moiridior

[moiridior]

the coldest girl in coldtown

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: do murder and mutilation count if you're just a girl and bad men deserve it?

-OR-

joel miller as the unhealthy coping mechanism and/or muse.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: qz boston au; graphic depictions of violence; attempted sexual assault; murder; blood&gore; discussions of sexual assault; assault attempt is NOT perpetrated by joel; morally grey fmc; brief use of misogynistic language; consensual! but not safe or sane; obsessive behavior; rough sex; use of restraints during sex (m!receiving); unhealthy relationships; somnophilia; vaginal sex; anal sex; power dynamics; mentor/protege, kinda sorta; dead dove: do not eat

A/N: heyyyyyy, happy father's day or whatever.

see end notes if you want a brief overview of the TWs before reading.

Word Count: 5.3K

Read on AO3

The first time I saw him kill someone, he was saving me.

Bare-bruised knuckles against split-slick flesh, over and over until there was brain matter splattered against the concrete. When he’d pulled his fist back for the last time, a pause to make sure the body was well and truly dead, it shook like he was afraid of what he’d done. Or, that’s what I told myself, anyway. That he’d frightened himself. 

One of us needed to be disturbed by his brutality, after all. 

If it’d frightened him, it meant he was good. Decent. Just another lick of proof.

A knife had been pulled from his waist and slipped quick and shucking into the body’s throat. I’d never seen something like that so up close before. It’d startled me at first, the jut of the knife. I had the sudden thought, don’t kill it, please, do not kill it. But then it was done, and I was glad for it. 

And when I’d rushed back to my damp box room only to find slick lust against clinging cotton, I’d known it hadn’t been me, the frightened one. 

She calls it an attempted break in, later, because she’s never liked the word rape. 

Who does, of course? Caught unawares—she was new at this, after all, the business of smuggling or watching out for her own life—she’d been unprepared, fumbling a second too long with her gun before they were on her. Unpracticed in watching the blind spots, the dark corners. Didn’t know what to listen for and how a creaking door isn't always just that. An easy fist to the gut and a heavy boot crushing her hand and temple, her head painfully crooked, neck stretched and forced to stare one of the grunts in the eye as they all wrestled her to the ground. He was ugly and drooling, and if she focused on the memory of it, past the slimy cold claws and huffing breath touching her body everywhere, she could remember the saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth while she was touched against her will. 

There had been six of them, against one girl. Which, aside from the act at hand, was just plain cowardly. One could’ve had her easy, she wasn’t very good at defending herself just yet. But now, maybe, she thinks she’d needed the incident to inspire her application to the strengthening of her body. And it’d worked afterwards, anyway. There was that. 

And then there was him. 

Now that was a man adept at making his body do the things he needed it to do. 

Maybe he didn’t know the Pandora’s box he’d been opening when he’d done it. When he’d snatched that worm from between her legs, and had gone and gone and beaten until the face had caved in and his knuckles were split; an unsanitary mingling of blood. Maybe he wouldn’t have stepped in if he’d known what it was he’d open inside of her after that. 

She thinks—later, though—what an unfair approximation of his character that’d been. He would’ve always stepped in. 

It could’ve been called admiration, afterwards. By some. 

He called it obsession. Obnoxious. Child’s fantasy. She called it a gateway, the whole thing, the men and their hands and his killing. The moment.

She’d become obsessed with picking apart the minutes she’d lain on the floor of that dark and damp warehouse until the fingers in her mind bled. How cold the concrete against her back had been where her shirt had ridden up, the gravel burn of torn skin and the sandpaper feel of foreign hands. The way they’d said she wanted it. The certainty within herself that she hadn’t, and how disgusted she’d been. And then, other things. Like how close it’d come to happening and how abruptly he had just made it stop. The quickness of it all. How it hadn’t really happened but it had. How it planted things inside of her chest cavity that weren’t there before. 

Most of all, the sight of him killing the man. The nucleus of the memory. How the surface of the face had become sunken little by little. The nose concaved into the mouth, forehead like a bowl until the white of bone jut forward and cut his knuckles. How all the rest of them hadn’t even tried to fight him because they knew him by reputation alone, scared enough to run fast. How a human could become so frightening, his mere actions spoke his name in silence. 

And then his hand with a tremor, extending towards her.

“I know you’re scared, but you’re okay,” is what he’d said when he was done with it. 

How could he have known, though, if that were the truth or not?

But then her body had felt totally numb, almost perfect, completely fine. The only thing hurting, the inside of her throat where she’d screamed her animal screams.

Maybe she was not so afraid, not so hurt. He’d shown her something— What was there to be afraid of now? —How to kill.

First, you hunt for his name—

After, he'd led you back towards the QZ—careful to keep his distance from the wounded animal— when the quick skip of a large stag had come out of the forest brush to startle you both. It’s gait heavy and thumping, skipping in a zig zag, good at running away to avoid capture. He hadn’t said anything more after, and his abject silence had somehow been more unsettling than the fleeing animal or the brutal mauling of a human skull. He’d turned right back around and gone once you were safely delivered. Be more careful next time, he’d said, just as quick as he’d come. An abruptness of a sort that makes one well aware of how significant a person can be. Whole world tilting sort of thing because you’d turned to watch him go, and known he could not go away forever, that he’d be important still, that you needed to know more. 

Joel Miller, that’s what they say his name is. Stay away, they add, too. 

And there’s a woman, Tess. You go after her first. Slotting behind her in line for ration cards, can’t fucking stand the stench of these bootleg chemicals anymore, after a sanitation shift. She provides nothing more than a quick flash of a sideways glance, but when you see her at the commissary a few days later, going for the last box of overpriced tampons, falsely gracious in letting her take them, there’s recognition in her face, the willingness to chat now, too. 

His Tess, she’s the one that gives up his name first. 

It’s the second thing you ask, if they're together. Unabashed in your prying, masked as silly, girlish inquiry. Someone once, a long time ago, had taught you how to be a good liar. And you lie and lie and lie to the woman, and it’s a little embarrassing to see how easily she believes the earnestness on your face. You tell her about a boyfriend, who does sort of exist, but only when there’s an itch to be scratched and you’re in need of an easy fuck. What’s the use in love at the end of the world? Nothing but a guaranteed death. 

You’d always thought to avoid the artifice of it at all costs. No need to drag around an iron lung in your chest, life was already rotten enough. 

From there on, it’s easy. To ingratiate yourself with Tess, to slot yourself into their complicated little life. A third pair of hands can’t ever be a bad thing, or at least that’s what she tells Joel when he’s angry at your presence. You think he doesn’t like the reminder your face brings, of that ugly almost-moment. But after that first and singular time, you’re sure to never, ever let something like that take you by surprise again. Quick on your feet and good with knives if not your fists, you’re useful with the added bonus of a smaller mouth to feed and you learn quick, too. They both have a lot to teach you. Little protegé. You make sure not to ask for much, especially not when your eye is set on much larger game. 

There is something, though, that does take you by surprise, in the weeks that follow. Which turns out to be nothing more than how easy the whole thing is—sowing discord between the pair of them. Perhaps it was less your own finesse, and more that Tess had already grown tired of him. How he didn’t feel exactly how she felt, love or whatever, maybe. Or how they were both just a little too type A for long lasting camaraderie. Maybe it was just that the whole world was dead and nothing is forever anymore, all partnerships, even those forged in blood and fear, eventually run their course. 

Likely, though, it was nothing more than the regular human greed that ruins most things—both of them in want of someone to order around, and you, with the inclination to only obey one of them when you so chose to. 

A lie here, an omission there, their house falls to pieces like it’s made of cards. No one seems to pay much attention to the spider in the cracks. Or at least that’s what you want to think. And when it’s only you left then, with a warm shoulder for him to console himself with, there are no real fangs to sink into his skin, but you imagine they’re there. 

You have to show him you’re grateful, you reason, for saving you. Or you have to punish him, maybe. He’d opened a wound inside of you. Something delightfully festering that had maybe always been there, but that he’d ripped open by the mere act of saving a girl he didn’t know from something she didn’t want. Really, it was that he’d been the only man to ever do something good for you and not ask for payment afterwards. 

And it’s easy to wear down such a lonely, broken creature. You see that in Joel eventually. He wants something so badly, he just doesn’t know what. 

He fucks your mouth first. Real mean and rough-like. Something you’d offered as a little stress relief. He’d said he didn’t want to have full on sex because you’d end up getting attached, and he wasn’t looking for some young thing that couldn’t take a hint. He said he was unavailable, even though Tess hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. She looked at you with suspicion now when she saw you in the streets, like she knew what you’d done, what your intentions had been from that very first random meet in the rations line. 

He said he didn’t really like you. But he’s a bad liar, and none of that really deters your persistence. Eventually, none of that stopped you from finding yourself bent over the kitchen table of some long-gone family’s abandoned home, his hips slapping wet and hurting against your ass, only a few weeks later.  

In his defense, he really did try to keep to his word. 

Joel Miller is an honest man, after all. Even if he is a killer. 

In repayment of your debt, you teach him how to lie in a way that matters, a believable way. 

You volley your little lessons back and forth. Where the best spots are to pilfer for things in long ago picked-over places. A good slight of hand to make a pull from deep in someone’s coat. How to shoot someone in the head without missing. How to breathe through your nose while a cock is lodged in your throat. Enough truth sewn through your lies to make your story believable. How to throw a knife at an angle that won’t veer. How to take a fucking without crying or complaining. The FEDRA soldier on Tuesdays and Thursdays posted on the East facing gate that’ll look the other way if you say or do the right things for him. How to make dessert without sugar or flour or milk and have it turn out actually good despite the fact. How to pretend. How to kill. How to get what you want. 

