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ladamedusoif · 8 months

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For The Night: A Short Story About Reading and Riding

Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Pairing: Special Agent Ortega x F!Sex Worker Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Summary: You might not be one of the “sweet young things” in the whorehouse any more, but a seemingly reluctant special agent helps remind you of your worth.

Content/Warnings: This is basically just smut; some slightly sweet fluff; but mostly smut; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (M and F receiving); size kink; slight praise kink; sex worker reader; some period-appropriate terminology.

Notes: Look, we all got very excited when one of the Holy Grails of Early Pedrontent was revealed to us today. Some of us (me) were unable to stop thinking about Special Agent Ortega and his dusty, slightly skrunkly late nineteenth-century get-up. And now here I am writing what is essentially PWP for him.

This is very much a one-shot, stream of consciousness fic, so please bear that in mind (as with my Thief story I’m not entirely sure I didn’t dream some of this in a sleepy haze). There may well be errors and typos.

In this story Ortega is called Jerónimo, usually shortened to Jerón.

With love and thanks to @julesonrecord and @lunapascal for being enablers and sounding boards, especially to Lucy for suggesting Ortega’s name!

Divider by @saradika

Nights like this, nights when you’ve got no custom, again, and the rent’s looking unlikely to be paid, you want to storm downstairs and slam down the lid on the saloon piano. It teases and taunts you, like the practiced giggles and moans from the other girls in the rooms along the hall and the bedraggled grunts of drunken men paying for their company.

You read a little more of your book and try to distract yourself from the noise. Strictly speaking, whores aren’t meant to be bookish - but now and again a traveller might leave a volume behind him, and the other girls know to send them your way. Helps keep your mind busy, especially when other parts aren’t.

There’s a commotion on the stairs, and you can hear the madam’s voice as she guides another man - maybe two men? - towards the landing. You overhear the light, youthful laughter of Rosa, one of the house’s most popular girls, as she flatters and teases her client - clients, you assume - on the way to her room.

You hear heavy footsteps stopping outside your door. One of the men, further away now, is teasing the other. “Have some goddamn fun, Ortega! We’re in a fuckin’ whorehouse, we’re not on the clock now!” Rosa giggles in response as the man continues, addressing the madam. “My fine woman, can you set my second gun up with a sweet young thing for the night? Seein’ as I’m already covered.”

The door of Rosa’s room closes and the giggling gives way to silence.

The madam clears her throat. “We do have one girl who’s free, though unfortunately she’s, er, one of our more experienced ladies. I’m sorry, sir, I can see if one of the newer girls is finishing up soon…”

A second voice responds, and you realise it belongs to whoever is standing at your door. “Ma’am, it’s quite alright, I don’t need -“ but the madam interrupts him as she knocks on your door and pops her head in.

She looks you up and down with evident disapproval and hisses at you. “Put that goddamned book away, girl. It’s your lucky night, you’ve got a customer. HURRY UP!”

You shove the book in a drawer and stand up, lightly plumping your hair with one hand and tugging down the front of your chemise to reveal a little more cleavage with the other. You might not be one of the “sweet young things” any more, so you need all the help you can get.

The madam ushers him in and closes the door with a final warning stare in your direction. You try to put on a show, shifting your body into something approximating an alluring stance and looking up to meet his gaze. But there’s something in his eyes and his expression that surprises you enough to snap out of your little performance.

He’s young - mid thirties, maybe, not the inexperienced virgin boys you sometimes get in here but certainly not the old-before-their-time grizzled, abusive drunks you’re increasingly used to. And he’s…well. Handsome. Broad-shouldered, neatly-trimmed moustache, good figure, even in his slightly worn and dusty clothes. His low-slung gun belt draws the eye to narrow hips.

But it’s the eyes that stop you in your tracks. Big, dark, and warm, they look you over with a quirk of his eyebrows as his mouth drops slightly open. As a whole package, he’s handsome; but the face? Lord, he’s pretty.

He stands very still for a couple of moments, looking you up and down, up and down. He moves from the doorway into the room, placing two glasses of liquor on your little nightstand and taking off his hat with a little bow in your direction, which seems endearingly out of place in its formality. He shucks off his jacket and leaves it on a chair.

“What’s your name, sir?” you ask, moving towards him.

The eyes flick upwards to meet yours, a little smile dancing around his lips. “Jerónimo Ortega, miss,” and your heart does a little flip at his politeness, “but most people just call me Jerón.”

You repeat the name to yourself and sit on the bed, patting the space beside you. He sits down, but there’s a nervousness to him that even the rough, strong liquor can’t erase.

“Y’know, Jerón, if you really don’t wanna fuck a woman like me that’s okay. We can just, I dunno. Just talk, or somethin’.”

He shakes his head and looks up at you with a grin. He looks even more boyish when he smiles like that. “It’s not that I don’t want to…do anything, it’s just…”

You reach for his hand, broad and tanned. “I get it. You probably wish you’d got to Rosa first, huh.”

His expression shifts to one of confusion. “No, I…shit. I… I just didn’t think you were going to be so pretty.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “Sir, you’re payin’ me. You don’t have to flatter me. Usually I’m the one flatterin’ the man.”

He does a little half-smile, revealing a deep-set dimple that makes you want to reach out and kiss it. He taps his silver agency badge. “You saying an agent of the law is a liar, miss? Because I’m no liar, and you are beautiful.”

You giggle, moving your hand to his firm thigh, starting to trail your fingers up to his crotch. Usually you’d be summoning your best acting abilities around now, to avoid running screaming from whatever sweaty old man was trying to get his dick up, but now? With him? Hell, this could almost feel real.

You lightly run your hand over the bulge that’s visibly straining at his pants, drawing a moan from him, and tug gently on the watch chain that runs across his waistcoat along his middle. You pull him in towards you, fingers entwined with the silver metal, and he reaches up to cup your face in his hands as he kisses you, deeply and hungrily.

“If you wanna wash, there’s a basin over there behind that screen.” you murmur. “Might wanna get undressed, too.”

He nods and disappears behind the screen as you undo your stays and slip out of your skirt and chemise. You take down your hair and try to arrange it as artfully as you can as you lie back on the mattress, naked and hoping to God he likes what he sees.

Jerón emerges wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned to the waist. His hard cock is visible against the light cotton, and you can actually feel your nipples harden at the thoughts of having him inside you as wetness pools between your legs.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re even more beautiful naked. Can I…”

You beckon him with a nod of your head and help him out of his shirt as he joins you on the bed. It’s all you can do not to moan when you see just how big he is, hard length thick and reddened and already leaking pre-come from the tip.

“You ever had your dick sucked, Jerón?” You manoeuvre him down onto the bed, working your way down and between his legs. Hands resting on his thighs, you spread him open a little bit more.

“N-no…fucked women but not that, not…not yet”. He’s already almost rutting the air with his hips.

“Pity, really, cos this is a gorgeous dick. Mind if I do the honours?” He nods frantically as you look up at him through your lashes and guide his cock into your wet mouth. He bucks upwards immediately, mewling with pleasure at the sensation. You hum with satisfaction as you suck him, sending the vibrations through his cock as he whines in response.

You take him out of your mouth for a moment, trailing your tongue up and down the underside of his cock. “Fuck, Jerón, you like this, huh? What do you want me to do, sweet boy?”

“W-wanna… want to fuck your mouth,” his breathing is ragged as he pants the words. “W-wanna fuck you.”

“Good, darlin’. So fuck my mouth and then you can have me as much as you want.” You brace yourself between his legs, a hand lightly stroking the base of his dick, and slide him back between your lips. Jerón cries out as he starts to fuck up and into your mouth, bringing a hand to the back of your head as he thrusts harder and faster.

You take his hand and ease him out of your mouth. “You want to fuck me or you wanna finish there, darlin’?”

“Want…want you.” He’s close, you can tell, and you hope the little breather will give him a little more stamina for when he’s inside you. “Want your cunt.”

You move up his body and rest your heavy tits on his chest. He reaches out to grope them as you grind your hips against him, before rolling onto your back and easing him over on top of you.

