TBS Imagines

Gentle (Whitney)

A/n: I'm having fun with these neglected TBS characters ngl lol. Also, it's hard to make underwear from the 1800's sound sexy so like? Sorry?
Warnings: Smut. Cough.

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The girl plopped down next to me, bringing her arms onto the table top and folding them so she could lean down, resting her chin. "Is he a good kisser?"

Training my face so that it wouldn't curl in disgust and forcing my body to not recoil from her, I focused on my book, responding quietly. "Hello, Gen."

Genessa Trainer has been my neighbor all my life. We'd been good friends and inseparably close until her father had perished in the accident as most of the men in this town had a while back. Then Gen became a needy teenage girl who slept with anyone and everyone. Girls. Men. Strangers. Drunk familiar faces. No one her age, though. She didn't seem to mind. She was only a year older than me.

Ever since Whitney and I had started dating, she'd turned her glossy lips and revealing clothing toward him. It had ultimately ruined our friendship. I'd stuck by her side as she tore her life to shreds, but when she suddenly found interest in my boyfriend after ignoring him before (letting me know that she only wanted him BECAUSE he was my boyfriend), I drew a line. No. Absolutely not.

Now she only ever talked to me to ask about him. It was revolting.

Moving one of her hands to prop her head up, cheek resting in her hand, Gen swung her legs a bit. More of a bounce, really. "I bet he's really rough, isn't he? Aggressive and skilled, like he is with those guns of his."

Anger boiled up in me and I fought to keep my head leveled. "How has your day been?"

She sighed. "I would ask how he is in bed, but I know you don't have the guts to go for it. You're too good. Bet he really wants to though. Bet he's long and thick and that when he does do it he pounds really hard and fast. Hmmmm..."

My hands tightened on the sides of my book. "Not much to do today then?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Continuing to ignore me, Gen just went on. "I wonder if he'll go to someone who'll make him feel right if you keep denying him long enough. I mean the boy is going to want someone to love him the way he wants to be loved and... you're not going to cut it. Maybe I'll be able to-" Slamming my book shut, I shot to my feet and stormed out of the building. "It was nice talking to you!" She called, a smirk of pride evident in her voice.

Without thinking I walked to the jail and the sherif's office. I pushed inside the door to see that it was empty. Closing the outside world off from me, I leaned against the wood, clutching the book to my chest and closing my eyes tightly.

Images circled in my head that I didn't have the strength to get rid of. Whitney pulling Gen close by her hips. His thumb massaging her core or her hips or massaging her bud. His lips on hers. Or even worse - on her. Him rocking to a rhythm I could hear as the bed creaked and she screamed his name, her nails running down his back and her head pressing into the bed as her eyes rolled back into her head. A fast, hard rhythm that she moaned and whined and whimpered along to. Rough. Hard.

Suddenly I couldn't breathe. My eyes watered as I pushed off the door, dropping my book on Whitney's desk as I flung open the door and made to take off for home. To hide under the covers and not come out for a day or two, until the images were all destroyed and gone. Or until they drove me mad...

Just as I went to take off, though, I slammed into a solid chest. Hands held my shoulders. "Well hello there d- Whoa are you okay?" My eyes flickered up to see Whitney's.

"WHITNEY!" Gen screamed, her toes curling as he hit just the right spot.

Feelings sick, I pulled away from my boyfriend, gathering my skirts as I full on spirited to my little house. I spent more nights than not at Whitney's these days. My mom had left me and my dad years ago and my dad had died in the famous accident. I lived by myself, making my way by being an errand girl. Passing messages, cleaning houses, watching children, cleaning buildings, organizing, the such. There were more odd jobs than I first thought and it was just enough to keep my house and whatever I most needed. Whitney had been working to slowly convince me to move in with him.