He doesn’t notice at first, when you start to hunt them. Going out on runs together, coming home dirty and sweaty and tired but amped enough to fuck and then fall into an exhausted stupor, sweaty limbs intertwined; it keeps him distracted for long enough. 

But people start to talk, after the third one goes missing and is later found chopped  up and scattered in pieces. A well known gang through the QZ, the deaths start to cause a stir. 

He starts looking at you funny after that one. Something like hesitancy in his touch, a subtle but cautious pause before he speaks. He tries to lie, to play it off, but you’re the one that taught him how to do that. Doesn’t he know it won’t work on the source? Men are always so stupid. 

You kill them slow because the moment happened so fast. Taking your time to savor the way it feels to force each one of them out of their lives. You’re inventive about it, experimenting on how to approach each one differently. Reasoning that you remember the almost-ness of it so brilliantly because it happened so fast, and that if you take a more leisurely approach with your get-back, it’ll leave your mind quickly. 

When there is only one man left, of the group of six, Joel starts to ignore you. When you come round, knocking on his door, trying to corner him when he’s getting off his shifts, the subtle brush offs, a heavy hand to your shoulder that tries to assuage you of his coldness. But you feel it and you don’t find it very fair, the fact he’d be frightened off by the very thing he wrought in you. 

You’re only doing what he showed you to do at that very moment of your almost hurt. 

It could be that he’s worried about attracting the wrong attention. The fact that you’re already on probation, an aside you’re not interested in dwelling on, for disorderly conduct, followed by an attack on a soldier several months back. It doesn’t really help your cause. You reason that he has a smuggling enterprise to keep going and the wrong attention could ruin things for him. You reason that you probably should not be going on a murder spree when you’ve already got eyes on you. But what must be done, must be done. And you do not like being ignored. 

There is something else, though, that you have over him, that you introduced him to besides the art of lying, and that’s a great fuck. 

Something more difficult for him to ignore or forget, than your words in the street are. 

He’s sort of a coward about it. Sneaking in on you in the dead of night when you’re asleep and unable to force him into things he pretends not to want. Like he’s afraid to face you. Like he’s afraid of the questions you might ask and the answers he might give. Foolish of him to think distance might keep him safe. 

One late afternoon, your face hot and sweaty with anger after you watch him actively turn the opposite way, ignoring you when you try to catch his eye, “Why are you ignoring me?” Because you want it said out loud, you kind of want him to acknowledge that he knows what you’ve been doing, even. 

Do you want me? Do you like me? Could you love me?

Maybe he’s tricked you into believing in things you didn’t before. Who knows. 

He’s getting off a shift, sweaty, too, dirty and grimy, that musk male scent of hard labor and a long day in need of a woman to soften it all. 

“Not ignoring you,” he lies like you’d taught him, wiping his grimy hands down with an ever grimier rag, pushing dirt around needlessly. 

“Oh, right,” you laugh. “You can sneak into my bed at night, but you can’t look me in the eye in the street. That it now, Joel?” 

He looks around at your raised voice, wary of others listening in on your tiff. And the once over he gives you is mean, cold and condescending like a father readying to scold his unruly child for embarrassing him. 

“Listen,” he sighs and you bristle, “We gotta talk—”

“Yeah, we do,” you cut him off. “You’re being kind of a pussy.”

“Watch your mouth, kid.”

That makes you cackle, head thrown back. “Kid. Not so much a kid when you’re balls deep inside of me, are you?” The words are ugly and you catch a woman hovering nearby out of the corner of your eye, her small shocked gasp and quick scurry away as you spit your obscenities.

His mouth tightens in displeasure and he takes you roughly by the elbow, yanking you down the street towards your room. “Don’t be disgusting,” he scolds, yanking your harder, whiplash to your neck. You try to dig your heels into the asphalt, reminded of your inability to fight off men who want to force you to do things you don’t want to do. 

“Maybe that’s just me. Disgusting.” Your stubby nails trying to gouge at the skin of his wrist do nothing. 

Maybe if it was possible to be rotten and still be loved, then you might be convinced to believe after all. But he’s doing a piss poor job of it so far. The both of you are, actually. This really is like you’re carrying around an iron lung. Feels terrible. And when he whips around abruptly, finally on the sorry stoop of your front door, he looks truly angry at you in a way you don’t think you’ve seen him look before. 

“You’re killing them.”

That look, it almost makes you want to be sorry. To say, I’m bitter now, I want to be sweet again. I feel like a ruiner. Some strange emotion wells up in your throat, behind your eyes. Almost. 

“Yes.”

Maybe it’s accusation mixed with worry mixed with fright, you don’t know. Because when the anger leaves his eyes and he drops your arm as if stung, it feels bad in a distinctly unpleasant way. He must see something sinister in your glassy eyes, to bring it forward. 

Why can’t he see that this is all his doing, opening this thing inside of you and showing you how to do it as easy as a bare handed kill?

“The FEDRA goons’ll catch on, you’re not bein’ careful, and you’ll get caught ‘nd that won't be something I'll be able to get you out of. You’re out of control.”

“Not yet, I’m not.”

He shakes his head, disappointed look down his nose at you. “I won’t stick around to watch the crash out.” Very fatherly-like. You’d laugh in his face if you didn’t also want to cry in his arms just now, so you bare your teeth at him in an angry growl, and he’s the one to laugh in your face instead. Imagine an anger so weak it’s funny. 

“Maybe we’re the same, Joel. Have you considered that? Maybe that’s what bothers you about it. That we’re too alike for your own comfort.”

“You only see what you want to see, that’s why bad things come your way.”

“That’s a mean thing to say, Joel Miller.”

“You’re bein’ fuckin’ crazy, not careful. I’m not stickin’ around to watch you hurt yourself. You understand me?” He’s really working himself up, red in the face. Real upset with a finger thrust into your nose that’s making you more emotional than you even think you really feel. But he’s got you all twisted up inside, obsessed and murderous and thinking you might believe yourself in love when you were so sure that wasn’t even possible. “Thinkin’ you’re so fuckin’ smart, so sly. I see you.” He thrusts his finger at your face, gets real close and personal. “I know what you are, you little mess.”

You have to force sound up through the knot in your throat, your voice cracks anyways, you swipe an angry hand at an escaped tear. “I’m just doing what you taught me. You can help me, if you want. If you’re jealous you’re missing out on all the fun.”

The look he gives you, eyes full of furious heat like he could throttle you. You can feel his panting breath against your mouth and those angry eyes flash to your lips for a second, and you know he wants to kiss you, too. Can’t even help himself. You taught him how to lie, how to trick his way into what he wants better than he already knew how. Showed him a good fuck. There’s things Joel’s obsessed with now, too, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And it’s not such an easy thing to brush off as a weakness, an obsession, when the object of its desire is right in front of you and just as panting angry. 

When he storms off in a huff, you make sure your mocking laugh is loud enough to follow.  

He comes when it’s midnight dark outside, not like a ghost because Joel could never be something as ineffable. Whatever it is that can be worse than a ghost, though, that’s what he crawls into your bed as, you decide. 

The night is dark. It is quiet. The air is still. If something bad were to happen, this would be the perfect moment. 

You hang suspended in your dreamscape, not awake and not gone to sleep completely. The feel of his weight moving over you on hands and knees could be light as nothing the way you float on that edge. But the heat he radiates is unmistakable when he pulls the light sheet away from your damp body, and you can feel the bare heat of his naked thigh brush against the inside of your knee when he nudges your legs apart. 

A coward is worse than a ghost. 

He moves your limp body as he needs, spreading your thighs and hitching your hips. 

“S’alright, just open your legs for me…yeah, baby, yeah. Lemme in, don’t need to be awake, just take it.” There’s the wet tuck of the wide head, “Here ya go, darlin’. Nice and easy.” Skin so hot it scalds, but so, so soft, too. The forward nudge, the slick slide because you were dreaming of this already, went to sleep wishing for it, so it’s tight and gripping but wet. 

This is how one confuses lust with love. And you think: I want…I want. And I want it from him and he has to give it to me.

His thumb rubs along the stretch of your cunt around his cock as he sneaks his way inside your body, so sleepy, such a good girl, coaxing the taut skin to do what he’s demanding, gathering slick beneath the pad of his thumb to slide up the curve beneath your cheeks to press at your other hole, insistent on intruding even further. 

You whine pitifully, still trapped in that half-dream place and he gruffs soft and chuffing in his chest, half braying buck, half soft, easily manipulated thing. 

“You like this, baby,” he tells your half asleep form. “Like it when I use you like this.” 

He’s got one arm bent over your head to cup the top of your skull, applying gentle pressure to press your body back into accepting his cock, and when he’s slid full into the hilt, fingers of his other hand hitching one knee higher to make more room for his bulk, he pauses and holds still to breathe into your neck. That’s what gets you to wake up completely. The concentrated scent of his body so close, the hot wash of his breath against your throat, the smell of his clean sweat blended with heat. Your own cold sweat blooms along the line of your vertebrae, and you can feel the thump of his aorta in his belly against the small of your back and deep in your cunt against your cervix, that thump thump thump. You wish you could reach in and take hold of that lifeline, grasp in your hand that which keeps him alive for you and guard it for him in thanks for his keeping you alive, too. 

“So good, stay right there, just like that. Don’t move, baby, need this right now.”

He presses a very gentle kiss to your jaw, and then starts to thrust. You like that he’s always gentle when he sneaks up on you like this. That he’s always very careful about fucking you awake, ever aware of the fact that he’s taking something. 

You moan softly for him, the feel of the wide head moving against the front wall of your cunt, rubbing against the sensitive spot there. The catch and tug at the ring of your entrance when he pulls his hips all the way back to slide in long and stretching next. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it? Feels good to just lay there and take it. My little hole to fuck and fill whenever I want.”

