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samodivaa · 8 months

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Winter Soldier x Asset!Reader You just returned from a mission—you provoke him, but the tension flicks from anger to fevered desire.

Warnings - smut, smut, he hasn't felt arousal for a long time ;)

Words - 2500

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Soldat wraps himself in anger, with a dash of annoyance, and at the bottom of it all is an icy center of pure horror—the intensity of this forgotten sensation, not bloodlust—it is pure human lust—his metal hand tightens around your neck.

"I'm sorry. Please, let me go now, please" but the trickling sounds of your pleas makes him feel thirsty for more.

It is not lust or infatuation—this is intoxication, a craven’s craving he can't explain nor control. He looks at your eyes—dainty blend of colors, lips are rosebuds, cheeks have the color of flamboyant flowers. You are Summer, he is Winter.

"Again"

"What-t?" Your voice is bewildering, and yet mysteriously beautiful.

"Beg. Again."

You poorly try to hide your shock. This is an unprecedented turn of events. The programmed machine inside you wants to block that, to scream for help, and the human inside you wants more.

"Please, please, Soldat"

"Fuck…" he mutters.

His eyes are nearly black, the pupils dilated as he pulls away and moves backwards. Winter stays still, but you see a tremor pass through him—as if he is waging a war with himself.

Hydra always plays with his mind, lies to him, but lust is what it is, it never lies—it is real and he feels it, but his apparatus is so rusted that he doesn’t understand what is happening fully.

And it is not only the faculty of love, lust which were sterilized, but also the faculty of imagination—he never imagined that he would do something like that. Now, he involves his mind in the abuse of imagination in erotic matters—fires of lust spring up for the first time and he groans like some baffled prowling beast.

“What is it, Winter?”

He wants to sin with you, to force you to sin with him and to exult with you in sin.

“Soldat?”

He feels the lust’s presence moving irresistibly upon him, a presence subtle and murmurous as a flood filling him wholly with itself.

“I need to touch you, I need—”

A litany. An enchantment. A curse.

He explores you from a distance as he makes several steps backwaters, with his unspoken desire, with the fear that touching you would set him to flame. And you want nothing more in that moment than to prove very much the opposite.

“Do it then”

It's enough for Winter, to hear the soothing whisper of comforting words countering the panic and the frostiness of darkness in his soul.

At that, he makes a harsh, low sound. His eyes exude insinuation and you know it.

You are both alone, surrounded by darkness and silence: and in that moment of supreme tenderness, he starts to transfigure—by his monstrous way of life, this seems—beyond the limits of reality.

He tries to bid his tongue so that he might seem at ease, watching you as you shamelessly undo your dirty cargo pants and shirt.

As he stands silent, watching you undress—you are breathtakingly beautiful as you stand there in the dark, the dim lights letting your skin look ghostly pale. When you make steps towards him, he instinctively tries to make several steps backward, but the wall behind prevents it.

You come over to him and you embrace him gaily and gravely, arms holding him firmly by the waist, his eyes couldn't help, but move down at your cleavage, exposing the flawless skin—dozens of inappropriate thoughts suddenly rushes through his head when you let out a small sigh of frustration.

Seeing his face lifts to yours—serious as he feels the warm, calm rise and fall of your breast.

“Samodiva—”

You suddenly kiss Soldat, his head tilting to meet your mouth, lips warm and mobile as they play against his own in a medley of light brushes and soft nibbles. The kiss lingers, each tantalizing caress is his answer which he is too afraid to say out loud. Gentle, but your kiss becomes deliberately seductive. Settling on his lower lip, you draw it into your mouth and suck at it softly, lips, tongue and teeth working in sensuous harmony as his cock jolts to life and you move your hips closer, framing the hardness.

It is too much for him.

He closes his eyes, surrendering himself to you, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the world but the dark pressure of both your hands and softly parting lips—his flesh shrinking from what it dreads and responds to the stimulus of your touch, his long forgotten sexual needs—purely a reflex action of the nervous system.

You catch yourself staring at the sensual curve of his lips, the impressive cut of his jaw, devouring every part of him with eyes.

And then, weakness, confusion and inexperience fall from him in that moment—your eyes bright with brutish joy meets his—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—your soul shriveled up as he snatches you up around the waist and sits you on the metal table nearby.

You are in his hands—you have to comply.

It is the impatience of the way he tears your panties and bra from your body that really scares you: the lust getting the better of him and you spread your legs wide, exposing your overall and the fragrance of the essences permits in the air, he can smell it.

Reaching out, he grabs your chin

“Have you done this with the others?”

His human fingers dig into the skin, forcing a whimper from your parted lips.

Holding you in place, he awaits for a response

“Yes-s” your voice is quiet, almost lost in the helpless darkness of his presence.

Soldat haltes, blue eyes frosting.

He slams his metal fist down on the table

“I forbid you” he whispers before running the tip of his tongue along your neck, tasting the sweat that has just formed.

There is a stubbornness about you that never can bear to be frightened at the will of the Winter Soldier. Your courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate you, but this time you feel helpless as fear spreads to every part of the body.

The unmistakable flare of jealousy narrows his eyes—there is that infamous control of his hovering on the edge, balancing precariously on the point of a knife, it makes your breath hitch.

The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He relishes that delicious feeling of freedom, the delirium of being human, his flesh is being born again.

This demon is made for you—his dark eyes and possessiveness have you hooked, his darkness frightens, soothes, but now that darkness is lustful—half god, half hell.

Soldat is a wraithlike observer most of his life, but he takes control for the first time and there is a theatrical quality about all this—he is irreparably damaged, but with your scent filling his nostrils there seems to be a some primitive male instinct as his throat tighten with a hunger he never experienced before—it draws him in deeply, imagining that was how hot sex smells.

“Ти си моя” he says low and quiet and as vicious—his fingers, caressing your tights simultaneously, spreading them further apart.

You feel your heart beat faster, your face flush, and your ire rise, you avoid his cold stare, reeling at his words—you are mine—his hands gripping your hair firmly in a show of dominance, making you face him before Soldat quickly delves into a deep and possessive kiss, his lips are full and warm, soft against yours, but the kiss is hard and desperate.

"If Springtime crawls out of the wild mouths of flowers, then surely, Winter crawls out of mine."

He smirks against your lips when you can't hide your moans, your hands slowly snaking their way around his shoulders, pulling him closer, the intrusive need to be consumed by him.

“Be quiet”

He huffs nonchalantly, stalking closer to lick at the crook of your neck as he runs his hands along your sides, the flesh one stopping just below your breasts—but the metal one flicks your nipple with his thumb as he passes it. He rubs in a slow circular motion as he observes your reactions.

You don’t know when he moves his human hand, but his fingers down to your burning sex, separating your folds and running a thick finger over the slit. He could smell your arousal and knows he needs a taste of you—a groan tears out of his throat.

“Be quiet” you want to mock his own words, but you breathe out heavily and hard as you say them.

You thought he would have a clever reply — something to win, something to shut you up.

In a way, you guess he did.

Your hands tighten on his biceps as he inserts a second finger, your fingernails scrape into him, and the slight pain is pleasurable, knowing he is one giving you pleasure—hypnotized by your velvety moans—you are panting, mouth watering.

You keep your eyes open for as long as you can, hoping that your brainwashed, imperfect memory would capture even just half as much as his.

It suddenly occurred to him he doesn’t know your real name, he wants to call you something.

“Snezinka” His voice is deep and guttural, the word rumbling and vibrating against your neck. It caresses your skin almost sensually

“My snezinka” (snowflake) drawls in a voice too playful for the fear flooding your veins.

You moan quietly again, eyes finally fluttering close as he twists his hand just so, delving two fingers deep within your wet folds below and curling them.

You can feel him: his breath coming down on your neck in heavy, hungry pants, his fingers drawing out teasingly and forcing your hips to buck at the motion. With a hum of pleasure, he lets his fingers slide almost all the way out and his throat tightens at the feel of your channel bearing down, trying to hold on to him as he withdraws completely.

Winter reaches between your bodies and begins to unbuckle his pants. His breathing comes in louder and harder as he tries to control his emotions and movements.

His palm runs along his hardened length, stroking himself slowly—

You suddenly pull him by the straps of his harness and he needs to brace himself using the table on both sides of your body—he grunts at your aggressiveness and strength.

A tentative smile on his lips.

“Snezinka…I was not going anywhere” he taunts and presses his lips to yours.

He looks at you with a vicious smirk, as if he’d won something.

In a way, he supposes he has.

His husky voice reaches a playful tone he hadn't touched on in years, decades—he doesn’t know.

Winter holds his cock by the base of it, running the tip up and down your pussy, making sure to linger around your clit.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, your vocal chords struggle to produce words, but your lips simply move in silence, your hands winding through his hair. You wrap your legs, quivering from fear, sexual yearn at a height you never before felt, around his waist, pulling him to you as he poses and you whine, his head creeping in first before his whole penis is engulfed into your wet sex, your pussy stretching around him, he keeps his descent slow and torturous.

Painfully sweet, he moans—

feeling him impale you onto his cock, stilling in you for a moment so you could feel just how deep he is—enjoying how the metal hand grips your waist tightly.

You are not soft or feminine; you are a hard-edged and cold brainwashed machine, crowned in razor wire of hate. For him, you have always been a flower—he takes your thorns as a challenge. Winter will have you scorch with the savagery of his cruel passions and needs—until you are conditioned to bloom in his flames.

He groans, fucking into you harder now, the head of his cock hitting your cervix as your eyes, water up at the sensation of being so stuffed as he gives you more and more—him fuckin you like that flips your brain inside out and turns your cunt to pudding.

Winter leans near your ear, holding your jaw still, with flesh digits, as he speaks.

“Talk to me, snezinka, how do you feel?” he grunts and you shudder, lips pucker from the grip he has on you as you try to speak.

Gasping for breath, you writhe mindlessly in his grasp, only to find yourself easily restrained—all you can do is tighten your legs around him, trying to usher him to fuck you again.

You are annoyed at his cockyness

That's why you sink your nails into his shoulders, scrabbling for purchase against the fabric, then fisting one hand in his hair. You pull hard on the wet locks, gasping when your violence earns you a particularly hard slam of his hips.

Sin is a lustful state—he actually likes it.

“Do it again” he commands—thrusts grow jerky.

You tug his hair again.

“Солдат-” (Soldat)

And that’s all he needs to hear before he starts ravaging what you’ve just called him—pounding into you, setting an unrelenting pace, clutching him hard as the pleasure spirals up and up.

He hisses, teeth gritting with the sole purpose of making you cum before he does.

The force of his thrusts is making the table quake, but your quiet moans of approval are so satisfying he keeps at it and you starts clenching around him—deliberately massaging his cock, orgasming wordlessly as he continues to fuck you right through it.

He hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent sharply as he keeps rutting hard inside of you—your cunt convulsing around him, trying to milk his cock, is making his thrusts sloppy—several incoherent thrusts lead him to come inside, a roar rumbling in his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, and you sink into his chest, marveling at how easy this feels. You both don't accept touch easily, but with him, it seems natural.

Your newfound foundation is rocky, because you make a home in each other’s skin and memory—the damage is beginning to show. You are ready to self-destruct, there is very little left to kill anyway—which makes this tragedy less and more much, much more worse.

What actually led to this situation?

You always help each other undress after the missions, but this time your mind wanderers as you remove the small glove from his metal hand—flashing between images of various memories of killed people and imagined scenarios, you wouldn't have thought of outside of this hazy consciousness—but

Wanting makes the mind restless

He blinks at you, eyes looking perfectly indifferent—and yet, delight in yours; the moment you develop an idea is the exact moment you execute it—you give the hand a squeeze before the chemical desire to taste it overpowers everything in both your mind and body and you bring the fingers to your mouth, dipping two inside

His metal hand is an erotic necessity

—you feverishly lick, drenching them in your saliva, moving your tongue along his fingers all the while.

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the neck hardly, demanding an explanation.

#his fingers are not a lollipop? who are you talking to right now?#metal arm kink fr #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x asset!reader #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x you #smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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glittering-moonlillie · 1 year

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My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble.

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head.

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you.

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence.

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared.

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen.

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it.

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day.

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole.

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on.

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend.

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat.

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back.

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you.

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.”

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned.

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke?

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

“What ever are you doing, habibti?”

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no.

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose.

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled.

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.”

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels.

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner.

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie.

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again.

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible.

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer.

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing.

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat.

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed.

“Dami…”

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise.

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned.

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter.

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand.

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said.

“Mother, please-”

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again.

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?”

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.”

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him.

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours. The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses.

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired.

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Al Ghul #Damian Al Ghul x Reader #Damian Wayne x Y/n #Romance #Damian has dimples!!#DC #Batfam #Fluff #Damian speaking Arabic #Arabic pet names #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Alfred Pennyworth #Tim Drake makes an appearance out of his tomb #Comics

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skylarsblue · 10 months

Text

✦Meeting & Flirting W/ The C.o.D Men✦

~✦Part Two✦~

✧Alejandro, Rodolfo, König, Alex✧ ✦GN!Reader, mostly fluff, mild descriptions of wounds/combat/war, random call signs and some use of y/n, minor sexual tension, inconsistencies with canon timelines because I'm better than the games(/j), I started this before König was called a colonel, poorly translated Spanish & German that I apologize for (correct me please-)✦

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Civilians let out screams and ducked into houses to hide. Tan colored vans and trucks lined the streets of Mexico as shots were fired. The moments of quiet were as worrisome as the sounds of gunfire in a situation like this. Alejandro cursed as yet another man declared their ammo low. They were running out, at the rate they were going, they’d need to pull back. Alejandro was a stubborn man, however, and bowing down to a cartel would’ve done damage to the credibility of his men, along with his own ego. “Colonel, there’s a car coming in. Unmarked.” His radio crackled with the information. “Aye, watch it. Keep looking. Does it look like the enemy?” Alejandro replied, getting a negative in response. As if there wasn’t a risk of fire being brought out, the car stopped in the middle of a paused stand off. Out of the vehicle stepped one person, dressed in a way that stood out completely. “What in the hell is this?” Alejandro hissed as he watched the civilian look around. They were wearing a mask of porcelain, decorated elegantly with gold paint, almost like a statue of crying Virgin Mary. He locked eyes with them, and they…motioned for him to pause. “What do we do?” The soldier beside Alejandro asked. “Sir, I think I know who this is.” His radio called. He watched as the stranger turned to confused members of the enemy, raising their hand to the sky. Three fingers, two, and then one. The cartel’s side of the street blew up and the stranger ran for cover. “Mierda! What the fuck is happening?!” A soldier exclaimed. Alejandro’s radio triggered again with enthusiastic laughter. “Resistance sir, the one I’ve been telling you about!” The colonel took a breath. “The one run by civilians? How’d they set this up?” He asked roughly, aiming his gun to take a shot. “They’re smart, sir. That one you saw? That’s their leader. A talk with them would be a good idea, they’re a powerful ally, a stronger bond could prove useful.” Alejandro looked across the field in awe as the stranger took out a few more cartel soldiers. They then looked at him, giving him a nod and a salute. For the first time that day, Alejandro smiled. “A strong ally indeed.”

(I make them speak mostly English so I avoid making mistakes in Spanish, I'm sorry-) It had been a month since that day, and three weeks since Alejandro & Rudy had properly met the mysterious masked individual. They'd proven themselves rather charming, even if a bit suspicious. Alejandro had been rather excited to meet the individual who'd managed to secretly gather well-trained civilians to aid them against the cartel, pulling stunts like they did before. Though their real name was a heavily guarded secret, much like their face, they did have a name of sorts to associate with them. Los Lares, in reference to Roman mythological deities that provided protection. Their leader, the masked individual, known only as Padres, though occasional nicknames popped up from individuals they were close with. Alejandro had done his best to assess whether they were trust worthy or not, they did the same to him. And after two successful mini missions, Padres agreed to show Alejandro, Rudy, and some of his men what they'd been hiding. "Well would you look at this..." Alejandro said quietly as they drove through a small village. Guarded heavily with armed civilians was a tiny town commandeered by Los Lares, rather than the cartel. Kept safe from the carnage in the rest of Las Almas. The car rolled through slowly, allowing them to gaze at buildings without bullet holes, covered in colorful decorations. Children ran around playfully, adults standing around and talking, some small market carts on the edge of the street that gave out fresh food and household items. Music playing over speakers. Not a single skull balaclava in sight. Rudy pulled over and parked by a building at the end of the long street. The shell of a church it seemed. Outside of it was Padres, running around with children on their tail. When they noticed the men that had pulled up, they declared for the children to play on their own for a bit. Alejandro couldn't stop his smile as he continued looking around, eyes falling back on them. "This is what you meant by Sanctuary." He said. "Si, I made it myself. No violence occurs here, no fear. How it should be." They explained. "Rodolfo. My second in command, Emil, wanted to discuss things with you, if you wouldn't mind." Padres said, motioning to the man behind them. Rudy looked at Alejandro, who nodded. Rudy walked off after that and left them alone. "I see why you were so secretive now." Alejandro stated, watching them nod. "It usually takes a lot longer to be allowed access here. But I knew you'd be trust worthy." They explained as they leaned against the jeep he'd arrived in. He crossed his arms and leaned on the car as well. "And when did you decide this?" He asked. Padres chuckled and blinked at him past the holes of their mask. He wondered how eye contact alone could make him feel so warm, tingly. "I met your gaze during that gun fight and I could tell. You have the light of angels, querido." They purred. Alejandro chuckled quietly and shook his head fondly. "¿Coqueteando? ¿De verdad?" He asked in a hushed voice, leaned in slightly. They raised both hands in mock surrender. "I see a lot in your eyes, Colonel. Many, many things. Tu disfrute es uno." They teased. Alejandro ran his tongue over his teeth. "Si? I see things in your eyes too." He replied. Padres tilted their head and silently urged him to elaborate. Alejandro let out a breath and smiled. "Peligro. Mucho." He exhaled, senses lit aflame when he saw the distinct signs of a smile hidden behind the mask.

Alejandro enjoyed when he had time to visit the sanctuary Padres had created. There was so much joy around and peace filled the air, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like his shoulders could relax. That he could be at ease. In his visits, he often saw families, children running around with big grins, hearing the innocent laughter always brought Alejandro joy and a sense of longing. He'd always been the familial type with a large soft spot for kids. It showed in his actions, like currently, as he let two boys hang off of his arms like some playground equipment. They giggled and squealed in jovial fun as he hoisted them higher, though he set them down gently when their mother's face grew a bit apprehensive. It was when a little girl, leading a group of children, asked to play hide & seek that things really got to be fun. Alejandro found himself hiding under a table in one of the homes, another child at his side. He held his finger to his lips as they giggled away behind their hands. Both of them seized up when evenly spaced footsteps made themselves present, too heavy for a child. Alejandro had a quick flash of memories that made his body tense up, watching the table cloth be lifted. But it wasn't an enemy, nor a child, but instead a porcelain mask with a smiling individual underneath. "Room for one more?" They asked in a whisper. Alejandro blinked before he snickered and nodded. Both he and the child carefully scooted back to allow Padres more room. "Isn't our hiding spot good, Padres?" The child asked excitedly. "Si, Rosa, it is. I almost couldn't find you both." They replied in a tone akin to a praising mother, something that made Alejandro's chest ache. "What gave us away?" He asked them, smiling wider when they glanced his way. "Your boots, colonel. Your laces were untied, they poked out from underneath." They answered, prompting Alejandro to look. Sure enough, his left boot lace was untied. He sighed and shook his head at the rookie mistake, still grinning however. A beat of silence passed before a rush of tiny footsteps came in, prompting the three to be extra quiet. "Got'cha!!" The little girl declared as she lifted the table cloth. Rosa screamed and laughed, quickly getting up to run away. Both Alejandro and Padres stayed, watching Rosa make a swift get away from her friend running after her. Leaving them both alone under the table. "You are good with kids." The self-appointed commander said fondly. Alejandro melted at the sentiment alone, it always felt like one of the highest level compliments when someone said it. Even more so coming from them. "Gracias, Padres." He said, only for them to shake their head. "Y/N. My name is Y/N, when we are alone, you may call me that." They said softly, leaving Alejandro surprised. The shock wore off quickly and a pleasant tenderness filled the air, showing in their shared gaze. "Losing the mystery, aye?" He asked. "No, merely trusting you with my secrets. I trust I made a good decision?" They replied. Alejandro nodded. "Now I just have to get that mask off of you." He teased. They gave a quiet laugh. "I can't wait..."

It was always nice to celebrate after a successful mission, especially one as high stakes as this. With a large threat neutralized, it seemed like a big party was the right answer. There was a large hand of help from Los Lares, and the citizens who called the refuge home saw it only right to allow Alejandro's men into their sanctuary, to indulge in their victory with loud music and home cooked meals. Alcohol as well, of course. Alejandro stood on a roof and watched the streets below, lit up with colorful lights and bustling with music. He felt his shoulders relax as he watched his soldiers mingle, laughing loudly, raising toasts to their lost brothers & sisters. He took a swig of beer as his gaze shifted to the sky, full of twinkling stars. He went to take another drink, only to find the bottle empty. He debated going back down to grab another one, only to feel a hand rest on his lower back. He flinched and looked over, met with a familiar mask and a kind gaze. "Need another, colonel?" Y/N asked softly, holding up an open beer. Alejandro chuckled and took it, setting the empty one on the roof's edge. "Gracias. How'd you know?" He asked. He turned his body to watch them, even spaced steps taking them to a couple of supply crates. They took a seat and shrugged, he could feel their calm smile in their aura. "Lucky guess. You weren't down there, spotted you up here and I figured you'd like some company. Was I right?" They asked with a head tilt. He walked closer with an exhale. "Yes and no." He answered. They silently encouraged him to elaborate, tilting their head to look up at him as he came to stand in front of them. "Oh?" Alejandro chuckled and set the beer down beside them. "I was looking forward to your company." He admitted. Even in the low light of the moon, he could see their pupils expand. "Such a charmer, Mr.Vargas." They teased in a hushed tone. He rose his hands with a quiet laugh. "Interesting choice in company, however. An individual with no face for you to name." They said. Alejandro's face softened. There was a short beat of silence that seemed to last forever, finally a peaceful moment without the worry of being killed, allowing him to admire them properly, despite the mask. He then remembered their promise, the words spoken to him to keep his morale high when things were looking bleak. So, though he was careful, he rose his hands to their face, cautiously grazing the edge of the mask with his fingers. "Is that right?" He whispered. They didn't move back or scold him, merely kept his eyes locked with theirs in a look that sent shivers down his spine, even as he edge the mask up. It was pulled away and in an instant, they were exposed fully. Alejandro let out a breath and forgot to inhale afterward. Their smile caused his lungs to constrict in tight thorns. "Well? ¿Algo que decir, coronel?" They asked, and though their tone was cool, he could see the flinch of fear. The anxiety of rejection. He took his free hand to brush over their cheekbone, feeling warm skin instead of cold glass. "Peligrosa… peligrosamente hermosa." He whispered back. They snorted. "How cheesy..." They teased again, tilting their head up to meet him halfway.

✧Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra✧

Rodolfo’s eyes cracked open, he let out a short wheeze. He wasn’t all there, but he was keenly aware of a large commotion outside. He could faintly recall his mission and how he ended up with the throbbing in the back of his head. An RPG hit the building he was in just right and it knocked him out cold. Astigmatism disrupted his vision and his limbs felt heavy. He winced when a light came from the side, the sun, beaming through as the broken door was shoved off. He blinked, and there was someone he’d never seen before. They weren’t really dressed for battle, wearing a decorated porcelain mask with a rifle strapped to their back. Rudy’s hand twitched for his gun before they hushed him, placing their hand on his arm. “Tranquilo ahí, cariño. I’m on your side.” They said gently before turning their head to shout some orders at an unseen person. They turned back to him and cautiously turned his head, clicking their tongue sympathetically as he whined. “Took quite a hit, huh? Don’t worry, we have help on the way and your friends and mine have almost cleared out the enemy.” They took out a flashlight, shining it in his eyes When his pupils responded normally, they put the flashlight away and called out some more orders. Rodolfo decided to try and sit up but he barely moved before nearly falling back on the floor. They caught him by the back of his neck. “Easy, pretty boy. Don’t make yourself worse.” They said, gently guiding him to sit up with their support. Rudy blinked and groaned. He got a better look at them now, pushing past his dry mouth to try and speak. “You…you are the ally Alejandro mentioned…” he grunted. Their eyes scrunched, indicating a smile. “That’s right, dear. And I’ll get you out of here. You can trust me on that.” They promised.