You look up at him and open your legs as he gazes down at you, running his hand up and down his wet cock. “Look at my pussy before you fuck it, sweet boy. See what you do to me. Tell me.”

Jerón looks at your cunt as if it’s a lost treasure, bringing his free hand to trail along your slit and feel the wetness that’s been gathering there since you laid eyes on him. “So wet for me. So swollen and wet and fucking warm, sweet girl.” He brings his fingers to his lips and groans at the taste of you before getting down and bringing his face between your legs.

“Is this…okay?” He flashes you a look of those big puppy dog eyes, that handsome face nestled between your plush thighs, and you can’t even find the words. You nod and rest your hand on the back of his head as he brings that pretty fucking mouth to your core. Some men really like this. Some men like this and are bad at it. Some men think this is only for “pansies” and other terms you would rather not think about.

Jerón Ortega is not particularly experienced in this, you suspect, but he’s a natural talent, sucking and flicking his tongue over your clit while using those soft, plump lips to form a tight seal around your wet cunt. You moan and writhe on the mattress as he slips his tongue in and out of you until you come hard on his face, the tip of his nose nudging against your clit as you climax.

He shifts his broad body upwards as you hitch up your legs and reach around to grab his ass and guide his cock inside you. Even after all these years and even with being wetter than you have in a very long time, it’s still a tight fit, his size filling you completely and making you sigh with satisfaction before he’s even moved.

He starts to fuck you quickly, chasing his own high. He leans back a little so he can see you underneath him, tits bouncing as he takes you hard and deep. Sometimes he brings his mouth to your nipples, laving his tongue around the firm peak and the soft skin of your breast, moaning as he does so. You wrap your arms around his broad back and hold on for dear life as he fucks you harder and better than you’ve been fucked in your life, one big hand grabbing your tit so hard you know it’ll leave a mark and the other trying to reach between your legs and rub your clit.

“So fucking beautiful, you are,” he grunts into your ear, “so soft for me, so wet for me, such a tight, pretty pussy.” He looks into your eyes again, and you feel you might explode as those coffee-brown irises look into the very heart of you.

“Jerón…” You usually try to avoid moaning a client’s name, just as a rule of thumb. But this doesn’t feel like work, tonight, and he certainly doesn’t feel like a client.

“Let go, darling, let go, hermosa.”

And you do, with a deep wail you’re certain has been heard all over the whorehouse and in the saloon below and probably as far as the boundary of the town. And you don’t give a fuck who hears you, as you cry out his name while he fucks you through the aftershocks.

The throbbing of your cunt around his dick tips Jerón over the edge, and you feel him come, hard and deep, his warm body dripping sweat onto your tits below. He kisses you hard before he pulls out, then flops beside you on the bed.

You look over at him as he tries to catch his breath. Normally at this stage, the client throws your small fee on the chest of drawers before washing again and dragging on his clothes before heading back to the bar. Normally, you can’t fuckin’ wait for them to go so you can wash their smell and scent and come off you.

Him? You don’t want him to leave. You want him to stay. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Forever.

Your post-orgasmic haze snaps as you jolt yourself back to reality. He’s a lawman, a handsome young professional, just passing through on a job. You’ve been a whore since you were a teenager, a long time in this game. You’ve watched girl after girl win over men who whisk them away to better lives, while you stay here in this shitty little room and wait for someone to pay for your body.

In a few minutes, Jerón Ortega will gather up his clothes, dress, leave the money, and disappear out of your life. Just a gorgeous memory for you to replay in your mind when you have some red-faced toothless rancher on top of you in a few nights’ time.

His breathing is steadier now and he turns to face you. “That was…just marvellous, miss.”

You smile softly and stroke his cheek. “You don’t have to praise me, Jerón. You’re paying, remember.”

A kind of sadness flashes across his face. “Oh. Didn’t feel like a transaction to me, but what do I know, I guess.”

“Didn’t to me, either, but…”

He reaches over and pulls you close to him. “Is it against the rules for me to stay here with you tonight? I - hell, I don’t want to leave you.”

You shake your head. “Stayin’s fine, sweet boy. You sure about this? You don’t want to see if one of the other girls is free?”

He looks at you intently. “Don’t think there could be another girl for me, now.”

#agent ortega #special agent ortega #agent ortega x f!reader #agent ortega fanfiction #special agent ortega fanfiction #the sixth gun #the sixth gun fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedrostories #pedro pascal

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iamasaddie · 8 months

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Pedro Pascal as Special Agent Ortega in the unaired pilot of The Sixth Gun [PT. 3]

#pedro pascal #iamasaddie gif #special agent ortega #the sixth gun

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coastielaceispunk · 8 months

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Special Agent Ortega

The Sixth Gun unaired pilot 2013 (recently released)

youtube

#yes of course I love him #he had no right to be so HOT #tackle me in the desert SIR #his attitude is everything #Special Agent Ortega #The Sixth Gun #unaired pilot #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #Youtube

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fuckyeahpedropascal · 8 months

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Pedro cowboys

Because we love a good dismount.

• Masterlist •

Joel Miller: cowboy edition

Tim Rockford v Joel Miller

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #joel miller #pero tovar #strange way of life #silva #the sixth gun #special agent ortega #cowboy butts drive me nuts #but I ride the english way and you take both feet out of the stirrups before dismounting

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dornish-queen · 8 months

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So slutty

#pedro pascal #the sixth gun #unaired pilot

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pedrohub · 8 months

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PEDRO PASCAL in THE SIXTH GUN (2013)

#pedropascledit #ppascaledit #pedro pascal #the sixth gun #userallisyn #userconstance #userallison #tuserrachel #tuserrobin #usersavana #dilfgifs #userzo #usermandie #tusercora #tuserpolly #usersugar #this is a need

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eupheme · 8 months

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— room for two

agent ortega x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: pwp/stagecoach sex, reference to sexual harassment, implied mutual pining, flirting, teasing, semi-public fingering, shared tasting, dirty talk

a/n: as a rdr2 enthusiast and with the amount of stagecoach fics I’ve read - as soon as I saw one in the pilot I was like 👀💖

You find your ride back to Brimstone is spent with some very unexpected but very welcome company.

He had made room for himself in your thoughts before, but never quite like this.

Close enough to touch, in the cramped stagecoach.

Just a few moments ago, opting for the smaller of the two had seemed appealing - the cheaper cost, the journey back quicker with only two horses instead of four.

Never thinking you’d be sharing the space.

And now - it feels as if your knees would brush, if you uncrossed your legs. Already trapped within his spread ones.

The morning had been spent two towns over. That carriage shared with other girls, all with their own tasks for Madame. An envelope sealed with bright red wax clutched between fingers as you had clambered out at the first stop - as they had continued on to the next town.

A little bit of stolen time amongst the shops, after your letter had been delivered. The coins slipped to you in thanks spent on something sweet to eat, a new ribbon for the straw hat you had been repairing at home.

The sun creeping past noon, before you had found a carriage to take back. Just managing to settle inside, when you had heard a friendly voice calling from outside.

A hand catching the edge of the door, as the driver had moved to shut it.

“This coach heading to Brimstone?”

The Agent, with his sharp clothes and his dark eyes. You’ve seen him in the Emerald Palace, slipping upstairs to meet with Madame Hume.

The curiosity had sparked even then - unable to keep your eyes off him. Heat rising to your cheeks at the wink sent your way, the caught smile as he followed behind his partner.

His appearance becoming more common. In the past weeks. A little jolt in your stomach when you saw the two of them, standing out amongst the regulars.

Those dark eyes always seeming to find yours, for just a brief moment. But one that lasts, lingering long after he’s gone.

It had been enough to just think about him.

Wishing for another life - one where you weren’t felt up by strangers while serving drinks. For one where you were whisked away by him, instead.

A much different kind of stranger.

There was a fluidity in the way that Agent Ortega moved - folding himself inside the carriage, an easy smile shot your way. Bowler hat discarded, set down on the bit of seat next to him, as he settled in.