You start to pant, quick and panicked, needing to get there already. You want it so bad. He presses in as deeply as he can go, tip to womb, grinding and you start to come, so hard it’s painful, like your insides are all stretched and wrong and bruised, and then suddenly pulls out of your belly with a wet, tight suction. 

It forces a strangled little scream from your throat— “Come inside me, no, no, please, please, Joel. ”

“No.” —Your entire body spasms painfully and half-fulfilled.

“Don’t be mean to me. I can’t take it, not tonight, please— No, no, don’t, Joel—” Before he’s forcing that thick mushroom head into your ass, stinging and unprepared, and jacking the greater half of his cock to spend into your tight hole, his palm wrapped around your hip, fingertips pressed to the pulse in your groin to force you back onto his spurting erection. The sound he makes, loud, unrestrained groan with his hot, wet mouth pressed against your ear, the feel of his tongue licking at the sensitive dip below, and the unbearable heat of his semen bleeding into your belly, it makes your cunt spasm again, milking hungry at nothing. 

Angry, greedy, starving tears slip from your eyes when he pulls out of your stinging ass. He doesn’t even frown when he sees your splotchy, tear streaked face, only licks them clean away like they’re exactly what he expected to slake himself with in the aftermath. 

He’s a heavy sleeper when he’s in your bed. One of the silent reassurances because you know he wouldn’t be able to truly rest, to find real sleep beside you, if he didn’t trust you completely. 

You straddle his waist, the soft thickness of his cock tucked between your bodies, and admire your handwork. The broad musculature of his chest, the thick vein, dark beneath his skin, running along his shoulder, highlighted by the intruding moonlight. You press the hard muscle beneath it, watching as the blue thread disappears for a moment and then bleeds dark again. When you grip his face, his lashes flutter for a moment, and then it’s just his stupid, animal eyes, helpless to your grace, following you even when you terrify him. 

“I told you not to be mean to me,” you tell him, digging your nails into his cheeks. He looks at you blankly for a second longer, taking stock of his body, and then his head tilts up, up, following the line of his arms to where his hands are tied together at the bedpost. 

The look he swings back your way, crooked brow and all, is condescending enough you take hold of his hardening cock between your bodies, tugging his hips off the mattress so he’s whimpering, hardening further immediately. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” He pants, head falling back between his lifted shoulders, groaning when you squeeze the reddened head tightly. 

“My turn to play,” you murmur, sitting back to admire the thick bulge of his biceps as he strains against the ties, his reddening chest. 

“Fuck—that’s fuckin’ good,” Joel moans as you twist your fist around him, tugging his sac with your other hand, spitting to lubricate your fist moving up and down his length. He moans louder, your name, and his legs shift restlessly behind you, tipping you forward on your knees with the movement. You squeeze his balls tighter, trying to find your balance and he whines. There’s a tiny bead of sweat at the delicious notch of his throat that you taste with the tip of your tongue. Sweet and salty, both at the same time. 

“Fuck, fuck, that’s enough now.” He widens his knees bent behind you, trying to dislodge your balance further, and you hear the creak of the headboard as he strains further against his binds, the muscles in his arms bulging obscenely. Your heart beats a panicked flutter of excitement. “That’s enough, you’re going to make me fuckin’ come—fuck.”

“I told you not to be mean to me tonight. I asked you to come inside me and you wouldn’t. You’re mean, Joel Miller, and I don’t like it.”

You shuffle your knees wider, and he looks down at you with glassy, delirious eyes, his erection throbbing almost violently in your grip. 

“You’re bein’ a real bad girl right now.”

“I want you to love me,” you tell him, notching him at the mouth of your sex. 

“I won’t.”

“I’ll make you.”

You press down on him until his thighs are against your bottom, both of you groaning ferociously at the tight fit caused by the angle you're bent forward at on top of him. Looping your arms around his neck, yanking his head back with your fingers in his hair. 

“Fucking kiss me,” he demands, and you press your mouth hard to his, tasting his tongue. Tightening around him, you bear down, molding your chest to his. I’ll make you, I’ll make you, you tell him and he eats at your mouth, growling with the force of his strength when he rips the restraints free of the headboard to wrap one freed arm around your waist, pulling your hips still and lifted so he can pound up into you as hard as he wants until you’re both falling into your orgasm together, gasping mouth against gasping mouth. 

When he’s finally caught his breath, he tells you, “If anyone could, it’d probably be you.”

The last of the six takes a long time to catch. Like a bad, sneaky rat that’s learned all the tricks. She takes too long, and he gets another girl, and what he does, it isn’t just an almost, not even just a breaking in. She’s forced to say the whole hateful word out loud. It’s all very brutal, makes her stomach hurt. Makes her cry and feel guilty and then relieved, terrified and then horrible again. 

So when she finally catches him, she makes it really count, real slow. 

“You gotta hold the knife like this. Forty-five degree angle, cock your wrist and press firm. But controlled. Don’t wanna go too deep, though, and knick the liver or he’ll bleed out right quick like a stuck pig. Real messy.” Joel’s instructions are clear, precise. “Yeah, good, like that. A little deeper.” The blood spurts, it is very red—arterial, too deep—the body bays like a dying thing.

“Thank you.” He knows what she means.

“Sure.”

She looks at him and he stares back at her. 

“I told you I’d make you. Didn’t I?”

“You did.” His eyes are deep and soft. “Now focus,” he tips his chin at the dying body, “We’re almost done.”

Later, when Joel steps out of the old, abandoned house, her work cleared away not to be found, he sees that there is a large, dead stag just by the door, seemingly come out of nowhere—caught now. 

End Notes: FMC is attacked and a sexual assault is attempted, she is pinned down and groped (body parts not specified) but Joel stops her attackers before it can be taken further. If you would like to skip ahead the description of assault starts from "She calls it an attempted break in..." and ends at "First, you hunt for his name."

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[moiridior]

big fan of John “i know how to fuck my bird” Mactavish, and Simon “no, let me show you how to fuck your bird” Riley

[moiridior]

I was bored so here's my take on: Your feed dating Carmy in TB&TF Universe!

lmk if you like it idk I had fun making it xx.

[moiridior]

I’m not crying.. you are-

[moiridior]

👀 so anyways

sorry I had to take a sip of water a year and a half ahem ah yes like I was saying rough day chapter 20 will be posted on Sunday March 12 2023 at 9pm est thank you

[moiridior]

jfhdhfjf i just can’t stop thinking about him fucking the newest front of house who’s just really good at her job and he appreciates how easy she is for him when everything else is hard especially when she lets him fuck her when he needs to blow off steam SORRYEYY ?????

Carmy doesn’t know when it happened.

Doesn’t know when it started, but he’s starting to think it’ll never stop. You’re just so…helpful. Good at the till, good with the customers, good at the fancy new coffee machine Carmy had bought (just for you) and good at expediting, when shit got busy, and he needed another hand. Good, good, good, good – fucking brilliant, if you ask Carmy, wasted on a place like The Beef, or The Bear, or the shit hole his brother left him, that he’s trying to make good. Good, good, good. Good at other things, too, like keeping quiet when you’re in his office and he’s fucking you from behind. Or, getting loud when you’d managed to get to his apartment, and he’s saying how thankful he is.

He’s spilling the truth into your mouth when you gasp his name, hitching your legs up higher so he can hit that spongey spot that makes your eyes roll back – makes you go quiet. Until you’re sobbing out how thankful you are. Gripping his curls, nose pushed against his, I like making things easier for you, Carmy. You whisper as you grind into him, I like being good for you. That’s how it starts – this whole good thing.

“Good,” he’d comment when you finished a particularly hard lunch rush. “You did good,” and he’d see it. See the way your face relaxed and feel how he’d want to say it again.

He can’t stop saying it. Can’t stop when it’s after closing and everyone’s gone home. When he’s got you against the door to his office, mouth pushed into your ear, and he’s taking his time, making his strokes deep and steady as he says, so good for me. Such a good fucking girl. I’m not letting you leave this goddamn restaurant – and he kisses you between words, between grunts and groans – not letting you leave my goddamn sight.

[moiridior]

JEREMY ALLEN WHITE by Ben Sklar

[moiridior]

why don’t you - Javier Peña x f!reader**

summary: it’s hot af and you’re wearing a sundress. that’s all Javier can say about that day.

word count: 2k

warnings: exhibitionism (kind of), riding, Javi can’t stop talking, male masturbation. 

IF YOU ARE AN EMPTY BLOG/DO NOT HAVE YOUR AGE/AGE RANGE IN YOUR BIO, PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY WORK OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!

gif: @hunterschafer​ 

By all means, Javier Peña responded to visuals.

Whether with his job or personal life, he responded best to what he could see. Palpable evidence, as he liked to call it. Anything that he could see, he could believe in it.

But he couldn’t believe this. It was true that Cali was hot today but damn, he did not expect this.

Keep reading

[moiridior]

Eyes On Me

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) 

Flirting, pining, size difference, mentions and descriptions of injury, mentions of battle, dirty talk, praise, dry humping, unprotected vaginal sex

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Summary: Ghost gets a life-threatening injury, and it’s your job to make sure he returns to full-health. 

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A/N: I rarely do summaries on one-shots, but since I’m introducing a character I figured I would (: I loooove this character, and I’m really hoping to write more one-shots with her and Ghost in the future!

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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Working on them was easy, they took everything you gave them like champs. Splints, stitches, cleanings, anything they had, you took care of. They’d bite their tongues, ball up their fists if they had to, but for the most part, that was it. Vargas wouldn’t whine, but Gaz would. Price was nearly silent and in all honesty, Soap whimpered like a baby. But Ghost, he didn’t ever make a sound. 