Rodolfo carefully scratched around the edge of a bandage on his head, huffing when Alejandro lightly flicked his hand, scolding him for fidgeting with it. "I'm healing fine." He said quietly, glancing at the map on the table in front of them. "Still, shouldn't mess with it." Alejandro replied with a caring pat to his shoulder. They were waiting in a planning/common room in the main base of their new adversaries, a civilian led resistance against the cartel. Rudy recalled the way they carefully held him steady when they'd found him, after he'd been knocked unconscious. Alejandro swore they were trustworthy, and so far, they'd definitely been helpful. Alejandro stood more straight when the door swung open and Padres entered the room, a few of their men behind them. The two of them overheard the leader scolding a civie-soldier for not eating breakfast before they turned to the two friends. They were dressed more casually than the other times they'd met. Looking liked they'd just been dragged out of bed, actually. And although they seemed sleepy, still in slippers even, they still bore their mysterious porcelain mask. "Apologies, my alarm didn't go off." Padres apologized in a gentle tone. Alejandro chuckled and shook his head. "You all there yet, Padres?" He asked, smiling when they waved their hand, approaching the table. "I can still explain my plan to you, si." They replied before yawning, Rudy smiled as they went to cover their mouth for the sake of manners, despite the face covering. Their eyes landed on him and he could see the signs of a smile in their gaze. "Ah, chico lindo, how's your head?" They asked. Rodolfo felt his cheeks warm at the nickname, they hadn't been subtle when he first met them either. "Fine, just sore." He replied. At that moment, the quiet mutterings of a man who'd come in for some coffee hit the room. A soldier named Ramirez. Whispering about Rodolfo's skills, trying to imply he wasn't a true soldier for being wounded "so easily", which made another snicker. Rudy didn't show a reaction to it, Alejandro scowled, but both men jumped when Padres gasped. With skilled precision, they flicked their slipper from their foot and caught it from the air, launching it in the direction of Ramirez. A perfect headshot as the slipper smacked the back of the soldier's skull. Alejandro and Rudy shared a look, recalling their own experiences with the all feared chancla. "Debería darte vergüenza! These men give their life everyday for the sake of our country, they were fighting before you were given your status in my army, show some respect! You will not disrespect this man again, do you understand me?!" They shouted, finger pointed. The man shrank, rubbing the back of his head. "Si, commander." Padres put their hands on their hips. Ramirez approached with their slipper, which Padres snatched from his grip, dropping it on the floor so they could it back on. "Now apologize for your insolence." They demanded, pointing at Rudy. Both Rodolfo and Alejandro watched with wide eyes as a grown man, tall and buff, turned with his head down like an embarrassed child, muttering an apology. Rudy swallowed and let it go, unable to look away from the mysterious individual who'd defended him so valiantly. They'd been so gentle and sweet. Rudy felt his mouth grow dry and his stomach twist as they sent Ramirez away with a wave of their hand. With a breath and a headshake, they turned to face him again, smiling once more. "Now, let's get this done, alright?" They asked. Rudy nodded, not missing the teasing glance Alejandro gave him.

It was sweltering, as expected for a Mexican Summer. The speedy movement and adrenaline of avoiding gunfire only added to the discomfort. There were still cartel members outside, but at a distance. There was quiet for a moment, excluding Rodolfo's breathing being hissed through his teeth. A bullet had skidded past the back of his hand, tearing through his glove and leaving blood running down his arm. He was sat on the floor of an abandoned house, jacket discarded and shirt sleeve rolled past his elbow. "I know it stings, but you'll be alright." His ally, Padres, spoke softly to him past their mask. He nodded and leaned his head back against the wall, watching them dig through a bag for medical supplies. He held his hand up to lessen blood flow, letting it run across the dips in his muscled forearm. "How is it that every time you find me, I'm bleeding?" The man asked with a playful tone, smiling slightly when they snickered. "Well, mi tonto y querido soldado. It's because you're a reckless fool." Their thumb pressed into the area around the wound, making him wince, looking them in the eye. Their gaze was sharper than before, although not malicious. "You are so smart but so, so very stupid sometimes." They shook their head, taking away the pressure from his hand, holding it cautiously now. "You're swift, you're experienced, you're intelligent. But you're hot headed, and sometimes you get too focused on a goal to realize you're stepping on a land mine. It amazes me you're not more battered than you are." Their concern was warranted and their praise was met with warmth in his face. He swallowed and looked back at them again as they examined his wound, slowly rising their gaze to him again. He could see the signs of a gentle smile in their eyes. They hushed him soothingly when his hissed at the sting of disinfectant. His hand twitched involuntarily from the odd feeling on his nerves. "You have a point." He sighed, looking at their surroundings for a moment. He let out a short laugh after a few seconds of silence. "At least you're always near by to fix me up, no? I seem to heal faster when you're caring for my wounds." He muttered, feeling his stomach twist with an exciting bout of nerves. He wasn't much of a flirting type, and he tried to keep it subtle enough in case he'd been misreading. Padres chuckled fondly as they pressed down a bandage around his arm, kindly wiping away the blood. "Not the first to have told me that." They said fondly. With one last look at his hand, the clicked their tongue as they took in the damage. "Your hand will likely be difficult to use for until it's healed. We'll need to speed up that process." Rudy rose an eyebrow, confused. His eyes widened when they lifted their mask slightly, just enough to expose their mouth. It was hard to remember to breathe as a care kiss was placed over the bandage, he swore he could feel the burn of their lips past the layers, seeping into his wound and sending shocks in his blood. "Stay vigilant, chico lindo, I need you in peak condition."

(tw; war and brief mentions of wounds) Rodolfo panted heavily as he vaulted through a broken window, feeling perspiration on his skin from the heat of fire and exercise as he continued to sprint through a broken down building. There was bloodshed, naturally, it came with the job. But there was something in his stomach that twisted as he worried he'd find their body amongst those empty of souls. He'd promised to be more careful, but he'd dropped that worry as soon as their mic cut out. The fight had died down and an evac was only two miles away, but he demanded proof of their demise before he'd step anywhere near it. The man's steps crackled over broken glass and after the constant rain of bullets, the silence felt all the more deafening. His ears rang with a high pitched whine that he tried to ignore, listening for anything amongst the worrying stillness. He felt hope dwindle as seconds tic down, until he heard the sound of moving rubble in a room he'd yet to check. It could've been an enemy, perhaps it wasn't them, but despite the risk he rushed over and pushed the broken door out of his way. His breath left his lungs with weight as he saw their back, struggling to push themselves up. "Oh, gracias a Dios, estás vivo." Rudy said as he rushed over. A cruel sense of deja vu hit him as he gently guided them into sitting up, their hands covering their face. They groaned quietly, leaning against him for support. Rudy took a quick glance around, seeing pieces of their iconic mask broken. "Where are you wounded? Evac isn't far, what do you need?" He asked, only to hear them let out a strained chuckle. Slowly, blood covered hands stopped covering their visage. Air punched out of his chest as he finally got their face, and while blood dripped from a fairly painful seeming gash on their forehead, they smiled. "Tranquilo, cariño. Estoy bien." They said, gaze tired and a bit dazed. Rudy sighed and shook his head. "You've already used that line..." He said back, unable to stop the tiny smile as they snorted. "So I have." They hummed, resting against his armored shoulder. Rodolfo swallowed and chewed on some words stuck in his throat for a moment, up until they tapped him. "Just ask me already, Rodolfo. I'm losing blood and I think you should know how much I like you by now." They said with a hint of smugness. Rudy clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, chuckling when the poked him again. "Don't roll your eyes at me, young man." They scolded playfully, groaning in pain as he carefully helped them up, pulling them close to keep them supported. "A drink after this sounds nice, si?" He asked quietly. They nodded lazily. "With you? Absolutely." Rudy smiled and began slowly guiding them out of the broken building. "It's a date then."

✧König Badubrecht✧

Konig anxiously fiddled with the bracelet he snuck under his sleeves while he waited. He recalled a breathing technique and tried his best to keep his breaths quiet, but full enough to keep him calm. On any other day, he would've been mostly fine, but this was not every other day. No. His commander had told him that he, and two other soldiers, would be meeting up with a rather impressive taskforce run by Captain John Price. As if it wasn't enough that Ghost was on the team, as well as the ties they had to impressive forces in Mexico, all of that on its own was enough to get him antsy to make a good impression. But there was something in particular that caused his nerves to light up with unease. Meeting their sniper. Only known by their callsign 'Hotshot'. When Price had chosen them, word spread fast to allies about the impressive track record they carried. Twice, they had missed a shot twice. That was two compared to, give or take, three-thousand-four shots they had taken. A number that steadily grew with each mission, one kept track of just to prove the otherwise outrageous number. König loved the idea of being a sniper and practiced frequently, even if he was never given the position due to his size. Part of him wanted to ask for an autograph, but he also knew that would likely get him weird looks. "Oi, Großer Kerl. Das Team ist hier." His commander's voice startled him just as much as the words. König swallowed and nodded. He stood up and quickly fussed over his appearance before following. He let the other soldiers he'd be working with walk in front of him. He envied them, their confidence. Slightly baffled they could walk toward such impressive people without feeling the need to overthink how they'd present. It was one thing when König didn't care about their opinion, or when he was walking toward enemies. He'd strut forward with his shoulders rolled back and his chin high, gaze stern and sharp as the blade on his belt. But wanting people to like you, new people no less? He'd had easier times handling battles than that. It didn't get easier when they were in view. He towered over all of them, hiding wasn't much of an option, although his veil helped. König noted all of them individually as his commander spoke with Captain Price. Ghost certainly was intimidating, Gaz & Soap seemed more approachable, not to take away from their capable abilities however. Then his eyes fell on the last member, feeling his chest clench, making his hands do the same at his sides. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he'd heard of Hotshot's illustrious reputation. Still, he wasn't expecting them to be so...beautiful. They stood confidently with a laid back smile, some left over war paint smudged under their eyes, black gloves over their hands. König had so much to say and it all piled up in the back of his throat. He'd gotten so lost in staring at them that he'd completely missed everyone introducing themselves to each other, hence why he flinched violently when he was addressed directly. Suddenly, someone he viewed so highly was stood in front of him, craning their neck to make eye contact. "You alright there, big man?" They asked with a smile. König let out a string of stammered noises. They rose an eyebrow with a head tilt as the man mentally scolded himself, trying hard to actually say a word, anything! "You're pretty." He said suddenly with a voice crack. Instantly, shame and regret waved over his body. Hotshot blinked a few times in surprise. "I-I-I'm so sorry, I didn't-" "I like you." They pointed with a grin again, much wider than before. König deadpanned, eyes wide and stunned quiet. He watched them extend a hand. "Look forward to workin' with you, Romeo." They teased lightly. König hesitated, but very carefully shook their hand with a nod.

König held his breath before pulling the trigger on his USR rifle. The bullet soared through the air and through the paper of the target, leaving a fresh hole in the figure's skull. He exhaled and smiled to himself under his sniper veil, taking notes on what he had done right, what he could do better. As he went to grab his pen and jot it all done, he flung it in surprise when clapping sounded behind him. He nearly broke his neck whipping his head around, pulse stuttering when he viewed Hotshot leaned on the wall. Or, Y/N, as they'd said to call them. Though König had yet to break the habit of calling them Lieutenant. He blushed heavily as they smiled at him, pushing off the wall. "Nice shot, big guy. Right between the eyes." They complimented, letting out a whistle as they gazed at the target. He swallowed a lump in his throat, hands growing clammy in his gloves. He hadn't known them very long, admittedly, although their reputation preceded them. It had been a little less than a month since he'd first been introduced, in that time, he'd grown to find them charming. Too charming for him to handle. "Remind me again why they won't give you a proper sniper position again?" They asked as he leaned back on his knees. Konig cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't crack. "My size." He mumbled, a bit bitterly. Hotshot clicked their tongue both sympathetically and in annoyance. "Yeah, I'd imagine being that tall has it's drawbacks. Seems to have advantages too though. Still, I think you're a great shot. Little awkward on your form though." They explained. Konig glanced up at them with a small head tilt, silently hoping they'd elaborate. They smiled and crouched beside him, suddenly reminding him just how much bigger he was. "Get back in position, I'll show ya." They smiled. Konig nodded and did as told. He wasn't necessarily an obedient soldier, but he always listened to what they said. He'd been so worried about how they perceived him, stepping out of line brought too much anxiety. He wanted them to like him. He adjusted his hold on the gun, resuming the position he was in before they came in. "See, you're firing well, but is this a position you could hold for an hour?" They asked. "Nien, my back starts to hurt." He admitted. Hotshot nodded and snapped their fingers. "Exactly. Here, I can already tell your problem." He glanced at them before his breath caught in his throat, feeling their hand gently placed on his leg. Positioning it a bit more outwards, bending at the knee. Through thick cargo pants and a set of gloves, their palm felt like fire through fabric, singeing his skin. His hands twitched nervously when they moved up by his shoulders. "Now, instead of holding your head like that, try this instead." Their voice was soft, quiet. König felt his pulse in his extremities when their hand found his jaw underneath his make-shift sniper hood, tilting his head as they wished. "There ya go, big guy. Now, try firing like that." The nickname suddenly felt like fire to his senses, and he had to clench his jaw to bite back an unmanly sound. He did his best to hold the gun steady, aiming once more, ignoring the proximity of his superior. He fired, unable to focus on where the bullet landed. He could still somehow feel the ghost of their hands on his person. He flinched when they clapped twice. "Another headshot! Good job, mate. Keep at it and you'll be better than me soon." They smiled brightly. Konig blinked up at them, nodding carefully. The lieutenant hadn't missed the widening of his pupils. "I'll let you get back to it. Come get me if you want more tips." They patted his shoulder, taking careful note of his near-silent shudder. Perfect.

(TW; War typical violence, blood lusty König) The man heaved, feeling ice in his veins, bright red blood darkening the fabric of his gear. He counted the bodies around him, ten in total, none of them moving. He scanned the area around him as he continue moving, looking for more targets, knowing if he didn't have one in his sights, someone had him in theirs. His fist clenched around the handle of his blade when his radio crackled. Static mixed with a voice, one frantic, one familiar. Past his adrenaline rushed brain he heard the panicked call of his friendly sniper, one who'd recently called him a friend. Long legs broke into a sprint, operating off his most basic instincts, the most animalistic portions of his mind. He made it to their position with, to him, felt like seconds. He didn't process the information around him before his body was moving, quick as light and as brutal as iron spikes. Suddenly, his body count that day went from thirty to thirty four. A loud crack and a heavy thump of a limp body hitting the floor was the last thing her heard before the blood rushing in his ears started to settle. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeing Y/N coughing, grasping at their neck. He went over to them in three large strides, kneeling down in front of them. "Mein Freund, geht es Ihnen gut?" He asked, voice heavy with breath and a bit shaky. They coughed again with a nod. "I'm alright, I'm good. Thank you." He listened to the rasp out their answer. As things grew quiet again, König realized just how intense he'd been. One glance at the bodies behind him showed the true nature many often were unaware of. He was a violent, terrifying force when in war. Typically, he didn't care. He'd grown to stop caring after so much of his life was met with judgment or rejection. But he liked this person, therefore, their approval mattered to him, and now his anxiety began to rise. They'd fear him, avoid him now, surely. "König." Their voice snapped him forward again. "Can you get this mic off? It's hard to breathe with it..." They muttered, motioning to the throat mic tightly secured around their neck. It caught him by surprise. He'd just snapped a neck without hesitation not even five minutes prior, and yet they were asking for his help still. He swallowed and nodded. The winced and tilted their head back, allowing access to their bruised esophagus. König tried not to tremble as his fingers clumsily when to loosen and undo the mic. His hand was dangerous, blood still stained his gloves as he grazed their skin with the fabric. His chest felt ready to burst as he heard them sigh in relief when the pressure let go, easing some of the sting of the irritation. It was red, soon to be a deep purple when the bruises truly formed. It looked painful. König's fingers shook as he absentmindedly trailed the line dented in their skin. "I'm okay." Their voice made him jump again, bringing his eyes back to theirs. They smiled at him, already exhausted from the day of battle. König blinked and nodded slowly. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, like he'd been burned, feeling his skin lit aflame. "Let us finish so you can get to evac." He muttered, standing up, allowing them to use his deadly hand to hoist themselves up with him.

"God it is so pretty here!" Y/N declared as they looked around at König's hometown. Graz, Austria. König smiled behind his black medical mask as he watched them look around in awe, feeling pride bubble in his chest as they walked to his home. Since he'd joined the military, he'd gone home alone. It was lonely, yes, though he always made sure to visit his grandmother when he'd come back from missions. His apartment always felt too quiet, too empty. He liked his alone time but often times he found the solitude suffocating. Everyone he knew on his team didn't really have this problem, either being fine on their own, with friends to visit, or family to return to. That was until the hotshot sniper admitted a very similar situation to himself. He saw how their face fell when they mentioned it, and despite his fear of rejection, he took a leap and offered a plane ticket. It surprised and delighted him when they jumped at the opportunity. He was proud that they enjoyed his country so far, even if he was nervous about their opinion of his home. Not that he could avoid it, however, given they were already at his door. König unlocked the door and stepped in, immediately removing his shoes. They mimicked his movements and carefully set their boots off to the side. He took a second to note how small theirs were in comparison to his. They took a gander around his home. It wasn't much, a simply decorated place with some mild dust built up from how long he was gone. When they giggled quietly, his stomach twisted, wondering what it could mean. "Uhm, welcome to mein home. Do...do you like it?" He asked nervously. "You decorate like a grandma." They answered, turning with a big grin on their face. An old quilt was folded on the couch and on the wall their were crocheted works of art in wooden frames. "It's so cozy, it's really cute." Their compliment made him relax. He motioned for them to sit, which they did gladly. He was quick to make them tea, some for himself to calm his nerves. There was a silence that settled over them when he finally came to sit beside them, comfortable for them, anxious for him. They spared a glance at him staring at his tea cup, reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder. "Aren't you gonna take off your mask? So you can drink it?" Y/N asked. König blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "...Nein." He muttered, setting the cup on the table in front of them. Y/N frowned. "Why? It's just me..." They said in a hushed tone. "You," He swallowed. "You will not like my face." He said softly, squeezing his hands together. They sighed and put their own cup down, standing up. König's eyes followed them and his face went red as they bent, placing their hands on his knees, looking him intently in the eye. "That is bullshit, big guy. I like you way more than you think I do. And I promise your face is not gonna change that." They said intensely. König blinked at them before he looked at his lap again. He inhaled deeply through his nose before he bit down on his tongue. Like ripping off a bandaid, he wanted to get the pain of their rejection off as fast as possible, so he tore off the mask, keeping his eyes scrunched shut. Some beats of silence left his heart palpitating. Then he felt warm palms carefully cradle his cheeks, forcing a gasp out of him. König blinked and looked at them, up, for once. Y/N's gaze trailed over his features, fingers lightly trailing over faint freckles to a scar across the bold bridge of his nose, down to the his oldest scar that ran from his right sinus to his chapped lips. A smile grew over their face as they took in his visage. "I knew it. You're one pretty man, Romeo." They purred quietly. The man's eyes widened before his breathing stopped, eyes fluttering as they pressed a gentle kiss to his nose. "Du bringst mich noch ins Grab…" He shivered. They chuckled and pecked his forehead. "Don't even think about it mister, you're staying alive for as long as I need for you to love yourself as much as I love you."

✧Alex Keller✧

Alex was a seasoned soldier. He'd constantly perceived through the unthinkable, cut it close with death more times than he could count. Shot, stabbed, kidnapped twice, inhaled complex chemicals, and managed to escape with his life after he detonated a bomb. Missing a leg, but alive. Maybe he was lucky, maybe it was the opposite. Either way, anyone who had the nerve to imply Alex as anything but impressive and strong was a fool, completely. The blond was someone any general would take pride in. So what on earth could take out a man with such an amazing track record? The flu. The answer was the flu. Alex practically never got sick, but when his fellow soldiers began to notice his less than fantastic state, it was hard to deny. Pale, clammy, a headache from hell. He couldn't do drills as well because his joints were sore and the coughing wasn't ideal. He managed to brush off concerns up until he threw up in the communal trashcan in mess hall. Finally, Alex's commander dragged him to the medbay. "Just sit down, Keller. Fucks sake." Julia grumbled as she set him on a bed. "I'm tellin' ya, I just need some NyQuil and I'll be fine-" Alex was cut off by harsh coughing fit that made the woman cringe. "With all due respect, Keller, you sound like you deep throated a cactus. Just let the medic look at'cha. We just got a new one, they're lovely, you'll be in good hands." She promised, making him sighed and rub his face, putting some pressure on his eyes, hoping it'd help the pain behind them. Alex hummed as he heard Julia greet a new voice. He dropped his hands in his lap and blinked, looking over at the new medic, not wanting to be rude. He couldn't tell if the warmth in his face was just the fever anymore though, not when he got a good look at them. They approached and set a clipboard down, standing in front of him, putting on some gloves as they smiled. Julia motioned to him. "This is Alex Keller, Keller, our medic, Plaster." She said. Alex rose an eyebrow and looked at them, watching them laugh. "It's my callsign. Brits call band aids, plasters." They explained. "And they'll fix all your cracks." Julia snorted, making the medic roll their eyes. Plaster grabbed a thermometer and put a cover on it. "Alrighty, Alex, just put this under your tongue. Don't want a soldier with such an impressive resume to be out of commission for too long." Alex blinked slowly as the plastic rested under his tongue. His brain was essentially mush, and the pretty face in front of him wasn't helping. "Heard o' meh?" He slurred tiredly, making them snort. "I have! Not everyday a man willingly blows up a building full of gas, much less live through it. Man of steel, eh?" They asked. Alex motioned to his leg. "Knee down." He replied, smiling when they laughed, taking out the thermometer. "Oh boy, 100.8. You, sir, should've been here much sooner. I'll get you some antibiotics and some NyQuil." Plaster said as they shined a light in his eyes. Alex lazily opened his mouth so they could check the back of his throat, heart thumping harshly as they carefully held his jaw, clicking their tongue sympathetically. "Poor thing, your throat looks pretty bad." He hummed. He gazed up at them as they carefully put a stethoscope to his chest. "Pulse sounds a bit quick." They mumbled. "'s your fault." Alex replied. Julia's jaw dropped open as Plaster tilted their head with a little chuckle. "Oh is it now? Well I'm sorry, sir." They replied. "Mm-mm, not complainin'." Alex shrugged. Plaster shook their head and wrote his prescription down, handing it to him before turning to Julia. "Make sure he stays in bed. And get some rest, casanova." They patted his leg. Alex gave a weak salute as Julia dragged him away, not paying attention to how she poked fun at him. "You're gonna feel so embarrassed when you can think straight." Alex shrugged as he stumbled beside his commander. "I dunno, I think they liked me." He said proudly. Julia rolled her eyes.

Getting a leg blown off was an extremely painful endeavor, obviously. Alex had a whole half of a limb blasted off at the knee, then he had to have it heal, then there were months of getting used to having his limb missing. And even after growing used to having his leg amputated, the pain was far from done. Excluding ghost pains, there was always some painful soreness left after using his leg all day. After some time, there was a level of pain that he considered normal, and therefore powered through. But there were other times where it was agony. It reminded him of the darker fairy tales he’d been told by his great grandmother. Like the Little Mermaid, how every step was agony, rather than the sparkly version Disney gave. He still tried to tough it out, but it really felt like hell. Leading him to limp to the medic’s area, hoping to hide from his bosses for a bit and perhaps ask for something for the pain. He winced as the pain became sharp, sitting on a cot in the quiet medbay. He sighed as he heard footsteps coming his way. He glanced up and saw their medic, the one that cared for him when he had the flu. “Mr.Keller, what brings you her- oh you look bad, what’s going on?” Their joyful tone quickly turned to worry as they approached him. He sighed and motioned to his leg. Quickly, the nodded and wrote something down. “Give me a moment. If it’s alright with you, I’d like you to remove your leg and compression sock.” They said. He did as told. There was both pain and relief when the heavy metal was pulled away. He set it beside him and tried to place pressure on his thigh. Plaster came back with some ICYHOT and a cold wrap. “Can I put my hands on you?” They asked softly. Alex rose an eyebrow, smiling when they rolled their eyes playfully. “Not like that.” They scolded, though they weren't truly upset. Alex chuckled and nodded, rub his his face. They put some gloves on and some of the Icyhot. Their hands were delicate as they carefully applied pressure to the muscle of his amputated limb. He winced and sighed in repeat as it both soothed and ached. All the while, they gentle cooed and comforted him through the pain. By the time the frigid compress was wrapped around his leg, he was exhausted. Alex went to stand, hobble his way back to his room, only for a hand on his chest to stop him. He looked up at them, being met with a gentle smile and a light push. He listened and laid back, though confused. “I think you should rest for a bit.” They explained softly, patting his chest. “And…you’d rather me do it here than my room?” He asked with a teasing grin, watching them laugh under their breath. “Come on, casanova. Give a lonely medic some company, would you?” They asked. Their tone made his chest tighten and his cheeks hurt from smiling. “Sure thing, doc.”