“You don’t mind, do you darlin’? This ride is on me.”

And you hadn’t. Not at all.

Now - your eyes drift, across the gray shades of his suit. The sharp vest, the golden chain of his pocket watch where it tucks into a pocket. Everything nearly in place except for the buttons popped at his collar - exposing that extra inch of his throat.

A silver badge glinting against his chest, in the afternoon sun.

With an effort, you tear your eyes away.

But you can still feel the weight of his own exploration. His gaze as warm as the sun that peeks in through the opened windows, settling across you skin.

“Never seen you outside the Palace,” Ortega comments, breaking the silence as the driver cracks the reins. A creak of the carriage as the horses follow - taking you down the main road.

The implication that he’s noticed you at all is not lost - your attention quickly drawn back. Your own smile shy, as his grows wider - pretty curve of his lips.

“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. Just runnin’ errands, sir.” You shrug, intentionally vague - missing the way his eyes drop to your mouth at the word. The little shift in his seat as you glance out the window, as a rider on horseback thunders by.

“Miss Hume keep you busy?”

It’s an understatement. Running the Emerald Palace was hard work - and combined with a powerful woman and her short temper meant there was rarely a moment to breathe.

Your face must show your answer because he laughs - an arm slinging across the back of the seat, the movement bumping his knee against yours.

“She’s keepin’ us busy, too.” He confides, “Been runnin’ all across New Mexico. But I think we finally found what she’s lookin’ for-”

Agent Ortega catches himself then, his smile apologetic as his hands raise, “Sorry, shouldn’t divulge any more.”

“I understand.” You smile.

Everything behind doors with Madame Hume was hushed - half-spoken whispers and sealed letters, drowned out by the piano downstairs. The only quiet thing about her business.

But you had found yourself leaning forward at his confession - drawn in by him, the secret of the detective’s recent and sudden appearance.

There’s a jolt then - the wobble of the left wheel as it rattles against a deep divot that cracks the dirt road. The speed of the stagecoach has the carriage lurching, a wheel lifting as it crosses the narrow gap.

A little yelp rips from your throat, as you lose your balance. Already off-kilter, drawn in by the almost-reveal of his secret.

Hands catch on your hips as you tip forward. A swift tug as he spares you from slipping into that narrow gap between his knees, the force behind his pull bringing you into his lap.

Chivalrous, in his intent.

A clucking tongue for the driver - a glare as if the uneven road was their fault, as your fingers bite into his shoulders. Wrinkling the fine fabric as you steady yourself.

Acutely aware of the strong arm that curls around your waist. The pull of your cotton skirt where the layers bunch up around your knees - thighs spread wide where you kneel in his lap.

The warm scent of his aftershave, curling over your senses with how close you now are.

“You alright?” There’s concern in his tone, the words stringing together with his worry. His grip still firm, as you blink down at him.

It takes another second - him repeating his question more slowly, with the cock of an eyebrow - before you get your bearings.

“I am.” Your head ducks, “Thank you.”

But you find, that you don’t move.

And neither does he.

His lips part, with a slight upward tilt of his head - a movement that you just begin to mirror, without thought.

Before there’s another uneven rattle - hitting the carriage even more strongly than before - and you find yourself clinging to him, again. Flattened against him, as his face buries in the bare curve of your shoulder.

Your hands ghost across his chest, sliding over the buttons of his vest. Leaning back as heat creeps across the back of your neck, up to your cheeks.

“‘m sorry-” You’re murmuring, the mortification from before, now fully catching up. “So sorry-”

Just now realizing the position that you’re in - how incredibly inappropriate it is, with your knees pressing into his ribs.

With his breath ghosting across your shoulder, so close to the soft curve of your breast.

It has you leaning back - though the hands at your waist tighten, for the briefest of moments.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart.” There’s none of the worry in his expression. The part of his lips as you shift - a short, inhaled breath, “‘s not every day I get a beautiful girl in my lap.”

That has you freezing.

Wide eyes blinking down at the grin that pulls across his face, tugging up one side.

The words - softly breathed out, “You think I’m… beautiful?”

His eyes drag down like they do before - like they’ve done. Slower this time, with the knead of his fingers against the fabric of your dress.

“Thought I made that obvious.”

This time when his head tilts - you meet him.

The press of his mouth against yours. A fluttering in your chest as the soft sound of his groan, as his hands slide around to your back.

One dropping against the curve of your ass, nudging you forward. The slightest inhale of breath before you’re leaning into him, fingers sliding into the dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck.

Your own moan swallowed, as his tongue brushes your lip, licks inside your mouth. The upward tilt of his hips, an unconscious grind of his hips against the layers of your skirt.

A moment as you tug at them - a need to get closer. His hushed “yes” when you settle, when you can feel the stiffening curve against you.

Hands wandering, tugging at the dark tie around his throat, teasing at the peek of skin where the button strains at his chest.

His own tracing up near your ribs, spanning beneath your breasts. Warm through the thin layers of your bodice, and with the next breath - you’re pulling his palm higher.

Ortega groans a curse, sharp on his tongue as he cups your breast, the tips of his fingers brushing against bare skin.

There’s a building heat inside your chest, your tummy. You’ve been touched before, but not like this. Never with such want. Never so openly.

That second thought is what pulls you out - an unconscious glance from over your shoulder. Peeking out at the stretch of road behind you, the trailing path of kicked-up dust.

“Where did you go?” He coaxes - his voice low, strained.

Eyes blown wide, those pretty lips parted again. Your smile shy and embarrassed, your lower lip caught between your teeth.

“I just…” You squirm, “I haven’t done this before.”

His hand drops from you, the dazed look disappearing from his eyes, “We don’t have to, pretty girl. I didn’t know-”

A little laugh then, as you realized - drawing his hand back.

“No.” You smile, “I’ve, um… I just mean here. The stagecoach, it’s so open-”

With the three windows and the driver above. Soft noises already pulled so easily from you - you’re sure if things went any further, there would be no mistaking what was happening inside.

The frown transforms into a knowing smile. Relief lacing his words as his thumb teases against your nipple, the tight pucker of fabric that betrays your need.

A second, before he’s coaxing you off of him. Your disappointment mounting, before he spins you around - only to pull you back against him again.

Your ass snug against his front, with the layers of your dress settling around you. His nose ghosting along the column of your throat, mouth pressing a kiss against your skin.

“How is this, then?” He asks, his voice low in your ear, “I’ll take care of you, and you can keep an eye on the road. See anyone, and I’ll stop.”

A hand flattens across your stomach, lips on the back of your neck. Sending your skin prickling as he inhales, a soft groan bitten back between teeth.

“You’ll… you’ll-” You’re distracted by the sweep of his fingers, the slow rock of his hips. The thudding of your pulse between your thighs, an ache that has them pressing together.

“I’ll make you feel good, honey.” He sighs, “Anythin’ you want.”

It’s tempting. The desire that pools low in your belly. Your thoughts running wild - wondering just what he had in store. What he will give you.

The thought is enough to have you nodding, settling more comfortably in his grip. Perched on his strong thighs, your breath hitching as he starts at your shoulder.

A kiss pressed against the skin, as he works his way up the curve of your neck. A hushed groan as the rock of the carriage grinds him against your ass, his own need evident.

The slow drag of his hand as it rises from your stomach, spanning the space beneath your breasts as his head hooks over your shoulder.

“Christ. Just look at you, darlin’-“

The peek of your breasts above the low neckline. Fingers lifting to play with the pale, pretty ruffles that line the edge - the tip of one stroking against the tight bud just beneath.

Another jostle of the carriage coaxes the dress down further. His thumb slipping up, and then hooking beneath.

Ortega’s groan is soft in your ear. Your hips rocking against his, with the slow sweep of his touch.

“This okay, darlin’?” He husks, before his mouth presses against your neck, “If it isn’t, I’ll get out and walk. Don’t you worry.”