It wasn’t always like this, you weren’t always 141’s go-to medic. Before, you were here for everyone. Whoever needed you, that’s who you tended to. You got so good at it that at one point, you’d been promoted to a rescue mission position. Daily helicopter rides became your usual. Freezing temperatures and smoke-filled air met your exterior shell on a weekly basis. You’ve even been dropped into open fields full of bullets and bloody cries. The training you received was minimal, but enough for you to take it and run. You had talent, that talent growing into expertise. You knew how to defend yourself, your reflexes were good. You could shoot a gun and if need be, hold your own. That’s what got you to 141. 

They impressed you, they still do. The team worked like a well oiled machine. And when you first saw them, you immediately questioned him. 

“What’s with the mask?” You’d asked him, straight to his face. He tilted his head. “Is it still Halloween?” 

The boys laughed, but Ghost didn’t. His fingers curled, and he sucked in a breath. You were brand new; not a good way to start off with him. Hey, it’s not your fault he took it the wrong way. You love Halloween. Sometimes you even find the scary things sexy. 

Eventually you learned the real reasoning behind his mask, behind the skeleton head that hid his face. Honestly, you were intrigued by it, his anonymity. But sometimes, it got in the way. 

“Blood type?” You’d asked, going through each soldier’s file as you became acquainted, some months ago now. 

“Unknown.” Your colleague responded. 

“What? What do you mean?”

“We have little to no information on Ghost’s background.” 

“What if he starts to bleed out? Or needs a blood transfusion?” 

“Guess I’ll die.” Came his gruff response. 

Spinning around in your small and circular wheeled chair, you saw his bulky body taking up the majority on the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest while leaning against the frame. 

Why is she so interested in me? He’d wondered, suspicious of you. What he should’ve been asking himself is, why am I so interested in her? 

He’d seen you work on his team, you were efficient and clean. He’d even go so far as to call you fearless. And surprisingly, he finds himself liking that. You were a bit of a brat, but at the heart of your teasing jokes, there was a sense of playful familiarity. And overall, having you around was good for his men. He didn’t know how vital you were to his team, though, until you had to be flown in to rescue him. 

Pressing into his wound, you didn’t even feel him flinch. The gauze was soaked in the red stain seeping from the cut in his skin, and you were running out of supplies - you were running out of time. And apparently, your frantic nature showed. 

“Hey,” You direct your sternest voice at him. “Ghost - Simon, eyes on me.” 

He’s spiraling; body feeling light and his consciousness leaving you quickly. His eyelids are fluttering. 

“You worried about me, love?” He was out of it, losing blood and flirting while in his hazy state. It was the first time he’d ever been nice to you. 

But really, he wasn’t just being nice because his body was going into shock and losing his grip on reality. He was talking to you this way because he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to after this. 

Giggling, you shook your head, happy that he was now responding to you. “Nah, big boy like you?” Patting his shoulder, you said, “You’ll be just fine.”

Even if he didn’t show it, Simon was worried, too. 

“But I bet you wish you’d told me your blood type now.” 

He wasn’t happy. Simon didn’t ever seem that happy, but right now, he definitely wasn’t happy. All he’s ever known is a military lifestyle, training and being out in the field. Having his team’s back, contributing to the work effort, that’s what he was best at. And now, he can’t do any of that. At least, not for the next couple weeks. 

“I’m not a child.”

“Never said you were.” Rolling your eyes, you openly sass him. “It’s just a blanket.” 

It was the first day of him being in your mini infirmary, just the two took up the room. Each of the boys came in to give him a pat on the shoulder, make sure he was doing alright. But in all honesty, Ghost hated this kind of attention. Being coddled and cared for. He could take care of himself. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” He grunts, looking away almost childishly. 

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna go get some pizza.” 

At this, he perks up a bit, groaning. “Can you bring me back a box?” Mumbling, he’s still looking away.

Before you leave, you turn back around with a grin. “Sure thing, big boy.” 

Once you’re finally gone, he sighs, his emotions contradicting each other inside. Frustration doesn’t even come close to what he’s feeling. He never gets injured in the field. Is he losing his touch? Surely not, he’s still in his glory years. For him, it’s embarrassing to be seen like this, not just in front of the boys but in front of you, though he’d never admit it. You make him feel nervous inside, like he has to heighten the man he already knows himself to be. He has to be tougher around you; he can’t show any weakness. The only problem with that, was that he did have a weakness, a major one. That gaping hole in his chest. 

“Alright,” Coming back with two boxes of pizza, you set them on your desk, moving them to the side. “Let’s clean you up.” 

“I can do it myself.” 

“Okay, look.” Wiping your hands off of your pants, you turn to face him. “This is my job. Would you get angry at Soap for clearing a room before you? Or Price for conducting an infiltration route?” 

This makes him stop, closing his mouth for a moment, although you can’t see it. 

“I’m part of your team, you have to acknowledge that. Your job is to kill bad guys, and my job,” Taking a few steps toward him, you point to his chest. “Is to fix the mess the bad guys make.” 

Ghost shifts his shoulders, looking away from you for just a second. And after a moment, his eyes return to yours, and he nods. 

Reaching down, he cracks the knuckles on his hands, and it takes everything in you not to break his eye contact. Every movement of his muscles makes you sweat, the ripples of them more than a beautiful sight. He’s impressive. All he has on right now are a pair of shorts and a bandage wrapped around his upper chest. Other than that, he’s bare. You can see the muscles in his abdomen, the impressive form and firmness of them, the bulges of his biceps and the chorded muscle in his forearms. His legs are thick, huge, sturdy enough to hold his entire weight along with two other men, if need be. Again, impressive.

Satisfied with his nonverbal response, you turn to grab the essentials. Pulling over a small, wheeled tray, you begin your work. Ghost sits up off the back of the bed for you, allowing you to remove the bandages around his chest. He maneuvers himself to sit cross-legged while you do it, his head tilted down to watch you work.

Truthfully, Simon thought you were attractive the moment he saw you. And then you made fun of him. But when he balled up his fists, when he inhaled that sharp breath as a reaction, it wasn’t because he was mad at you. It was because right then and there, he was attracted to you. 

“You ever been stabbed like this before?” 

He doesn’t answer for a minute, not really wanting to admit it. But then he shakes his head. “No.” 

This tells you something, it tells you that you’re tending to the worst injury he’s ever had. And you’re shocked by his answer, you would’ve assumed he’s had worse. But a stab to the chest that just barely misses the heart? Yeah, that’s pretty bad. 

He doesn’t budge when you apply the antiseptic, allowing you to work in peace. Once you’ve cleaned the wound, he’s surprised to feel your hands. His eyes widen while keeping his gaze on you, watching as your fingertips explore him. They move across his chest, just barely gliding over his skin. 

“Doesn’t look too bad.” You murmur to him, eyes trained on his chest. 

Ghost is undeniably the fittest out of the entire team. He’s huge, and not just in height. You haven’t seen his naked torso since the day he was stabbed, and when you were tending to him then, you definitely weren’t thinking about how attracted you were to him. You were working to save his life. But now, you have time to let your thoughts wander, to let yourself experience what he feels like. 

Trailing down a bit, your fingers graze over his abdominal muscles, your tongue briefly sliding across your lower lip. His muscles are firm, smooth, and warm. Your touch makes him feel uncertain; he doesn’t know what you’re doing, but it’s making him nervous. Well, not nervous, necessarily but… excited. 

“What happened to you being nice to me, huh?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at him. And the smile you offer is pretty. “Thought you’d be my best friend after I saved your life.”

This makes him laugh, a small grunt coming out toward the end from his injury. You’re right, he should be nicer to you considering the circumstance. He should also be nicer to you because, well… he fancies you. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally acknowledges, albeit quietly. “I know I’ve been acting… standoffish.” 

“It’s okay,” Shrugging, you reach for the clean bandages. “I get it, you’re embarrassed.” 

Sighing, he looks down at your nimble hands again. “Yeah.” 

“Let’s get your blood pressure before you eat.” You then tell him, changing the topic while retrieving your tools. “Then I’ll leave you alone,” Glancing up at him, you grin. “I promise.” 

Right now, he doesn’t want you to leave him alone. You’re nice company. 

Attaching the cuff over his bicep is a feat in and of itself. His muscles stretch the fabric, but it ends up securing around him adequately. You then take your stethoscope, applying it to his inner elbow while you begin pumping the meter. Glancing up at the machine, you focus on the readings, and absentmindedly, your hand wanders. While continuing to record his data, your free hand slides down his arm and into his palm as you steady yourself beside him. 

Widening those pretty blue eyes, he releases a breath, now looking further down. He’s surprised, but honestly, it feels nice. Makes him relax. And while staring at your smaller hand now resting in his, he inhales deeply, curling his fingers slightly around your hand. This makes your head snap to the side, having not fully realized what you’d done. But Ghost doesn’t move when you look at him; he does stare at you though, right into your eyes. And while keeping your gaze, he lightly squeezes your hand. He really is sorry. He’s grateful.

The days following the first are actually pretty nice. With your main focus on Ghost, the rest of the crew seem to leave you alone for the time being. 

“You’ve been a big help lately.”

“What?” Comes that thick, English accent. “I’ve done nothing but sit on my ass.”

“Yeah, but it keeps them,” Pointing out into the training yard, you finish, “Off my ass.” 

Turning, he stretches, watching his team run around and lift weights on the field behind him, only a window separating them. 

“It’s like I told you, sweetheart.” His head then moves, returning his gaze to you. “You’re the finest thing they’ve seen in months.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You tease. “What about you?” 

Since he’s been nicer, you’ve been spending more time at his side. You didn’t need to sleep here, he was fine by himself, but after that first night, you did. You couldn’t help yourself. Thinking about him all alone in the infirmary while you lay cozied up in bed made you sad. You didn’t want him to get lonely. So, you slept on the small loveseat in the corner, the one the boys usually sit on to smoke. And your sleepovers were starting to make you close, that sweet little nickname being evidence of that.

