"Uhh.. that's Macallan No.6. £6,000."

"I know my whiskey love. If you will. You can close my tab too, s'all I want." He slid you his card, and you huffed, grabbing the full bottle and ringing him up. You half expected his card to decline, and when it didn't you were still impressed, sliding the bottle to him with his requested cup.

"Thanks sweetheart. What brings an American girl like yourself to downtown London?" He pondered, relishing the sound of your resonant laugh and the flow of your movements as you took cups and passed refills to other customers.

"I attend the University of London for biomedical engineering." You listened to his low whistle as he took a sip of his drink, sighing in relief at the burning sensation sliding down his throat. You caught sight of his plump, soft lips before he pulled his mask down again, only adding to your attraction to him.

"Pretty and smart. Lucky lad whoever he is." This wasn't your first rodeo, and it wasn't the first time someone attempted to smooth talk you while you worked, but for a voice like his you were more than happy to entertain. You liked his deep baritones, the rasp that accompanied certain words, and how delicious his accent was.

"As if. Nobody's hit the standard for that yet." He hummed approvingly. He liked women who wouldn't settle for anything less than what they wanted, and it made you that much more attractive to him, and made him want you to himself even more, though he was sure he wasn't the only one that wanted that too.

"I never got your name love." You swallowed down the sudden lump in your throat as you forced your heart to stop skipping beats from the pet name. It's not like it was the first time someone called you that, you'd heard it at least 20 times since you opened, but from his lips, his voice gracing your ears, you wish he'd call you that every day. You put on your game face, willing yourself to not be so easy.

"Well, you haven't done anything to earn it so, no dice." He almost groaned, loving the sultry, unimpressed eyes that gazed into his with an aura of confidence that would crush any mediocre man that dared to try his luck with you.

"Name your price, I like a good challenge anyway." He listened to your 'hm', your hands meeting as you twisted your rings around your fingers in thought. He took a second to truly capture your image. The simple yet elegant black blazer that, even though buttoned, revealed a deep V down your chest with a nice view of your cleavage in the center. You'd been there since your freshman year, the owner liked you, the customers liked you, so you got away with a lot, including small breaks in dress code.

You looked expensive, you smelled expensive, and fuck was it the hottest thing he'd ever seen. He loved the light reflecting off the jewelry that decorated your skin, from the multiple piercings on your ears to the thick, steel bands that wrapped around your fingers. You were beautiful, brilliant, and he knew he'd be willing to do anything for another night with you.

"Since you've been nice to me tonight, I'll make it a bit easier. Come back tomorrow with a planned date, dinner preferably. Keep it simple and classy. This is a test, I have expectations that I'm not going to inform you of but they all fall under typical date etiquette. Fail to meet any of them and well, no name for you." For any other woman he'd think they were being outrageous, a full date without knowing their name? Like hell he'd do something like that. But for you? To hear your voice, to be graced with your presence, to know your name, fuck he'd take you on as many dates as you want.

"Deal pretty girl, you'll have the best night of your life." He shifted in his seat at the way your chin jutted upwards for a moment, snickering with a pleased look before you went back to your job. He watched you the entire time, switching from whiskey to water after unconsciously refilling his glass with the bottle in his hand which he ended up moving to the unoccupied seat next to him. He wanted to sober up enough so he wouldn't forget tonight, so he wouldn't forget you.

"Looks like your buddies are cheering you on over there." You noted with a small smile, gesturing to the group of guys wiggling their eyebrows at him with quiet cheers and fists in the air.

"Fuckin' hell."

"Hey it's cute. I'm assuming you're not the flirty type with them huh." You teased. He watched as you popped a quick ice cube in your mouth, sighing in relief as the bar slowly emptied, leaving just the two of them and his team a few seats down. He had to stop himself from thinking about how it'd feel with your tongue and ice against his hot, throbbing cock. How pretty you'd look on your knees, water and spit running down the sides of your mouth as you struggled to take all of his length. He rolled his eyes and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment before glancing back at them.