“S’okay.” You sigh, arching into him, “Feels so good-”

With your words, he’s tugging the hem down. Baring you as you send the briefest glance out the back of the coach - but there’s only the sun and sky above you, the rising streaks of red and orange layered in the rocks of the canyon around.

He teases you. A peek of his tongue as it swipes the pad of his thumb - smearing the slick tip across the tight bud, before he’s pinching it.

Your moan is a high, bitten-off sound before you’re catching it. Desperate for more, as you begin to move with him. Meeting the slow rhythm of his hips, your fingers fisting in your dress.

Before you’re catching his hand, dragging it down. Letting him cup you over the layers, where the low ache has settled, simmering.

“Please-” You whine, needing more.

He gives it to you, as he promised he would. Gathering up the layers of your dress, letting them pool around your waist - spreading out the fabric to cover you.

Your bare thighs pressed against his, and it’s now that you can truly feel him. That hard, swollen curve that strains against the fabric. Adjusted to press snugly against your core - an urge rising to touch him yourself, but he’s catching your hand before it wanders far.

“You first, honey.” His jaw grits, “Said I would, and I’m a man of my word.”

Fingers trace over your knee, up over the bare skin of your thigh. Cupping you again - like before. A wide palm against the thin fabric, another needy sound ripped from your throat, that he hushes through a grin.

Before he’s teasing at the waistband of your drawers, then dipping under. Meeting warm, soaked flesh, his own sound unrestrained as your thighs press together.

“Fuck.” His fingers trace your seam, splitting as they part you. Sliding back up until the tip is pressing at a spot that makes your hips jolt. The same tender place that you’ve only found at night, when you’re alone.

“So fucking wet, sweetheart. All for me, isn’t that right?”

Your answering hum is high, as he begins to circle. Turning into a sharp gasp before his hand is covering your mouth, muffling the sound.

“Hush, honey.” He coos, “Don’t want the driver to hear you, now.”

Somehow - the thought is thrilling, now. The thought of an errant moan overheard, the peek of a passer-by seeing the flash of your skin, his mouth at your neck.

But you clamp your teeth together, as his hand drops to curving over your breast again. Holding you to firmly against his chest, the jerk of your hips now stilted as you chase his touch.

The soft sounds caught in your throat, as each breath grows shorter. His soft hums at each one you make, as he teases at your opening.

The tip of a finger pressing inside, before he’s dragging the soaked pad up, pressing just a little harder, a little faster.

“Bet you taste so fucking good. Wish I was between those pretty thighs right now.” He growls in your ear - a thrill at his words, even if you don’t quite understand them.

Clarity coming a moment later, as his fingers slide from you. Shining and slick with you, that heat rising to your cheeks again at the filthy sight.

A little gasp of surprise as he slips them between his lips. Shocked by the groan he makes, as his tongue swirls over them to suck them clean. His other hand catching at your jaw, coaxing you to him.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, when your mouths meet. A sweet tang that wasn’t there before, melting against the heat of his tongue as it strokes against yours.

“Just knew it.” He grits out, before they’re slipping between your thighs again, “Need to get you in my bed, darlin’. Let you be as loud as you want-”

It feels like there’s a spark that’s a bright as the sun, burning inside you. Shining with the wet press of his fingers, those tight circles placed with such precision that it makes your head spin.

Fueled by the thought of getting him alone. Wanting to know more about how he’d taste you, fill you. Wanting to strip away those layers, to find the man beneath the badge.

It’s enough that you’re there, on the edge of something that feels like more than you’ve ever known. The urge to leap rising, knowing that he’s right there with you.

Ortega’s name soft on your lips, breaking as you try to muffle it. His answering hum, low and rough as he keeps the same swirling touch.

The path to that edge rushing towards you, overwhelming as your fingernails sink into the meat of his forearm. The stretch of a finger as it sinks inside you, opening you up.

His hushed murmurs, asking if you’d take him here. How good you’d feel, wrapped around his cock - the one that presses against you with each lift of his hips.

Your whining assent. That you would, that you want him to, want him-

Broken off as the heel of his hand rocks against your clit. The feeling heightened with his finger buried in you, curling and stroking. A second joining, each thrust wet as he mimics his thoughts - finding a rhythm that has you clenching down hard around him.

“That’s it, cariño.” He’s groaning, watching the heave of your chest, the way his fingers move beneath the dress, “Christ, I can feel how much you need this. Let go for me-”

It doesn’t take much more. His touch, his words, rip through you. The thud of the hoofbeats, the creak of the wagon fading out to nothing. A white noise as your head tips back, as your vision blurs.

A ragged sound in your throat muffled as he brings his mouth to your again - the sound of the stagecoach drowning out the wet pound of his fingers as you pulse around him.

The rippling pleasure washing over you, wave after wave. Your thoughts hazy as his hand spans your jaw, keeping you close until you come back down. Leaving you’re draped against him - utterly boneless.

Breathless, until a whistle breaks into your afterglow.

Mechanical - not a person, but the train that you’ve come to know well. The one just outside Brimstone, it’s departure welcoming of your arrival.

The bright glow of your pleasure dims, as you gasp - forgetting that you were supposed to be keeping watch.

“‘s okay, sweetheart.” Ortega coaxes, his fingers still buried in you, “Been watchin’ for you, pretty girl. No one’s lookin’ at you but me.”

There’s ache as he pulls from you, leaving you empty. Helping you put yourself back together - your fingers curling around his as he helps you back to your seat.

The same hand coming to cup himself a few minutes later - a lewd adjustment as the carriage comes to a stop, just outside the Palace.

You shoot him a pained expression, wanting more time with him. To return the favor - all while knowing you’re both expected at the Palace. A look that he shakes his head at, in response.

Opening the door for you like the gentleman he is, instead - lingering behind as he buttons his long jacket closed.

Hiding where he throbs for you. The spot where the fabric of his trousers has soaked through, dampened with his desire.

Almost forgetting his hat, snatched up at the last second.

You have to part now, it would be improper to do so otherwise. But there’s a moment where he lingers - a hand at your elbow, a split second where he pulls you close.

“Got a room over at the Turquoise Sky. Tell me you’ll meet me there tonight, beautiful?”

Murmured out for just you to hear, in the busy streets. Your very own secret, an offering to find out the true meaning of his words - just how well he could take care of you.

Emboldened, you lean close to whisper your answer back to him.

And amongst the crowd - he smiles.

just wanted to write a fun little no-pressure thing, thank you for reading! 💖

#the pilot was all over the place omg but it was fun!#and I am sucker for an 1880s setting so here we are!#agent ortega x reader #agent ortega x you #agent ortega x f!reader #agent ortega #the sixth gun

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softpascalito · 8 months

Text

Agent Ortega x Reader - Agents dont have favorites

Summary: Special Agent Ortega visits the Emerald Palace occasionally. Somehow, the woman tending to the horses is more intersting to him than those tending to the men. When he stays away for a while and things go south for her, he comes back to find something that he doesnt like.

aka its emotional but also they fuck.

Relationships: Agent Ortega x FemReader

WC: 2600

Tags/Warnings: Creator chose not to use Archive Warnings, The Sixth Gun, Agent Ortega x Reader, Implied/Refered Non-Con (Off-Screen, Time-Period typical), Hurt/Comfort, No use of y/n, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Creampie, Prostitution, Vaginal Fingering, P in V Sex, yes i wrote p*rn about an unaired pilot ep from 2013 so what

AO3 LINK

Notes: hello loves! what can i say, i saw a new pedro pascal cowboy character and i felt things.

here are said things written down.

_______________________________

Agents don't have favorites. They breeze through Brimstone occasionally, their sole focus on their mission and occasionally getting down in the Emerald Palace after finishing said mission.

They can't afford to get attached, to care too deeply about someone. Especially not girls working in a brothel.

Agent Ortega has a favorite.

It had developed over time, starting when you had tended to the run-down stables behind the palace, feeding and cleaning the horses for their owners. The pay had barely been enough to afford the small room you shared with three other girls.