“What about me?” Under his mask, his face heats up. He knows what you’re asking.  

“Am I the finest thing you’ve seen in months?”

Under that skull-painted cover, he grins, giving you a single nod. “You’re pretty.”

“Oh, Ghost,” Walking over to him, you lean into his bicep, clutching it. “I knew you’d eventually fall in love with me.”

Rolling his eyes, he grumbles with an amused tone, “A pretty big pain in my ass.”

After he says this, you laugh, pushing yourself off of him. 

“Bones?” Your comm link buzzes slightly, a bit of static coming through. 

Pressing your button, you tilt your head to the side. “What’s up?” 

“Searg. is calling a meeting.”

“Time?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” 

“Bones?”

Once your conversation has ended, another one promptly begins. Lifting your head to face him, you raise a brow. “Yeah?” 

Ghost tilts his head to the side slightly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Never heard anyone call you that.”

“Yeah, well you’re not on my med. team.” 

“Well, you’re on my team, aren’t you?”

Giving him a thoughtful pout, you eventually answer with, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Then we should know your cover.” His voice is stern and gritty, deep and rumbling. It’s like how he talks out in the field. 

“Well, now you do.” Giving him a quick wink, you turn away, intent on doing some paperwork before your meeting. 

“What’s the meaning of it?” When you don’t immediately answer, he calls for you. “Bones?”

Something about him using your code name makes you grin. 

“I’m known for breaking them.” Turning, you face him once again, a smile plastered across your smooth lips. 

“Known for breaking bones?” He clarifies, sounding skeptical. 

“Yep.”

“Huh,” He scoffs, “That’s not exactly something to boast about, is it?” 

“Well, it wouldn’t be if they were mine.” 

Oh, now he gets it. 

“I did a lot more than sew up wounds before I came here.” With a heavy sigh, you reminisce on your time in the field. But you made a choice to be here. “I used to break them, now I heal them.” 

He never knew. And honestly, this new information only makes him more attracted to you. A badass soldier with a gentle touch? Sounds like his kind of woman. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” You emphasize, “I’ve got some paperwork to do.” 

“Fine.” He returns flatly, and you giggle. He really sounds upset about that abrupt ending. 

“Think you’re gonna be okay by yourself while I’m gone?”

“Won’t be a problem.” He grunts, shimmying to lay back down. “I’ll just sleep.” 

Throughout your hours spent together, you’ve discovered that he’s quite the fan of naps. He takes one every day around three in the afternoon, and you wonder if he’s finally enjoying his rest. It doesn’t help that you often have to leave him while he’s sleeping, though. You’ve liked being by his side lately, it’s comforting. His presence has begun to grow quite kind, and even in the quiet times, it’s nice. But you still have meetings and other duties to tend to. Which include the one you’d been called to. 

Ghost’s gentle snore is what prompts you to look up, your eyes searching for his own. But they’re closed, one arm propped behind his head with his other hand laying over his stomach. He’s fully laying on the bed, the blanket only covering up to his waist. He’s still shirtless, and right now, he looks practically naked. Aside from the mask. Eyes trailing up his form, you take in the steady rise and fall of his chest, the light-colored hairs scattering his pectorals, and even further down, leading from his belly button to the hem of his pants. It makes you sigh, he looks peaceful. You’ve never seen him so relaxed. 

You don’t like the thought of him waking up to a room empty of you, so to make up for it, you head to the cafeteria. As quietly as you can, you return with a large pizza, one with his favorite toppings on it. Steak, mushrooms, onions, and two kinds of cheese, specifically provolone and American - strange and lengthy details, but ones you memorized, nonetheless. And after you set the box down, taking in another look of him, you turn to leave. 

Eventually, the smell wakes him up. How could it not? It’s his absolute favorite thing to eat. But he has to be careful, he needs to keep himself in shape over these couple of weeks, or he’ll need more training than originally planned. Sighing, he props himself up, the realization now setting in. 

She did this for me. 

He knows it was you and not the boys because of the little note on top of the box. 

Ghost, 

I’m at a meeting until six tonight, I’m sorry I probably won’t be around when you wake up. Here’s some pizza to makeup for it. Hopefully you still love me <;3 

Bones

He rolls his eyes at that last part, a smile pulling on the edges of his lips. You can be so sarcastic sometimes. But he likes it. You make him laugh. 

While you’re gone, Simon thinks about the way you take care of him. You’re so gentle with him when changing his bandages and cleaning his wound. Your smaller hands touch him so softly that it makes him feel things for you. He wonders, is he just interested in you because you’re the only woman around? Or is he interested in you because you’re funny? Because you’re nice? It’s because you’re such a tender caretaker and you remind him of all the love he never got in life. 

Looking back at the note, he reads it again. It sounds like you’d regretted leaving him, even for something as important as a medical staff meeting. Maybe you’ve been enjoying his company, too. 

When night rolls around, you snuggle up on the couch, pulling the blanket you’d grabbed from your cot over your shoulders. Ghost just stares at you, one leg laying flat on his bed with the other up, the sole of his foot planted on the mattress. 

“How the hell do you fit on that?”

Shrugging, you answer with, “It’s easy to fit in places when you’re not an enormous tank.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“You should,” Smirking, you can just barely see his eyes in the darkness. Those icy orbs find your own, and it makes your chest tighten. “I like the way you’re built.” 

He chuckles, amused. “Yeah?” And then he reaches for a pack of cigarettes next to his bed, lifting the edge of his mask. “Why’s that, love?” That word makes the skin on your face burn. 

You get a small flash of his face when he lights the end of his cig with a match, and you notice something you’ve never seen before. 

“What’s that scar from?” It just comes out on its own. He knows you’re talking about the one on his jaw. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” He points out, taking a puff. And for some reason, you find that so hot. 

“I’ll answer it if you answer mine.” 

Sometimes, you aggravate him. Sighing, he speaks through the darkness, telling you, “Fine.” 

A sly grin crosses your face on the other side of the room, and you wonder if he can see it. He can. 

“I like men with muscles.” And he likes that answer. “Makes me feel like they can take care of me.” 

He exhales calmly into the nighttime air between the two of you, pressing his lips to the cigarette and then inhaling once again. Ghost knows he could take care of you. 

And then he thinks about his own response, settling with, “It came from a knife.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “You gotta tell me more than that.” 

Flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a tray, he lays back a little on the bed. “It was a mission in the Middle East. Bloody heat was killing me, I had to lift my mask up.” 

Oh, wow. Honestly, you were just kidding. You never thought he’d actually tell you anything more. But you take this chance and run with it, listening intently so you don’t miss a single piece of his story. 

“We were ambushed,” He continues, shaking his head. “Price never saw it coming.”

Truly, you can’t even imagine. Sure, you had your time in the field, but it was nothing compared to what he’s gone through. 

“We took them out, but not before one of them got to me with a knife. Sliced up my jaw.” Ghost exhales a puff of smoke, watching it billow into the air. Then he gently shakes his head. “Didn’t let him get any further ‘n that.” 

By the end of the story, his voice has grown flat. Maybe he doesn’t like thinking about his scars. Maybe it’s why he keeps the mask on. 

“Could I… could I see?”

“My scar?” Comes his instant response. “What for?” 

“I dunno,” Shrugging in the dimly lit light, you glance down at the floor. A timid gesture that he again sees. 

After a moment of silence, he figures, what the hell? Having you be close to his face didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. Besides, he likes getting a good look at you. Finishing off his cigarette and rubbing the butt of it down into the tray beside him, he says, “Why not?” 

Looking up, you shake your head. “It’s okay, I don't have to. I don’t even know why I asked.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Come over here, doll.” 

Almost giddily, you do, shoving your blanket to the side and popping up onto your feet. He chuckles deeply upon seeing your reaction, watching you scamper over to him. 

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

Shrugging, you grin, standing right next to his bed. “Maybe.”

You don’t give a single shit about his scar. You want to see him. Being close to Ghost gives you a good feeling. 

Leaning over, you turn on your desk lamp, illuminating this corner of the room. And when you come back to him, you’re met with the incredible sight of his eyes. They’re light blue in shade, and in the dim light, they’re dazzling. But what really catches your eye is the lower half of his face. His mask is still pulled up, revealing his mouth, chin, and jaw. 

“Can I touch?” You then ask, keeping your voice quiet. 

He eyes you up and down while your gaze is fixated on his mouth. His lips curl, and he nods. “Sure.” 

Lifting your hands, they fall to either side of his face. When you make contact with him, he closes his eyes, exhaling a slow breath, accepting your touch. He can’t remember the last time he let someone do this. 

“Hm…” You don’t mean to, but you hum, fingers trailing along his jawline and chin. He has stubble here, just barely. It seems like when he’s crept away to the showers at night, he’s shaved. 

Ghost’s eyes trail across your face, feeling your breath on his skin. You’re closer than you ever have been before, and it makes the muscles in his chest tighten, makes his pulse quicken. Licking his lower lip, he whispers, “How’s that feel?” 

“Good.” You respond, nodding, your eyes not once leaving his mouth. “I like it.”

“Why’d you want to feel it?” He then wonders aloud, and he wishes you would look up at him. He wants to look into your sweet eyes. “Haven’t you seen enough scars in your lifetime?” 

“I don’t really care about scars.”

What the hell?

Scrunching his brow, he then asks, “Then why the hell did you want to see mine?”

Now, you do look up into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you work up the nerve to say what’s floating through your mind. “Because it’s on you.”  

Immediately, he swallows. His gaze falls to your mouth for the first time since you’ve been this close, flickering back and forth from your eyes to your now slightly parted lips. And all at once, he sits up a bit straighter, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you in.