Alex sighed after taking a large gulp of beer from a pint glass, looking around the bar he'd popped into. Usually, bar outings were for celebration after a mission, this time though, he came alone. He wasn't there to mope or feel bad about himself, he just didn't want the loud commotion of his entire team. He was an extrovert, yes, but sometimes the company he wanted was more quiet, less straining. He looked at the foam residue in his glass, zoning out to whatever music was playing over the speakers. Some new-age country song if he had to guess. "Well, hello stranger." A voice near him made him flinch and raise his head, feeling butterflies erupt at the sight of his favorite medic. He grinned and turned to them a bit. "Plaster, hey, what're you doing here?" He asked. They waved their hand and came to sit beside him in the booth, not really minding the close proximity. "None of that callsign nonsense, Keller. You know my name, you can use it off base." They replied, setting a tequila sunrise on the table. The man hummed, the warmness in his cheeks now not only the alcohol. "Well, Y/N, what brings you here?" He asked. "A drink and the curiosity of American bars. The stories were right, it is filthy here." They commented, making him laugh and nod. "Well, so is all of America really." He hummed. They rose an eyebrow at that, though the held their question as he took another swig of beer, only taking a quick second to glance at the way his Adam's apple moved. "Coming from a man with an American flag on his arm, I hear you give your country quite a lot of shit." The medic rested their chin in their hand, eyeing him curiously as he glanced at his tattoo. "It's burning for a reason. I love my country but...I also don't. I...I love the idea of America, what it was supposed to be. What it is? Not so much." He admitted slowly. Y/N frowned as they watched his face fall. They could take a million guesses on what made him feel that way, he'd probably answer with an 'all of the above'. Instead, they reached over and patted his leg with a kind smile. "Well, there are plenty of places I can think of that would take an American, if you're able to handle the jokes on your accent." They said softly. Alex's throat tightened at the kind hand resting over his jean-clad thigh. It wasn't sexual by any means, but it still made his skin grow goosebumps. "Yeah? Would you be willing to take in this one legged stray?" He asked with a teasing tone. Y/N chuckled, but they nodded as well. "I'm sure I could take care of you real well." They whispered softly, barely audible over the commotion of bar life. Alex swallowed and suddenly the pressure on his leg became a little more dangerous. But the last thing he wanted as to pull away. Instead, he let out a breathy laugh, one a bit shaky. "Don't make a promise you can't keep, doc. I'm always getting into trouble." He replied. They tilted their head, an innocent motion with a layer of mischief. "I'll get you out of it." They replied. He knew they'd both go back to the base that night, that nothing would happen, given the sensibility of not making rash decisions with alcohol present. But, despite not even being buzzed, he already had his plan to play up a hang over, just so he'd have an excuse in the morning. Knowing full well they'd see right through him.

Alex was a hardened soldier. He'd been shot, stabbed, nearly blown up, inhaled toxic chemicals, and he'd had his leg blown off. Withstanding it all and still alive, still breathing and, at least somewhat, functioning. But there were days when the air filling his lungs felt monotonous and the lack of sound felt like death. Usually on nights where he was on leave. The first night was always the same, with him so exhausted he'd pass out and wouldn't have the ability to overthink. The longer he was alone, the worse it got, until his mind started to shot off thoughts he didn't really want to indulge. Counting the times he'd cheated death, the amount of lives he might've saved with better hindsight, whether or not there was another side, would it be as quiet as his home? He had friends, people he knew cared for him, but none of those dynamics felt right for voicing this part of himself. The deeper, more frightening bits. Or, well, he didn't have that before. In a moment of weakness, as he felt the weight of his life and its debatable worth rest too potently on his ribs, he grabbed his phone and hit a contact, a colleague. His work always spilled into his life, he didn't see why it had to stop with them. Guilt ate at him when they answered, hearing their tired tone reminding him of how late it was. But they didn't complain, they didn't scold or scoff. Their voice remained sweet, so worried for him, so caring. It aided all the more in having him cave, having him ask for a lifeline. It was raining cats & dogs and yet they only took twenty minutes to be at his door. He was still in his sleepwear, a pair of basketball shorts and a grey tank-top he'd had for a near decade. His leg was off, using his crutch, albeit begrudgingly. No words were shared as he watched them remove their shoes, water dripping off their coat as they hung it on the rack. This would've been the first time they'd actually be in his home, but he wasn't particularly concerned with their opinion of his awful décor choices. Y/N turned and looked at him with worry in their gaze. Again, silently, they took the hand that wasn't supported on the crutch and carefully pulled him to the couch. "Bad night?" They finally spoke, sitting down beside him. Alex nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, I dunno why I called-" They cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. He turned to them with exhaustion in his face. Y/N sighed sadly, raising their hand to hold his face gently in their palm. He melted into it immediately. There was something supernaturally soothing of human warmth, something real, something alive. "You trust me, starboy?" They asked quietly, thunder rumbling in the sky as he nodded. He mourned the loss of their hand as they situated a throw pillow on the end of the couch, moving to lay down with their back slightly elevated by the arm of the furniture. He watched them look back at him, then, with open arms, they beckoned him. It was a step too intimate for coworkers, bordering past friends, and he didn't care. He practically tossed his mobility aid away and slid over. Their chest became his pillow as he slotted between them and the back of the couch, feeling them grab the folded blanket he always left out, draping it over him. He let out a shaky sigh when their nails met his scalp. "Easy, casanova. Let me take care of you." They whispered. Alex let out a huff-like laugh. "You got it, doc..."

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #call of duty x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo x reader #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #konig x reader #cod konig #alex keller #alex keller x reader #cod x gn reader #fluff

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sericasong · 1 month

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Sheepish・✦ oneshot

adjective - embarrassed or bashful, as by having done something wrong or foolish.・✦

The poor thing's never been trained on how to appear to events with a date on his arm. Or if he was, he's forgotten completely just by a glance at you.

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO @takami-takami HAPPY WAY LATE BIRTHDAY THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE AND IT GOT SO OUT OF HAND ALSKHKDGLS. I've been trying to figure out what exactly to write for it and decided you deserve a mishmash of everything we adore about the birdie. Much love always and an incredibly happy (month-after-I'm-so-sorry) 26th. 💕

For someone with such a fun-loving persona, one would think that number two pro hero Hawks would enjoy this sort of thing.

Keigo does not.

Well, he usually doesn't.

Events hosted by the Commission tend to be just like the front it puts up: bright and decorated displays of prestige with little substance under the glitter. A media staging, as usual.

In years past, he's greeted these Hero Galas with a scowl and a cynical remark in the privacy of his thoughts, the only place where he can scorn his handlers all he wants and get away with naught but a wasted evening.

But tonight? Tonight he's greeting you as he escorts you in.

You look nothing short of radiant, dressed in something he'd caught a longing glance at and convinced you to let him buy, just this once, babe, c'mon, lemme spoil you.

And god, he finds new gods to thank that you let him.

It's perfect on you, its shapes elegant and its colors gorgeous on your skin, wrapping you in what may as well be diamonds.

He pockets the thought- solitaire, halo, three-stone, vintage? Details to consider later with the question of how to ask.

For now, he shows you around the venue. Shows you off, in a way, shows his most earnest expression of pride when he introduces you to everyone he can just for the sake of doing it.

Mine, his poorly-tempered smile gloats, they're mine.

As much as he'd like to, he doesn't say that. It's "this is my partner" instead, warmth floating in his voice with the sound of your name.

He's the picture of lovesick at dinner; sliding your chair back for you, sitting right beside, he barely lets you leave the seat because he's preoccupied with rushing to do everything he can for you.

His eyes have barely left you for half a minute in total the entire night, and you get the feeling that the number won't grow by much.

It sure doesn't raise by even a single decimal when the crowd moves to the ballroom. Those golden hues are set on your features like it would hurt to look away, unapologetic in his captivation.

Except for when you step onto the dance floor together, which is when he turns into the most hopeless fool you've ever seen.

Hawks knows what to do here.

Hawks has been through years of discipline, strict regimens for how to act in every possible situation, combat and negotiation and formal gatherings alike. Taught how to present himself with the easy grace befitting of the Commission's winning prize.

But Keigo?

Keigo is forgetting how to dance.

"Uh, dove," his hands linger in the air, hesitant, "do you mind if I-?"

Even when you nod, he's uncertain of it. Not of the fact that he wants to dance- he'd keep you in his arms for the rest of his life if he could.

But for some reason he can't place, his nerves fold upon themselves until they can no longer tell his limbs to move. He looks like a deer in headlights and his legs feel like a fawn only just standing.

When you send a questioning glance his way, he can only give a sort of helpless gesture. "Sorry, babe- I just, uh-"

"You look too pretty tonight, s'just..."

He trails off with heated cheeks as you press your smile to the back of his hands, pouting with a terminal blush as he admits, "feels like 'm gonna mess it up."

"The dance?" you question, just to be sure, and he raises your hands to hide behind them in embarrassment with a mumbled, "yeah..."

You can't help but laugh at the look on his face, like a schoolboy with a love letter outstretched, and don't bother resisting the urge to tease him as you pull him towards a more secluded corner. "I thought you told me that you knew three different kinds of partnered dance. What happened to that, birdie?"

"I know," he protests weakly, burying his flush in your shoulder as he lets a groan escape him. "I know, I know. And- and I do, I promise."

When you respond with a skeptical mhm, he huffs at you, petulant indignation even while his eyes crease at the corners. "I do!"

"It's just... you're so... you look so..." A sweeping gesture at you as if he can't put the words to it; from his brief silence, you figure that's likely the case. Several moments pass, and he continues more quietly, "you look sacred, dove. Feels like it'd be a sin to treat you wrong."

He's sweet. It's probably the most romantic thing you've ever heard.

You let your lips curve upwards in something between fondness and an utterly shit-eating grin. "You're shy."

Keigo does his best to pretend to disagree, and eventually gives up, only responding with a silent nod. That softens your teasing, fingers carding through his hair and sorting the strands. "You don't have to be embarrassed, you know... I'm a little nervous too. It's not like I'm very used to elaborate things like this."

"But you're the last person who should be," he complains, melting easily into the brush of your touch. "You're too good to be here. You look better than everyone else by a million."

"I think you do," you counter, letting your hands settle around the back of his neck as his face makes a home in the crook of yours. He just hums, flustered but appreciative, allowing you to sway him gently to the music in your little dance floor for two.

His voice is quiet when he speaks next, after a song has passed in your corner. "I'm gonna marry you someday, I swear to god."

He looks up at you as if to examine your reaction, his lashes fluttering when you lean forward to kiss him. After you pull away, he's nearly beaming, and he brightens further at your next words.

"I'll be waiting for it."

#mha hawks #mha takami keigo #mha keigo takami #hawks #takami keigo #keigo takami #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #serica rune #fluff ✦

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sinkingteethinwhitenoise · 8 months

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Ink - Nicholas Ruffilo 18+

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Nicholas Ruffilo x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Poorly written smut, porn w/o plot, implied needles, tattooing, masochism, kissing, vaginal fingering, not proof read bc i hate myself

The sharp sound of the door chime shot through the air as you pulled the tattoo studio’s door open and walked inside. You had never seen your tattoo artist, but you knew his name was Nicholas. You had followed his tattoo page on instagram for a long time and his work was incredible. You knew you had to get tattooed by him the second you came across his art. You had talked to him through direct messaging about what you wanted and gotten estimates, sketches, and set up an appointment. Finally the day had come. “Hello?” you called out into the empty shop.

A man rounded the corner and your jaw almost dropped. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was long, dark and silky looking. He was covered in tattoos with splashes of color. He had the most beautiful gray eyes. “Hey!” He greeted, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Welcome in. I’m Nicholas.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself, “It’s great to finally meet you!” You were trying your best to hide your instant attraction to him. His smooth voice combined with his looks and your excitement to get tattooed had your heart racing pounding so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it.

He led you to his station and grabbed his sketch pad. Once you sat down, he showed you the sketch that the two of you had agreed upon. “Is this still what we’re doing?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, absolutely. It’s perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll just go print the stencil and we’ll get you started.” He then disappeared into the back.

You began to grow slightly nervous as you waited for him to return. You knew your attraction to him was going to be a potential issue. You kind of had a thing for pain. It got you going. It got you worked up. With past artists, it had not been a problem. You weren’t attracted to them. But with Nicholas being the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on, you were in for it.

Before you knew it, he had returned with the stencil. “You still wanted it on your left thigh, correct?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Yes.”

He picked up on your nervousness as he started to prep your skin for the stencil. “Don’t be nervous,” he said softly as he cleaned the skin. “I’m real gentle.”

Your breath hitched. His kindness and his touch ignited a fire inside of you before he even started tattooing. You were fucked. Once the stencil was exactly where you wanted it and he was completely set up, he got started.

“Here we go,” he said as the needle touched your skin.

Your eyes crossed slightly and you almost moaned. Your teeth had a vice grip on your bottom lip to hold in any sounds. As he continued to tattoo you, you began to clench around nothing. You were warm all over. He adjusted his grip on your thigh and a soft moan slipped from your slightly parted lips, causing him to lift the needle and look up. “You okay?”

You nodded as your face flushed with embarrassment. “Mhm,” you hummed, squirming a bit in the chair. “More than okay.”

“You wanna take a break?” he asked, setting his tattoo gun to the side.

“Yea, let me just get some fresh air and I should be good to go,” you sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m never like this.”

“No worries, it happens.”

With that, you stood up and walked outside to breathe, unaware of the telling wet spot you left on his chair. When you came back and sat down again, he stood to change his gloves. You watched as the black latex covered his long fingers and listened to the snap as he released it at his wrist. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.

He got started again, but this time when you started to squirm he immediately put down his machine. “I think I know what this is about,” he chuckled.

“Y-You do?” you stammered. If he was really on to you, you couldn’t figure out how.

He nodded, caressing your inner thigh. “I think you’re enjoying this a lot more than you’re letting on.”

Your eyes widened. “Where did you get that idea?” You were trying your best to play it off.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he started. “The moaning, the squirming, the wet spot you left on my chair when you took your break.”

You just stared at him, the flush returning to your face. “Oh,” you murmured sheepishly, gaze shifting to your lap. You had really tried not to make it obvious.

A gloves finger made its way under your chin and tilted your head up so that you were looking at him again. “Do you want some help with that? Maybe if you get it out of your system you’ll stop squirming so much.” When you nodded in response, his grip on your chin tightened. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

You sucked in a deep breath, “Y-Yes…please.”

In a second his lips were on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer, hands carding through his hair. The kiss was sloppy and filled with need; the force of your lips colliding was almost bruising. One of his gloved hands slid down your body before he cupped you through your shorts. The barely there pressure caused you to moan. He took that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and tangle it with yours.

He lifted his hand and wiggled it into your shorts. He ran his fingers through your folds before bringing them to your clit. He began to rub tight, gentle circles into the bundle of nerves. You pulled away and threw your head back with a gasp. He immediately began to suck a mark into your pulse point once he had the access. Your hips began to move on their own accord, grinding up into his fingers to chase the delicious friction. “Please Nicholas,” you whimpered. “I need more.”

You whined as he pulled his hand out of your shorts and backed away from you. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He said as he pulled down your bottoms, leaving your bottom half completely bare. He grabbed your legs and spread them further, groaning at the sight of your glistening cunt. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re soaked,” he teased. “Let’s do something about that.” He slipped two gloved fingered into you.

You moaned loudly and gripped the sides of the chair as he began to pump them in and out. As he picked up the pace, he started to curl his fingers. With each thrust, his fingers hit that spongy spot inside of you, causing your back to arch off of the chair. You started clenching around his fingers. “Oh you’re close, huh?” he murmured. You could only respond with moans and a weak nod. He dipped his head down and sucked your clit into his mouth harshly. The coil snapped and you came hard, nearly convulsing as he helped you ride out your high.

Your breathing was heavy when he finally stopped. When he pulled his fingers out, he smirked at the evidence of your creamy release on the black gloves that still covered his hand. His tongue darted out and he sucked the glove clean before changing into a fresh pair. “Ready to get back to work?”

#nicholas ruffilo smut #nicholas ruffilo x reader #nicholas ruffilo fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens smut #bad omens x reader #sinkingteethinwhitenoise

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leclsrc · 1 year

Note

Broooo your last Drabble was so good

If you don’t mind can I request a part 2 🥲

fin de siècle – cl16

genre: drabble, angst

auds here... a part 2 to this as multiple requests came through for it! listened to a lot of mid-air by paul buchanan for this one. hope u enjoy! :)

“Sorry. It’s bad luck for you to see the bride on her wedding day.”

Charles nods once, lips pursed in poorly hidden disappointment, flexing his fingers in the pockets of his slacks. The huge door to your room closes with a click that’s as soft as it is damning, leaving him alone in the hallway of this obsolete Sicilian property you’re getting married in later tonight. Outside, the Ionian sea crashes softly against the cliffs near the gardens, sun unrelenting and humid on the staff setting up outside.

Maybe your friend doesn’t know this, but she should: Charles has always been afflicted with bad luck.

If being stuck with a slow car and slippery roads during vital races isn’t proof enough, Charles has much more to share. A stubbed toe occurs thrice a week, a hit head twice. He’s half-sure he should sue the universe for damages. He constantly runs into black cats, has looked up to find he’s underneath a ladder multiple times, and accidentally opened five umbrellas indoors. Call him superstitious, but to him, that’s quintessential bad luck.

His dress shoes click against the tile. He gazes down at them, remembers he needs to change them out for the ceremony later. He’s busy comparing the black of his shoes to the color of the tile, the contrast between light and dark. He hears slurried, anxious Italian and looks up. He’s under a ladder.

“Che sfortuna,” the staffer says apologetically, fixing the lights. Charles waves him off. He’s used to this.

Often, though, he remembers that being so riddled with bad luck means his moments of fortune are rare. Precious, like the gemstone on your finger. They’re individual, plucked out like shrines, orbs of love and overflowing happiness. Wins, successes, health. He pauses in front of the lobby, where there’s an assortment of hors d’oeuvres tables and signs pointing to the massive library where the main event will be held.

The main event for Charles has always been you. And he’s positive he was at his luckiest when you met.

You’d met at a race in Monza, back when Charles was just getting started in Formula 1. You’d never touched a mic, or conversed with a driver; both of you were getting used to growing up. Your clumsy French matched his clumsy English until you were both barely clumsy, sliding in and out of the two languages with natural skill.

Charles said he loved you just six months later. Distressed and a bit psyched out, it’d taken you a month to ease back into it and admit you loved him, too.

A year marked moving into Monaco, and infiltrating each others’ friend groups. You’d play poker with Max and Pierre, and Charles would play trivia nights with your friends, despite not understanding some of the references. (He confidently answered Lionel Messi when prompted: who discovered Facebook. He refuses to elaborate, to this day.)

There may have been fights and squabbles, but Charles always circled back to loving you. He stares now at the library from afar, still being tidied and rearranged. He debates entering, but figures he’ll surprise himself. He’s never doubted your insane organizational planning skills, and is sure this event is no exception.

He turns to explore the gardens and bumps into Will Buxton, of all people. “Charles?” Sharl, it sounds like, in the guy’s signature English cadence.

Will continues. “What’re you doing here? And roaming around? You should be”—he pushes him toward the rooms area—“resting. Nobody’s allowed around here, let alone you.”

“Needed to talk to her,” Charles explains, his voice low and rough with unuse.

The elder laughs. He’s holding a big pile of organza, no doubt a decoration for somewhere or other. “I’ll bet my spleen you weren’t allowed to. That’s bad luck.”

He throws his hands up in defeat and walks outside, opting to take the long route. This way he’ll have scenery before retreating to his room. It’s quiet, but he suspects much of the bustle is inside each room, where everybody’s getting dressed and preparing.

He’s glad is isn’t overcast, is all—that’s the one thing you emphasized you would hate today.

Sometime in your third year of being together, you and Charles finally talked marriage, together drafting a list of yes-and-no’s. He remembers the night as clearly as he can, like he’s just staring passively at the back of his hand. You’d been fixing the apartment, because according to you, the sofas needed to be rearranged.

Once they were, you claimed it didn’t match the coffee table. So the coffee table was moved to the balcony, the balcony table moved inside. Then a problem with the wall art, then the TV, then the curtains, then the decorations on your dining table. Spent and sweaty, you collapsed on the rearranged couch.

Equally tired from heeding your orders, he’d cranked the window open and flopped down beside you. Monaco was descending into a deep blue, after dusk had turned the room orange, set it on fire. You’d leaned into him. “I love it, but I think we just need a place together.”

That’d birthed the conversation of marriage. Neither of you were opposed to it. On a supermarket receipt and old prescription notice, you’d both jotted down what you wanted out of your wedding. He’d put: need a nice, tiered cake, with flowers on it. You’d put: bouquet of just lilies, baby’s breath, and two sprigs of basil, so it’d smell good when you pressed your nose to it.

He’d put: no bachelor/ette parties. You laughed out loud and nodded. It’d be a trivia night for all your friends, you decided together. You’d put, then: ceremony in a library. “The one thing I’ve always wanted,” you swooned.

He’d give it to you, he told himself then. He would. One of your big no-no’s was a rainy wedding day, which meant your previous dream location (somewhere in coastal England) was immediately out. You mulled over Greece, maybe even within Monaco, or France.

“We have time to decide,” he said. “Haven’t even proposed.”

“I expect the precious gemstone on my finger next year,” you said. “And no big proposals, please.”

“Oh, God. Must cancel the London Orchestra, Queen’s guards, and Coldplay’s special appearance as early as now, then?” You rolled your eyes, laughing before you kissed him. The list-making and subsequent reviewing had taken so long, your kiss was illuminated only by the full moon.

“Any other misgivings?” He’d chuckled, a kiss pressed to your jaw.

“We need to stay all night,” you croaked. “Leaving early is bad luck.”

Charles is by no means religious, nor is he superstitious, but he well and truly thinks luck and God might have been on his side when it came to being yours.

He hasn’t seen you yet tonight, stationed beside Carlos and narrowing his eyes to predict when the big doors will open and let you through. Right then, the violin beats to life and everyone around him turns, faces blotched with tears and frozen with awe. Like always, you’re beautiful. Charles doesn’t need to see you in a veil and dress to realize this.

Your hair is pinned into a loose bun, your bouquet of lilies and basil green and lush. The big windows tint you a rosy orange in the Ionian sunset. You walk gracefully, slowly, swaying to the violin music. Your dress, like many of the ones you’d dreamed of then, is satin and simple. A high neckline, ending above your heels that click on the tile. You’re a brilliant force of nature, he thinks.

You gaze up, smiling. Forget Sicily. You’re the prettiest here.

Charles looks down, to remember if he’s changed his shoes, to remember the contrast of the tile. He needs to channel his emotions somewhere. Maybe if he looks down, gravity will just let his tears of overwhelm fall silently. His gaze is rooted to the floor, to occupy himself so he doesn’t feel his heart rip out of his chest when you pass him by.

He takes a seat, with Carlos, watching you laugh and tear up yourself, your gaze stuck on your groom. The officiant announces the exchange of vows, and Charles can’t help but let his mind wander all over again, plant itself into memories long gone—like the day you’d mocked up your supposed wedding vows.

You had let him read yours, which willed him into a steadfast spot of never letting you read his, ever. He’d folded up the yellow pad paper he’d written it on and stashed it somewhere secret. It was the first thing he sought out when he sold the apartment after he cheated on you.

Later, at the reception, he loses his appetite but maintains a generally cheerful demeanor despite himself.

The small talk is stuffy, and Carlos is off dancing with Isa, so he’s alone. Halfway through a glass of Scotch, he turns and is met by your hand almost tapping his shoulder.

“Oh, my G—sorry!” He says profusely, downing the rest of it.

“All good,” you say with a laugh. “Lissie told me you wanted to talk earlier?”

“Oh, that,” he quips with faux nonchalance. Suddenly his whole plan, to give you a letter that had some of his old vows written into it, seems like a stupid, immature idea. “Well, I… was just going to wish you a great day. Considering everything, I’m just glad to be invited.”

“Don’t say that,” you insist softly. “Everything’s okay between us.”

“Yeah,” he says. It’s more of an attempt to convince himself than you. “Yeah.”

“Well, have fun. I hear the dessert bar is amazing.”

He watches you walk away again, and takes a tiramisu from the dessert bar.

Three bites later, retrieves his jacket from the coat check room, and ducks quietly out of the party when the third slow song of the night just starts to play, illuminated only by the full moon.

—

Being here To be able to I’ve been As nervous as

If I told you and everyone here that I wasn’t poetic, I’d be lying. (People will laugh at this, honey.) Because although I’m not a wordsmith, in both my native tongues let alone my English, I seem to always find the best things to say about you and about our love. A dream that’s rivaled those of racing is my dream of growing old with you, and this is finally it. It’s finally happening. I wouldn’t trade anything for it.

Vows are about promises. I only have one. I promise to love you forever. Whatever it takes to keep it, I will. If it means letting you sleep in, I’m up by 5. If it means losing a race, consider the car unfinished. (Will Mattia like this joke?) If it means paving a walkway or building a library, I have the tools I need. It might get difficult, but in these moments of hardship, I promise everyday to make it easy for the both of us.

(I think these vows are just me raving about you, bug…)

Call it luck, call it fate. I’ll call it my moves. (Yet another great joke babe!) How could I ever have gotten a woman so beautiful, so unlike any other? The idea that we are so small compared to the universe makes no sense to me, because the fact that you and I are both here, existing, now, is proof enough that the cosmos granted my wishes.