The Agent had never been charitable but he had taken to finding you during the evening chores and slipping you some money when he'd been in town, always claiming it was to make sure his horse got the best possible care. You had believed it for a while until you had noticed the way he looked at you. Still, he had never made any real advances towards you, unlike other men who simply could not understand that you were paid to take care of the horses and not their own needs.

But even with the occasional support from him, the money had run out and after another offer that promised the pay equal to a week's worth of feeding horses for two hours with a man- you had finally given in, telling yourself that it would only be this once, just to get by until payday.

It hadn't been once.

Instead, you have adapted to a new routine, returning to the bar after your chores and waiting for a man to approach, both dreading and waiting for one of those sleazy hookup lines that always led to the same thing. It has become routine, the way you agree on a price and then lead them upstairs. It has become routine to lock the door. It has become routine to try and scrub yourself clean afterwards. It never works.

Agent Ortega has not been in for the better half of a year. But when he steps into the parlor of the Emerald Palace, the memories immediately come back and he takes in the smell of whiskey, cheap perfume and dried cum. He uses one hand to open his jacket as he looks around, taking in the few familiar faces in the crowd, girls he has seen spread out on the sheets below him and that he has never thought of again.

You can see, from the way he walks, that he's here for pleasure and not business, a slight bounce in his step as he clearly considers his option, pondering if he should start with a whiskey to relax a bit. He's been in the stables already but he couldn't find you and assumed you'd left, remembering distantly how you'd told him on his last visit that you'd been trying to save up, trying to get out of Brimstone for good.

He didn't have the heart to tell you that it wouldn't get better in other towns.

They were all the same.

As he takes a few steps into the establishment, he smiles at the girls around him and winks at one, who instantly tries her luck and approaches him, running her hand over the front of his shirt. You can't hear what she says but it must be some variation of the hookup lines the men use because Ortega smirks for a moment, turning his head a little to the side.

And then he spots you.

The reaction is imminent as his face falls and he shakes the girl off, heading straight towards the corner that you're huddled in. Worry fills him as he gets closer and with every step, it gets worse as he notices your thin, hunched over form, eyes puffy and highlighted by the dark circles under them. The toll the last few months have taken on you is painfully visible, especially compared to the picture he had stored away in the back of his mind, that he had drawn up on lonely nights to keep him company.

He seems to be by your side in an instant, whispering your name as he kneels in front of you, gently reaching out to touch your leg as he gazes up at you. The look in your eyes scares him more than anything.

A sudden suspicion hits him then and you can tell by the way his eyes wander up and down your body, taking in the tight dress you're wearing, that he knows. He knows what has changed.

You try and avoid looking at him, lowering your eyes, too afraid of what you'll find in his gaze. It doesn't make sense, technically. After all, you had to watch him walk up the wooden stairs with a bunch of different girls, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy you felt each time it happened.

“You're not-” He starts softly, his voice gentle and you shake your head quickly:” Please don't. Don't make me say it.” You beg silently, feeling the tears rising in your eyes.

He shifts slightly, leaning a little lower to look at you and his face hardens a bit. He is painfully aware that this is not the place to discuss this.

“How much?” He simply asks and at that you finally look up, slightly shocked at the sudden implication:” What?” Your voice sounds breathless and a small tear rolls down your cheek. He has to try his hardest to not reach out and wipe it away. Not yet, at least.

“How much? For the night?”

You stutter the price, eyes still wide as you look down at him:” But I don't want-”

This time it's he who cuts you off and gently reaches for your hand, tugging until you get up and follow his lead.

As you ascend the stairs, the steps of your routine start taking over. You try to push your emotions away, focusing on everything but. The sounds from the kitchen below, the wooden stairs creaking slightly under the Agent's steps, the way your hand still rests in his.

He steers you into a room gently. By the time the door closes behind you, your brain is in full autopilot. You turn the lock with a swift motion, the sound immediately making your body slump slightly, like it too has memorized what's about to happen.

Your hands are already on his belt when his own hands join them and for a moment you distantly wonder if he is the type who can't wait, who is always too eager- and then, in a gentle motion, he wraps his finger around yours, keeping them safely in his grip as he lowers his arms. When you look up at him, the only thing you can find in his soft, brown eyes is fear. Fear over what had happened while he had been gone. There is a hint of anger too, but you immediately understand that it is not directed towards you.

Agent Ortega looks sad. And it breaks your heart, knowing that you're the sole reason for it.

“You don't have to do that. Not with me.” He says quietly, his voice shaking slightly as he lightly moves his thumb over your fingers, caressing them. His gaze remains on you and after a moment of silence he speaks again:” Life hasn't been treating you well, has it?”

That's all it takes for you to crumble and suddenly, the autopilot is off, the routine you have perfected broken and you all but throw yourself into his arms as the tears spill out of your eyes, small sobs shaking your body and you escape the grip of his hands to wrap your arms around him. He pulls you in.

“I should've been there.” He mumbles silently, burying his nose in your hair as he brings one hand up to stroke it, tangling his fingers between the strands. It takes a while until you manage to catch your breath, using the back of your hand to wipe the last tears off your cheeks:” I should get back.”

Your voice is shaking and it's a whisper- but his reaction is not lessened by it. His brows furrow slightly and he decidedly shakes his head:” Absolutely not. Besides, I told you I'd pay for the night.”

“But you just said we didn't have to- '' You try to protest but he doesn't budge:” I know what I said. I'm paying for the night regardless. In fact, let me pay you for the whole week.”

After a moment, he adds, a little more quietly:” I don't want them touching you again.”

You look at him for a moment, your gaze wandering from his eyes down to his lips and a few seconds later, you're kissing him like your life depends on it. You press your body against his and for the first time in your life, you are trembling out of desire instead of fear.

You both lose yourself in the kiss for a moment and he takes a few steps back without your lips breaking contact until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sits down, pulling you with him so that you're sitting on his lap, your dress riding up slightly as you spread your legs.

After a few more seconds, his lips leave yours and he studies your face as he catches his breath:”Are you sure about this? I'll pay you no matter what.”

You shake your head softly and finally, a small smile appears on your lips:” I'm sure. I- Please, believe me.”

The internal conflict plays out on his face for you to witness. He doesn't want to hurt you, doesn't want to be like those men, doesn't want to take advantage. But something about the way you look at him tells him that you're telling the truth:” Okay.” He mumbles and his hand brushes over your cheek before wandering down your neck and then down your body as he leans forward again, placing little trails of kisses all over your face.

His lips are softer than you expected and you shiver as his mustache tickles at your skin when he places a kiss on your nose and then on each of your eyelids.

A strong hand settles at your back for support as you feel the other one slowly inching up your thigh under your dress, drawing an impatient noise from you as he takes his time. Eventually, the tips of his fingers find the thin cotton panties you're wearing and, in a stark contrast to the slow movements from before, he suddenly speeds up, pulling them towards himself and ripping them off your body.

You gasp slightly, opening your mouth to protest as he chuckles lowly:” I'll buy you new ones, sugar.”

His rough finger finds the soft skin between your legs, running over your folds and circling around them for a few moments before slowly pushing in, parting your wet heat for him. He watches you closely, the way your breath hitches in your throat when he curls his hand just the right way, paying attention to your reactions to make his mental notes.

He adds a second finger, slowly moving them in and out until your breathing is ragged and you lean into him, whimpering as your breasts almost spill out of your dress. The hand that has been supporting your back gently finds the front of your dress and pushes it down until it pools around your middle, revealing your bare breasts to him and he squeezed them slightly while still moving his other hand in and out of you, sucking in a breath at the way you clench around him:” You're perfect, you know that?”

Your own impatient hands soon find his shirt, pulling open the buttons and pushing it open so that his bare chest is exposed. His badge falls to the floor but neither of you can bring yourself to care.

Eagerly, you trace a finger down his belly, following the small trail of hair that leads into his pants until you find his already half open belt. This time, neither of you stop as you fumble until it springs open and you can already see how tight his pants are under your touch.