As if you’re expecting it, you melt into him, letting him press you to his body. The fingertips on his jaw slide along his cheeks as you move to fully hold his face in your hands, Ghost’s lips easily meeting your own. One large arm slides around your back, hand securing to your waist as he pulls you further into him. 

Heartbeat pounding in your veins, you gasp quietly against him, molding your mouth to his as you return his enthusiasm. Your hands hold onto him tightly, sliding down to the back of his neck. But then he stops, releasing a rough sigh and opening his eyes to look at you. 

“Come here,” He whispers hurriedly, his other hand reaching out and tugging on you. 

“Ghost, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” His lips are moving over your jaw, his hands still pulling on you. 

“You’re healing.” 

Scoffing, he leans over the side of the bed, hands securing themselves to your lower back and upper thigh. He then hauls you forward, leaning down so he can hoist you up onto his lap.

“Oh!” 

“I go back into the field next week.” He grunts out, now looking up at you. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

“Ghost, I -”

“You know my name?” He asks, his rough, baritone voice demanding your attention. 

And suddenly, you feel extremely fucking small. Your legs slide forward and down, straddling him. Quietly, you squeak out, “Yes.” 

“Say it.” 

Leaning forward, you embrace the excitement of being on top of him. Your hands return to hold his face, and he lets you. Bringing yourself in close, you look into his eyes. 

“Simon.” 

“That’s right.” Comes his breathy exhale, leaning in to close the small gap between the two of you. 

And then Simon’s hand is on the back of your head, pushing you further into him. His other lands on your hip, fingers curling around your flesh. He smells like cigarettes and cologne, tastes like mint and tobacco. And you overtly, eagerly, wholeheartedly, welcome him. 

“Closer to me,” Simon grumbles, the hand on your hip curling around your lower back. He pulls you until you’re flush against his chest, your breasts pushing up against his clean bandages. 

“Simon,” 

He groans into your mouth when you use his name, repeatedly moving his lips over your own. Your legs press tightly to the outsides of his thighs, holding him close to your body. And when he feels your hips shift against him, when he hears your soft, delicate moan, he decides to slide his tongue into your mouth. He licks inside, rubbing the wet muscle over your own. Moaning wantonly, it echoes into his throat, the hand on your head sliding down to hold your jaw open. The way he moves against your mouth is almost overwhelming, full of passion and lust and a particular sense of need. 

“You wanna take this off for me?” His accent is making you melt. “Can you do that for me, love?” 

Tugging impatiently on your shirt, those frosty eyes look into your own with a look of utter desperation. But also control. Ghost was always in control. 

Nodding, you reach down, finding the edges of your longsleeve shirt and slipping it up and over your head. 

“Oh…” He moans - Ghost fucking moans. His head immediately dips down to the luscious space between your breasts, mouth finding your skin. 

“Oh,” It comes as a complete surprise, him surging down to kiss you here. “Simon…”

Fuck, you’ve wanted to do this since you met him. You both have. 

His mouth drags along the curves of your chest, and you’re surprised when they’re followed by tender kisses. And then his hands drop, groping your ass. 

“I want you.” He growls against your breasts, nipping at the soft slopes of them. “What do you want, love?” 

“I want you, Simon.” Nodding quickly, your hands slide back up to his face. In your hurried state you accidentally move the fabric of his mask just a bit, and his hands come flying up to your forearms as soon as it happens. 

“Don’t take it off.” It’s a firm boundary, a stern warning. His head lifts, too, eyes staring menacingly into you. 

“I wouldn’t, I won’t.” He looks at you almost skeptically. “I respect your privacy.” 

When he doesn’t budge, you wiggle on top of him. “Please. Simon, I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” 

Slowly, his hands leave your forearms, loosening their grasp. He’s deciding to trust you. 

One of those meaty hands falls to your chest, still holding your gaze while he cups you. The other rises to your neck, fingers curling around the back to pull you in again. This time, though, he doesn’t return to your lips. This time, he goes to your neck. Rolling your head to the side, you let him, feeling Simon’s teeth scrape along your skin. He’s feeling every inch of you that he can, hands falling to your ass when he feels you move over him. With a firm grasp, he urges you forward and back, grinding your covered crotch over his own. And while he’s busy exploring you, you take this opportunity to explore him. 

Delicately, your fingertips slide down his face, down the chorded muscles along his neck, landing on his sculpted shoulders and then moving to his biceps. When you squeeze the thick meat of his arms, he groans, smirking mischievously against you. With your nails scraping lightly over his taut skin, they quickly find his back, gently scratching him. His muscles are flexing, damn near all of them. He’s so worked up with you like this on top of him. And he’s still moving you, shoving your hips over his crotch and manhandling you in the softest way he knows how. He’s strong, but he’s gentle with you. 

The length of him is palpable beneath his thin shorts, settling right into your covered folds. And it makes you moan, makes your breaths pick up and your center pulse. The air is thick with arousal, the room lit dimly in the soft, yellow hue of your small lamp. His breaths are hot, fanning across your face in humid and heavy wafts. But then he stops, taking a breath. And for some reason, your sass decides to fill this brief, empty space. 

“So,” Sighing, you’re also working to catch your breath. “Does this mean you think I’m pretty?” 

He chuckles, that beautiful smile making itself known. “Does this mean you like my muscles?”

“I love your muscles.” Wiggling even closer to him, you grin, sucking in a tight and excited breath. Your one hand then slides down his chest, his abs, curling around to hold his hip, your thumb just barely brushing his pelvis. 

“Yeah? Even when you’re sewing ‘em up?” He asks, that deliciously rich accent making you flutter inside. 

“You can’t do that again.” Shaking your head, your hands move to hold his face. It’s a tender act. “You can’t scare us like that again.” 

That night, you swear you started to see the light fade out of his eyes, and that, well… that was a first for you. You saved Simon’s life. 

“You care about me, eh?” He replies in the cockiest voice.

“Your team cares about you.” Eyes flickering down to the bandages on his chest, you then say, “And yeah, maybe I do, too.” 

Simon’s body flexes beneath you, hips rutting up into your own. And now, it’s his turn to hold your face in his hands. He lifts your jaw, making you look at him. 

“Hey, don’t worry about that now.” 

“Are you okay?” Eyes darting back up to his, they’re filled with concern from the memories of that day. “With me sitting like this on you?” 

He gives you a cocky grin. “I’m just fine, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me. I’m a big boy, remember?” 

This makes you smirk, one hand finding its way to his pelvis with much more confidence than before. “Is that right?” 

“That’s right.” He nods, keeping that gorgeous grin. “Think you wanna take it?”

Breathing out a small laugh, you give your head a single shake. “I never knew you wanted to fuck me so bad.” 

“You never noticed the things I’ve said to you?”

“No, I noticed. I just thought… maybe it was harmless flirting.” 

At this, his head tilts, eyes boring into your kind orbs. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me harmless in my entire life.” 

“Yeah, you’re one scary motherfucker.” Leaning in to kiss him, he accepts it with a heated moan. “And I find that sexy as hell.” 

“Well, you said you like fixing bones.” He’s feeling desperate for you at this point; it’s like you won’t stop teasing him “Hop on this one, then.”

“Oh my god, you really are like every other fucking guy.” But you’re already reaching for the bottom of your sports bra, slipping it off your torso in one go. 

“God damn.” Large hands instantly return to your breasts, cupping and weighing your tits in his palms. His chest dips dramatically from releasing such a heavy breath, leaning in to kiss one of your delicate peaks. It’s firm and wet, the repeated press of his lips. And it wouldn’t be so overwhelming if he wasn’t practically making out with your tits.

Seeing your naked form for the first time sets his own alight. He always knew you were a sexy little thing, and now, he’s got first hand proof. Your curves look delicious, and if he weren’t in a tiny medical bed, he’d lay you down to lick them. 

“You want me?” He doesn’t expect this sort of response, his surprise going tenfold when he feels you reach down between your bodies. 

“Oh,” He releases a tight breath, feeling you run a finger over his erection. 

Staring into your eyes, he gives you an almost predatory gaze. “You know I do.”

Easily, you slide your shorts and panties to the side, revealing your delicate sex to him, though he can only barely see it. And then you’re reaching down, fingers curling over the band of his shorts to pull him out. When you do, he releases a sound you’ve never heard from him before, his jaw hanging low. He’s long and firm, crimson at the head and already leaking. The pulsations rocking through his cock are, at this point, an almost painful sensation; and when you look down, you grin. Letting the length of him rest on his lower abdomen, you move yourself so you can slide your glistening lips over him.

Simon hisses at the contact, strong hands cementing themselves to your hips. But he doesn’t stop you from moving. If anything, he only encourages you to. 

“You get off on this?” He suddenly asks, the feeling of your slippery center sliding against him making his head spin and his insides tense. “Fucking your superior?”

“Baby,” You laugh, shaking your head while continuing to move over him. “I’m on the med. team, you’re not my superior.” Taking a breath, you reach out, grabbing his jaw and lowering your voice to speak. “But you did get one thing right. I do want to fuck you.” 

Before he can say anything, you’re lifting yourself, his throbbing tip prodding at your entrance. You hold his gaze, an unexpected moan drifting from your lips when you finally begin to feel him. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, fingers digging into your sides and urging you down. “Come on, precious. You can take it.” 

Sliding down only a few mere inches, you wince. Holding onto his shoulders, your fingernails dig into his skin, scratching harshly at the firm muscles all along him. He’s bigger than you’d imagined him to be. His girth is wider than you’ve ever had, and when you reach down to feel him you quickly discover he also isn’t lacking in length. 

His military voice then comes out, that stern, commanding tone. “Focus - hey, eyes on me.” Irises snapping up to his, you do as you’re told. “That’s a good girl.” Jesus Christ, you didn’t expect a single ounce of praise to come from him.