"Definitely not. Those fuckers never know when to lay off." You laughed quietly, your hand instinctively covering your mouth as you looked down. He couldn't help himself, reaching over and lifting your head up by your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your smooth skin. You looked surprised by his gesture, the look of self-assurance in his advances clear in his amber eyes as they lazily peered into yours.

"Don't hide that beautiful smile of yours lovie. Wanna see it as much as I can before I leave." You couldn't help the wide grin that spread across your lips, watching his eyes crease which signaled that he was a smily as you were.

"Yeah? And when do I get to see yours huh? I'm oh so curious to know what the dark and edgy skull face looks like under the mask."

"I guess you'll just have to find out after our dinner won't you sweetheart."

"Oi! Ghost ain't layin' it on too much there is he lass?" Soap interrupted, nearly shouting from his place at the bar and directing the attention of the last few people who stuck around to him.

"That's enough from you sergeant." Ghost spat, downing the rest of his water with a glare sent his way. Johnny shrunk slightly from the heat of the look, drinking the rest of his beer as Price chuckled at the both of them.

"Sergeant huh. What're you then? Seems like you give orders often. My kinda guy." You flirted, taking his glass away and putting them with the rest.

"Lieutenant. If you like orders I'm more than willing to give some to you." The wink he sent you made you brain dead enough to stumble, him quickly to stead you with his hands reaching to catch your arms as you steadied yourself against the bar counter. You huffed and stood up straight, adjusting your outfit.

"Game on playboy." You grumbled, eyes flickering to his smug ones as the team made their way over.

"Making a girl fall Ghost? Not very nice of you." Price countered, giving his subordinate a disapproving shake of his head as Simon rolled his eyes.

"I know right. Careful Casper, might get it with one of your friends instead of you don't play nice." You glanced at Johnny and Kyle who were then turning red at your look, proving that they were just as attracted to you as he was.

"If you're looking for an.... unsatisfied night then by all means, have your way with em. Especially that one." He jabbed his finger at Johnny who was too out of it to comprehend what he'd just said about him, Kyle following the same road as they leaned on each other for support. You hummed, grabbing his face with your hand under his chin and pulling his closer to you, much to everyone's surprise as his eyes blew open.

"And you're confident you can.. 'satisfy" me Simon?" You pressed, your grip on his face tightening. He didn't respond, he couldn't, the look in your eyes pulled him in. The challenge and condescending tone, the lust. The daring nature of you was captivating, it took his breath away. It made his brain go numb in the moment, much like you expected it to.

"I guess we'll see then huh, pretty boy." With that you pushed his head to the side, and he felt his bulge pressing against his pants as he took a deep breath in, recovering from the blow to his ego and the wave of arousal traveling down to his painfully hard dick.

"Bar's closed. I'll see you tomorrow Simon. Make sure you can actually get it up, I'd hate to be disappointed." He scoffed, gaining his sense of dominance and confidence back before standing up with his bottle and revealing the height that added on to his monstrous size. Your breath hitched as he leaned over the counter, the smell of whiskey and expensive cologne invading your senses as his breath fanned over your skin from his mask.

"I wouldn't worry about me love. Might wanna call off from work after what I do to you." You couldn't help but press your legs together a bit at the clench of your pussy at his words, feeling yourself grow wet from his voice as you clasped your hands behind your back. You both glanced down at your action, the tension almost too much for you to handle, letting out a breath you were holding as he leaned back and away from you.

"I'm counting on it. I need a few days off anyway." You responded as nonchalant as you could, though you could see the smirk behind his mask at the small shake in your voice.

"I'll be back tomorrow pretty girl. Be a good girl for me and get ready."

...

Son of a bitch.

And that's it!! I wanna be a hot bartender and flirt with a hot military guy with a deep voice and British accent... anyway. Thank you for the request!! It was a joy to write it!!

@kaicubus

[kvnimago]

Fall Into Temptation | 1/3 (Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader)

Summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamn preacher’s daughters.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Female Reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. NO DESCRIPTION OF READER despite the nickname Joel gives her, it doesn’t speak to her body type. AGE GAP (reader is late 20’s and Joel is 56, I know, I know but this was self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). Asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel?