I love you—

Even in my moments of bad luck,

Even when you’re giving me the cold shoulder,

Even when we’re 3,000 miles apart, and

Even if one day, you might no longer be mine.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader

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pearlparty · 10 months

Text

It’s Cuffin’ Season

Brat/Sub!Austin x Reader

Summary: It all started out as a fun little game of teasing, harmless. Except this time he broke one of the rules. And then he broke another rule, because he just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t expect being tied up, gagged, and edged to tears as a result though. Furthermore, he’d never have expected himself to like it. Check that, no, love it.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, heavy dom/sub dynamics, Brat!Austin (but one could argue that it’s just banter and not bratty), Sub!Austin, handcuffs, teasing, edging, masturbation (f/m), oral (f/m receiving), hand job, use of a tie as a gag, a tiny bit of degradation, lots of praise, momma kink, ma’am kink, usage of the nickname “baby boy”, lots of begging and apologizing, male whimpering, a dash of dacryphilia (if you can even call it that), tons of dirty talk, brief discussion/use of the color system safe words, unprotected penetrative sex, spitting/swallowing spit, cockwarming, creampie, no use of Y/N, first time writing smut, super quick/rushed ending probably

Word Count: 9k

Note: This is my first time writing smut, so please provide ANY/ALL of the feedback (and I really mean good and bad because I really want to step up my game with this, so feel free to be mean lol). I wrote this for @purejasmine who asked for some apologetic and crying Austin. Hope I could do it justice, babe, and sorry it took five-ever lol. This has been sitting in the archive for a while because I’ve been so anxious about posting it, so the end wraps things up super quickly--if you have any suggestions about how to properly wrap it up, please, message me! If I’ve written anything that has concerning themes that I’ve not addressed, please let me know. I also feel the need to mention that this is takes place in an established relationship with switch dynamics that aren’t really discussed. This is filthy, God, I’m sorry.

The two of you had been apart for what felt like forever (in reality, it was only about a month, but it felt like forever to two idiots who were hopelessly in love and obsessed with each other). You’d been in Paris boss bitching your fall fashion designs to a couple of top executives and he’d been gone for press tours.

It was easy at first. You’d call every night to check in and say your sappy goodnights (even though the time difference usually meant one of you was saying good morning). FaceTime provided some element of comfort to satiate his need for you, but the small screen of blue light did little in comparison to your soft touch and warm skin. Still, he held out because at least he could see you.

The second week was a little harder. A little game had started up between the two of you. Phone calls littered with subtle innuendos had turned to lightly provocative selfies and texts which turned into downright filthy messages sent to each other during the work day. In fact, it got to the point that whenever your name popped up on his screen, he had to check his surroundings before he looked at the message. Unfortunately, he had also learned the hard way to make sure his brightness and volume were low, thanks to a sexy little voice note that had him jumping out of his skin and nearly throwing his phone into the street—which had earned him a poorly hidden side-eye from one of the PAs that had been nearby.

The game of teasing had begun, and while he absolutely loved it, you’d set an impossible finish line: wait until we’re together again. He’d audibly groaned when the words left your mouth, dripping with sex. “Just think how much better it’s gonna be when you’re fucking me instead of your hand. Can you wait for me, baby? Wait for me to come home and take your cock in whatever way pleases you?” He reluctantly agreed, but the images in his phone had been tempting enough as it was. The rest of the time away would be a nightmare.

It’d been easy in the day—there had been a few moments where he zoned out staring into the middle distance, pulling his lip between his teeth, as flashes of your face creased in ecstasy graced his imagination, but the tasks before him always pulled him back to the present without a problem.

Nights on the other hand? That was a whole different problem—it was awfully easy to let his mind wander in an empty hotel room when his phone was right there with a variety of scandalous pictures of you on it. Well… let’s just say that he’d used the pictures you’d sent to hype himself up a bit, but he’d held out despite that little horny voice in the back of his head that tempted him to undo his pants for a quick couple strokes. He might have taken a cold shower or two (or six), but he’d managed to do it.

The four weeks away had him aching to spend a few blissful moments in your presence; it’d be a chance to hold you and recount your trip’s details—touch your face, caress your curves with his fingers, and bury his face in your stomach as you lightly play with his curls.

Right before he railed you into the mattress.

But that’s not how things worked out, huh? Unfortunately, your flight had been canceled due to the weather in Rennes, France, so your schedule had you just barely getting home before the charity gala the next day. You hadn’t been too worried on the phone, brushing it all off with a lovely, “C’est la vie,” but Austin held back an annoyed groan. The man had been waiting to have you all to himself, tucked away in his arms in your little corner of the world, and now he’d have to wait even longer to have you.

Now, that pesky little voice seemed a little louder. His horniness, and perhaps slight jet lag, had begun to eat away at his resolve and soon he found himself leaning back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, filthy thoughts rolling through his head. He glanced at the clock. Around 3. She’s not going to be home for a few hours, the little voice offered. And you won’t be able to have her until after the gala. She’d never know. Besides, it’s good for stress relief, and you’ve been so worked up for so long. You deserve this.

His patience had worn thin and he gave into those carnal urges before you got home. He had the images pulled up on his phone, listening to the voice memos, over and over again as he pictured you coming undone beneath him. He rode that wave to the peak.

And then you walked in on him. His heart (and impending orgasm) stopped. Everything seemed to freeze as you locked eyes with him and pursed your lips.

“Is that any way to greet the love of your life after a month apart?”

Heat rose in his cheeks and ears with embarrassment. Shit, he thought. Not only had you caught him masturbating, you had caught him masturbating after you explicitly told him not to masturbate while you were gone.

It was only a few seconds, but it dragged out for an eternity. Austin let go of his cock and sat up a little straighter, eyes darting around the room as he started a defense, “Babe, I, uh--”

“Needed me that bad, huh, baby boy?” you purred as you strutted towards him, lidded eyes never leaving his panicked and confused ones as you closed the distance between you. You dragged your hands up and over his knees and thighs, leaning down enough to give him a little bit of a show with your loose neckline dangling open. His mouth fell open into a small O-shape, still confused, but not unhappy, that you were acting like this.

“Hm?” you hummed, nails ghosting over his cock as you leaned down close to his ear to taunt him with a salacious, “Oh, honey, we both know that your hand can’t hold a flame to me. Do you need me now?” You leaned in closer with a breathy sigh. “Want me to take you right here? Wanna come inside me after a month of being apart?”

Austin’s eyes rolled back in his head as he listened to the sin fall from your lips. For a moment he’d completely forgotten about the promise he’d broken. For a moment he just had you.

“Oh yes, baby, yes. I do,” he moaned as your hands slid over his shoulders, teasing the fabric of his white tee up his torso just a couple inches. He gently let his hands slide up the sides of your waist. “Need you so bad.”

A light chuckle resonated in your chest before you continued in a breathy whisper, “You know I was going to make it special.” He barely processed the words as he melted into your touch on his neck, spellbound by the way your fingernails lightly scraped over his scalp and mussed his curls. And then you were a lips’ distance away and he could only marvel at the way you’d enchanted him with your touch, hypnotizing him with your soft tone and bedroom eyes.

“Think of all the sinful things we could have done before the gala tonight, Aus,” you breathed as you leaned in even closer. He nearly closed the distance between your lips himself, but--

“Since you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, I guess we’ll just have to wait a little longer, won’t we.” You pulled away harshly, leaving him chasing your skin with a small protesting whine and a small “no” as you drew back and met his gaze with maliciousness, still gripping his hair in an iron vice like some sort of seductress. No.

Dominatrix.

Austin gulped.

“Now, you’re gonna listen to me, baby, and you’re gonna listen good,” you admonished, making him nod, suddenly struck dumb at your quick mood change. You had never spoken to him like this before… and he couldn’t say that he didn’t like it. You kept your voice low and level, but not angry. If anything, your words almost contradicted your sultry tone. “We’re going to go to the gala in a couple of hours. We’re going to have a real good time. You’re going to be on your best behavior—keep your hands to yourself, be the perfect arm candy for me, and then,” you leaned in again, “if you’re good,” your lips just ghosted the shell of his ear as you brought your voice down to a whisper, “I’m going to fuck your brains out when we get home.”

The brazened words sent a thrill straight to his cock, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore.

“But,” you jerked his head back to look at you fully, a fire burning in your eyes as you laid it out crystal clear. “You put your hands on yourself or misbehave for the tiniest fraction of a second, and I will have you crying and begging for mercy.”

The next words left his mouth unbidden, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You licked your lips and cocked your head to the side, looking him up and down. “Huh,” the tip of your tongue grazed the bottom of your front teeth, “never woulda pegged you as a brat, Mr. Butler.”

You released his hair and caressed your fingers over his cheek before running your thumb down his full bottom lip. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He hummed in response, his half lidded gaze and smirk doing well for himself. A thrill shot through your abdomen. This was turning out to be one of the best games you’d ever played, it seemed. You gripped his jaw and went in for a slow kiss. A simple kiss to greet your lover with affection after the weeks apart. “I missed you, by the way,” you muttered to his lips, allowing the persona to take a backseat for a moment and let your mushy feelings out before you had to become the stern woman in charge again.

“Missed you, too,” he muttered back, letting his fingers tease the seam of your pants by your knees.

“Trust me, I’m aware.” You glanced down to his still exposed dick and smirked a little as he blushed. “Now,” you gently tapped his cheek, “get your ass into the bathroom and take a cold shower for me, yeah?”

Needless to say, putting his hands on himself had been one of the few thoughts rolling around in his head as he stepped under the cold water—which didn’t help much besides shock his body back to homeostasis, by the way—and then changed into the dark blue suit set you’d picked out for him shortly after. And as he watched you slink out from your closet draped in a shimmery gold dress that left little to his raunchy imagination, he had to turn and mentally bite his fist to calm himself. The slit in the skirt revealing your leg practically screamed, “Easy access, easy access, easy access!” His fingers itched to slide up your waist and slip the delicate straps from your shoulders. They ached to caress your stomach, thighs, and breasts, but your warning played on repeat in his head and he restrained himself to stick to the rules of engagement you’d given him.

But what would happen if I didn’t play by the rules? he thought. Austin wasn’t sure whether it was unbridled curiosity or some unchecked internal masochism that he’d yet to address, but something had prompted the thought as the two of you climbed into the back of the car. He wanted to see just how far you’d take things.

How could he push you to the end of your rope? And what would lie in wait for him once he’d done it?

A smirk played on the corner of his mouth as the car stopped at your destination. He’d play his part, yes. He’d be the perfect arm candy to the fashion executive woman who needed to hobnob with the rich for a while to maintain those business relationships. He’d open doors, help you from the car, make small talk with individuals with inflated senses of purpose, fetch drinks, and smile for pictures. Yes, he’d do all of that.

But he wanted to have a little fun with you, too. And after two and a half hours of watching you do your job accepting the praise from your colleagues, he finally allowed himself to do just that. Maybe it was his own sexual frustration, or even the three glasses of gin, that pushed him to such uncharacteristic public boldness, but he couldn’t ignore the way he felt drawn to your body as you and a small group of stylists listened to your colleague Jean-Luc Gaultier speak about his defeats and triumphs with his latest line of men’s trousers.

Austin appeared to be listening to the Frenchman intently, but his mind was elsewhere as he let his hand snake around your waist and caress the silk material. His fingers pressed into the front of your hip bone in a tantalizing motion as he slid them impossibly close to your hip flexor for the briefest of moments—just teasing you with the idea of the possibility of where he would go next. Your breath hitched, but you maintained your decorum and covered it up by clearing your throat as you shot Austin a look out of the corner of your eye. He ignored it.

Jean-Luc didn’t seem to notice either, and continued to prattle on about the season to the group of people in the small circle. The other designers in the conversation didn’t pay you mind, only eager to please the executive with fake laughter and ingenuine flattery.

Austin’s hand wandered again, gently sliding up your waist to allow his thumb to ghost the underside of your breast before dropping to cop a feel of your ass. Your eyes widened at the sensation, and you snatched his hand in yours. Without even looking at Austin, you could tell he had that stupid smirk on his lips.

“Excuse me, Jean-Luc,” you gently interjected with a tight smile on your face when the executive came to the end of his story. The graying man looked over his round pink sunglasses with a quirked brow. “I think I need to go out for a smoke. I’ll be right back.” You finally turned to shoot a warning look at Austin. “Come with me, dear?”

You didn’t even give him a chance to answer as you dragged him away towards the large door out the back, keeping an eye out for any lingering guests that might have gone out as well.

The heavy door slammed closed as you and Austin stepped into the cool night air. Alone. Without a second thought, you whipped the tall man around you and roughly shoved him into the red brick with a huff, your dark nails biting into his neck.

“What the hell was that?” You hissed through gritted teeth. You’d been patient up until now, but this recent disobedience flipped the switch pushed all the pent up sexual frustration from the past month to something a little more aggressive than you’d ever expected. “You really think you can get away with that fiasco back home and then you come here and pull that shit? You’re a little too cocky for your own good.”

“Oh, c’mon, darlin’,” he rasped out, throwing in a little bit of that southern twang that you’d never openly admit to loving so much. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. Was he trying to get out of this or make it worse on himself? A wave of inappropriate ideas flooded the forefront of your mind. You couldn’t help but grin a little.

“You’re not too good at following rules, are you?” your low voice sent a shiver up his spine, and he met your half-lidded gaze with one of his own. You pulled your lip between your teeth in contemplation. “What on earth am I gonna do with you?”

“Nothing I don’t deserve, I’m sure,” he goaded you. This was uncharted territory for both of you, but he was more than eager to push the limits to fill in the blank edges on the map.

“Who’s to say you deserve anything?” You shortened the gap between your lips as much as you could given Austin’s insane height advantage over you.

He nearly moaned at the bite in your words and the feeling of your nails on his neck. “Ooh, I like it when you’re mean, baby.” Ever the perfect scene partner, he improvised in this little game of yours while eloquently giving you the green light to lay on in thick. And you’d do just that.

You hummed. “You’re a pussy hungry, arrogant little whore, aren’t you? You go home and jerk off to the thought of me when I explicitly told you not to and then you come here and let your hands wander after I asked you to be a good boy.” You let your words drip from your mouth with a sickeningly sweet glaze. “Do you think it’s funny disobeying me? Where exactly do you get off with that, huh?”

“With you, hopefully,” he rasped, keeping his words between the two of you as he smirked. Currently, nothing seemed more appealing than wiping that smug look off of his beautiful face. Your fingers twisted around his tie as you wrenched him closer, a sinister smile spreading over your lips.

“We’ll see,” you whispered before dragging him inside like a dog on his leash. It didn’t take him long to catch up, and you quickly dropped his tie and slipped your hand around his to lead him instead—better not to attract more attention than necessary, though part of you would have liked to drag him out like that and let everyone know that he was your little puppy.

You found Jean-Luc near the bar; the swarm of groupies and outlandish fashion made it easy to find him. “I’m so sorry, dear,” you began, pulling the older man’s attention to you. “But I’m afraid I’m feeling a little faint after that cigarette, so Austin and I are going to head home for the night.” You didn’t give him a chance to object or offer any remedies he might have up his sleeve. “Your designs are fantastic, mon ami, and I can’t wait to see what you have this fall.” He blushed and pulled you in for a kiss on either cheek in his typical farewell before you muttered a few more goodbyes and led Austin to the car.

You ushered him into the backseat, and he wordlessly followed your directions to buckle his seatbelt. A thick sexual tension settled into the back of the car as you gave the driver directions to your house, and you might have worried that the driver knew what you were up to had you not been busy running your nails through the curls at the base of Austin’s neck.

When the car pulled into the driveway, you unbuckled Austin’s seatbelt and directed his eyes to yours with two of your fingers on his jaw. You kept your voice low enough so that only he could hear you. “Get your ass in the house, baby. Go sit on the couch and wait for me there, okay?”

Austin pulled his lip between his teeth and you could have sworn that you heard a shudder in his breath. You smirked, taking a moment to admire the state he was in before you reached across him and pulled his door open. “I’ll take care of this and be up in just a second, okay?” you said at normal volume, but the edge in your voice wasn’t lost on him. Austin nodded once, sucked in another breath and clambered out of the car. You couldn’t help but watch his long legs carry him through the front door.

“Long night, huh?” the driver’s deep voice sounded so suddenly in the quiet private neighborhood that you nearly jumped. It made you let out a small laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” you muttered as you pulled your wallet out of your purse. “Thanks for the ride.” You handed him a $100 bill and quickly stepped out. The beams from the headlights softened as the car backed out of the driveway, and soon it was just you and the porch light on a warm summer evening.

Austin sat obediently on the couch like you’d asked—manspread and smirking, but obedient nonetheless—as he watched you saunter into the living room. A part of you couldn’t decide whether he was trying to show that he maintained dominance or if he just wanted to piss you off. You wordlessly made your way over to him, slowly drinking him in and letting your eyes roam every inch of his lanky body draped over the cushions. He’d taken off his suit jacket and laid it over the couch’s armrest. He did look rather handsome in what you’d picked for him. Dark blue always brought out his eyes, and the white button up perfectly complimented his tan skin.

“See something you like, babe?” The snarky comment left his lips as he leaned back and looped his arms over the back of the couch. You cocked an eyebrow, surprised at his audacity but didn’t answer his question.

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s deserving of a punishment,” you hummed, grabbing your dress and parting it from the slit at the top of your thigh so you could straddle him. It had been a risk forgoing a pair of panties with a high slit in your dress, but the gamble had paid off if the look in Austin’s eyes meant anything. You didn’t put any pressure on his lap, though. No, you would take your time with him.

“And what if that’s the very thing that has me so chipper?” Austin’s husky voice hit your ears and you sighed at the sound.

“Well then, darling,” you matched his tone, tugging lightly at the knot of his tie to bring him closer. Your whisper sent a chill down his spine. “I’d say you don’t know what you’re in for.”

He groaned at the sound as you lowered yourself down to his lap, allowing your naked body heat to tease him through his pants. He snaked his hands up your waist, eager to rid you of your golden dress and touch your soft skin.

“No.” You snatched his wrists and yanked them from your body. “No touching. Not ‘til I say so.” Austin’s blue eyes blinked up at you a couple of times. Oh, sweet boy didn’t really think he was going to be punished, did he? You kept your tone firm, but didn’t raise your voice as you spoke, “You’re being punished so you don’t do anything until I say so.”

“O-okay.” He stuttered out, and you released his wrists before wrapping your fingers behind his neck and redirecting his gaze up to yours by pressing his chin up with your thumb.

“That’s all I get? After you disrespected me and disobeyed me?” you questioned with feigned innocence and a pout. Your thumb gently swiped back and forth over the smooth skin on his flushed cheek before you went back to your stern voice. “It’ll be ‘yes, ma’am’ from here on out. Understood?”

Austin swallowed thickly. “Yes, ma’am.” He planted his hands firmly beside him on the couch cushions.

You smirked. “Hm. Good boy.” You turned your attention to his clothes, aching to run your hands down his toned chest. Nimble fingers moved to loosen his tie as you spoke again. “You remember the color system, baby?” It was rhetorical, but he nodded anyway. “Can you tell me what each of the colors mean?” His tie came undone and you pulled it from his shirt collar slowly to lay it over the back of the blue couch, reveling in the way his breathing quickened ever so slightly. His eyes never left your face even though your attention was on each of the buttons on his shirt.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sucked in a breath as you undid the top two buttons. “Green is all clear,” the next button came loose, “yellow is slow down,” Your nails grazed his chest as two more came undone. His breath hitched at the sensation, but he pushed through the last color. “And red means stop.” You finished undoing his shirt and ran your fingers down his chest and towards his toned stomach.

“Very good,” you purred. Gently, you eased the garment off of his body and discarded it to the floor haphazardly. Your eyes raked over his bare chest, the light dusting of chest hair between his pecs. Fuck, he was pretty.

Finally, you met his eyes again. Those familiar blues you loved so much had that little ring of green on the edges that only showed up when he was horny, blown wide with lust. You gently cupped his chin as you spoke seriously, the game taking a time-out so you could clearly express to your lover what you thought to be so important. “So you say ‘red’ at any point, and I’ll stop everything, okay?”

He nodded and sucked in a breath. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, sincerity in his eyes. He was ready for whatever you had for him.

That wicked smile returned to your face. “Good.”

Austin couldn’t suppress the thrill that shot down his spine. Oh, lord have mercy. He barely had time to perceive the handcuffs you’d pulled from your bag before you gently grabbed his left wrist. His eyebrows shot up at the sight—he hadn’t expected this, by any means. The gears clicked as you squeezed the single strand snuggly around his wrist. Your eyes flicked up to his, and he nodded, giving you the go ahead.

“Lean forward for me, baby.” He did as he was told, his eyeline meeting your decolletage as his face nearly collided with your plunging neckline. He gulped. Had he not promised to be a good boy and wait for permission, he’d press kisses all over you right now. Over your collarbones, down to the plush flesh at the top of your breasts, right down to—

“Do you know why you’re being punished, Austin?” Your voice interrupted his thoughts as you secured his hands behind his back. You hummed as the other handcuff clicked around his wrist slowly.

“Yes, ma’am.” he breathed out slowly, eyes glued to your neckline. Oh this really was a punishment.

“Go on.” You withdrew your hands from behind him and pushed his back to the couch. “Tell me all the naughty things you did to deserve this.” Your nails scraped down his shoulders to his chest, making him hiss at the delightful sensation. You leaned in close, pressing light kisses to his neck—the kind that just barely grazed his skin and drove him mad with the sensation of your hot breath fanning across his pulse point. Austin adjusted his arms behind his back a little so the cold metal of the handcuffs wasn’t pressing into his wrists too hard before he spoke.

“I-I touched myself before you came home,” he choked out when you ground your hips into his pelvis. Tilting his head back for more access, you slowly dragged your hot lips up his throat and across his jaw, hands traveling closer and closer to his hardening cock. You hummed.

“Mhm. You couldn’t wait for me, could you?” You grinned as you lightly took his chin between your teeth and shook your head in response to your own question. Then you got dangerously close to his lips. “Mm, you got off without me, so I’d say it’s only fair that you wait a little longer while I get off, yeah?” Austin wanted to choke out a defense that technically he never really got off because you’d interrupted his climax, but the words died on his lips when you let out a small moan with another roll of your hips. His eyes rolled back at the sensation and sound. “You’re going to make me come two times, and then if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you put your pitiful cock inside me. Does that sound okay, darling?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he moaned, ready, willing, and able. Even with his hands behind his back, he knew he’d be able to pull a couple of orgasms out of you. Hell, maybe he’d make it three and overachieve—get a gold star and extra praise for his good deeds.

But just like that, you were off of the couch and strutting away. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately. It made him go mad with hunger and he had to suppress a whine at the loss of contact he’d been aching for.

You slowly turned and sank to the loveseat across from Austin, arching your back just enough to draw his attention to your chest. His brow furrowed.

“Uhh,” he stammered out, “how am I supposed to get you off from here?”

You tisked. “Oh, Aus, I never said anything about you getting me off right away.” You leaned back on the velvety cushion and slowly spread your legs, leaving everything on display for Austin—everything you knew he wanted but couldn’t have. His mouth watered at the sight. “Seems it’s only fair that I get myself off just like you, right?”

You didn’t break eye contact as your hand dipped to the pooling arousal between your legs. Suddenly, he realized exactly what kind of torture awaited him now: you were going to get yourself off first. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it but watch. A breathy satisfied moan left your mouth, “Oh, Aus.” You drew his name out in a long sigh, but the word left him empty since it wasn’t him that provided the pleasure (not that it made a difference to his quickly hardening cock). Austin shifted in his seat as you let out a gasp and gripped the back of the loveseat over your shoulder.

“Eyes on me, baby. Only me.” you taunted, screwing your eyes shut as you began a rhythm on your clit that tightened the coil in your abdomen. “Mm, this could have been you, Aus.” You pulled your lip between your teeth, attempting to make an extra show for him.

Truth be told, the performance wasn’t quite as pleasurable as you made it out to be as you normally liked Austin to be the one to get you off, but he’d been naughty and you deemed the performance a necessary punishment to get him irate or apologetic, whichever came first. After all, this was your game, so it seemed only fair that you make up the rules—even if they were unfair.

“This could be your hand touching me, but you couldn’t wait, could you?”

Austin had his eyes glued to your fingers moving through your wet arousal and over your clit, as he shifted again in his seat. “No, I couldn’t wait,” he choked out, the words leaving him hoarse.

“Such an impatient man.” The coil began to compress, and you picked up your pace to chase the release. “You’re so desperate for me aren’t you, baby?”

A whine edged into his voice, “Yes, ma’am. I need you so bad. Please.” He leaned forward to the edge of the couch, letting out a strained breath. A jolt of arousal bolted down your spine, but you chose not to respond to his plea and instead let out an obscene moan to tease him a little more. He continued, more of that delicious whine lining his words, “Oh, please, baby, can I make you come. Can I please touch you?”

The begging sent you over the edge and a lovely wave of white pleasure washed over you as you came, knuckles going white as you clutched the back of the couch. Toes curling, head thrown back in ecstasy, your quick breaths echoing off the walls; it might as well have been pulled straight from a porno, and it had Austin captivated and straining against his slacks. If you hadn’t been recovering from an orgasm, you might have taken a minute to soak in the power you held over him at the moment.