Simon’s dominant hand then slides down, the pad of his thumb finding the reddened nub at the peak of your sex. Your hips jolt when he presses the thick digit against you, but with his free hand on your back, he brings you in. He applies pressure, prompting you to lean on him, his mouth seeking out your nipples once again. Slipping his tongue out and over your skin, it forces you to whine, feeling your hips rock involuntarily against him. With the stimulation coming from his thumb and tongue, you find yourself relaxing, resting on the weight of him. 

“Feels good, yeah?” 

Your fingers find the back of his head, your own dropping back. “Yes…” 

It’s overwhelming and sexy as all fucking hell. Simon can see the marks he’s left on your neck, shoulder and chest, and he grins, knowing they’ll be there in the morning even if he won’t be able to see them. He doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb, keeping the same amount of pressure as he swirls little circles over your sensitive clit. His mouth is sucking on you, too, his tongue running over your nipples in wet and passionate swipes. And altogether, it works like a charm, lubing you up enough for him to slide entirely inside. 

“Simon.” 

“You’ve got it, yeah… there we go…” The only hand that moves is the one that was touching your clit, fingers now attaching themselves to your hip once you’re entirely seated on him. 

“Fuck me,” You’re clinging to his shoulders, both arms wrapping around his neck. He’s removed himself from your tits, resting his face in the slope of your shoulder, just beside your throat. 

He’s searing hot and filling you completely, his tip seated deep in your guts as you pulse around him violently. And Simon’s aware of his size, so he waits for you to make the first move. And he snuggles into you while he does, resting in this brief lull. 

Feeling another person surrounding his body like this brings out a sensation from the depths of his heart, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in genuine years, decades, even. He feels like he can relax in your embrace, like he can let go with you. 

“Oh, god.” Head dropping back, you shift slightly, beginning to move. 

“Yes,” He encourages you, reaching up to hold your neck. “That’s it.” And then he pulls, bringing you down to him. Your lips meet in a small clash, tongues colliding as soon as you make contact. 

This entire event awakens something inside of you. It’s like he’s consuming you, taking over your body and every part of your mind. And you’ve felt like this for weeks, months; you’ve ached for him. At night you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, and during the day, you’ve dreamt about him. It was so hard to be in his presence, knowing you couldn’t have him, that he probably didn’t even want you in the first place. But he does; he wants you just as badly as you want him. 

Simon sways his body with you, leaning back against the head of the bed. He uses this slight change in position as leverage to shove his hips up into you, giving you small and shallow thrusts. But he lets you do most of the work, grinning while admiring the way in which you find your pace. 

“You’re a tight thing, aren’t you?” His voice is gruff, eyes lowering to stare at the space where you’re repeatedly connecting. And then they furrow, mouth dropping open when he finally witnesses you lifting and lowering your hips. “And look how well you’re taking me…” 

“You’re… so fucking big.” Lowering your head, you then offer a half smirk, shaking your head at him. “Guess you really do have reason to be cocky, huh?” 

“Damn right, and I’m glad you know it.” 

“Jesus - fuck!” The first word is said through a scoff, the second through a high yelp. 

“You feel like makin’ fun of me again?” Simon then challenges, having lifted his feet and planted them directly on the edge of the bed. He uses this leverage to punch himself up into you, huffing out a sharp breath when he feels you fall onto his chest.

“Fuck, baby - I’m sorry.” You immediately lift yourself up, looking down at his bandages. “Are you alright?”

The fact that you’ve so easily been able to call him baby makes Simon smile, his teeth even showing for the first time that you’ve ever seen.

“You need to stop asking me that.” He says in that deeply, gritty tone. And then he shoves you forward again, knees high in the air as he lets you rest over his chest. 

Your arms slide around his neck, clinging to him as he begins to shove himself up into you. Sucking in a deep breath, he grunts out beside your face, his arms wrapping around your naked torso. He’s starting to feel sweaty, sticky, his skin warm and glistening. And at this point he’s bouncing you on his cock, your ass slapping down onto his pelvis with every move. He let you have your fun; now, he’s fucking you. 

“Oh my fucking god,” You’re trying desperately to keep up to move yourself back against him, but he doesn’t allow it. He’s punching the breath from your lungs, one hand sliding up your back to hold your head. 

He lets out a breathless laugh. “Are you alright?”

“S-Shut up, Ghost.” Comes your stuttered response, now gasping from how deep he’s hitting.

“Uh-uh,” He tuts, “Say my name, sweetheart. Sounds so good comin’ outta that pretty little mouth.”

This makes you laugh, a small hiccup of a sound due to his intense movements beneath you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, wanna hear you say it when we fuck.” 

“Oh, so this is going to happen again?” You tease, feeling his groans vibrate through his chest. Jesus, he’s so sturdy. 

Leaning forward, he grabs a fistful of your ass, growing into your ear, “I damn sure want it to.” 

You take advantage of his closeness, turning your head to capture his lips. “You’re so fucking deep.” 

“Yeah? You want me to stop?” He whispers in return against your lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

At this point, he’s panting beneath you, sliding down a little further on the bed. You move with him, still holding onto his firm body with a wild desperation. And he keeps your lips on him, shoving his tongue inside your mouth while keeping his brutal pace.

If you were dripping before it’s nothing compared to now. You’re leaking down his shaft, the creaminess of your arousal coating him entirely. And he can feel it; it’s making his eyes roll back into his head. 

“You’re gonna make me cum, squeezin’ around me like that.” 

One of your hands lowers, moving down to hold onto his bicep, and then his forearm. Turning your head to the side, you smile, ignoring his comment while you breathe out lightly, “I love your tattoos, baby.”

“You just love praisin’ me, don’t you?” In two seconds, that tattooed forearm rises, hand grabbing your face. “Bring those pretty eyes back to me.” And when you look into those ocean eyes of his, he grits out sternly, “Eyes. On. Me.” 

“Simon,” It’s a small whine, one uttered when you feel him strike gold inside. “Please make me cum.” Your head drops to his shoulder, and what he does neck surprises you. He kisses your fucking cheek.

“I can do that for you.” 

As if things couldn’t become more intense, he takes it up a notch, ramming into you and forcing your face into the crook of his neck. His hand on the back of your head holds you there, and when you bite into his neck, he groans into the nighttime air. 

“Yesss, baby, don’t stop. Oh my god, please don’t stop.” He’s so big beneath you, his muscles bulging against your naked chest. And he revels in the feeling of your soft tits pressing against him, your beautiful body bouncing as it gets fucked by him. 

“Fuck me,” Comes his gasped out curse, muttering, “Such a good pussy.” 

“Fu-uck,” 

He’s pounding against that delicate spot that’s making you go dumb, your arms and thighs beginning to shake around him.

“G-Ghost, I’m…” 

“Say my name, say it again.” His voice is deep and thick, stuttering a bit. “One more time for me.” His thighs are flexing beneath your ass, one arm wrapped around your back and the other gripping the flesh on your hip.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling shoving its way through your body, coursing through your veins. The excitement of it all is something you haven’t felt in too long of a time, if ever before. Swallowing, you gather yourself enough to do as he says, once again, uttering his name. 

Immediately after, he’s cumming, hips breaking their pace and length throbbing inside you. His forceful shoves against your g-spot make you crumble above him, onto him, your body shaking. The way you’re holding onto him makes him feel like he can do anything, makes him think you feel safe with him. And you do. The world could be crumbling and still, you’d cling to him, knowing he’d hold you in his arms. 

Quivering limbs press against him, your body going a bit numb from the intensity of it all. Your center pulses around his girth, squeezing him tightly while you wash him in your arousal. You can feel his, too, the milky ropes shooting into you, and you revel in the fact that your body has made his feel this good. He’s breathing harshly beside you, pectorals flexing against your naked chest. You’ve never heard him groan so forcefully, not even when he’s out working. And that makes you smile, knowing you bring those noises out of him. A blissful smile crosses your face, body rolling in waves as you experience your own high above him. 

“Fuck me,” His accent is thick, coating the shell of your ear. He’s petting at your hair, body beginning to slump down on the mattress beneath him. “You okay there, princess?”

You’re quiet, still trying desperately to find your breath. Swallowing, you nod, turning your head to kiss his throat, breathing heavily against him. And while his body relaxes, he holds yours above him, urging you to do the same. 

“Maybe I should get hurt a little more often,” He looks over, pointer finger curling under your chin, gently lifting you to look at him. “If it means seein’ you.” 

Thank you for reading <3

[moiridior]

Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You

Tangerine X Reader

Please forgive me! I really wanted to see this in theaters and I had no idea what it was about other than thinking the brief trailer was cool. So when I realized that Aaron Taylor Johnson was in it... looking like that... I kid you not I thought I was going to lose not just my panties but also my ovaries. After watching it yesterday I had this idea in my head all day. So I apologize for not following my request order - and hopefully, you enjoy!

You’d worked with Tangerine and Lemon on and off for years. Always fighting narrowly missing each other's bullets. This time you found yourself striking up an alliance to get off this doomed train.

Working alongside Tangerine rather than against him gave you lots of opportunities to come to terms with what it was about him that made your heart race. 

Warning: Sex in a tiny train bathroom. Rough sex - filthy dialogue, Good aftercare. No big spoilers.

Song inspo - Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You - Arctic Monkeys

The more undone he became the more you found your attention drifting to his strong forearms, or resisting yourself from brushing the dried blood from his collar bones. Every time you were separated he’d come back with another button lost making it very difficult to do your job. Frustration bloomed as the night dragged on. He never showcased it, but it was obvious to you he was taking extra care to keep you out of harm's way. which only made your internal feelings worse.  

Once it was all over and Lemon was fulfilling his dream of conducting, you excused yourself to go to the washroom. You moved a few cars down not wanting to be suffocated by everyone. You took a moment to lean against the sink and catch your breath. LadyBug was correct when he said that this would take a lot of time to process. You were pulled from your thoughts by a soft rhythmic knock at the door. 