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: I teased this forever ago. Originally, it was going to go VERY differently, but I ended up revisiting the drafts I had saved and tweaked them more to my liking. This is a 3 parter, I want to test the waters and see how it goes, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea but I am so happy to be back trying to get into the groove. I might end up making a masterlist for this but again I’m just testing the waters. If y’all could let me know your thoughts, it would be very much appreciated! 🤍

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates.

Joseph? Was that it?

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and truth of the matter was, he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face.

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the other direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted.

He wasn’t here to make friends.

The closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either.

More like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he needed a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of them were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could be possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve got to be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and Oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them.

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the third one. His breath hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your late twenties, and even then that was a goddamn stretch.

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened.

All three of you were stunners, so why the fuck did it have to be you who had held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Polygamy a thing around here?”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing.

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He is the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters?

He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the commune. “He ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort, hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.

“Hope for what? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? The the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching basic literacy. Shows them how to start reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol.

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so intently that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her mouth from Joel’s view as whispered something over her shoulder.

Shit.

He’d been caught caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late.

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head.

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man.

Unsure of what to do, Joel offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse.

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “Gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got any business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her too much, you know?”

“What about the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster.

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass.

Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor for a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s just about the sweetest thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters probably sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s good. Too good. It wouldn’t surprise me if the good lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?”

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a swig.

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure, so innocent and untouched—it caused something to stir deep inside of him.

“Any of them taken?” 

Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t tell me—”

“No, I’m not interested,” he rolled his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer.

“They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “He is a nice man and all, but he’s real strict with them. Not like that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can believe it.”

Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

“Wasted.” Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Oh and by the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? It’s best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if she makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna say no. Not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think about it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “It was a joke.”

“Right. I’m sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh. ��But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, not like I’ve got to be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door.

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head. You stood up and said something else to her, and then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving.

Alone.

In the middle of the fucking night?

While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself.

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like idiot teenagers rather than men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before stumbling to his feet.

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he had realized what was happening.

Kent was going after you.

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following in suit.

Joel stepped out into the night, looking around.

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.

That couldn’t fucking be good.

“Where the fuck are you two?” he muttered under his breath.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled between the bar and the commune mess hall. You’re pinned under Kent with your skirt bunched around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed it’s way up your bare thigh.

“Aw, come on now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She has no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of him.

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation.

“I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two.

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist.

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’ girl. You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear.

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him.

Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and even more for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes black and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face.”

Kent managed to get to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beat him to death right in front you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel clocked the way that you flinched. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.

You hesitated for a split second, but then took his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, sandalwood, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “I’m fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you I’m fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spinal cord.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “It ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a baby bird.

“That really ain’t necessary—”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright,” he relented. “I suppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “I just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” You teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church was not some joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I actually just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed out, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house, not their church.”

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep the keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.

“This place gives me the creeps,” he admitted.

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“I suppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. It’d started to throb with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.

Above it, bolted into the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it.

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.

A fucking slab of carved wood.

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” You recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands; a big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started to dig through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours, darlin’.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“That’s real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.

“Do you really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the walls of the church.

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because part of me thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel about all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.

He was absolutely right, after all.

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ about your dad?”

“What is it?”

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he’s never done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you. “He ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart.”

“Look, my father isn’t perfect but he’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against his zipper.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans.

Somehow it made it worse.

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say. “You were nervous to come into the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“That’s right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.

“Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.

Want, sure.

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.

But Joel didn’t want you.

He fucking needed you.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure about that, darlin’ girl?”

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it baby? What do you want?��

“I—I want you to kiss me.”

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.

You heard him chuckle softly.

“I’d expect better manners from a girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“That’s much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle.

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age.

He was the one giving you your very first kiss.

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones. What the fuck had he been thinking?

And what about you?

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it.

None.

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard about this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

“You sure about this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.