When the aftershocks finished wracking your body, you met Austin’s lustful gaze from across the room with a hooded one of your own. He licked his plush lips, eyes raking over your form as his chest heaved, his cheeks flushing a light pink in his excitement. You smirked, pleased with the effect you were having on him.

“You wanna taste me, sweetheart?” The question had barely left your mouth when Austin nodded feverishly. You crooned, “Awfully greedy, aren’t we?”

You retracted your hand from your pussy and swiftly crossed to Austin to straddle him again, pushing him harshly back into the couch. He offered no resistance to your fingers slipping between his lips, savoring your taste and running his tongue over your fingers. You smirked.

“I love how eager you are for me, Austin,” you purred, slithering your hand back to the base of his skull and tugging gently on a few of his curls. His eyes rolled back at the praise.

You straddled him again, pulling your fingers from his mouth and pressing a hot, sloppy, open mouthed kiss to his worry-worn lips. He kissed you hungrily, like kissing you was the only thing that would put air into his lungs. You were right: he was desperate for you.

“I love when you’re begging for it. Begging for me.” You gasped the words between kisses, rolling your hips into his. He hissed at the welcomed sensation. Your hands wandered down to his belt, pulling the buckle free.

“Touch me,” he gasped. “Please touch me, ma’am. Please.”

Your eyes flashed up to watch his pretty face express the pleasure you supplied as you palmed his cock. Slowly, agonizingly, you undid the button and zipper on his slacks. Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband and shimmied it down his hips just enough for his cock to spring free from his underwear. You couldn’t help but grin. It seemed every single part of Austin was pretty.

“Can you behave for me, Aus? Are you gonna listen to me this time? Gonna tell me when you’re about to come?” you cooed, dragging your hand up and down his dick in long languid strokes.

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I promise. Please. Just—please,” he choked his whimpers down as best he could but you could tell he was losing that battle. You made a mental note to draw those whimpers out of him later.

You hummed as you slid off his lap and sank to your knees, eyeing his throbbing erection, the precum already oozing from his tip. Without wasting any more time, you took hold of him by the base and licked a long stripe along the underside of his cock. He let out a breath, one that let you know how much he’d been trying to hold back earlier. You suppressed a grin and leaned forward to kiss the angry red tip, pressing a few little kitten licks to the top. He squirmed at the sensation.

“P-please,” he whined, “no, teasin’.”

You pulled away. “You want me to stop?”

“No! Please, ma’am, I--” he started, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Then you’ll take what I give you, and beg for more.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, “Yes, ma’am.” A flash of hot arousal whipped down your spine and straight to your throbbing pussy. Fuck, that was hot.

“Good,” you hummed, before turning your attention back to his cock.

When you took his tip into your mouth, a shudder shook his chest as he moaned. You pumped your hand along him a few times, reveling in the way you could see his strong arms tugging and squirming to break free from his restraints, the way his eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy.

You pulled away for just a moment to tell him, “Love the way those pretty blue eyes roll back when I’m sucking you off, baby.” Your voice dripped over him like honey, smooth and salacious—all he wanted in that moment was the feeling of your tongue swirling around his head.

You bobbed your head, taking his long cock back as far as you could, pumping the rest of him with your hand.

“Y-yes, ‘slike that,” he moaned. “Kee-keep, goin’ like that.” His eyes screwed shut and with a gasp and a grunt, he cried out, “Oh! I’m gonna come, baby!” The pleasure had been building all day and it had gotten so intense. You bobbed your head a few more times, pulling him closer and closer to the peak. “Oh! I’m—”

You pulled back, letting his hard wet cock spring back to his stomach in a pitiful display of arousal and no relief. Those beautiful ceruleans blinked open, and for a moment you thought you could see a line of tears in his waterline. His chest rose and fell quickly with heated breaths as he spoke, “Why’d you—” he stopped for a moment to think as you crawled back onto his lap and wiped your mouth, “b-but I’ve been good for you, haven’t I?”

You pressed a searing kiss to his open mouth to shut him up, allowing his cock to barely graze your cunt. His breath hitched at it, and you pulled his head back by his hair to let him get a look at you.

“Please,” he begged, “can I please come?”

“Patience, darling. You’re doing so well, but you’re not there yet,” you teased, dragging the back of your index finger down his cheek. You tugged on his hair again, easing another whine out of him. It sent a thrill straight to your core.

“Color?” Your voice softened as you asked the question. You might have been in the driver’s seat tonight, but he had control of the situation.

“Green, baby. So green.” His answer came immediately.

“Good,” you cooed with a smirk. You stood again, only this time, you beckoned him to follow you to the other couch.

“On your knees, Aus,” you commanded, and the tall blond obeyed. “So good for me, aren’t you?” You sank back to the love seat, spreading your legs again for him. “Make me come, Austin.”

His eyes went wide, and a small smile graced his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he affirmed before diving in like it was his last meal on earth, letting you swing your legs over his shoulders and crush his head between your thighs. The man was a master with his tongue. He crudely licked a long stripe along your pussy before lapping gently at your clit.

He ate you out like it was his job, plunging his tongue into you and stimulating your clit with practiced perfection. Up and down, up and down, sucking here, nudging there, swirling and finally adding in a little nip that drove you wild. A string of praise fell from your mouth without you even realizing. “So good t’me. Oh Aus, yes like that! Keep going for me, baby!”

His tongue plunged inside you, and you let out a gasp, gripping the back of the couch again. He could tell you were getting closer, closer, closer, and maintained his pace on your clit as you let out another cry, “Yes! ‘M close! I-I—”

The words wouldn’t come, but he knew exactly what you meant. He drank the words down and let out a grown at the sound of your voice, your cries. Ultimately, that tipped the scales and you came all over his face with a cry.

He didn’t stop though; his tongue continued its magic as he helped you ride your orgasm out until the wave of white passed over you and you had to push him away with your hand. He didn’t back away fully and instead pressed more wet, heated kisses to the inside of your thighs, stealing glances up at you as you caught your breath. Finally, your eyes locked and he stopped with a slow and intimate kiss on your leg.

He grinned at you in the dimmed light, his chin glistening. The man wore your arousal like a damn badge of honor. It was filthy, positively filthy.

“Did I do good, momma?” he rasped, voice deep and gravelly. You might have just climaxed, but the nickname suddenly ignited a new kind of feral desire for him, and you felt yourself getting hot and bothered all over again. You took a few steadying breaths before you spoke.

“You did very good, baby boy. Oh, fuck, you did so good for momma.” You lunged forward to capture his lips with yours, not caring in the slightest that you tasted yourself on his tongue. Your lips moved together in practiced perfection, sliding, sucking—you even nipped at his lower lip and pulled a sigh from him.

“Can you sit on the couch for me, darlin’?” you asked between kisses.

“Yes, ma’am.” With a little helpful balance from you, he returned to his seat and it was clear that his erection needed some attention, so you straddled his lap again with a little more room for you to jerk him off.

“Doin’ so good for me, Aus,” you purred in his ear as you took his cock in your hand. He hummed at the contact and moaned as your hand pumped him at a slow and agonizing pace.

“Please, baby, please,” he begged and let your name fall from his lips. “C’mon, baby, make me come!” Your hand stuttered on his cock and you pulled away, making him pant and whine some more for relief. “Baby, I’ve been good!” His voice was desperate, but verging a little too close to demanding for your liking. He didn’t get to demand things like that tonight.

“You’re not playing by my rules, Aus,” you chastised flatly as you leaned away to retrieve his tie from the other side of the couch. “You don’t wanna call me what I told you to call me? Fine.” You rolled up his tie in your hands and watched his eyes widen. “You don’t get to say anything else either. Open.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed and you pressed the tie into his mouth as a gag. “You need to earn back your words, so make all those pretty little noises for me, yeah? I want you a moaning, whimpering mess by the time we’re done here.”

You grabbed his cock by the base again, maybe a little more sudden than you’d intended because he jumped and let out a muffled yelp. “C’mon, Aus. You can do it for me, darlin’.” You pumped his long shaft quickly, soaking in every little gasp or groan he’d give you. His muffled little whimpers made your cunt clench in anticipation, and arousal slipped between your legs. “Just like that, baby boy. Just like that.”

It only took a few more motions of your hand for him to be right on the edge. Tears spilled over his pretty lashes as he moaned into the tie. “Gonna come for me?” you asked. He nodded feverishly, ready to end the cycle of punishments you had for him, but you smirked before pulling away, pleased with having edged him to tears.

You took the wet gag from his mouth, a string of spittle following it as you placed it on the floor. Before he had the capacity to speak, you swiftly halted any communication with a heated kiss to his open mouth again, adoring the drooling sobbing mess that he’d become in the past couple of minutes.

Your fingers softly traced the angry veins in his cock without enough pressure to provide any relief, but enough contact to tease him and make his hips buck forward.

“Oh please, ma’am! Please let me come!” he whined again, another set of tears falling onto his cheeks. “Momma, please.”

You met his tearful gaze with a small smile and tilting your head to the side. “Didn’t you disobey me, though? You’re a greedy little boy who doesn’t know how to follow rules, and that kind of behavior deserves punishment,” you sighed as you peppered his face with light kisses—small rewards for all the noises he’d made.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I-I’m—momma, I’m sorry.”

You pulled your lip between your teeth again, looking him over and taking in the whimpering man underneath you. “You’re being awful good for me, baby boy. Get me off one more time and then we’ll talk about you coming. Can you be good for momma and get her off one more time?”

He seemed to sigh a breath of relief at that. “Y-yes, ma’am. Please, I’ll be g-good—I’ll make you feel so good.” Oh, that sounded like music to your ears.

“I’m going to take these off of you now, okay?” you grabbed the key from your purse. He eagerly leaned forward to allow more access to his wrists.

“So, I can touch you now?” he rasped, his hot breath fanning over your chest and making your breath hitch. Your eyes rolled back, suddenly eager for his lips on your body.

A light chuckle escaped your chest as you leaned closer and spoke, “Yes, you can touch me, Aus.”

Austin’s eyes closed in a silent prayer of thanks as he feverishly planted kisses along your neckline with small whispered promises of ecstasy and faint love proclamations. It all made the process of unlocking his right hand from the handcuffs a little hard to focus on, but the quiet click of the lock releasing came nonetheless.

As soon as the strand came loose from its gears and freed his wrist, Austin wrenched his arms forward, greedy hands roaming up your waist as he pulled your body closer to him. You gasped and clutched at the back of the couch and his head for the balance that he’d robbed with his lurch forward. The handcuffs still dangled from his left wrist, clinking together as he groped your body.

“Want me to get—“ you started offering to unlock the other handcuff, but he cut you off with a growl and more desperate kisses making their way up your neck.

“Just wanna feel you.” His low husky voice reverberated at your throat and you hummed in appreciation, dropping the key to the floor.

“You wanna feel me, baby?” You asked as his right hand took a fistful of your ass and his left slid up the side of your neck. You shivered at the cold metal of the handcuffs brushing up along your heated skin.

“Yes, ma’am I do,” he whispered.

“Go ahead, darlin’. Make me feel good like you always do.” And with that, he slipped the thin golden straps from your shoulders and pulled your dress down to reveal your breasts, nipples erect and ready to be worshiped by Austin. His left hand slipped down to massage one while he licked a stripe down to your nipple on the other side.

Oh, god. Your eyes closed on their own accord, focusing purely on the pleasure he supplied. His fingers moved from your ass to between your legs, dipping his middle and ring finger into your dripping pussy.

“Aus.” His name came out in a breathy mewl as he began a rhythmic circle on your sensitive clit with his thumb. Your breath hitched again when he curled his fingers and hit the spot just right that you couldn’t suppress a pornographic moan. “Oh, yes! Just like that!”

An orgasm lay right around the corner, and you were practically shaking as he continued. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry for disobeying you before.” The words fell from his lips in a slur, his voice rough and wet from neediness. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, squelching, moans, and heavy breathing filling the air around the both of you.

“Right there! Right—ah!” you exclaimed as the ecstasy blinded you. He muttered more incoherent apologies into your chest between your breasts as he palmed your skin and breathed in your scent. You rode his fingers as the world slowly lost its rosy hue, your fingers tangling themselves into the golden tresses at the nape of his neck.

“Yes, oh yes,” you panted, holding his head close to you. Austin hid his face into your neck, nibbling gently on the exposed flesh near your collarbone and pulse point.

“Such a good boy for me, Aus,” you praised, catching your breath and steadying yourself before pulling his head back by his hair. The lighting allowed you to see his wet cheeks and swollen lips. His pretty blonde lashes seemed to sparkle. He really was an incredibly beautiful man. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he was yours.

You brushed a stray tear from his cheek. “Good boys get their rewards. You ready to come? Want to come inside me?” God, it was dirty.

“Yes, please. Please let me fuck you,” he choked out. Music to your fucking ears. You loved it when he talked like that.

“Give it to me, Austin.” Despite being messy and overstimulated, you’d be damned if you didn’t get to come on his cock tonight.

You leaned up on your knees and gently guided his cock to your dripping cunt, hissing when the tip of his head brushed against your clit. Fuck, you were sensitive. You didn't care though; you sank down onto him quickly and he hissed a curse. You gripped his shoulders as you gasped, nails biting into his skin.

“Fuck, you feel divine,” he moaned. He clutched you closer. You didn’t respond as you began grinding a slow pace up and down.

“Whose cock is this?” You asked between pants. Austin’s face creased in pleasure and he gasped when you clenched down on him.

“Yours, baby, it’s yours. I’m yours.” He spoke with awe and passion, and when his eyes opened again to meet yours he looked at you like you were the world. You crashed your lips to his desperately. “Take me,” he gasped between kisses, “use me,” his hand slipped to your neck to pull you impossibly closer, “love me,” another kiss before he pulled away to growl, “own me.”

“‘S’right, Aus. You’re mine,” you breathed out. When you dropped down again, he hit that wonderful little sweet spot inside you, pushing you to the edge. Oh god! You picked up the pace a little, eager to chase the nearing euphoria.

Grinding, heaving, moaning, you tapped your fingers to his lips. “Open your mouth, babe.” He did, and you did something you never thought you’d ever do: you gathered all the saliva in your mouth and spat it into his. He was yours, yours, yours. Without missing a beat, a smile played on his lips. He never broke eye contact as he did something he didn’t think he’d do.

He swallowed it.

It was like a bolt of lightning. You were so close, so close, you wanted to sprint to the finish line. And from the looks of it, he was too, growling clutching your closer as you rode him at a now impossible pace. “You wanna come, Aus?”

“Please, momma! Please!” He moaned, his glassy eyes screwing shut as his sensitive head hit your cervix. You tightened your grip on his strong shoulders at the feeling.

“Come for me, Austin. Come inside me. Come for momma.”

One, two, three thrusts and you were both seeing stars. A string of curse words fell from his lips as he pumped his hot come into your cunt. Your nails bit into his shoulders, no doubt leaving crescent shaped indents in his skin. You trembled in his arms, over sensitive and catching your breath, and he was transported to another dimension—his long awaited orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks and the aftershocks pulled him closer to your skin as you both came down, clutching each other.

You held his head to your chest, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings and praises as he rode out his orgasm, thrusting deeper into you. “That’s it, baby, let go. Did so so good. Love you so much, darlin’. So much.” His eyelashes fluttered against your neck and his breath and hips gradually slowed. He slowly kissed your collarbone before raising his head to look over your equally flushed face.

“Shit,” he puffed, that post-orgasm glow highlighting his lopsided smile, “that was…” He couldn’t find the words. Seems you’d fucked him stupid.

“Earth-shattering?” You finished for him with a smile. He chuckled.

“Yes, ma’am. Earth-shattering.” You couldn’t help but giggle at that.

You bit your lip and turned your gaze downward as you spoke. “So I—it wasn’t… too much?” Daring a glance up, you met his pretty blues again, slowly returning to their normal sea shade. You’d never really had the chance to let your dominant side out in the past, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d taken things too far with him.

“Too much?” Austin repeated with a laugh. “Baby, listen to me carefully when I say this: you could have stepped on me and I’d have thanked you.” He grinned at the melodic laugh you let out at that.

“You like it when momma’s in charge?”

Austin grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a moment it was just you and Austin. You in his lap, his delicious cock still inside you, stroking his face, his fingers running up and down your arm. This game had finally come to a close and you both dropped the personas you’d adapted for the fun and it really was just two people hopelessly obsessed with each other again. But one thing was sure: this had opened the door to an entirely new set of sexual experiences that you could have in the future.

After all, you still had those handcuffs that would need to be broken out every now and then, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they might feel like on your skin one day too.

***

And that’s the story of how Austin found out he enjoyed being a sub. The End.

#this is pure filth #he’s a switch who got in touch with his subby side #i love subby men #austin butler #austin butler elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis #elvis movie #elvis presley #austin elvis imagine #baz luhrmann elvis #elvis film #austin butler x reader #austin smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #x reader #fanfic #fanfic smut #austin butler x you #sub!austin #austin butler imagine #now that no one is reading the tags anymore I wanna confess that this was far more impactful on me than I thought it’d be #and now I have a thing for men becoming whimpering messes #I’ve been agonizing over it for too long and finally said fuck it and posted it lol #and if you’re reading this take a sec to let me know how I can improve because I’m not 100% happy with this piece and want to get better #I’m rambling in the tags to procrastinate posting now aren’t I

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thefangirlfever · 3 days

Text

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 6)

Tags: F/M, age gap (reader is 28 and Miguel is 48), taboo relationship, mention of medication, depression and racial prejudice, reader is a woman of color, angst, mention of death and grief, slow burn

Disclaimer: English is not my first language.

See the end for notes.

Words count: 6503

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Miguel and you had come to an agreement. You were in charge of the dinner from Monday to Thursday and he took care of it the rest of the week. But even like that, he couldn’t help but intervene into your cooking; no matter how many times you’ve told him to “trust the process”.

“But how can you be sure that it’s gonna taste good if you don’t even follow the recipe?”

You rolled your eyes, amused by his comment while adding a last spoon of spice to the boiling soup on the stove.

“Who needs the recipe when you got vibes and confidence?”

He was now the one rolling his eyes. He hated to admit it but your recipes always managed to taste edible, good even, despite your inability to follow a recupe. You should have already been responsible of a food intoxication but you didn’t. Cooking by your side was always an experience, truly. But it also managed to help him relax after a long day at work. You even looked more relaxed while doing so.

You turned toward him, holding a spoon of soup and asked him to try the soup with a small grin. Miguel could only oblige when you looked at him this way and so he leaned forward to sip a bit of the soup. And just like he had guessed it, it was delicious. He may not be the most objective taster out there but it was still good. The creamy and rich texture made him think that you must have some hidden talent because he has seen you cooking without a recipe and there was no other logical explanation for it to taste that way.

“So? Not that bad, huh?"

It was nice to see you were feeling better now. After only a few days of his attention, you were already back on your feet. His gaze traveled down your figure, noticing your now rosy cheeks and the way you looked generally better. Maybe the countryside had a better effect on you than what you could have expected? But he couldn’t ignore the tired lines on your face, meaning that you were still sleeping poorly.

“Miguel…” Your soft, questioning voice took him out of his thoughts and he blinked twice, collecting his thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

“Do you...still have trouble sleeping?” The sudden change in the conversation surprised you but you didn’t immediately deflate the conversation or tried to run away, which was a progress in Miguel’s eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you considered taking something to help you fall asleep?” Miguel wasn’t surprised when you shook your head no. He still asked: “Not even melatonin?”

“I used to take some when I was in high school but...it wasn’t strong enough.”

His eyes opened wider and he stuttered: “In high school?”

“I was an anxious kid.”, you simply replied. He didn’t have any trouble believing that.

“I could get you something more efficient if you want…” You turned off the stove and shook your head.

“I...I don’t have a good history with strong medications.”, you simply replie. Most doctors you’ve met so far were quite insistent, always trying to convince you to take those type of things. But speaking from your personal experience, you didn’t like how they made you feel. And in general you’d rather avoid any type of medication.

Miguel didn’t insist, thankfully, and he simply nodded.

“Well...if you need anything, you can always ask me.”

“I think I’ll stick with herbal tea for now but thanks.”, you replied while smiling. And he gave you back your soft smile. You seemed in a great mood and he thought it was not the right time to ask anything about your history with medication. Plus, he was not on duty anymore. He could simply enjoy this moment with you, without thinking about anything related to his job.

The two of you were setting up the table and he had to remind himself to leave a good distance between you. Nevertheless he still looked at you from the corner of his eyes, watching every movement you made, from the very tip of your fingers to the way you balanced your weight on your feet. It’s been a month since your arrival and Miguel has felt something changing inside him ever since. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he has been waiting with so much enthusiasm for every chance to see you. Every moment you shared had become the highlights of his week. And you were more present in his thoughts than he wants to admit it. Your father had told him how much of a nice girl you were; saying things about how the two of you would get along so well. But Miguel had this feeling that your father may have underestimated just how good the two of you got along… Because he had the feeling that was he was feeling when you were together had nothing to do with friendship or what he was supposed to feel.

You have also noticed how closer the two of you seemed to be. It’s not a bad feeling but you would have never guessed the two of you would feel this comfortable in the presence of each other. Maybe Sarah was right. There was nothing wrong in asking for help… And Miguel has been a great help so far on so many levels. He didn’t just help with the house; you have the feeling that he helped you personally.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear Miguel saying: “That color looks good on you.”

You looked down to where his eyes were. He was looking right at your sweater, an old one that you have found this morning in the back of your closet. You couldn’t remember exactly when was the last time you wore it or even when you bought it, probably during one of your phases in high school. It was bit loose on your shoulders and it hung loosely over your clavicles but the soft fabric felt like a blanket and the color really appealed to you when dressing up this morning. It was a soft lilac, almost the same shade as an aster.

“Oh thanks. It’s just an old thing, I guess…”

Miguel’s eyes have been nothing but locked on the way the fabric exposed your clavicles or the slope of your neck; especially with your hair tied up tonight. That color reminded him of a flower but he was not sure which one exactly. You reminded him of some flower. As embarrassing and corny as it may sound. He thought he was way past this at his age but it seemed like he was wrong. The mohair wool had caught his eyes ever since he came in the kitchen and he couldn’t stop wondering just how soft it acutally felt, how easily his fingers would slide through it…

He promised himself he would not look at you like that. He can’t do this. You trust him. Your father trusts him. He knew better than this and he didn't want to be that type of man who pried on younger, inexperienced and fragile women. He swallowed back the rest of his compliment, which turned into a lump in his throat and he looked away; just when your father called for you.

The three of you were sitting around the diner table, chatting lightly, joking from time to time. It’s been quite a long time since you shared a real meal with anyone. Since you began living alone, you were usually relying on take-outs and would eat in your bed in front of a show, enjoying the calm of your apartment after a long day at work. Your apartment… You had left a double of the keys to Sarah like most people would do so their plants would be watered and all these kinds of things. But there were no plants to water at your place, no animal to take care of… Sometimes this place didn’t feel like yours. But you had to move quickly after and that was the fest thing you had found. It was not objectively bad but...it was not your home.

The conversation had slowly shifted toward the topic of your school years when Miguel told your father about the restoration work that would begin soon. You still remembered vividly the walls of red bricks with the wine climbing on them, the windows decorated with the drawings of the students, the ugly yellows wallpaper… Maybe it was not a bad thing that this place was going to be renovated. It will be safer at least.

“It will be for the best.”, your father declared before taking a sip of his coffee. “Those buildings were already there when I was a student after all.”

“So they must be really old.”, Miguel joked and your father laughed heartily.

“Are you implying that I’m some type of dinosaurs or something?”, he asked with a grin and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too. It was nice to see him laughing around. Miguel’s presence only did good things to him.

“I would never.” You looked at Miguel’s expression and he had the exact same grin on his face. But when he was the one smiling, your eyes would linger a bit longer on his face, on the curve of his smile… He caught you looking at him and you were suddenly very invested in the appearance of your cup of tea. Your father didn’t notice anything and kept joking:

“Well, you’re not getting younger either, my friend.” He added with a knowing smile in your direction. “Poor Y/N, you’re stuck here with those two old men…”

“You’re not that old.” You protested weakly and you were not sure who you were trying to convince of that and if you were only speaking about your father. Your father sighed and his smile looked a bit more contrite.

“Well, I’m not getting younger for sure…” He looked at the cast on his leg with a look you've been catching more frequently on his face recently. He was in pain. Not physical pain. But he had to come in terms with his mortality, with the fact that he was growing older...exactly the same way than when your mother died. “I just think you would maybe enjoy more the company of people of your age.”

You were not sure of where this is coming, so you slowly took a sip from your cup, waiting for him to finish talking. Miguel was also waiting.

“Why wouldn’t you try to link up with some of your old friends? You know, most of them didn’t move away.”

Miguel suddenly looked more intrigued and interested by the conversation. It was true that so far, you haven’t mentioned any of your past acquaintances. You couldn’t be this antisocial truly. With a shrug of your shoulders, you replied as casually as you could:

“Well, they must all be busy.”