When you pull it out, his cock is already hard and leaking and you stroke it a few times, marveling at the way the foreskin ripples back and forth with your movements. The dark hair at the base tickles your hand and you bring your other hand down to squeeze his balls slightly, drawing a breathless moan from the Agent's lips.

After a few moments, he pulls his fingers out of you, which has you whining at the loss but then you feel his hands flying to your hips and he lifts you up easily, pushing your dress the rest of the way up before slowly lowering you onto his cock.

You let out a high-pitched whine as you feel him filling you, thick and hard and you silently thank him for preparing you with his fingers.

“It's okay, I got you.” He mumbles, whispering soft praise into your ear until he's all the way inside of you, your bodies flush against each other. You hear him take a breath, clearly forcing himself to hold back and you nudge him softly, silently letting him know that he can move.

He does and the slight discomfort gives way to pleasure as he slowly buries himself in your heat again and again. It feels so different - He feels so different - from all the men you've been with that it makes you want to cry with the revelation.

“You okay?” He mumbles again and you nod, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you beg:” Harder, please.”

Agent Ortega silently obeys, changing his angle so that he is hitting your cervix with each thrust and you almost yell at the glorious feeling that starts forming in your stomach as your fingers dig into his skin.

“Come on, darlin. Come for me. Just for me .”

You whimper as your climax hits you seemingly out of nowhere and you can hear him curse under his breath as he quickly tries to pull out of you.

“Please don't-” You whimper silently and he looks at you, face somewhere between pleasure and surprise before he gives in, letting your muscles draw him back inside as you clench down on him, drawing out both your orgasms.

He looks down and moans your name at the sight of his seed spilling out of you and running down the base of his cock, that is slowly starting to soften inside of you.

Later, after he has cleaned you up, you are in his arms, your naked limbs entangled in between the sheets. He is stroking your hair slowly, occasionally leaning down to give in to the sweet promise of another kiss.

“Maybe I should take you with me. Back to Santa Fe.” He mumbles and you sigh softly, pressing your hand against his chest:” And why would you do that?”

He stays quiet. When you realize that there is no response coming, you raise your head a bit, glancing up at his face. His eyes are soft as he looks at you in a way you don't think anyone else ever has.

You answer your own question.

“ You care about me .”

He gives the tiniest of nods, smiling a little as he leans down and kisses your forehead softly.

”Get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning.”

___________________________________

notes: thank you for reading! feel free to leave me a comment if you want more agent ortega or if you want to give some feedback. love you all <3

#the sixth gun #agent ortega #agent ortega x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #agent ortega x you #agent ortega x female reader #female reader #pedro pascal x y/n #smut #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #the sixth gun fanfiction #softpascalito

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palioom · 7 months

Text

the chase is better than the catch

summary: after months of playing cat and mouse, Agent Ortega finally catches you when you let your guard down. it makes you admit that you don't quite hate the agent as much as you say you do.

pairing: agent ortega x f!reader word count: 4.7k warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n; lowkey enemies to lovers; finger sucking; lowkey hand/finger kink ngl; rope bondage; fingering; oral (m & f receiving); edging; unprotected p in v; cum eating/cum play

• masterlist •

Special Agent Ortega.

Oh, how she hated hearing that goddamn name.

Hated seeing his annoying, handsome face. With that stupid hat casting most of it into shadows, shielding him from the harsh desert sun.

That fucking dark mustache sitting over his top lip, stretching wide when he shot her a smile. She even hated his cocky smile.

They had crossed paths several times, and she had always managed to evade him so far. Always just a smidge faster than the agent, escaping his leather-clad hands. She loved the chase, loved seeing that twinkle of playful annoyance in his eyes when she escaped him once again.

Maybe she liked it a little too much, her heart beating faster when she heard his name whispered, when she saw his face appear. Sometimes she almost hoped to see him, disappointed when she successfully robbed some people and left on horseback without seeing him.

Well, he had finally gotten her now.

Slung over the back of his horse, her ankles and wrists tied with rope, secured to the moving animal by even more.

She had been too slow, too careless. Taking a moment to look out for his face instead of making her exit like she should have.

Because suddenly, his face was right in front of her, flashing her those beautiful teeth with a twinkle in his eyes, holding her arms so tight that his fingertips would leave bruises behind. She could still feel his hands on her arms, warm and rough, calloused from years of work.

Strong like she had expected him to be, the way he had manhandled her excited her just a little too much.

She had to squeeze her thighs together in hopes of finding some relief, hating the way he had just thrown her prone onto his horse like she weighed nothing.

But he noticed her squirming, reaching back to give her clothed ass a small smack, laughing at the way she squealed in surprise.

“C’mon, darlin’, stop the squirming.” He said, and she could only imagine the way his cocky smile spread over his face. “One could think you enjoy this a little too much.”

She grunted in response, kicking her bound legs in annoyance. It also helped to play over the fact that she did in fact enjoy this a little too much. There had been a reason she had gotten increasingly more risky over time, unsure if it really was her desperation or stupidity that made her let him catch her.

“Where are you taking me anyways?” She asked, tired from the hot sun burning down on her, happy that it was finally vanishing behind the horizon. Ortega had said as much as not taking her to the nearest cell to let her rot in, at least not in the small town he had caught her in. “I’m tired and thirsty.”

“Told you, you’re much too pretty to rot away in a cell.” Ortega answered, slowing down his horse. They had ridden quite some way, off to wherever he was needed next. “And I do have a proposal for you. Later.”

She was too pretty to put her behind bars, and much too good at what she was doing. He could use someone like her on his little missions, in more ways than one.

Coming to a halt when they had reached an inn at a small settlement, he dismounted the horse, his face appearing in front of her with that big, cocky smile. She really wanted to hate that face of his, but she couldn’t deny that he was incredibly handsome when this close to her.

“Now look at ya.” He chuckled, grabbing her jaw and pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of her reddened cheeks. She looked even prettier with her face flushed and her hair tousled like that. “Huffin’ and puffin’ with that mean stare of yours but I know there ain’t a place you’d rather be right now.”

It was her turn to laugh, his calloused fingers making her skin burn even hotter as he held her in place.

“There’s plenty of places I’d rather be than here with you.”

He only smiled wider at that, letting go of her jaw to move around the horse, coming to a halt right behind her. His swift hands untied her from the animal before he placed his hands on her hips and yanked her off of it, just as roughly as he had captured her.

Fingers digging into her arms as he pushed her forward and into the inn. It was a shabby little place, but it was better than sleeping outside by a far stretch.

The people stared at them funny when they entered, and even the innkeeper had an odd stare to spare but did not comment on it further. Money was money after all, and as long as this wasn’t about to turn into a murder, he couldn’t care less.

Ortega helped manoeuvre her up the stairs, a long process which wasn’t helped by her constant complaining.

“You know, if you just unbound my feet, this would be so much easier.” She huffed, almost falling over. Her arms hurt, bent behind her at an awkward angle and the rope around her feet started to dig into her skin. “You can’t be that scared of me?”

He hoisted her up the last couple of steps in a less than gentlemanly manner, making her squeal again but finally reach the top of these damned stairs.

“You just want me to untie you so you can take that pretty ass of yours running, sweetheart.” He gave her a pointed look, raising an eyebrow at her before he continued pushing her forward. “Forget it, I finally caught you so I ain’t letting you go again.”

Finally reaching the room, he pushed her down into one of the armchairs standing by the small fireplace. Still not untying her, just looking down at her.

The room was quite small and there was only one bed. She didn’t quite know if she liked that or not.

“You stay here, I’m getting us some food.” He announced, turning around to leave her alone.

Oh, how she hated him. But she couldn’t deny that something about the way he had manhandled her had made her feel much hotter than the sun ever could. Becoming painfully aware of the throbbing need in between her thighs, wanting so bad to hate the man but being unable to.

She didn’t need anyone, no less a man as cocky and arrogant as he was. So why the fuck could her body not stop when he was around?

The thrill had been the game of cat and mouse they had played, always putting her excitement on that alone. Not Ortega himself.