You breathed him in deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply.

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted was make a wrong move.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need…”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you—”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you.

It was something else.

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it out loud.

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around.”

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t.

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, baby.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it’s like for a man to make you his?”

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass? Is that how sex worked?

He almost laughed. “Don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“I just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “I’m gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a while. You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

“Of course,” you breathed out.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[kvnimago]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader (18+ oneshot)

— some things are (better) left unknown

word count: 4k+

⚠️: 18+, angry-fucking, GRAPHIC depictions and descriptions of smut, slut shaming, degrading, "good girl" shit, profanity, petnames kinda, they-think-they -hate-eachother-but-will-absolutely-submit, cant-really-think-of-anything-else-just-prepare-yourself-pls

(reblogs are highly appreciated! i'm a new acc)

—

For what felt like hours, days, even. You felt eyes boring their presence upon you. Like a laserbeam going through your thick skull. And it was of no use trying to see who it was, because there'd only be one person to do that.

Your hands reach for the cold steel spoon, engraved on it was 'Task Force 141'. You felt your fingers brush over the letters as you picked it up and held it to your mouth, the hot soup going through your lips and into your stomach.

It'd been a long day, when the winter was out to kill, and when the warm fires were less orange than any other December when you lit it up.

Although, the light on your cigarette appeared much brighter than any chimney to you today. You couldn't tell, at this point, if you were actually full from the meal or the Cuban you held in between your index and middle finger.

You got up slowly from your chair, which was rocking back and forth whenever you sat down or got up. You could smell another familiar scent of smoke coming from the other seat beside you, though it wasn't something very significant as of this moment.

Captain Price approached you as you looked away from your seat, checking if there was any spots of food you left behind, "Hey, kid."

"Yes, Capt?"

Price pulled out a letter from his pocket, the material of his gun rustling against his belt from his pants. "Think you can grab these from the basement for me? I need it by tomorrow."

You reluctantly take the letter, it contained some vehicle tools, ammunition supply, uniform badges, you name it. Just regular stuff, not anything too difficult. But you were neither prepared, nor did you see it coming, when he said the next thing:

"I'll have Lt. Riley tag along. That alright with you, Simon?" He said, fully aware of the fact that Ghost couldn't ever say no. He was the Captain, after all. And it was.. apart of his job to follow his orders.

Price nods approvingly without even waiting for your answer, nor Ghost's, "Good. It's in the basement. The dark room without any lights, so just bring one." He looks at his watch, 8:27.

"You should be back at 5 in the morning, clear?" he emphasized, he was always one to take the job very seriously.

As he walked away, you felt that peering stare from earlier return. All you could do was feel the wrinkles on the paper, which smelled like conditioned air.

You didn't dare turn around, you stood there, hands behind your back. Like an idiot, honestly. That's what Ghost would say.

The sound of a metal seat's legs rubbing against the tiles entered your ears. You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous as hell bein' around him.

"Come." said Ghost, "Stop wasting your time." he added.

You shut your eyes tightly and reopened them for a quick second and turned around, met by his terrifying thousand-yard stare which was surprisingly all natural. You have a guess that it's because of the mask that you notice it ever so often.

"You're still mad at me."

Ghost placed his utensils on the tray which sat on the table, tilted. "And?" he asked you.

"You wouldn't want to go in the basements alone. You'd piss yourself." his mask moved as he spoke, and you could've sworn that you heard a light laugh coming from his nose. You were afraid that he wouldn't cooperate due to the fact that you both had a slight mishap the other day, but to your relief, he's.. seemingly alright about it.

He mannered for you to come along, so you did. You were following him, hands behind your back, you got a great view of how he wore his gear, how messy some other parts were, and how he kept some specific adjustments to his uniform. For example, he has to not button the first 2 buttons on his shirt. He just covers it up with his tactical vest, because his waist is smaller than his upper body.

You smile to yourself, though it only appeared internally. After all, you're still mad at him.

"Still pissed, Sergeant?" his bone-chilling tone entered the atmosphere. Why, it was cold and stern. Had no gentleness or anything of the sort behind it.