“I’m sure they would be glad to see you too.” His soft tone didn’t fool you. You know how stubborn he could be when he had an idea in mind. So you asked: “What did you do?” His satisfied smile proved you that your assumptions were right.

“I called one of your best friends and asked her to come visit over. And she gladly accepted.”

“Who did you call?” Miguel watched your exchange like one would watch a tennis game, his head swinging from left to right.

“Actually I called a few people.” Your father said with a bright smile and that was when it hits you. He genuinely thought he did something good. As much as you appreciated his effort, you couldn’t help but groan, slightly annoyed. What were you supposed to say to your old friends? Would you even be able to talk with them or link up the way you used to? Would they even recognize you?

***

The next day the living room was filled with laughter and the faint sound of chit-chat. Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quietly observed your friends from high school. The atmosphere in the room reminded you of the time you would all have slumber parties in high school. Except that it was only 4 in the afternoon and that you had traded your snacks and corny movies for homemade cookies and old album photos.

The three women facing you looked nothing like the pictures you were watching and at the same time they couldn’t be more themselves than they were now. On your right Jane was no longer wearing the thick glasses she used to have when she was younger, having them replaced by lenses but the movements of her fingers reminded you of how she would always adjust the frame of her spectacles back then. She had already apologized three times for being late but who would blame a business woman like her to have more important meeting in her day? Assya’s cooking skills were still unmatched and you thanked the Lord for her cookies, delicately wrapped into a pink paper. Her calloused hands from all her work were still looking rough but your eyes could’t miss the wedding band on her finger. A bright diamond on top of a silver ring. And there was Margareth, Mag as she’d rather have you calling her, whose athletic silhouette was now draped under a delicate green tailor suit. Even under the large jacket, she couldn’t hide the impressive bump of her stomach.

And there was you who was giving “I peaked in high school” energy compared to them. But none of them seemed to address this or even wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. They seemed to respect your silence and they ware graceful enough to not comment on your tired face or rub too hard their happiness on the said tired face. None of them mentioned your mother as they keep flipping the pages of the album. Assya even slided a new box of cookies toward you when you were finished with the first one. So...it was a bit better than what you were expected.

Jane pointed at one of the pictures and started telling a story about this day. Her memory was quite impressive to you. You barely remembered that day. The four of you were looking at the camera with a bright smile. You were all sitting in your bedroom, during one of these infamous slumber parties. The more you looked at the picture, the more you realized that your friends were not the one who changed. You did.

The four of you were still down the memory train when the front door opened. It can’t be your father. As soon as your friends came in, he disappeared into the patio, saying that he wanted to give you as much space as possible. It could only be Miguel. It was a nice surprise for him to be here this early. There was something comforting into knowing that he’ll be back after almost every day...

You turned toward the door, a bit too enthusiastically, and watched him making his way toward the living room. He was the one in charge of the dinner tonight and he was carrying a crate full of fresh vegetables. His forearms flexed slightly when he lifted the box and for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes away from this sight.

“Doctor O’hara, I wasn’t expecting to see you there. Is this where you’ve been hiding all these weeks?” Assya asked with an amused smile while crossing her arms over her chest. She had told you she’s been working as a nurse at the clinic but it was only now that you realized what it meant. She knew Miguel. For some reason the small grin she gave him annoed you, wedding ring or not.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you there either. Do you guy know each other?” Miguel asked with a polite smile and all the women nodded in unison. His eyes stopped on the silhouette of Mag and he asked in a caring voice:

“How are you feeling today?”

She slowly patted her stomach and replied: “He’s been really quiet today. No nausea whatsoever.”

“Good. If you need anything, my office is always open.”

It was your first time seeing him interacting with his patients and colleagues, and again, you could’t believe that people like him actually existed. People who were so selfless, people who cared and who could genuinely talk to other beings. And for a second, you could picture him at the clinic, working, giving orders, taking care of his patients… Just how many parts of his life did you actually ignore?

Miguel was slightly amused by the sight of all four of you reuniting in the living room. Once again, it seemed that you have underestimated yourself and your social skills. Everything seemed fine. His eyes trailed over you, taking in your polished appearance. You tried to make yourself look a bit better for today and he actually realized that it was the first time he saw you wearing some make-up. It was just a bit of blush and lipstick but his eyes are drawn to the shape of your lips tinted in a deep carmine. The same color rushed to his cheeks and he looked away before saying in a firm voice:

“I’ll let you to your memories now, ladies.”

You watched him going to the kitchen, a bit disappointed. You were not sure of what just happened because it lasted only a millisecond but if you had listened to your body, you would have followed him into the next room. Instead you just sat there, quietly, while your friends started giggling. Assya was the first one to break the silence:

“I know I’m married but…”

“Please, don’t finish this sentence. I already know what you’re going to say.”, replied Jane with a growing smirk.

“Come on, you can’t blame me. He is fine.”

The two of them whispered in order to not be heard from him and you felt like you were back to your high school years when you would all tease each other about your crush. So, it looked like you haven’t been the only one noticing that he was attractive…

Mag gave you a knowing look from the other side of the couch and your eyes were drawn to the shape of her stomach. While Jane and Assya kept bickering around, you decided to shift the conversation away:

“So...when is it due?”

She must have sensed your uneasiness because she chuckled softly. You have always been awkward around children and maternity, so it was not a surprise. Again, her hand gently patted her stomach.

“In two months I think.”

“It’s a boy?”

She quietly nodded and as soon as this conversation begins, you found yourself unable to ask anymore questions. It’s not that you didn’t care but the topic of motherhood made you feel uncomfortable, even more so these last years… Hopefully she changed the conversation when sensing your discomfort.

“So...it seems that he comes here often?”

“Who?”

“Doctor O’hara.”

“Ah...yes, Miguel...well, he is here to help my father. They’re good friends and I think it’s good that they are hanging together.” It felt like you were trying to justify yourself or something. You cleared your throat and grabbed your coffee while Mag kept looking at you with a knowing smile.

“He is nice, isn’t he?”, she asked after a few seconds and you simply nodded slowly.

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty fast as the four of you got lost again in your memories. Assya was the first to leave because she had to pick up her kids at daycare and Jane and Mag followed quickly. Once they were gone, you let the silence of the house wrap around your and youfinally rested your face against the wooden panel of the door for a few seconds with your eyes closed. As much as it was nice seeing them again, you feltl drained of all your energy and you would probably need a few days to recharge your social battery.

The sounds of footsteps made you turn around and there was Miguel, looking at you from the end of the hallway, a soft smile on his lips.

“Are you alright?”

You leaned your back against the door for a few seconds as a migraine started hitting your head. He could sense that something was off and that you needed to rest despite your attempt at reassuring him. He slowly moved closer to you and only stopped when he was a few feet away. He didn’t exactly know what made him act this way but there was again this lingering need to take care of you in ways that would make him feel ashamed if he could admit it.

“I can leave you alone if you want…”

“No it’s okay.”

Your eyes trailed up and down his figure in the dim light of the corridor and your eyes locked on the apron he is wearing. The white fabric had turned yellow at some point and the blue flowers on it looked withered. On one of the pockets there was a small heart. You had embroidered yourself when you were younger, as a gift to your mother.

Miguel seemed to realize his mistake and he started to untie the apron. He didn’t mean to offense you by taking this memory of your mother out of the cabinets. He just took the first thing he had found to cover himself. He was about to apologize when your hands stopped his movements, holding his wrists firmly.

“Don’t take it off.”

Your voice was only a murmur but he clearly heard you. With a soft sigh, he intertwined his fingers with yours while your two bodies got a bit closer. The mere light from the window of the door looked like a halo around your hair and he has to catch his breath. The room suddenly fels like it had been completely deprived of air while he got lost in your eyes. What if he got closer? What if he held you in his arms, only for a few seconds? What if…

The questions rushed in his mind, pressing him to decide what to do. But he had the feeling that none of this is what you need at the moment, nor what he should do. The grip of his fingers on yours finally loosened and he stepped back.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” You watched him slowly walk away before leaning back against the door. Your body slowly slid down the panel and you end up sitting down the floor, a mix of boiling, raw emotions that you couldn't identify lingering inside your chest.

When you were finally back inside the living room, you noticed that Miguel had left a glass of water and some aspirin for you. You smiled at the sweet attention and immediately swallowed one pill. He also had cleaned up a bit the room and yet, all the album photos were still out. Your father was sitting down the couch, absorbed in the old pictures, so much that he hadn’t notice your presence at first. You didn’t need to look over his shoulders to know what, or rather who he was looking at. In fact you’d rather disappear from the room rather than bring the attention to this topic but he caught the sound of your footsteps as soon as you started moving

“Hey…” he gently called you out. When he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the picture he was looking and you were unfortunately right. It was a picture of you and your mom. It had been taken the first year you all went camping in family. “How was the afternoon with your friends?”

“Good. Thanks.”

He was smiling in a way that would break even a heart of stone. With a tired sigh, you dragged your body to the side of the couch and sat by his side.

Your mother was holding you in her arms on the picture. You zere both wearing matching green windbreakers, an idea from your father because he was wearing the same one on the other side of the picture. There was something so comforting about staying in her arms like that. She was not a frail woman with he square-shaped shoulders, her burly arms tanned after hours spent in the garden and she was always carrying around her a scent like the one of a fireplace. You were sure that it was how a mother’s hug was supposed to feel for a long time in your life, strong, maybe a bit rough in the beginning like a mama bear holding her cubs. It was the only kind of hugs that could chase away the monsters under your bed or in your heads once you grew up.

Your father’s fingers glided over the page and you felt a bit uncomfortable. You squirmed over your sit, not knowing what to do. Should you offer a few words of comfort? Hug him? It would be quite appropriate but you were not sure your hugs would feel as comforting as hers.

He sensed your discomfort and flips the page. A large smile slowly crept up his face and he started laughing. It was a picture of you at a dance recital, around age 8, dressed as a large daisy. You cringed at the picture. Your chubby cheeks were squished by the fabric of your corolla and you were all red and sweaty, because of course the taffetas of the dress was too hot for the month of May.

“Dad, can we please ignore that?”

“No way, you’re looking adorable. And your mother spent so many time on your costume.”

The sound of your banter had attracted Miguel and he smiled when he seed that you seemed to feel a bit better. When your dad called him in, you felt a cold sweat running down your back.

“Dad, no.”

But the catastrophe happened too fast for you to react. Miguel sat on the other side of the couch and as soon as he looked at the picture, a goofy smile curled up his lips.

“No wonder you enjoy gardening. It’s like your natural habitat after all.”, he teased you gently. Your father laughed loudly at what you would have considered a pretty lame joke if it wasn’t for the adorable smirk that he was wearing. On the next picture, you were dressed as one of the rats for the ballet Nutcracker and you thought that you might actually die of embarrassment right now.

Miguel was having a blast seeing all these pictures that your dad always commented on with a funny story. Not only did he get to see an other side of you but he also caught the blush that crept up your cheeks and that slightly annoyed pout you were doing. Ever since he met you, he had never seen you embarrassed or really flustered. This might be the most emotions you’ve shown in one time and he quickly diverted his attention from the picture to your profile. After seeing the pictures he could clearly see how well of a mix you are between your parents. You got the lanky silhouette from your father, his long and thin face with the sharp eyes and pronounced chin. And from your mother, those curly locks, your nose with the high arch and those cheekbones… The said cheekbones were turning more and more flushed, their shade according well with the one of your tinted lips.

"Stop looking", he taunted himself.

As the pages kept moving and your dad talking, you slowly relaxed and your arm was now resting on top of the head of the couch. Just like Miguel’s. You were still trying to act unbothered the first time his fingers brushed against yours, thinking it might be an accident. But when it happened again, you were not so sure anymore that it was a mistake. Your two hands were resting behind the couch and your fingers were brushing from time to time, especially when Miguel was laughing at one of your dad’s jokes. At some point his forefinger brushed against your wrist, right against the edge of your sleeve.

You quickly pulled your hand back to yourself. Not out of discomfort but because you felt confused. This was not an invitation from your part...but you wouldn’t have minded for this contact to last a bit longer either…

Miguel didnn’t dare thinking that he was disappointed. Touching an inch of your skin even for a few seconds was still worth every hour of hesitation and turmoil that would come after it. How could your skin be so soft? So tempting? All when he had seen of it so far was your hands and a bit of your neck?

Still unaware of what was happening behind his back, literally, your father turned to an other page. It was a picture of you on your last recital. You were around fifteen years old, dressed in a dainty pink tutu, glitters sprinkled all over your hair. You had spent hours cleaning them off with your mother afterwards...

“This was your last recital?”, Miguel asked but it was your father who replied.

“She had to stop after that. You know how it is? High school, college entrance exams…”

Miguel didn’t reply but he did furrow his brows and nodded with a serious look on his face. He would have liked to ask more questions about this part of your life that looked so surreal. How come this little girl with that bright smile and her face covered in glitters turned into the woman you were today? He could’t also help but wonder if you still remembered a few dance moves…

But your father had flipped the pages once again and now there was an other picture of you with a boy around your age. His skin was the same shade as yours and brown curls flowed down to his shoulders. The two of you were standing close to each other, at a respectable distance with a shy look on your face. Miguel knew too well this type of picture and when he looked back at you, he was expecting to see some reaction on your face. Maybe you would be a bit embarrassed, flustered or at least nostalgic? But to his surprise you had a blank expression on your face. He didn’t know if it’s good or not. Before he could ask anything else, your father said in an obnoxious voice:

“You were such a cute couple together, David and you. You remember that day, Y/N?”

“Mhh...not really.” You seemed pretty unaffected by the picture, which was not something that Miguel was expecting from someone who just saw such a memory.

“Oh come on...you really don’t remember? It was for your birthday. You remember that nice necklace he gave you?”

You nodded without saying anything. You knew it was useless to argue with your father over this topic. He had always loved David, almost like a son. The fact that his parents were from the same diaspora as your father only made them get closer and your father had always assumed that you would end up with David. He was a nice guy, sure. But there was a reason why you never kept seeing each other after high school and you remembered it while looking at the picture. There was no chemistry between you, even a blind could see that, whatever your dad liked to think.

Miguel’s eyes were still locked on your profile and the more you were looking at the picture, the more anxious he was getting. Why were still silent? How was he supposed to understand the way you were looking at this picture? Was this good? Bad? Did you miss that David guy? Why was he suddenly just realizing that you must have had former partners? And why did he make him want to take your hand back in his, to pull you closer to him?

Your father didn’t seem to realize that there was a slight tension because he kept digging his own grave:

“It’s been a long time since you saw each other. Did you even call him? You know, I think he would be really happy to talk to you…” and with what was supposed to be a playful nudge, he added: “And I heard that he is single.” Miguel quickly caught the pink hue on your cheeks and it made his stomach twist as if he was sick. Were you embarrassed? Or was there more to this reaction? God, he hadn’t realized until now how hard it was to read you and he wished he could ask you directly. But...he was not entitled to ask that of you. Who was he to think that?

“Dad, I’m not going to call him.”, you replied while organizing the albums on the coffee table. “We had a good time and now it’s over. What happened in the past belonged to the past.”

Miguel almost sighed out of relief but your father was quick to reply: “Maybe you should start thinking about the future...I mean, you’re almost thirty and I haven’t seen you with anyone in a few years now.”

That was a low blow.

Even if it had been said in a rather understanding voice, you couldn’t help but feel your blood boil. This was the last conversation you wanted to have with your father. Miguel felt like his presence was unwanted and he tried to make his way out of the living room as quietly as possible. He would be in the kitchen if you needed help but there was no need for him to make you feel like he was prying on this delicate moment.

***

It was not your first time having this argument with your father. In fact, you remembered the last time it happened. It was a few years ago when you decided to move with your last boyfriend. Most parents would have welcomed such a good news but your father wasn’t too happy about it. First of all, he never really liked this man. History would prove him right, but it was not for the good reasons that he disliked him.

“He is not what I imagined. He is..."

Not like us.

That cryptic sentence took all its sense when you introduced your boyfriend to your father. He didn’t fit in. Your father wanted someone who could speak his language, who could share his memories of the country they left…

“And you’re living with him without even getting married?”

“You know what the people will say!”

“I raised you better than this…”

Hearing him screaming was somehow less hurtful that his resigned voice. He could sound so disappointed sometimes that you almost wondered why you even kept trying.

But at least at the time, you had your mother by your side. She always knew how to calm him down. She was like this bridge between the two of you and somehow she was the only one who would manage to help you find a compromise.

At least when she was alive.

***

You couldn’t run to your mother after an argument anymore and you’d rather stay alone than talk with anyone else. At least, that’s what you used to think. Now that you were back in this house, you might as well go and see her.

The next day, you grabbed your windbreaker and headed out of the house before your father had waken up. You had spent the last evening, alone in your room. It’s been so long since the two of you fought; you had forgotten how bad it could hurt sometimes. The thought that Miguel could have heard your argument made you feel so embarrassed. What was he thinking now?

The air around you was crisp and you could feel the scent of the pines and the muddy ground this early in the morning. It was a perfect day for what you were about to do… The gates of the cemetery had barely opened when you walked inside. It was a few days before Halloween and a few people would come and clean the graves soon, change the flowers… Seeing all the decorated graves made you regret not bringing anything. And given your father’s state, no one probably brought anything to your mother’s grave.

She was right where you remembered her. The plaque with her name stood at the foot of a small hill. A vase with withered flowers, a decoration with a dove...exactly how you remembered it to be. You carefully sat in front of it and watched the black marble. A few remaining raindrops from the night slid down the material, on top of her name engraved on it.

“Beloved mother and wife.”

Finally, some peace and some silence.

You didn’t know how long exactly you stayed there, sometimes contemplating the grey sky, sometimes the delicate intricacy of the letters of her name. Next time you would bring some flowers you promised as much as her than to yourself. At some point while looking at the build-up of stormy clouds in the sky, you noticed a large silhouette, all too familiar, moving down the hill.

What was he doing here?

You tried to get up despite your numb legs and the silhouette seemed to walk faster in your direction, his long coat flowing behind him. It was only when the first raindrops fell down that he managed to join you.

Miguel didn’t even dare asking you anything, if you were feeling alright, who you came to visit… the answer to each question was obvious. Instead, he simply offered you shelter under his umbrella and a tissue for your wet eyes.

“Do you want to stay a bit longer here?”, he finally asked after a few seconds. You shook your head and the two of you made your way out of the graveyard. His arm was holding yours, guiding you gently toward the exit, his sturdy shoulder brushing against yours from time to time.

When you reached his car, Miguel opened the door for you and then sat in front of the stirring wheel. But he didn’t feel like taking you back home now. And neither did you.

The rain was hitting the roof of the car in a loud, discorded melody. You could barely see the world outside through that much rain. A slight fog had covered the windows with the warmth of the heater, and yet your shoulders don’t stop shivering.

Miguel’s comforting hand gently squeezed your shoulder as he tried to make you look this way, a vain attempt to anchor you in the moment.

“Hey…”

He was slowly getting a bit more worried that you’re not responding but he doesn’t dare insisting. His hand stopped at a few inches from your face before he slowly leaned back into his seat. The silence inside the car was only troubled by your heavy breaths as you tried to compose yourself. After a few minutes, he couldn’t hold it anymore and asked: “Do you want to talk about it?”

You were not sure if he was talking about the argument with your father or your visit to the cemetery but you still shook your head. He felt a bit relieved when he heard your voice, even if it was barely a whisper:

“I’m fine, Miguel.”

An other heavy silence filled up the space inside the car and quite surprisingly you were the one breaking it this time, again.

“Why were you here?”

His eyes seemed suddenly very focused on the stirring wheel and he absented-mindly started rubbing his pointer finger with his thumb while looking for his words.

“I needed to visit someone.”

===============================================

Notes: This was a pretty messy chapter, so I want to thank anyone who took the time to read this.

I'm currently working on the seventh chapter and just so you know, I'm very impatient to write it.

Taglist: @safixiovi @laysmt @reverieblondie

My Masterlist!

< part 5 / part 7 >

#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #astv miguel #miguel 2099 #fanfic #spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #dbf!miguel #miguel angst #daddy issues #older dad bf #this fic has turned into my therapy #i'm sorry

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gingerjunhan · 4 months

Note

could write something about how would it be if they took the first step in the relationship? i really need something really fluffy this days😭

btw, i really love everything you write!!

☆彡 thank you sm for the love! I’m more than happy to provide you with some fluff 🫡 hope you’re doing well! 🩷🩷

word count: 723 | pronouns used: they/them | genre: fluff! | cws: Taemin Warning™️, all caps used, lmk if I missed anything!

goo gunil

Gunil is confident until the very last second

he hypes himself up and falls short

“I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna tell them how I feel!”

practices in the mirror beforehand

probably loses sleep over it too lmao

he tried to plan the perfect moment to tell you

but it just ends up coming out when it feels right

it’ll be a private setting

he’s sweating bullets

holding his breath

but when he finds out you feel the same way he’s sooo relieved

gives you a big hug 🥹

instantly starts planning your first date

kim jungsu

he’s nervous and you can tell (pt. 1)

Jungsu- for some reason- is convinced! that you don’t like him back

so he keeps putting off his confession

he puts it off and puts it off until one day

the two of you are out doing something together

like, running a simple arrand or shopping or something

and BAM! he just blurts it out

“Hey Jungsu, which of these colors do you like bet-“

“Do you wanna go on a date sometime?”

you just blankly stare at each other before he forced himself to take a deep breath and explain why that just happened

needless to say, you say yes :]

kwak jiseok

I can imagine Jiseok doing this like a kid on a playground

“Hey (Y/N). I know someone who liiiikes youuuu!”

no but seriously imagine it

the two of you are just hanging out one day

having casual conversation

and he slips in the, “so are you seeing anybody right now?”

??? no ???

why is he asking? he should know this?

you ask him the same, and he sees his chance to strike

“No, but I do have my eye on someone.”

and the rest is history

you were honestly kinda shocked by how smooth it went

he’s got the rizzness 😼 (I’m so sorry)

oh seungmin

you think he would be chill but NO

Seungmin is nervous and you can tell (pt. 2)

he tried to make the moment perfect

unlike Gunil, to tries to set the scene as well as making sure the vibes are juuuust right

he’ll do it privately in case things go poorly and he embarrasses himself

he also thinks it feels more personal in that way

maybe over a late night talk?

he takes a deep breath and turns to you with a serious face

“Hey, can I tell you something?”

you feel the mood shift, he’s wide-eyed, your heart stops, it’s horrifying for a split second until

“(Y/N), I like you. A lot.”

it’s over

after you confess that you feel the same way, he’s going in

a quick little peck on the cheek and the night can officially be labeled as “Perfect”

han hyeongjun

he. is. HORRIFIED.

what if you don’t feel the same way? there’s no way you feel the same way!!!

he would try and see if there was a way into tricking you into confessing first

but Hyeongjun is competitive

he needs to win you over before someone else can

so he’s torn

“I gotta tell them. No, I can’t- I’ll just make a fool of myself.”

one day as you’re both hanging out, he gets wrapped up in this conflict again and you notice him spacing out

“Jun? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.” uh oh

he goes red in the face but you find it soooo endearing

his confession may have started in accident, but boy was he glad to get it over with

lee jooyeon

super casual

it was no surprise to you that Jooyeon had feelings for you

he made it kinda obvious

but he had no clue how you felt about him

so when you told Gunil one night that you had feelings for Jooyeon as well…

it was all hands on deck

you were too nervous to confess because- despite his obvious feelings- what if you were just seeing things and you made it all up?

so Gunil had to play wingman

“Jooyeon, here’s what I know…” he gives Jooyeon and lowdown and Jooyeon begins his plan of attack

the next time you guys hang out, he just lays it on you

“Hey, (Y/N). Are you free Saturday? I’d like to take you out.”

after you agree to the date, this man giggles

he’s practically bouncing off the walls he’s so excited and happy

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

#xdinary heroes x reader #xdinary heroes imagine #xdh x reader #xdh imagines #xdh fluff #xdh scenarios #ot6

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kithmeansfriend · 1 year

Text

TECHNICOLOR JACKASS

Sometimes looking the best means being the worst.

Features:

3 Armor Sets

5 Shaders

i'm sorry

For some reason, the original version was very popular on reddit

Originally made in protest of the Competitive Spirit set's un-modifiable decals, the bright and clashing colors aided my community service as "Embrace the Light Helper".

For those unfamiliar, Embrace the Light was a Triumph from the first Guardian Games that required 25 Super kills in Rumble. However, being a free-for-all PVP mode that was popular with elite players and (at the time) having very little matchmaking, it wasn't uncommon for matches to pass so quickly that it wasn't possible to get a Super charged in the first place. Many complaints were made about this poorly-conceived Triumph, so I decided to take it upon myself to try to help the situation, entering matches and loitering in obvious locations so other players could get their Super kills.

Things quickly escalated when other players noticed my efforts and began organizing around me, either attempting to protect me from non-Super attacks or simply taking turns casting their Supers.

In the end, I helped somewhere in the ballpark of 200 Guardians get their Embrace the Light triumph, and a good chunk of those players remain on my Friends List today.