God damnit, she didn’t even know his first name.

It took a while for him to come back, a tray of two bowls of stew and two golden beers in hand. He placed it down on the small table in front of the fireplace before he sat down himself, finally taking that stupid hat of his off. Revealing those dark brown locks, slicked back by sweat.

It almost made him look more handsome, her mind conjuring up images of how sweaty he would look while fucking into her on that small bed over there.

A thought she was shaking away quickly, watching as he took a big gulp of the ale before taking his bowl and a spoon.

“And how am I supposed to eat?” She asked, squirming in her seat, her arms still aching. “I can’t possibly eat with my arms tied behind my back, can I?”

Ortega looked over at her, taking a bite from his spoon. Almost provocatively, like he wanted to annoy her with the fact that he could eat, unlike her.

“I’m not untying you, darlin’.” He said, taking yet another bite with a grin. “And I ain’t lettin’ you handle a spoon either, I know you’re mighty talented.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back into the chair with a slight wince. What a bastard.

“Great, so I’m starving then? Looking at this stew right here?”

He chuckled, only half annoyed by her whiny voice. Putting his bowl down again, he took another sip of his beer before scooting closer to her, close enough that their knees were touching.

“Quit your whinin’, woman.” He responded, taking her bowl and her spoon.

She immediately knew what he wanted to do, groaning and pulling at her ties.

Absolutely not.

“You are not feeding me.”

A laugh left him. If she had been anyone but the woman he had tried to catch for the better part of a year now, the one who had mesmerized him from the very first moment he had seen her pretty face, he already would have smacked her. But somehow he enjoyed her back and forth and her whines and grunts.

He wondered if she sounded the same while a cock was buried deep inside of her pussy.

“Look, sweetheart. Either I feed you,” Ortega said, holding up the spoon full of hot stew, “or you go without. Your choice.”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a few moments in an attempt to intimidate him, but seeing that it had no effect made her sigh.

“Fuck you.” She mumbled quietly. This was humiliating, but did she have another choice here? “Alright.”

Leaning forward a little, she awkwardly slurped the stew off of the spoon, avoiding to look at his face. It was good, as good as it could be out here in the middle of the desert, but she’s certainly had worse.

She could see his smirk in the periphery of her vision, and somehow she just knew this whole thing was less about being afraid that she could do something while untied. It was more that he enjoyed this, though she wasn’t entirely sure in which way.

He kept feeding her more, spoon after spoon, all while he could only stare at her pretty lips as she ate. So mesmerized by them, that at some point, he held the spoon just a little too weird, spilling some stew down her chin and onto her white blouse, now a little dirty from the sand of the desert.

“Be careful!” She scolded, glad that the stew wasn’t as hot anymore, licking her bottom lip as he placed the bowl down.

Without much thinking, he swiped a finger over her chin, gathering the soup that had spilled. Slowly moving up to her lips, swiping the rough pad over the soft swell of them. He hadn't expected her tongue to dart out, her eyes meeting his dark ones as she slowly sucked the finger into her mouth.

Tasting the salt of the soup along with the dirt still lingering in the grooves of the fingerpad, sucking on it and caressing it with her tongue. Ortega’s breath hitched in his throat.

Surely this was a fever dream. He had been out in the sun for too long.

It was the softness of the motion which surprised her, leaning forward to take more into her mouth, down to the second knuckle while he watched. She couldn’t really deny her attraction to him anymore, though she enjoyed the banter between them.

Snapping out of his trance, he added a second finger with a small smirk that quickly spread wide as she greedily sucked that into her mouth with a hum as well.

“See, knew you were enjoyin' yourself a little too much on the back of my horse.” He chuckled quietly, pressing onto her tongue and making her hum again. The way she sucked on them, bobbing her head up and down until they were almost at the back of her throat, it made his dick twitch in his way too tight pants.

Pumping them in and out in time with the motions of her head, watching the saliva pool at the corners of her mouth. She looked so damn pretty with her lips around his fingers, her lids heavy as she looked at him.

He had half a mind to suspect this was nothing more than an attempt to escape, making him drunk on her before she could run, but he chose to enjoy this.

“You’re so filthy, sweetheart.” Ortega said, massaging her tongue, thrusting in and out of her mouth at a quicker pace. Wishing that was his dick instead of his fingers. “Bet you suck dick that well too, yeah? Or are ya just tryin’ to escape?”

Removing his fingers from her mouth, she barely had the time to whimper in protest before his lips found hers, rough and demanding, the hair of his mustache tickling her skin. Just like she had thought he would be, her arms fighting against the restraints in an attempt to touch him, wanting to run her fingers through his hair and open his shirt and vest.

She could taste the ale on his tongue, moaning quietly as his fingers slipped down and to her belt buckle. Too slippery from her saliva, he struggled to open her pants for a moment, before finally being able to let his hand slip in, swiftly finding her clit and applying pressure.

The sharp gasp that left her lips made her part from him, her hips bucking into his touch, chasing his rough, thick fingers.

“Fuck, oh God.”

He loved hearing her swear, watching her struggle against the restraints while her face contorted in pleasure. Biting her bottom lip, eyes screwed shut.

Fuck, was he happy to have finally caught her.

But he needed more than that, needed more than her weeping cunt rubbing against his fingers, he wanted to taste her. Fuck his tongue deep inside of her, have her gasp and moan for him while he lapped at her.

The fact that she was still all tied up and helpless made all of this even better. Not that he would ever exploit this moment.

Sinking to his knees in the small space between her and the table, he reluctantly removed his hand from her wet heat, taking in her annoyed grunt. Instead he slowly pulled her pants down her legs, revealing the soft curls he had felt, her glistening folds as she tried to part her legs further.

She hoped he would untie her now, annoyed by the rope digging into her ankles but also needing to spread her legs wide open for him. Needing his hot tongue on her aching pussy. Watching in awe how he knelt before her, her pants around her ankles before he lifted her legs and moved in the space between them with a grin.

Resting them on his broad shoulders, she tried to open them just a little further but found it difficult with how she was bound. She shifted lower, closer to the heat of his mouth, trying to draw him in as she grew impatient.

Ortega only grinned wider, liking how she struggled and opened herself up for him. He wished he could tease her more, but after so many months of chasing her around he just couldn’t wait any longer.

Bowing his head, he groaned as he licked a broad stripe up her folds, enjoying her quiet moan when the tip of his tongue flicked over her clit. He noticed how she desperately tried to open herself even more, the vibrations of his noises as he began sucking on her clit only spurring her on.

“Like that, yes.” She whispered as quietly as she could, her words hitching on her breath. Her hips bucked into his mouth, chasing more friction as he ate her out like a man starved, his arms wrapping around her legs to keep her still and prevent her from sliding off the chair.

Tasting as sweet as he had imagined it so many times, fucking his own fist while thinking about his tongue buried deep inside of her.

When he moved lower, sliding it into her wet and aching hole, she couldn’t stop the loud gasp that left her, her back arching uncomfortably with the way she was tied up still.

He was good. More than that, he knew exactly what he was doing, lapping and slurping at her, the obscene sounds bouncing off the walls around them.

With her crest in sight, so damn near, she closed her eyes, swearing as she got closer and closer.

Teetering right on the edge.

Then he was gone, her heels digging into his back as his mouth left her. When she opened her eyes she found him grinning up at her, looking like the devil himself. Chin and thick mustache wet with her, his eyes darker than usual.

“Fuck, Ortega-” She panted, greedily drawing air back into her lungs, cutting herself off when his fingers dug into her exposed thighs harder.

“You think I’ll make this easy for you, darlin’?” He asked, still smiling wide. “After you escaped me again and again?”

Her face fell at the realization what he meant. What he planned to do, whining in frustration.

His mouth found her pussy again, mumbling into her while she once again was drawn close to the edge.

“I’ll leave you hanging like you left me hanging all those times you ran away from me.” He said, voice muffled by her dripping pussy. Doubling his efforts, his teeth just lightly grazing over the sensitive bundle of nerves right until she teetered at the edge again.