You paused and stopped in your tracks, followed by a small grunt that escaped your mouth as you spoke: "Don't know." your response was a bit.. blunt. Not mixed with anger, or a sense of 'I don't care'. You just simply uttered the two words.

He turned to you, also stopping in his way. You could feel lava in your ears boiling at it's own temperature when he was now heading your way, the distance was closed from a meter apart, now at a foot apart from eachother.

"That is fuckin' idiotic, woman." every word he said felt like a dull blade being pressed against your chest. Over and over.

You glared, irritated by the comment. Woman? "Thank you, Simon." you retorted, it took about a thousand horsepower to bring yourself not to sound so affected, the annoyance evident in your eyes as you brought yourself to look at him in the eyes again.

"Fuck did you just say?" he doesn't like being called by the first name. Not at all. Especially when it's you, your words are like scratching at plates to him. Even the thought alone of you makes his head hurt.

You smiled a little, fuck, I think I've really gotten into his skin. "I don't know, Simon. Would you please get out of the fucking way and go to the basement now?"

It'd be very strange if you hadn't spotted his fists clenching a bit. He had a.. short temper, that's for sure. But never have you seen him let it out, which was another factor that removed your fear around him. Well, besides the death stare.

He didn't look at you again. For the next 5 minutes you both spent together trying to walk across the base to get there.

The room was dim. Only about 4 lights which were scattered all over the basement, and it wasn't much, because the basement was fucking huge.

"A pistol for the Captain and ammunition supply. Find it." Ghost demanded. Like he was the one in charge.

You dug in your pockets, the sound of multiple things clanging against eachother, no luck.

"Did you bring a flashlight?" you questioned, you didn't have one on you.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Sergeant." he stared at you, getting back up from what he was doing.

You backed up just a few inches off your foot, "Jesus. Fine. I can manage."

Ghost seemed satisfied with your reply, because you could see him turning around again through the dim lights.

You absolutely lied. It was impossible to see in the near-dark. Only the small shine of metal was a hint to what you were trying to find.

You went further into the dark, no signs of what you were trying to find, based on your sense of touch.

Boxes could be heard being carried and put on the small side-tables. To add, the ring of alloy was very apparent especially when there was nothing else that could be in your ears.

"You found anything?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

"No."

"Me neither."

You sighed, it should be around 8:50 now.

Ghost couldn't stare at you or penetrate at your soul with his glare, no, not through the dark. It removed an essence of control as he knew.

"I'm not mad, Lieutenant." You told him, desperately trying to fight the silence.

"Shut up and find the things we need."

A solid ten minutes passed before you found a pistol, contemplating on whether or not you should go back the minutes-long walk to your quarters to get a flashlight, because time was running slow.

Ghost heard the gun being cocked, moving over to your spot. "I haven't found anything."

"So? What does that make me?" you replied, his jaw clenched when he realized you were mocking his previous reply to you.

"An idiot. Because your arse forgot the light."

He came closer to you, although it sounded like he was far away. You couldn't ignore his comment, "You took your mask off, right? Now I really should've brought a flashlight, so I can see that ugly fuckin' face of yours."

You felt a cold shudder go through your spine when footsteps came louder.

"That would've been a hell of a sight to see, because I'd say I'm not ugly." he spoke in a deep, sultry voice.

"A good hell doesn't exist." you replied.

"Bullshit." he breathed out, jamming boxes on the floor again, "You can be mad for all I care, because I don't."

You could feel his black stained eyes once more, although not visible, it was all the more apparent when you heard his footsteps getting closer behind you.

"That's a shitty response, boo, Simon."

"You're shitty."

"Fuck you."

Veins popped on his forehead, his balaclava sweaty from the lack of ventilation inside the basement,

"Be mad at me all you want, yeah? Not my fault some dumbass fuck is on my squad."

Now was not the time to be discussing about your personal endeavours, it was a time to follow Price's orders, not to waste the precious hours.