Unfortunately it's a lot harder to do something similar now since we can't change names freely anymore, but when I'm wearing the outfit in the tower people frequently stop and dance with me.

#destiny 2 #Threads of Light #destiny #destiny fashion #Titan Fashion #Kith's Lookbook

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ifoundyo-u · 7 months

Note

Hi there! Can we please get a Geto Suguru one shot where, despite his hate for humans, ironically he falls in love with reader (fem human reader or gn, whatever it’s up to you). Like maybe you can describe the from hate to love path they go through^^.

Sorry if I didn’t explain myself clear, English isn’t my mother tongue 😅

Hi! Thank you so much for your request! I hope you’ll like it <3

Disclaimer : English is not my mother tongue so be nice 🙏

Words : 2100

Scenario : In which, despite his hate for non-sorcerer, Suguru Geto fall for one. From hate and fear to love and comfort.

TW : Mention of murder

GETO X F!READER

Falling in love with you

The neon lights of Tokyo's bustling cityscape cast an eerie glow on the quiet streets as you, a young waitress, made your way to your night shift at a cozy little cafe. Unknown to you, this night would change your life forever.

As you served some customers with a genuine smile, you couldn't help but overhear a conversation at a nearby table.

Sitting at the table on your left, was a tall man with long black hair tied back at the back of his head, and a strand falling down in front of his face. He had squinted eyes and large earlobes, each with a piercing. He was dressed in a yellow rakusu with green tiles over a black yukata and black pants. This particular-looking man was accompanied by a short, chubby, bald man, he was wearing a light-colored striped suit.

They were at a table for a good twenty minutes, you had seen one of your coworkers greeting them and taking their order earlier. You had immediately noticed the black haired man's coldness towards your colleague and secretly wished you didn't have to serve him. You're not one to judge people, there's always a good reason why people react the way they do, but tonight you really weren't fit enough to deal with a rude customer. Indeed, you'd had quite a headache for a week now, nothing seemed to make it go away and you were starting to get seriously exhausted from the pain. You'd been sleeping poorly ever since. Your focus go back to the two men, who seemed to have been arguing since their arrival in the café.

-"Geto-sama, I can assure you that I'll be able to resume monthly donations within the next month, just long enough for my company to get back on its feet."

-"Kanemori-san, I've been ignoring your lack of activity in the cult for months. If I don't receive anything or anyone by tonight…you know damn well what will happen."

Their conversation seemed strange to you. A cult? this guy Kanemori owed money to that Geto guy, that you clearly understood. The threats he made to the poor little man sent a chill down your spine, even though you weren't even involved.

You then accidently met this Geto's gaze. An even more intense shiver ran through your body, and you're sure you trembled under the pressure of his gaze. Suddenly, your coworker put his hand on your shoulder, startling you.

-"Y/N! here's for table 18!" he smiled sweetly, passing you two plates.

Wait, table 18? that's the two men's table. You swallow hard and try to return your coworker's smile.

-"Thanks, I'll bring it right away".

You took a deep breath before heading for table 18. You pushed the negative thoughts from your mind, you were nobody to judge these people, you keep repeating yourself. You approached them, a soft smile on your lips, and set their plates down in front of them.

-"Good evening Sirs, here are your food, if you need anything, don't hesitate!"

The two men glared at you, but you kept on smiling. Before leaving, you quickly noticed that Geto was staring at the top of your head, so you gave him a questioning look, but he said nothing, lowering his gaze to his food before muttering

-"Stupid monkey"

Excuse me?! Oh how you wanted to call him back and ask him to dare to repeat what he'd just said. But you quickly reconsidered, partly because of your headache, but also because you didn't want to lose your job. You hadn't forgotten the conversation you'd overheard, either; this man seemed powerful and threatening. You lived alone in the center of Tokyo, so it was best to avoid that kind of trouble.

As the night went on, you tried to keep up a smile despite the exhaustion and pain. Not to mention the rather uncomfortable stares Geto was throwing at you. What had you possibly done to him? He and his partner finally left after a solid hour. This was a small relief for you, as he really seemed to be putting a heavy strain on the café, which only you seemed to be experiencing.

Your shift ended around midnight. You greeted the few of your coworkers who were finishing cleaning up the café before stepping out into the dark streets of Tokyo. It was slightly cold, so you tucked in your jacket and hurried home. You only lived a 10-minute walk from the café, which was quite convenient, especially when you finished late. You'd never been particularly afraid of walking home alone at night, the neighborhood was well reputed and given the short distance you thought nothing could happen to you. However, that particular night, without being able to justify or explain it, you had the feeling of being particularly watched, but nobody seemed to be around, and you eventually made it home safely. Once you'd warmed up in your apartment and had a good shower, you took some medicine to hopefully ease your headache, then went straight to bed.

You woke up the next morning, you didn't have to work today so you took the time to prepare yourself a good breakfast and settle down in front of the TV. However, when you turned on the TV, you were immediately greeted by the regional news and its headline

Murder in central Tokyo

Your eyes widened as the front of the café you worked at appeared on the screen. Your stomach flipped as the victim's face finally showed up.

Kanemori

The man who accompanied last night's intimidating man, Geto. Your thoughts were going 100 miles an hour. Geto had threatened this Kanemori last night, you'd heard it, you'd witnessed it. Did he…? No, that's impossible. You refuse to believe that. Your whole being refused to believe it. You turned off the TV and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be all right.

You spent the whole day walking in endless circles, trying to forget about all this, but how could you? You busied yourself as best as you could for the rest of the day, knowing that the next day you'd have to go back to the café.

The next night, you were back at work, the atmosphere at the café was tense, and a cloud of unease hung over the staff and patrons alike. The recent murder weighed heavily on everyone's minds. You couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread as you went about your duties. Not many customers were there that night, probably because of all that had happened, but you couldn't blame them, you'd have avoided the area too if you had been able to.

As the night progressed, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, just like the previous night. It was an eerie sensation that sent shivers down your spine. The cafe's emptying tables only added to the eerie silence. Eventually, you found yourself at Table 18, the same table where Geto Suguru and Kanemori had sat the previous night. Your heart raced as you remembered the chilling encounter with Geto. You couldn't help but glance around nervously, half-expecting him to appear again. And that's when he walked into the café

Geto Suguru had been observing Y/N from a distance, his presence shrouded in the darkness that concealed him. He couldn't explain the strange fascination that had taken hold of him. He had always despised non-sorcerers, seeing them as insignificant in the grand scheme of his jujutsu sorcerer world. Yet, there was something about Y/N that drew him in, something he couldn't ignore.

He stepped into the café and immediately noticed the waitress stiffen. He sat down at table 18 without saying a word.

As he watched her serve the customers with a genuine smile, a feeling of unease settled in his chest. He had come to the cafe with a purpose yesterday, a sinister mission to collect a debt owed to his cult. Kanemori's life had been forfeit, and Geto had made sure of it. But Y/N had unwittingly become a part of this twisted web, and he couldn't stay away. Their brief interaction at the table only fueled his obsession. Her soft smile in the face of his hostility had left an indelible mark on him.

He couldn't understand why he felt this way, why he couldn't stop thinking about her. As the night wore on, Geto couldn't tear his gaze away from Y/N. He watched her as she moved around the cafe, serving the few remaining customers. Her exhaustion and pain were evident, but she soldiered on with determination. Only he could see it, the reason for her exhaustion, the curse hanging over the young waitress's head.

He found himself returning to the area around the cafe, unable to stay away. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground. His obsession with Y/N was a distraction he couldn't afford, especially with the cult's plans in motion. But he couldn't help himself. Night after night, sometimes he went into the café, and other times he stayed in the dark. His body would unconsciously bring him back here. He would watch from the shadows, waiting for Y/N to finish her shift and walk home alone. He couldn't explain why he did it, why he couldn't stay away from her. But as the days turned into weeks, Geto's obsession grew. He couldn't stop thinking about Y/N, even during his cult's meetings and sinister rituals. She had become a forbidden desire, a temptation he couldn't resist.

As he sat at table 18 again one night, Y/N approached, her nervousness palpable. The atmosphere in the cafe had become even more charged with his presence. He watched her closely, his gaze never leaving her. The tension between them was undeniable, a magnetic pull that defied reason.

-"Good evening, sir," Y/N greeted him, her voice trembling slightly. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Geto's eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, he was lost in the depths of her gaze.

-"I'll have the same as last time," he replied, his tone softer than before.

Y/N nodded and quickly went to fetch his order. Despite her fear and unease, she couldn't help but feel a strange connection to Geto. Thoughts of him had occupied her mind during her sleepless nights, and now, seeing him again, she couldn't deny the undeniable pull she felt toward him.

As Y/N returned with Geto's order, she tried to maintain a professional demeanor, but her heart raced. She couldn't understand why Geto's presence had such an effect on her. She had heard rumors about him and his involvement in the cult, but there was something more beneath the surface, something that drew her in despite her better judgment.

Geto took a bite of his food but continued to watch Y/N with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. He couldn't explain his own obsession either. It defied logic and reason, but he couldn't resist it.

Their eyes met again, and this time, something changed. Geto could see the discomfort in Y/N's eyes, and he realized that she was suffering. He couldn't let her continue to be burdened by whatever curse had been placed on her. Unable to contain his growing concern for Y/N, Geto decided to take matters into his own hands. He knew he had the power to exorcise the curse that plagued her, even if it meant revealing his jujutsu sorcerer abilities.

With a deliberate movement, Geto reached out and lightly tapped the top of Y/N's head with his index and middle fingers, almost like a gentle flick on the forehead. It was a jujutsu sorcerer's technique, a simple yet effective way to exorcise curses. Y/N gasped as a rush of energy surged through her body. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The headache that had plagued her for weeks disappeared in an instant, leaving her feeling lighter and more alive than she had in a long time.

Y/N couldn't believe what had just happened. The pain that had tormented her for so long had disappeared and she felt an immense relief. She looked at Geto in amazement.

-"You… How?" she stammered, her voice filled with gratitude and disbelief.

Geto's expression remained stoic, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes, something akin to compassion. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to reveal a little of his humanity, and this had created an unexpected bond between them. Geto simply handed her a card.

-"If the pain ever comes back, call me."

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen

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wisellamawerewolf · 2 months

Text

What's that? HOT single dad with BIG naturals in YOUR area Hazbin Hotel tag? More likely than you think!

Ok, jokes aside, I've decided to try something new for myself and redesign HH Lucifer. I'm gonna preface this by saying that I'm not a professional character designer (in fact I can barely draw), but I tried anyway just for the fun of it.

Sorry I took your goofy tumblr sexyman wannabe and turned him into a depressed dead-beat dilf, who's deeply unamused by the shit happening around him. Also he is trans and doesn't even bind (like a king he is) because I have to represent Viv's biblical lore as accurately as possible.

*Disclaimer: under the cut you can find an obnoxiously long text detailing my design choices. It's probably poorly articulated and not at all amusing, so you can just skip it. Also there's a badly drawn hat somewhere down there, so beware.*

I'll begin with the most obvious: Lucifer's main inspiration for his look was the ram. Mostly because the goat is supposedly already taken by Satan if I remember VivziePop Lore correctly, but also because it's a direct reference to a sacrificial lamb. I used images of a Jacob sheep as a reference, for multiple reasons: 1. Their fur often has a two-colored pattern (usually black/dark brown and white, which will become important later), 2. Sometimes they can grow as much as four horns, which kinda gives me this occult, almost demonic vibe, I was going for. 3. They're kinda cute. Look at them majestic beasts:

Moving on.

In the hellaverse the seven deadly sins are supposed to be themed after different types of circus performers, and Lucifer wasn't an exception, his outfit clearly being inspired by a ringmasters' costume, while his white face with red cheeks are supposed to resemble a clown makeup.

I've decided to keep the circus theme and run with it (maybe a bit too far, as you will see in a second).

My first point of reference was the same as in the original: the ringleader. Given the chosen theme it kinda makes sense, since he is supposed to be a main ruler of hell. You can really tell that he runs this circus. Awful jokes aside, his upper wear is obviously inspired by a circus ringmasters' outfits, with a mix of trates from another character that can be sometimes found performing in a circus, which brings us to:

Pierrot. Now, although his character originated from the Italian theater, pierrot can be considered a clown in a more modern sense. (At least I think so. If I'm wrong clown experts can kick my ass in the comments, I probably deserve this)

Pierrot often characterized as a melancholic, a sufferer and a tragic lover. When it comes to the humor in the circus setting specifically, it usually comes from the pierrot's melancholic nature and often involves his clumsiness and kind of self-deprecating slapstick, which I find quite fitting for a man who fucked up so bad that he isolated himself from the rest of the world and who's wife left him because of that. Lucifer's whole life after the fall has been one giant unfunny joke, and he isn't coping well with it.

Elements of a pierrot costume can be observed in the white jacket, the coat lapel of which is mimicking a frilled collaret. The fur pattern on his face is also a reference to a pierrot's make-up: a white face with black (well, brown in our case) tears.

Lastly, you probably have noticed the shirt, which has the main colour accent to it. It's actually inspired by a strongman singlet.

I've decided to give it less stripes for simplicity (also because I'm lazy). He's supposed to be wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt underneath his costume, but I'm too tired to draw another image, so I guess you have to use your imagination on that one. I'll be frank, it's mostly supposed to be a little nod to the fact that Lucifer is supposed to be a strongest being in hell. Yeah I included it into my design because of a bad pun.

On a second thought, it's probably not great that I've tried to crum in three different types of circus performers into one character, but I'm not a professional character designer, so I legitimately do not know if that's ok. More experienced people are welcome to critique or correct me in the replies/comments.

BONUS:

While finishing the first image I randomly thought to myself that besides the ringleader elements, there's may not be enough clues that he's a monarch. So I decided to do a separate image where I clown around to try and redesign his crown/tophat, so here it is:

And if I decided to break down my thought process designing Lucifer himself, I might as well do it here also.

I've decided to keep the crown and ringmasters' tophat elements. I used images of a ringleaders' tophats and the imperial state crown as my main points of reference.

All the metallic elements of the "crown" are actually made out of pyrite, also known as a fool's gold (you can really tell that I'm a fan of dumb puns). I decided to used it to further showcase how Lucifer ruling the hell is treated like a joke.

Chains surrounding the tophat are supposed to represent how Lucifer was unwillingly thrown into this position and it weighs him down.

These two rings at the bottom are supposed to look kinda like a snakeskin (yes really), which is a reference to that scene where he turns into a snake to give Eve an apple. Speaking of which:

At the top is placed an imperial orb, with a upsidedown star (pentagram) instead of a cross. It carries the same meaning as a regular imperial orb in a sense that it shows monarch's power, but it's also kinda mocks the regular globus cruciger. (Fun fact: russians sometimes call it something like a "monarch's apple". I just thought it was kinda funny considering the context I'm using it in.).

The rest of the elements are taken from a regular tophat ringleaders' usually wear.

Anyway, that's all I have. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or replies, I'll gladly read them.

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel redesign

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eltanin0 · 19 days

Note

I just found this blog and I noticed that a lot of your stuff seems, well, oddly 3D. I don't mean like in a bad way but it feels like rendered but untextured 3D models? I kinda want to ask what your art process is (sorry for mini-rant)

thanks for checking out my blog! and no need to apologize for anything.

hmm, my art process. honestly i have no idea what to say, i dont know how people normally answer this question so i cant base it off anything either. i'm still kinda new to this whole art thing but i'll try and answer, super sorry if i get this completely wrong and this was all a waste of time.

i guess i'll just talk about how i draw things step by step? for the high effort pieces at least.

ok, so for starters like step 0. when it's a high effort piece, i can already see the image in my mind. i see the pose, i see the general lighting, the layout of stuff, but it's a bit blurry. if i cant see this mental image, the drawing usually comes out extremely poorly.

this is kind of an example of what i see in my head? this might be all useless info idk, but this is i guess where i start.

well step 1 is just the sketch and line. i start with just sketching the general shapes, then slowly refining it until it fits close enough to the image in my head. then in the line layer i'll fix any mistakes the sketch had and add more details to it. oh and for brush, it's just a round brush, like default. i dont know how much of a difference using a drawing tablet does, but i dont use one so... yeah.

i should've put more effort into the sketch for this drawing, but i did not.

next i do flat colors. pretty simple, i just select the smart select the outside of the line layer, invert the selection and now i can't paint outside the lines. i dont really think about what colors i use, i just use whatever the characters normal colors are.

next i do the shading, but first. i duplicate flat layer and recolor it to like a cream color

like so. for high effort pieces, i was told online to shade in pretty much black and white. now actually onto shading. there's 2 kinda shading i do, 1 from the proper light source, and 1 that's kinda just a shadow because things are close together (like corners and stuff). and i'll shade them on separate layers so i can adjust them individually however i want. oh right, i'll either use a very dark color, pretty much black and the the layer blending mode set to multiply. or i'll use a light kind of gray, tinted slightly yellow or something and set the layer blend mode to difference. then i just use a soft air brush and shade in the ways i described above. shading from regular light source, and the corner stuff thing.

normal lightsource - - - - - corner thing

then toggle both layers on and mess with the opacity of each layer until you get what you want.

then you can toggle the normal flats layer, the one that has color and it should apply the shading decently. you can mess with the opacity again on the shadows.

next i do lighting. i just grab a very light color, usually pretty close to white and set the layer blend mode to overlay. then i use a soft airbrush and "light" it? idk i just do like the opposite of the normal shadows, lighter the closer it is to the light source

mess around with the opacity as usual. then i do pretty much the same thing if there's another light source. in this case there was a blue light kinda coming from underneath, so i did that.

now from here i would go back to the flats layer, make a copy, and mess around with different layer styles and properties and settings. sometimes just messing around is useful. in this case, i felt it was too bright and colorful, so i decreased the brightness and saturation of it.

i think it helped a little bit but who knows.

now i do some kinda highlights and details. i grabbed the colors that were in the background and used those. it was a weird pale blue. i had 2 layers for this, 1 of them was specifically for his antenna things at the top, and one was just for his "skin". anyway, the antenna layer was normal, just kinda gave it an outline with the random reflective circles you see normally in pictures, no thoughts behind them. the skin tho had the layer blend mode set to soft light, i thought it looked best this way. it was just more random things to imply it was slightly reflective.

together the layers looked like this. i think it makes him look glossier which is what i was aiming for.

next, and it pretty much the end for pebbles, i got someone to look at it and let me know if they think anything was missing. they said it looked a little unsaturated. which it does. so i made a new layer, set the blend mode to saturation, grabbed the airbrush and made it pretty inline with the lighting layer.

that's kinda it. the background i didnt really care about, just drew and colored it. blurred it a bunch and added a bunch of shadows. i did add some like, "overshadows" is what i call it, i just draw some big shadows down the screen as the top layer.

but yeah thats literally everything i did to draw this. i would like to apologize if this was not at all what you wanted to know, i'm certain i've screwed this up bigtime. super sorry for wasting your time. if there's anything i can do to help, please ask. i owe you a proper answer to your question, i'm just really dumb. sorry for rambling. sorry. and sorry if the drawing i used for example didnt showcase what you wanted to know.

also, i really like your art! please keep up the great work!

#i think i did this all wrong #i'm so sorry #i feel incredibly stupid #:I #rambling :I #now everyone get's to see how little i know about drawing

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skylarsblue · 1 month

Text

★Sugar Cube★

★Red Dead Redemption★ ★Fem!Reader cause I was having a fem! day, use of Y/N(sorry), fluff, a tiny bit of hurt/comfort at the end, silly drunk Arthur at the start, I don't think there's sexual tension here but I could be wrong. The autism has overtaken me and he is all I think about, the depression wave is only kept at bay by this man.★ ★The border in the story is @fairytopea 's, if you'd like me to remove it I will :3★

The world rocked back and forth, a haze over the rolling fields of grass. Arthur slumped his head down a bit, looking at trees passing by. He had to be running, he was pretty sure walking didn’t make the world move so fast. This speed was extraordinary! Since when could he run so fast? He used to be quick in his youth, but nearing forty, his knees had really aged poorly. But here he was, zipping down a dirt road with agility, wind blowing past his face. With such grace too. Then, suddenly a bump, and he felt himself tilt dramatically to the side. Two long blinks and horse hooves hitting the ground came to his ears. He looked forward, seeing his trusty steed he’d been bonding with the past week dodging a tree to continue up the path. Arthur groaned a little and pulled himself right, then he leaned forward, weighed down by his own head. It was bumpy, but he rested his cheek on the horse’s neck, humming in a moment of peace when feeling the horse’s fur rubbed against his stubble. It was soft and warm. He always liked that about horses.

“Heheh, nice horsey.” He slurred, patting the horse’s side. It snorted, slowing down to a prance as the trees became thicker. Arthur continued petting the horse’s fur when it occurred to him that he was saying ‘it’. “Ah you’re not some random horse. Nah nah, I named you, right? Uh…what was it…” He mumbled, looking at the light brown color of the Clydesdale horse. A dusty color. Arthur gasped, a bit choked by his own saliva. “Dusty! That’s what I named ya! Ahh, Dusty you’re the best horse this side o’ the country.” He laid against her again, listening to her snort again, which made him let out a fit of giggles. Deep, short laughs that erupted from his chest. He looked around at the trees, and despite his fuzzy brain, he was able to pick out a landmark.

“Buh, camp. They're gonna make me go do some…stupid…tedious chore or somethin’.” The honey-brown haired man pouted. He huffed out a breath as Dusty went under a broken, spiky tree, approaching a lantern lit spot full of tents. The sun was setting. Dusty stomped past the horse ties and more toward the middle of the camp, catching the attention of some of the gang.

“Arthur Morgan, what the hell are you doin’?!”

Arthur winced at the shrill yell. He blinked slowly, looking in its direction, finding Miss O’Shea stood with her hands situated on her hips and a scowl ever present. He sat up slowly, hands grabbing the saddle so he wouldn’t fall, given how wobbly he was. “Heeyyy, Miss O’Sheaaa. Evenin’.” He nodded, though his head didn’t really come up afterward. The woman scoffed and tossed her hands up in exasperation, falling back to her sides with a smack sound. Lenny snickered from his place at the table. “You have fun at the saloon, Morgan?!” Javiar shouted to him. The man nodded again. The men laughed as O’Shea yelled for him to get down. He almost did until she called him a moron.

“‘Ey! I ain’t no moron! I’m quite smart, I’ll have you know.” He pointed, only for the loss of a stability point to send him leaning forward again. Dusty brayed as he landed against her neck once more. Arthur heard some more laughs from the picnic table but he didn’t open his eyes again. “Arthur Morgan, get your sorry ass off the horse.” She said again, and Arthur replied with a discontent grunt. “‘er name is Dusty, first o’ all. And two, no. Cause you called me a moron.” He replied defiantly, ending his sentence with a small hiccup. O’Shea blinked in awe at the utter sass as Arthur flipped his head over to keep from looking at her.

“Dutch, will you get your boy?” She motioned at the horse. Dutch chuckled around his cigar and held up his hands. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me? He’s a brat when he’s drunk.” He shrugged.

“Who’s drunk?” A sweetened voice asked. Walking around a tent with a bucket of water settled on her hip. “Arthur’s bein’ a brat.” Miss O’Shea huffed. Y/N set the bucket down and looked toward the horse, watching the rough and steely outlaw hum a tune while petting his companion, giggling quietly to himself when Dusty stamped a hoof into the ground and huffed. She laughed quietly behind her hand, watching him hug Dusty and mutter slurred praises. “Ah, I see, he’s drunk.” She nodded. “Drunk and ornery. We need him somewhat put together by tomorrow, so he needs to sleep this off, but the moron won’t get off the damn horse!” O’Shea shouted back at him. “Dusty!” He called back, more concerned about the respect to his horse than himself. Y/N giggled and shook her head. “You’re never gonna get him to listen with all that hollerin’. The way to get a stubborn boy to listen is to sweet talk’im. Lemme try.” She patted O’Shea on the shoulder before walking up to the Clydesdale.

“Arthur, hun, can ya look at me?” She asked. In an instant, he turned his head to look at her, and a goofy grin appeared across his face. “Heyyy, how’re you?” He asked. Y/N smiled up at him, feeling a sense of fondness bursting in her chest. She’d always been fond of Arthur, perhaps to the point of blatant favoritism. She didn’t really hide it either. While she might’ve been generally kind and helpful to the gang as a whole, it wasn’t hard to see when she gave him special treatment. When washing or fixing clothes, she’d take his without him asking, while she’d put up some resistance with the rest. When a petty argument broke out between him and someone else, she’d only really get onto the other party for saying something untoward, while Arthur’d get something half-heartedly scolding. “Let’s try to keep the peace, m’kay? Why don’t’cha go sit down and relax?” While someone like Micha got chewed up like a dog with a bone. Though, honestly, Micha probably had it coming most of the time.

She never outright denied her general adoration for the man, though she never explained it either. Maybe it was because he’d been the one to find her, help her out of the mess she’d been in. Or maybe it was because he was so helpful to her, to everyone. Or, perhaps, she just thought he was pretty. Could’ve been all of the above, really.