Gone again.

That whine of protest she let out was music to his ears, only adding to the feast between her legs. He imagined her grabbing at his hair now if he untied her, her arms moving behind her in vain.

“Ortega, please.” She cried, that sweet sensation ebbing away once more, just needing relief. Trying to coax him forward with her legs somehow, wishing he would just take the rope off of her so she could move. “Please, I need it.”

He chuckled, one of his hands leaving her thigh to spread her puffy lips open, revealing the wet mess between them. Dragging his thumb just lightly over her swollen clit, she flinched, a jolt going through her at the ghosting touch.

It only made him laugh, dragging them lower and pushing two fingers inside of her, watching her eyes roll back before she closed them, biting her lip to keep the throaty sounds at bay.

“You sound so pretty when you beg, sweetheart.” How pretty she looked like this, and she hadn’t even had his cock yet. Ortega pumped his fingers in and out of her for a bit before he added his tongue to the mix, once again drawing her to the edge before moving away.

Over and over, getting her right to the brink of it all before he let her fall, hearing her sob and whine and moan, her legs trembling against his cheeks.

“Now you know what it felt like to have you slip away, darlin’.” He groaned, his own cock painfully hard in his pants, needing her tight heat around him. Gripping him like she gripped his fingers, sucking him in deeper. “Did you count? This is how many times you escaped me, you sly thing.”

He was going to kill her with this, she was sure. So sensitive and strung tight, the sounds of his fingers inside of her growing more and more obscene by the minute. She couldn’t do much more than babble his name, drunk off of him, her head in the clouds.

“But I finally got you, and I think you deserve a treat, hermosa.”

Oh God.

That was the only thought inside of her head as her orgasm crashed into her, thighs clamping shut around his head while she shook and covered him in her release. It bordered on pain with how it surged through her, her muscles all over her body spasming from the intense feeling.

But he didn’t let up, only groaning as he lapped up everything she gave him, only pulling back when he felt like he’s had enough, long after she had stilled again.

When he slipped out from between her legs, he found her with her eyes closed, lips slightly parted as she gained her breath once more. Such a wonderful image, and it was all because of him.

Reaching for the rope around her ankles, he swiftly untied her, her eyes flying open at the motion. He tugged down her pants as well after taking her shoes off, discarding them to the side.

It was freeing to finally be rid of them, to be able to move her legs again. But she didn’t have much time to marvel at the freedom of her limbs as he already stood up, giving her a brief but good view of the sizable tent in his pants before he pulled her up and dragged her over to the bed.

Just as gentle as he had been before he had devoured her pussy, pushing her down onto it.

She watched as he opened his belt quickly, making swift work on the button of his pants as well. Her mouth watered at the thought of seeing his dick, eyes fixed on the outline of it straining against his pants.

He found it adorable, the way she hungered after him, practically lunging at it once he had wrestled his clothes out of the way, her lips wrapping around the head.

“Fuck, you’re eager.” He groaned, his hand resting at the back of her head, watching how she bobbed up and down, taking more of him while spit pooled at the corners of her lips. “Can’t believe you kept running away from me.”

Entranced by her, he let her continue for a bit, hearing and feeling her moans around him. So damn eager, clearly enjoying this more than she thought she would.

But he didn’t want to cum in her mouth, as pretty as that thought was. To see her with his cum pooled on her warm tongue. He needed her pretty pussy, reluctantly pulling her off of him by her hair.

Her eyes were glazed over as she looked up at him, spit running down her chin and dripping onto her heaving chest. Like in his dreams sometimes, when he imagined fucking her throat until she cried.

Another time.

Bending down, he swiftly untied her arms, still holding her hair in his grip, guiding her down to lay on the bed. She barely had time to move her hands before he climbed on top of her, kneeling in between her spread thighs and taking both of her hands into one of his big ones, pinning them onto the bed over her head. His grip was strong, his fingers wrapping around both of her wrists as she squirmed below him.

Spreading her legs further, he simply couldn’t wait much longer, taking himself in one hand and lining himself up before sinking into her tight heat. Ortega’s groan mingled with her drawn out whine, her back arching up and into him, humming at the delicious stretch of him.

If she had known he was this well equipped, she certainly would have stopped running from him a while ago. Filling places inside of her that she didn’t know could be filled as he sank in all the way.

“You’re so tame with a cock inside of you, sweetheart.” Ortega groaned, setting a harsh rhythm right from the beginning. Pounding into her while he kept her pinned down, bending his head to kiss along her neck and jaw. He just couldn’t hold back, needing her tight pussy strangling his dick. “Who would’ve known that’s all it took.”

She simply hummed, her eyes rolling to the back of her head before she closed them. Trying to fight against his hand on her wrists but unable to move his heavy wright off of them, wanting to touch and explore his body.

“Feels good, Ortega.” She whined, gasping when he sucked a bruise into her neck. “Oh, fuck-”

He laughed, biting the place he had sucked on gently.

“Somethin' to remind you of who caught you, darlin’.” Ortega groaned, now back on her lips and biting at her lower one. “To remind you whose cock you’re gonna cum all over.”

A powerful thrust accompanied his words, pushing her up higher on the bed, her cry muffled by his mouth. He couldn’t care less what everyone else thought of the wet, slapping noises coming from their room, but he didn’t want to alert anyone with how vocal she was.

He could tell she was close, clenching around him tightly, her body wild beneath his.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” He grunted, moving his knees so he could change the angle of his thrusts, chasing his own high. His hand clamped over her mouth as her noises became louder again, his lips finding the shell of her ear instead. “Show me who owns you and your sweet pussy, hermosa.”

Her body trembled as she came, his name on her tongue muffled by his strong hand, the other still tightly pinning her down. Feeling overly sensitive from her earlier orgasm, his little grunts and groans helping her through it all as he kept fucking into her, close to his own peak.

Just before his own orgasm, the overwhelming urge to paint her body with his cum took over his brain, needing to see the white ropes over her pussy and her belly, needing to see that he finally caught her.

He had half a mind to pull out, groaning deeply as he emptied himself over her, rubbing his dick in between her swollen lips, his cum shooting over her belly just like he had imagined it. Watching as streak after streak covered her, before it trickled down into the hair on her mound.

So beautiful like this and all his. It was him who caught her, who had buried his dick inside of her.

Slowly he took his hand away from her mouth, hearing her heavy breaths, her eyes slowly peering open to look at him. She could feel his cum on her, tilting her head down as well as she could to see the mess.

She couldn’t suppress the moan that left her, the sight of his dick still engulfed by her pussy and her covered in his cum.

“My God, Ortega.” She laughed, watching as he swiped his finger through it and brought it up to her lips.

He let it vanish between her pretty lips, humming at the way she sucked on it again, her big eyes fixed on his.

“What a dirty girl you are.”

Pulling his finger out again while he grinned like the devil himself, he rolled off of her, catching his own breath as he laid next to her. He let go of her hands, now sure that she wouldn’t try to escape.

And she was glad, moving her arms after they had been bound into one position for so long. Instead of the ropes on her wrists she could now still feel his hand on them, the thought of how huge his hand was letting her press her legs together.

It didn’t take long for a soft snoring to appear next to her, making her giggle quietly. Surprised it just took some pussy to knock him out like that.

To make him lower his guard.

Oh, what a mistake that was.

When he woke in the early morning, golden sunlight streaming into the room through the dusty curtains, he found himself without his gun and without his horse. Most importantly, he found himself without a body next to his.

All he found was a small piece of paper on the table in front of the fireplace, unable to bite down a chuckle as his eyes flew over the pretty cursive letters.

Hello, cowboy.

You’ll have your horse and your gun when you catch me again, Agent Ortega.

I hope that you are faster to do so this time around.

Instead of her name, she simply left a stain in the shapes of her lips, right at the bottom corner.

Ortega couldn’t wait to catch her again, folding the paper and keeping it safe in the breast pocket of his jacket.

No, he would definitely not be as slow as before.

He would make sure of that.

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