Silence devoured the void that kept his distance from you. Simon never really liked you, favored you, or even talked to you that much, you think you really fucked up and outdid yourself the moment you messed around during a mission and let an enemy loose.

He always looked away from you.

Johnny would say he'd go silent whenever you were mentioned or whenever you were around, for some reason that even he didn't know.

And you thought that maybe, just maybe, this would've resolved your issues with eachother.

Wrong. He's still the fuckin' asshole he is, always shoving it in your face that you're incorrect, telling you how to do this and that. You'd stare deep into his dark and sullen eyes, when the nights were just right that he would be angry-fucking you right before or after a mission. Nonetheless, it didn't change his view about you.

Simon couldn't see anything, yet, he wanted to go over to your spot. You gasped when you felt a clothed hand on your butt, breaking the trance of thoughts you were in. You heard a small grunt with it, too.

You could barely see anything, but who else was there except for Ghost?

"Simon. Get your fucking hands off my ass." you commanded, grabbing his hand and pushing it away from you.

Ghost emitted a groan, surprised by the sudden movement.

"What hands?" his accent was thicker than the dark, a shudder entering your spine again when his breath hits your neck from afar. "That is not my hand, sweetheart."

The knots in your stomach tightened. He grunted again, and you felt the warmth of his breath tilt to the side, "Sergeant. Get your goddamn hands off my pants." he spoke slowly and firmly at every word.

"Don't need to fuckin' grab it like that—just ask nicely." he sighed at that last part, dark and threatening was his tone, though his eyes had seemed to tell a different story, which again, wasn't visible to your sight.

His words left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, your body warm from the burning tension. And also from the anger that flushed in the tips of your ears, you didn't know of a single bit where this was going, yet you let it happen.

You could feel the strong presence of a stiff vest on your back, your legs rubbed against his muscular thighs. The low ponytail on your head was coming loose,

"You know what?"

"Yes?" your response sounded more like a breathy noise than a word, the heat emerging from inside you. There was nothing to be denied, no matter how upset, disappointed, or irritated you were.. you'd always come back for him.

"You're a fucking slut, that is—Your anger towards me is no match for that filthy cunt of yours."

You whined, involuntarily, every breath he took shattered itself on your neck, "God. I fucking hate you."

"Really? Those hands and that pussy of yours say otherwise. Every fuckin' time."

A soft grunt escaped your lips, and this was only from his words.. How? It was indescribable, what you felt. The rim of your cargo pants were tugged by gloved hands, you sighed lightly,

"Turn around."

You followed his orders like a lost puppy in search for its owner, his sentences were like hymns to your ears, frankly, hypnotizing you and leaving all common sense behind.

Ghost lifted his skull mask and took it off, setting it aside on the makeshift table that had been sitting in the basement for a long time. He'd also taken his balaclava off, his cold lips exposed to the air, a huge part of you wanted to see whatever glorious sight was behind the dark.

Your soft fingers traced and tried to visualize what you were feeling. He had long eyelashes, a pointed nose, and a sharp jaw. It made you all the more eager, that's for sure.

A startled gasp left you as his forearms brushed against your hands, lifting you up and using his leg to support you like a seat, he had his chest pressed against you, your back pressed against the wall. You could feel his eyes on you, your mouth hung slightly open to support your heavy breathing.

You lowered your hand to be placed under his thigh, his expression wistful, hot breath trickling down your neck.

You can recognize his chest moving up and down slightly, breathing in and out, and it makes your inside tingle and your heart race. The smell of clean clothes and cologne filled the room.

Then there's more silence. Like a weird and unnerving silence, like the world had stopped spinning for the two of you.

"Simon?" you inhale the small essence of his cologne, the scent brushing and bouncing against your nostrils.

"What about me, Sergeant?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper, while he gently touches your chin with a finger. He tilts your head, turning you to face his eyes through the dimly lit room.

And then, finally, the silence is broken by the hungry breath that escapes his lips, he kisses you passionately, his grip on your hand tightens as he slowly but surely pulls you towards him. He wraps his arm around your waist as he holds you close to him, his cheek pressed against yours. His lips are rough, starving. Like this moment was supposed to happen, and it did. In the back of his mind.