“Occupied.” You mumbled thinking it ridiculous that this was the bathroom, out of the entire bloody train, that someone wanted. 

“Come on love, it's the secret knock. Only me, open up.” Tangerine rambled. You let out a groan no way you were sharing a closet-sized space with him, for any amount of time. The thought already had you weak in the knees. You opened the door and felt yourself be pressed up against the wall as his large frame slid inside. He quickly shut and locked the door before settling his gaze on you. 

“What’s this then?” You mumbled, already feeling a flush creeping up your neck. 

“You know,” He said wiggling his eyebrows. When you didn't respond he gave you a more serious look. “You looked right at me.” He stated feeling as if this settled everything. 

“What?” You tried to keep your breathing under control as he moved closer to you. 

“When you said you were going to the loo, you looked at me. Universal signal love. So how do you want to do this then.” His cocky gaze was focused on your slightly parted lips. You were almost entirely certain at no point did you look at him when announcing you were going to the bathroom. 

You wanted to argue, well, that’s a lie. You'd wanted this desperately.

Instead, you leaned up attempting to close the distance between the two of you. His hand grabbed your jaw and suddenly he turned you both around in a spinning maneuver that you bent over the sink once more. 

His hands found the back of your thighs and you shivered as he slowly moved up past the hem of your skirt. 

“Would have had this fucking job done in half the time if it wasn't for this stupid fucking skirt.” You didn't have anything left in you to form words as his hand landed a firm smack on your ass cheek. He let out a loud groan. “Been wanting to do that for fucking ages.” 

“Just like you’ve wanted me right here for ages.” His fingers trailed their way inside your swollen wet folds causing a hearty moan to leave your mouth. 

“Don’t need to waste time here do I?” It was arrogant, but his eyes brought the tender reality of what he was saying to your attention. 

“No - I want -” You gasped as his rough fingers ran over your clit. Your legs were shaking and you knew that you were in no shape for rowdy hate sex in a cramped bathroom. He seemed to know this too as he gently lifted you to rest against the sink. Your eyes were closed as you focused on the sensation of his mustache tickling your neck. After a quick moment, his head was back up and his hand was pinching your jaw again. Keeping your head tilted up to him. You were lost as to why he wasn't kissing you until you felt him push into your hot center. You tried to keep composure, tried to be normal, but feeling him stretch you open you felt your walls crumble down. He groaned as he watched your face contort in pleasure, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. 

“Look at me” he demand softly, you opened your wet eyes to meet his as you felt him bottom out inside you. 

“Fuck” You gasped at the sensation of being so full. Feeling him pulse inside you, getting off on your pleasure, it was almost enough to make you cum right there. He started to move inside you, and your body surrendered to him. It was a slow pace, and when your eyes focused you could see him looking you over making sure you could handle it. 

Decided you could take a little more, he picked you up turning you both around till your back met the wall. His hands gripped your ass cheeks painfully as he set a deeper more violent pace. His body was flush against you, and you felt the softness of your heaving chest meet his hard muscles. It was too much for you to handle and your body started to seize up awkwardly with nothing to brace against. He quickly shifted you bringing your leg over his shoulder, forcing an even wilder reaction from you. 

“There’s a good girl. Knew you had some fight left over just for me” he praised you while ripping you in half, fighting your body into position as it spasmed. “That’s it, let go love. Won’t let you fall” 

That was all it took for your body to snap. Your pleasure ripped through you sending you into almost painful contractions. He weathered them perfectly keeping himself as deep inside you as possible. You were still at an impossible high as he upped the pace trying to find his own release within your hot walls. The angle and intensity was enough for you to feel another wave of hot pressure begin to build. 

“You going to cum again - fuckin hell.” He found it in himself to fuck you even harder. “That little cunt wants to help squeeze me off, doesn't it, love.” 

“Yes fuck - fuck -” Your body choked on your words as it twisted itself into knots. 

“Hold yourself there for me” he barked into your neck placing a painful bite into your soft skin. Keeping yourself on the edge was becoming more and more impossible. You felt his pace get sloppy and his groans sunk into your skin. “Let go, love, FU-ck that’s it. Help me off - fuck” your body tightened around him and you felt him spill deep inside you. 

“Jesus - I’m taking you home with me - fuck” Shallow deep thrusts kept you entangled in your orgasm trapped against the wall for what felt like an eternity. 

You went limp and he took your weight easily. Placing you down on the toilet keeping you upright. Once he was sure you were able to keep yourself up he turned away to get himself sorted. You started cleaning yourself up assuming he’d leave. 

You looked up only to find him wrestling with one of the top cupboards, eventually pulling out a large red case. He helped you sit on the small bench near the door, and started cleaning and bandaging up your cuts. 

“Should have started with this.” he criticized himself softly while wrapping a gash on your thigh. 

“I’m not complaining.” You said finally pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“Don’t start with that now, love. Don’t think you could handle another round.” He brushed your hair behind your ear. Once satisfied your wounds were taken care of he picked you up and carried you to a seat. You expected him to go, but again he only kept you tucked against his chest, firm arms keeping you comfortable. 

“Missions over.” You reminded him. 

“Not off the fucking train yet, love,” he mumbled into your hair. Suddenly your mind wandered to the various situations you had run into the two of them and wondered if he’d always missed on purpose. You always walked away from your entanglements with minimal damage…. What if that was intentional? You let sleep take you and hoped that he’d be around when you woke up. 

_____

She was out cold and I couldn't bring myself to let her go with nothing but that tiny skirt covering her cunt. 

Lemon’s eyes met mine from a few seats over. He gave me a look telling me off for what had obviously happened. I flipped him off with a look of warning. 

Been after that ass for years, and now she was asleep in my arms, I wasn't letting her go for anything. There was a tense moment of eye contact filled with secret threats only brothers would be able to understand. 

Eventually, he got up and walked over. His fingers brushed against her shirt collar and a Paxton sticker was looking back up at him. 

Paxton was sweet, the kindest, and needed protecting sometimes. An honest assessment really, but he was very sure that he’d never come across a train in the yard that compared to you. You didn't need protection, Paxton was a diesel, but he figured what Lemon was trying to say was that I'd looked good keeping her out of harm's way. Paxton was one of the best, it wouldn't make sense to let her go. But there were lots of obligations waiting for me on the other side, if anything it was stupid to think she'd have anything less waiting for her.

___________________

After three long nights of entanglement with Tangerine, you woke up alone. Business was calling and while he didn't express it you knew by the way he'd kissed you all night and kept you pinned to his side. Sadness crept into your bones when your fingers discovered a gold chain around your neck.

Gone for now, but sure to be back for more.

You got out of Japan and knew it didn't matter where you landed, he’d find you the first chance he got.

----

How can someone be this hot??

[moiridior]

This! One-billion times this.

[moiridior]

[moiridior]

I’m not sure if science supports sucking stress out of his dick, but I’d like to give it a try

[moiridior]

hellfire baby :: e.m.

summary: when starting a new campaign, the hellfire club didn’t except to see a toddler sitting in their club leader’s throne

content warning: parenting & pregnancy, talks about teen parenting, swearing, basically really fluffy, child’s features mostly based off of eddie

word count: 1013

Keep reading

[moiridior]

This photo is even better when the other person is photoshopped out 😌

From @ din_djarin_dude on Twitter

[moiridior]

being friends with benefits with carmy and instead of just texting you at like midnight to come over, he likes to think he’s a gentleman for asking you to come to the restaurant at around 8:45 when it’s slow and they’re about to close so he can make you something to eat before he takes you home and fucks you

LMAOOO “he likes to think he’s a gentleman” that’s so funny to me cause it would be exactly that. No u up? texts that are frankly, to him distasteful and disrespectful, no no no, he’d text you are you hungry? I can make something for you. On the house. I wanna spend time w/ u

And you really can’t say no, cause you just finished work and you’re starving, so you head out to the restaurant, where everyone knows who you are, but they all think you guys are just friends, except Syd, who sees and knows everything. She knows you two are fucking. You make Carmy waaayy too happy, and she thinks it’s fucking weird. He smiles when you come in! He laughs! He’s not picking at his skin! Woooowwwwwwwwww.

Anyways. He makes you eat whatever you want (because of going frequently, you realized you had gained a little bit of weight. Carmen doesn’t care, told you that it meant he was feeding you and fucking you good, which then made you want to jump his bones again because in that moment only your cavewoman brain was fully functional) and stands opposite of the counter, asking about your day, makes “googly eyes” (that’s how Richie calls them) and rubs your hand gently when you’re done.

Then, when the restaurant is closed, he takes you back to his place, which is actually clean for once because last time you’ve been you two cleaned the whole place (you guys are just like a couple, except, dumb enough to not admit feelings *eye roll*) and so he puts on tv, talks a bit more, before you guide him to his bedroom, where he quietly undresses you (he has learned what patience is, hooray), undresses himself, slowly touches you to make you squirm, gasps how wet you are, which you respond (as snarky as ever) that yeah you’ve been down there for forty fucking minutes, of course imma be wet, and that makes him want to cum on the spot.

He slowly eases himself in, and your body welcomes him gently. He rocks into you, murmuring praises and peppering the sweetest kisses, and in that moment both of you know that you guys are making love, not fucking. You are both so in love it hurts, and maybe one day - while he’s wreaking your shit after a stressful day at work, while he’s (very romantic) grabbing your jaw, both legs on shoulder combo - you let it slip out that you love him.

—

Ok who let my hand slip

[moiridior]

i miss him so much (he doesn’t know I exist) he’s the love of my life (he’s 20+ years older than me) i love him (he’s happily married with kids and he’s also rich)