The warmth of his hand seeps through the outer of his glove, before he pulls away from the kiss and bites on the corner of his glove so he can take it off.

His mind is fuzzy, "Do you even have panties on?"

"No, Lieutenant." you words dragged like a sigh.

You could hear him chuckling lowly, "I figured, since you're such a little slut."

Your mind was cloudy, it was agonizingly taking so long. You couldn't take it anymore, you tightened your grip on his pants, he groaned, muffling his moan with his hand that still had a glove on.

"Mmh— fuck. Can't take it anymore, Sergeant?"

You nodded instantly, his hand felt the rush of your nod as it was still on your chin.

"Words. I want words."

"Please, Simon. What do you want?" you hurried to reply, your mind in shambles.

"Me? What do I want?"

He teased you, the lump in your throat larger. The warmth in your belly forming a larger pool for you to endure.

"I don't fucking know—Just tell me!" you craved at the thought of him commanding you, asking you to do what he wanted, the thought of him whining and moaning as he asks you to go faster on him, pumping him dry 'til the walls are white.

Ghost huffed in pleasure, "Gotta finish what you started on me, no?"

He lets go of you, using only his thigh and leg to support you for the time being. He coaxed his chin up, unbuckling his belt. You tried to hold yourself up with your own arms, but the myriad of lust, pleasure and somewhat— anger and annoyance trailed along your brain.

It took all of his strength not to let his head fall back, he felt the cold air touch his shaft, he shivers, your other hand travelling by itself from his thigh to the head of his cock.

He absolutely dissolves in your touch—getting off to your soft hands instead of his big, calloused hands that assist him almost every other night that you pop up in his mind.

His hands slipped up your shirt, feeling your back. The sudden touch making you squirm and arch your back, pressing yourself even further against him.

"Mmpfh— wish I could—" he cuts himself off with a groan, "—wish I could fucking see that pretty fucking face right now."

You gasped, his hand even further up your clothing, causing you to grow your hand's pace on his cock, he moaned lowly, "You ever get off to the thought of my cock in your hands?" he was eager for a reply, probably, to validate his own thoughts about you,

Your breathy sentence responds to him, "Yes."

He chuckles, seemingly content with your answer, he can't stand the silence anymore, apart from the slow slopping of your hands that barely manage to wrap themselves over his thick cock. He crashes onto your lips again, your noses touching, he opens his mouth lightly, inviting your tongue to go down on him.

When you enter his mouth, it's full of a flavor indescribable to man, your hand pounced on him, touching his stomach with every stroke, his bleary eyes rolled back, parting away from the kiss to release a moan.

"You sure no one can hear us down here?" you asked in between the crazy shit you guys were already doing, audible from outside or not, there was no taking back what was happening in this moment. You were fully aware.

"Never said so," he huffed, "fuck, fuck—go faster—mmh—"

The pleasure he was feeling was indescribable, though you could say it was a bit selfish of him to cum first, you'd think he deserved it, and—not to lie, you were getting off of this, too.

He let out a low groan as your pace quickened, beads of sweat smudging on his black stained eyes, he thrusted himself in and out of the "O" shape your hands had formed, though his cock was too thick that the "O" would form into a "C" every time he went through it. He shuddered, feeling his climax getting nearer and nearer,

"Fuck—I'm so fucking close—don't you dare stop—" he let out a breathy and low pitched moan every time, each pound of your hands on him getting wetter and wetter.

You grinned like the cheshire cat, your eyes low and heavy as you wait for him to reach his high, your balance on his thigh getting weaker as he shudders, his hands placed roughly on the sides of your hips, rocking you back and forth to force your hands further down his length.

You moved faster and faster, moving frantically at him, he lowered his head and mumbled into your hair, "Fuck, mmph—Jesus..—I'm gonna fucking cum." every word he pressed onto your head vibrated throughout your skull, his low and growly voice rang through your ears, his moans were melodious to you.

Your breathing was heavy, as he rode out the last of his climax on you, his thighs squeezed against your leg, shaking as he releases all the pent up anger he previously had on you.

He sighed loudly, drops of milky white fluid dripping over his cock, he picked it up from the slit of his dick, an airy whine leaving his lips.

The cloud in his mind was getting clearer bit by bit, although, the pleasure would never escape his mind, not ever.

He entered his coated fingers into your mouth, laced with his own cum, the saltiness lingered in your mouth, before he rammed his digits farther down your throat, causing you to whine and gag, he stabilized his breath for a minute or more.. but you couldn't tell how long it took, your mind was in a haze.

"Fuck, your turn." he cooed as his fingers slid out of your mouth, making you gasp for air in delight. He swiftly unbuttons your pants, sliding them down in a fast motion and throwing them to the ground, "You can worry about finding your clothes later."

He started by lifting your thigh up, gripping it like there was no tomorrow, "Leg. On my shoulder. Now." he commanded, sliding your panties off your legs as you willingly let his cock get a better view of your now unclothed cunt.

"I can't fucking—oh God!—" your sentence was cut abruptly by the thick and wet head of his cock entering the gateway of your soaked pussy, it wasn't fully in, yet you were beginning to go crazy. He moaned, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, muffling the loud noise to prevent it from bouncing against the basement walls, "You fucking—" his moan reached his mouth faster than his words, "Shit—your pussy is so fucking tight!" he cursed.

Your lower body was completely naked, your head tilted enough just for you to be able to breathe properly, a sharp sensation enters you as he goes further down in your pussy, his huge size making it difficult for him to enter fully, "Sorry, sweetheart." he apologized, a grin evident in his tone.

You can feel his hands travel from your waist to your ass, cupping them for support so you don't fall and make him slip out of you.

Nothing could've prepared you for the moment he slips fully into you, causing to to babble and cry words that were pure gibberish, the sounds of him pounding against you harmonizing with your moans, "Oh my—fuck!—" every thrust he lets out on you sends a jolt of electricity up to your spine, you bring your hand to grab a fistful of his hair, making him push against you even more.

"Feels better than your hands." he breathily shakes, he goes in and out of you, grinding against you as you continue to lose yourself, your pussy sucked and groped his cock in.

You swallowed hard as your ass was clenched by his rough hands, low grunts escaping his mouth as you let out sweet little cries of pleasure, "Fuck!—Simon—That's it—Mmmfh!—" your tender voice was like a song composed and played out just for him. His ego growing bigger and bigger with every moan that escapes your lips.

You heave, struggling to breath. His movements grew frantic and impatient, your walls contracting on him, he enjoyed every single bit.

"Greedy fucking pussy." he commented, savoring every moment you were inside and outside of him, your sensitive cluster of nerves waiting for their release any time soon, he leaned further on you, forcing his breath to trail along your neck. You cried, nothing on your mind but pleasure.

Your blood roared in your ears, buzzing with every second you were thrusted on, both you and Ghost drowning in pleasure. You bit back a moan, trying not to erupt the whole world, the center of pleasure circulating all around you.

Your moans start getting louder as Simon starts to quicken up his pace, recognizing your incoming orgasm bundling up around the sensation of ravaging pleasure in him.

Your mind went into a cloud, accompanied by the sloppy noises that came along, you felt your whole soul go into an extraterrestrial world—another dimension, you cried and mumbled his name all over, soaking you all over him.

He pounded into you one last time, before you came within him, your fluids melting in themselves, he let out a breathy and hitched moan and pulled his cock out of you, pumping the last bits of his semen out of the head of his dick and slurring his words, taking his time to put a finger around your cunt and swirling it around gently, taking it up to his mouth and sucking on his own fingers, tasting all off your precious juices and humming to himself, "Pretty girl.. best thing I've ever fucking had."

Simon felt content with what happened between the two of you that night in the basement, and although he never dared speaking about it again.. But he wishes it would happen just one more time. Maybe, even two.