“I’m doin’ fine. You look like you could be doin’ better.” Y/N replied. He waved a hand with a light-hearted scoff. “Nah I’m fiiinne.” He went to get off the horse, dismounting with a wobble. He held his hands out in front of him to catch himself, and she readied to catch him if he went backwards instead, even if he was probably too heavy for her to carry. Thankfully, he stood upright, and pivoted with a smile. “See? Fine.” He said, as if he’d actually proven something. Y/N tilted her head and fought off some giggles, unlike the men at the table watching it all. “Sure, Arthur. How bout we get you lied down, hm?” She suggested, gently resting her hand on his arm to help keep him steady. Arthur shook his head and waved his hand dismissively again.

“Naaah nah, y’all got work to finish, I should help.” He said. Y/N sighed, her free hand coming to rest on her hip. O’Shea rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I told you. Ain’t got no sense when he’s drunk.” The woman complained. Y/N held up a hand, silently telling her to settle down and give her a moment. If there was one thing Arthur was, it was a real bitter life. All iron and blood-soaked palms, tarnished leather and black coffee. It was how he’d been raised, and while it wasn’t something he’d grown to dislike, something being familiar didn’t necessarily make it pleasant. Y/N had seen peeks of something softer.

How tender his voice was when calming a horse, or how careful his lines were when he sketched a landscape, and how gentle his gaze got when left with a moment of peace. All these little moments of softness to help some part of him to stay alive, keep himself from turning into nothing but a selfish, shallow husk. But keeping it alive on his own had to be tough. Y/N had always been the caring type, even when it got her into dangerous situations. She’d grown less naive, but not less sensitive, and that need to let life flourish was something she held onto dearly. Be it a garden or a man who probably hadn’t had a hug in Lord knows how long.

“I think it’s real nice you wanna help, but ain’t you been doin’ a lot recently?” Y/N asked. Her voice was softer, sweeter, and it caught Arthur’s attention almost immediately. “Uh, well…” He trailed off and leaned into her hand, now giving a gentle squeeze to the tense muscle of his shoulder. “All that runnin’ ‘round, pickin’ up the slack. All kinds of stuff you barely got thanked for. Don’t’cha deserve a little rest? Even just a nap?” She asked. His shoulders loosened the more she spoke, like he was being lulled to sleep with a lullaby.

The blue eyed man hummed quietly, then began to nod slowly. “Yeah…Yeah I do a lot, don’t I? I guess a lil rest wouldn’t hurt.” He mumbled. Y/N smiled and slid her hand down to his, holding it carefully, despite the rough calluses and scars. With a cautious pull, she began to lead him, stumbling toward his tent. “I think you’re exactly right. So why don’t we get you situated for bed, hm? Maybe I’ll talk Dutch into gettin’ you some extra hours in the mornin’.” She said. With a look over her shoulder, she grinned proudly at the onlookers. That being the boys at the table, Dutch, and Miss O’Shea. All either with smiles of their own or agape mouths. She snickered before turning her attention back to Arthur, helping him duck into his tent and meander up to his cot.

He sat down with a grunt. “There ya go, ain’t that nicer than standin’?” She asked, reaching to remove his hat from his head. Arthur gave a noncommittal noise back, blinking slowly, trying to remove the haze in his vision. He was very sleepy all of a sudden, and his limbs felt oddly heavy. After dusting some dirt from his hat and setting it down, she pushed the strands of hair that’d fallen in his face out of the way. His hair had grown a bit, starting to reach the lower part of his neck. He let out a shaky exhale when her nails dragged over his scalp, and the sound brought a sorrowful feeling to her heart. It was something so small and quick, and yet it had such an effect. She hesitated to pull her hand back, playing it off as her fixing his hair a bit more as he fought to stay awake. “How bout we get you ready for bed, hm?” Y/N whispered. He peeked up at her, eyelids heavy and barely open to gaze at her features. Even in the dark her face made him feel warm, fuzzy, much like the alcohol he’d imbibed. He gave her a slow nod, yawning as she untied the handkerchief from around his neck. He helped the best he could, using the toe of his right boot to kick off the left one, then repeated the process for the other one. “Think you can manage your belt, hun?” She asked. He looked down at the golden buckle, as if actually considering if he could manage it, before he nodded and gave an affirmative grunt. She laughed under her breath as he struggled for a moment, picking up his boots in order to move them aside, lest he trip over them in the morning.

He managed, with a mild struggle, to get his belt undone and off. She took it from him and set it aside, being sure to remove his gun. He always kept it beside his bed or under his pillow, and she was going to honor that personal rule. “You need anything else, sweetheart?” Y/N asked, approaching him once again. She stood in front of him, close enough to touch, though his hands remained in his lap. She was dimly lit by a burning lantern in the far corner, running low on oil. His head felt heavy, but he forced his chin upward to look at her more. He opened his mouth, though words didn’t leave it. She smiled so sweetly, tucking his bangs back, watching him melt under it.

“Poor thing, all rusty steel and splitterin’ wood, ain’t no one takin’ care of you. You gotta be exhausted.” She said, letting his chin fall into her palm, supporting the weight for him, much to his endearment. He closed his eyes as she stroked his cheek with her thumb, undeterred by the roughness of his stubble. “Ain’t ever been rich enough for sugar.” He grumbled, words still a bit garbled, tongue tied from liquor. She clicked her tongue sympathetically. He unintentionally leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on her sternum. She shifted her positioning for him to be more comfortable, hands coming up to the back of his head and neck. He just about groaned when she lightly scratched his scalp, and oh how delighted she felt at it. Though how much he’d been deprived of this hurt her heart, the fact he was letting her make up for it felt all the nicer. She’d take bittersweet as a middle ground.

“Arthur.” She cooed his name, getting a grunt in response. She moved her hands to help him tilt his head up to look at her, met with a sleepy gaze, black pupils overtaking the blue she’d come to favor. “Tell ya what,” She began. “Whenever you get sick of the bitter world, and you want a little break, you come tell me. You can get all the sugar ya want, ‘kay? Everyone deserves a little sweetness here and there.” She offered. He stared at her, limp in relaxation. He hummed. “Ya sure?” He asked, feeling her gently guide him off of her and down to the bed. She propped his head on the pillow, putting his hands over his torso. “Mhm, absolutely positive.” She affirmed, covering him with the quilt rolled up at the end of the bed. She gave him another scratch to his temple, seeing as he liked it so much. His eyes fluttered closed, sighing. “Mm, alrighty, I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied, words hushed. “Good, now get some rest, cowboy. You’re gonna need it.” She cooed again. He was out quickly, allowing her to admire him for a moment. He was plastered, she doubted he’d remember any of the conversation they’d just had. But she wouldn’t mind repeating it to him anyway, since she meant it wholeheartedly. Perhaps a little selfishly, she pecked his forehead before leaving his tent, not missing the unconscious smile it got from him.

He hadn’t forgotten. Not the core parts of the night, anyway. Even when he’d woken up with a blasting headache thumping behind his eyes, trying to piece together everything. He remembered the majority of her words, and he couldn’t forget the feeling of her warmth, and the delicate way she spoke. And it humiliated him for the entire morning, but even when he was visibly ashamed she was sweet.

He’d sat up on his cot and put his head in his hands, grumbling to himself about how stupid he was. Flushed across his cheeks and up to his ears. Maybe if he asked John to help him, he could dig a hole and bury himself in it, the man owed him anyway. He called himself a fool, only to hear a giggle that forced his heart to a stop. With a wince, he glanced to the side between his fingers. Of course, there she stood, illuminated by the morning sun, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “A foolish decision doesn’t necessarily make a fool, Mr.Morgan. It’s several foolish decisions that make a pattern, then, that makes a fool.” She said, stepping into the tent. He slid his hands off his face and hesitantly took the cup she held out to him. She was trying to make him feel better, he knew that, and damn it worked.

“How’s your head feelin’, cowboy?” Y/N asked. He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat in the sockets, and the sunlight certainly wasn’t helping. He heard her chuckle as he sipped at the drink. It’s warmth nothing compared to hers, and shamefully, he wished to feel the heat of her palm on his face again, sober this time. “Asked Charles to grab some tea when he and Hosea had into town today, always helped me with headaches when I had it. I’ll make you a lil if it doesn’t settle soon.” She promised. He thanked her quietly, feeling her pat his shoulder. His tongue felt like metal in his mouth, weighing down the words he needed to use. He swallowed as she pivoted to leave, and he felt his chest tighten as she did.

Y/N paused when he coughed a little too poignantly. She looked over her shoulder, finding him fidgety and shy as he looked at the ground. “Yes, Arthur?” She asked, turning to look at him again. How sweet it was when he could only manage a quick glance before his cheeks flushed again. “I uh, ahem, last night…” He started, bouncing his leg slightly. She nodded and motioned for him to continue. He took in a deep breath. “You uh, you offered uhm…” He was so bad at words, it was one of his many faults. Either he spoke before he thought, or he used the wrong word and messed up the entire sentence, or he’d choke on whatever he wanted to say and they’d get sick of waiting, making him lose an opportunity. She had patience though, and let out another breathy laugh. Fond and kind, not mocking.

“I offered you sugar, yes. I said you could ask, whenever ya wanted, and I wouldn’t mind.” Y/N reiterated. He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the coffee in the little mug in his other hand. “So, uh, does that offer-” “It still applies when you’re sober, mister. Don’t worry.” She confirmed. Arthur swallowed. It felt like syrup, thick and encompassing, making him sluggish. He was still aware of the spiking pain in his skull, and while he knew it was his own fault, he would’ve loved relief. Even if he didn’t deserve it, to feel her nails gently pet at his head again sounded like heaven. He was a man of pride, and as mean as he could be, all rough and guarded, he still had a boyish sense of timidness when asking for something so nice. But she offered, and he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance. He’d been told before he needed to get better at knowing when he waited too long, and when he went too quick. Now, he hoped he was picking right.

“I uh…this coffee’s kinda harsh.” He held up the cup a little awkwardly. Y/N blinked before her expression softened, and he felt like ice under the heat of a fire as she walked back to him slowly. “That right?” She asked. Arthur cleared his throat and nodded. “Little harsh on the headache ‘s all.” He replied quietly. She tilted her head before her hand rose up, finding its place on his temple. With a little pressure from her thumb, she rubbed small circles, and it helped ease the ache. “So you’d prefer somethin’ a little sweeter, huh?” She asked. His shoulders loosened, and like the night before, his eyelids grew heavy. He nodded slowly, sighing when she lightly scratched at his scalp. “I got’cha.” She whispered, using both her hands to help combat the headache, even rubbing around his eyes, where it hurt the most. At this rate, he might not even need the tea she’d offered. However long she stood there, he relished all of it, the coffee growing colder by the second. When her hands finally stopped, coming to rest on his shoulders, his headache hadn’t vanished but was far more tolerable.

“How’re you feelin’?” She asked. Arthur stared up at her sleepily, face lax, and if you’d asked her, she’d say he seemed drunk again. “Better.” He confirmed. Y/N grinned, giving the muscle of his shoulder a light squeeze. Then her name was called. She winced and looked back at him. “I gotta help fix that wagon Micha’s idiotic ass broke.” She huffed, and he snickered. “I’ll be alright. Thank ya.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop grinning, and she was certain her expression showed her adoration, not like she was trying to hide it. “Alrighty then. Just lemme know if ya need anythin’.” She rose her hand to his hair, mussing it up this time. He groaned and went to fix it, listening to her giggle as she left the tent. He caught a glimpse of her right before she disappeared from line of sight, sighing when she was gone. He was a little too familiar with the ache he had to follow her.

“Shit.” He sighed, raising the coffee to his lips again. This time, he winced at the taste. Maybe he wasn’t as into bitterness as he thought he was.

From that day on, he progressively got more and more needy for a shot of something full of sucrose. It was subtle most of the time, mostly to avoid all the teasing the rest of the gang would undoubtedly give. But he’d started to ask even when others were around, and oh how it helped, even on the worst day.

On the third day since he’d arrived drunk off his ass, he’d muttered something about he and his horse missing sugarcubes on hard days. He’d been battered around by mother nature trying to get fish for that night’s dinner, laughed at by Javiar because a trout jumped out the damn river and smacked him in the face. Then Dusty caught sight of a snake in the grass on the way back, turned too quick, and had him slide off the side into the dirt, scraped up his elbow and dent the bill of his hat.

She’d heard him and paused what she was doing, turning to him with that gaze full of sympathy. She used her foot to pull over a stool beside her, motioning with her head for him to sit. When he did, she carried on with her task, but did her best to keep her hand somewhere on his back, caressing light circles in his shoulders as she recounted how grateful she’d been for what he’d done the past week. Unashamedly inflating his ego, and oh how it helped, having him leaning on the table as he listened to her praises.

Then a week passed and he’d gotten caught in the rain, without his horse. It’d been his fault for thinking a walk was a good idea when he knew the clouds in the distance spelled out a storm, but he’d been so sure he could’ve made it back in time. Of course, he didn’t, and he arrived back into camp soaking wet and muddied. The rain had turned to a light sprinkle but he was dripping water and scowling. He’d nearly punched Micha’s jaw off when the man took joy in his misery, until he caught sight of Y/N sewing a hole in Karen’s tights under cover. She saw his sorry state, and just like before, gave him a smile. An aura of ‘you poor thing’ that made him want to curl up in her lap. As if he wasn’t a grown man with more than a few bounties to his name.

He’d trudged over with an expression more akin to a pout than a scowl. She looked up at him as he stood, dripping water. “You know, before the storm hit, I cleaned some of your clothes. Should be dry by now. I even had some of that scented soap left, lavender.” She said. Arthur sighed and nodded, he hadn’t said it, but she knew the ‘thank you’ was in his mind. He went off to his tent, finding the clothes she was talking about laid out and ready for him. The anger that’d built up began to dwindle as he changed into them, hanging them up along with his hat before he made his way back to her.

She looked up from sewing and smiled. She grabbed the stack of clothes she was tasked with sewing and moved them aside, offering up the space beside her. He sat down close enough, their knees touched, sighing when she patted his leg. “Good job today.” She said. Three words, and it made him sink down, eased and peaceful. He muttered his gratitude and listened to her hum a tune, sound mixing with the sound of water hitting the earth.

By the second week, he’d grown accustomed to asking a little more blatantly. Asking if she had anything sweet after dinner, if she knew how much sugar cost at the shop, if she knew of anything candied to chase down the burn of some whiskey. Each time, she’d reply casually, but sneak in her tender touches and merciful gaze. She’d give him a once over and always knew just how much sugar to pour into his cup. On days where he only needed a little, she’d give him encouraging praise and a pat on the back, enough to keep his chin held high. On worse days, she’d overload it, allowing him to lean his head against her as she distracted him from his day with recountings of her own. Oh, and petting his hair, he always seemed to like that.

It’d really gotten more obvious to the gang. Leading to some teasing and hushed conversations, mostly the girls asking if they were sweet on one another. Arthur had flushed bright red, though it’d been hidden by a light sunburn, and waved his hand. Talking over them to make it clear he didn’t wanna hear it. While Y/N, mysterious as always, had shrugged with a cheeky grin and sauntered off. Really, it wasn’t hard to realize why they’d ask. Tilly said she’d seen Y/N look at him like he’d helped raise the sun every morning, Mary-Beth replied with Arthur’s pension for drawing her when he thought no one was looking. A whole page spread dedicated to her, she claimed. Though, none of them were quite foolish enough to try and nab his journal to look and confirm. But, Karen did like the sight of it. As brazen as she could be, she’d always loved romance in books, and she wouldn’t lie and say that the interactions weren’t entertaining.

She slipped her theories to Dutch when she overheard he’d be sending Arthur into a town just past Valentine to check around, see if he could find anything useful. He wasn’t sure who to send with the boy, even if Arthur was pretty capable on his own. Dutch wasn’t one for match-making, and he didn’t like meddling in romantic affairs, not when there were important things to look after. But, Arthur had been good to him, and it wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t done well with all the tasks he’d given her. He couldn’t see the harm in getting them a little alone time. Maybe it’d do Arthur some good.

Thing was, getting there was fairly easy, if you ignored the run in with some men that Dutch had pissed off half-way through. Or the mini dust storm that hit them suddenly. All of which culminated in them getting into town as the sun was setting, something that pissed Arthur off immensely, since he had stuff that needed buying. Chances were the shops would be closed by now.

“Could rob’em.” Y/N whispered as she tethered her horse outside a hotel. Arthur paused the process of rolling his sore neck to look at her, eyebrow raised. “I thought you preferred payin’ shopkeeps.” He replied. “I was kiddin’, Arthur. There are better places to rob and people more deservin’ of losin’ money.” She gently smacked his arm with a snicker. Arthur grumbled, adjusting his hat. “I’ll get the room situation handled, just see if anyone’s open.” She said. “Yes ma’am.” Arthur held up his hands, beginning to walk across the street. “And I mean it! Pay fairly!” She shouted to him whilst she made her way to the hotel door, getting a hand wave in response.

“Good evening, ma’am.” The man behind the counter greeted her. An older man with a thick handlebar mustache. “Evenin’. What’s the price of a room, sir?” She asked. “Two beds is five dollars a night, a single is two dollars.” He replied. Y/N winced and considered her options for a moment. She imagined Arthur wasn’t too picky, but she worried maybe it’d be a little uncomfortable. But, if he really did feel that way, she could simply sleep in a chair. She shook off her worries and nodded. “A single then, please.” She replied, getting a nod. She grabbed her money as he grabbed the key. “Ah, do you have baths? How much do they cost?”

“About 25 cents, a dollar for a wash girl.” The man replied. She shook her head and slipped him forty cents. “I have a friend I’m stayin’ with. His name’s Arthur. Blue eyes, stubble, black hat, covered in dirt. Can’t miss’im.” She smiled. “If you could tell him I paid for a bath and the room, I’d appreciate it. Lord knows he’s earned it.”

The man nodded and pointed back to the bath rooms. Y/N thanked him again. She didn’t plan on staying in there long, just a quick rinse. She preferred not dragging outside into bed with her, gritty sand and dirt didn’t make for a good bed mate. She was out and set up in the room before Arthur arrived, she figured he’d found an open shop, maybe bargaining. He always said haggling was easiest when someone was tired or drunk, and it was best to strike a deal whenever possible. Just so long as you could be away fast enough before they realized how short the straw they drew was.

Her assumption was correct. Arthur managed to buy what Dutch told him too, had his bag heavier than before, weighing on his shoulder. The man bit back a wince when he raised his arm, rolling his shoulder, hoping it’d loosen the muscle. It only caused a sharp stabbing pain to pulsate from under his shoulder blade. He held his shoulder with his opposite hand and pushed into the hotel, finding the keeper about ready to leave. The man looked him over once and then gave a smile. “Arthur?” He asked, making the cowboy’s brows furrow. “Yes?” He replied suspiciously. “Young lady came in and paid for the room, and a bath. You made it just in time too, was about to close up.” The keeper explained, placing a key on the desk. Arthur picked it up and blinked. “A bath?” He asked. “She said you’d earned it. No wash girl though.” Arthur shook his head at that, mumbling a quick ‘thanks’ before making his way back.

The steam that rose from the water wafted in the air and beckoned him. He would’ve been fine washing up in a river, he’d done that plenty, since warm baths were a luxury. But it never stopped being nice when he could get one. He told himself to thank Y/N when he could, feeling the warm water help ease the tension in his back. That knot in his shoulder hadn’t left though, and relaxing almost made it worse. He hissed through his teeth but tried to set it aside, enjoy what he could. But when it came time to wash his hair, he found it hard to lift his hands that high.

He had a high pain tolerance, he’d been shot and stabbed plenty of times, but that didn’t mean he liked pain. If he forced himself, he could’ve done it, but it felt like another stone thrown at him when he’d already been in a rock slide. One last little thing to mess with him, make his day a little worse. He grumbled to himself, rubbing at his shoulder again, cursing the air. He glanced up from the bubbles in the tub when he heard light steps down the hall, then a light knock at the door. He frowned and furrowed his brows. He didn’t pay for a wash girl, and given the time, they’d probably all gone anyway.

“Arthur? You in there?” Y/N’s voice spoke from the other side. His scowl turned into a mix of shock and shame. “Uh, yeah.” He said, coughing away a voice crack. He sank down a little more in the shield of bubbles when the door cracked a little, just enough for her head to poke in. “You took awhile, I was worried somethin’ happened. How long you been in here?” She asked. He shrugged. “Couple minutes.” He replied. He watched her gaze narrow, as if she was struggling to see, trying to make something out. “You ain’t washed your hair yet?” Her question made him sigh and flush pink. “Got a damn crick in my back, hurts to lift my arm. I’ll be fine, just gotta bare it.” He brushed off casually.

“Wh- Gosh, no. You don’t need to go hurtin’ yourself worse than you already are.” Without a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She’d gotten ready for bed, white night gown flowing around her ankles, hair undone. “I’ll wash your hair, sit up a bit.” She motioned. Arthur’s chest felt tight, like his ribs were bars and a rowdy prisoner banged against them, his heart the criminal. “I can’t ask ya to-” “You ain’t askin’, I’m offerin’, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day, least I can do is help get all that dust out of your hair.” She cut him off, rolling back her sleeves, settling down on the stool. He swallowed. That heavy syrup sensation had returned to the back of his throat, catching words that threatened to break past the barrier of his teeth. Once she was settled behind him, she caught him staring over his shoulder, and sent him a grin.

With a motion of her hands, he sighed, lamenting. It’d been a long time since he’d felt so…boyish, immature maybe. So embarrassed by something like this. He’d had baths in rivers in plain sight of the gang, had a few wash girls do this exact job before, all that never bothered him. Why was it because of her that he felt so shy all of a sudden? He wasn’t the shy type, he didn’t think so anyway. Arthur picked at his nails under the water as she wetted his hair. She used two fingers under his chin, tilting his head back a bit so she didn’t get soap in his eyes. “Relax, Arthur. I ain’t waitin’ to tear your throat out.” She whispered, hushed words sent the hair on his arm standing up. He forced his muscles to loosen as best he could, though forcing didn’t do much good.

He stayed awkwardly stiff until he felt her fingers drag through his hair. Like she’d touched his brain directly, flipped a switch, he eased more into the bath with a sigh, leaning his head back into her palms. She bit back a quiet giggle, scrubbing lightly. “Hair’s gettin’ pretty long, you should let me trim it when we get back.” She said absentmindedly, being sure to drag her nails over his temples and behind his ears. She bit her bottom lip to fight off a laugh again when he let out a little groan from the back of his throat.

“Ya hear me?” She asked. “Huh? Oh uh, yeah, sure sure.” He replied, voice thick and low with tranquility. She kept her loving teases to herself, let him enjoy the moment, she certainly was. Maybe it was because she knew he appreciated it that it felt so fulfilling. Could’ve been that she just liked feeling useful, needed. Whatever the reason, she relished in it, taking her time. Just to make sure she got out all the muck.

Of course, she couldn’t milk it for that long. Eventually, she had to rinse out all the suds, ring out the excess water. He kept quiet but missed the treatment when she stood up. “Need anythin’ else, hun?” She asked, leaning into his line of sight. Like before, he looked up at her lazily, like he’d been floating in the clouds moments before. “Hm…no, I’m alright. Thank ya.” He nodded. She nodded back. Arthur looked back down at the bath, knowing he’d have to get out soon. He heard her step away to leave, glancing up again when she was at the door. “I’ll see you in a bit.” She said before leaving him alone once again. He stared at the door for a while, swearing the room got dimmer when she left, less warm too. He huffed and rubbed his face with his hands, slowly exhaling between his fingers. Cursing to himself.

When he left the bathroom, now in clothes from his bag, hair still damp, he meandered up the steps. His body felt heavy, and if it weren’t for the stabbing throb in his back, he’d be looking forward to dropping on the mattress. He opened the door to the room, met with a lamp on and the quiet humming of a familiar tone. He stepped in and shut the door, finding Y/N with a book in hand whilst sat upon a singular chair. He looked around the room and caught her eye once he was done surveying it. “One bed?” He asked. “It was cheaper. Figured you wouldn’t mind, but if you do, I’ll sleep right here.” She replied. Arthur scoffed. “I ain’t havin’ you sleep in a chair. I’ll sleep there-” “No ya won’t. You’ll take the bed, mister. I’m not negotiating.”

Her tone was firm and she pointed a finger to get her point across all the more strongly. Arthur let his bag slip to the floor, staring at her in disbelief, before he let out a breathy laugh. “Fine. But I’m still not havin’ you sleep in the chair.” He replied, walking to the bed in order to sit down. She tossed her hands up after marking her place in the story. “Alright, ‘suppose I can agree to that.” She laughed, only for her smile to fall when he grunted in pain. “You okay?”

He looked over at her and nodded. “Fine, just my shoulder ‘s all.” He answered. She stared at him for a moment longer, watching him tug at the collar of his shirt, trying to cool himself down. It was the height of Summer, even the nights were getting humid and uncomfortable. “Hot?” She asked. “It’s this damn shirt. Only one I had clean, but it’s made for Winter. I’d take it off but,” He motioned in her direction, much to her amusement. Crinkling her nose, she snickered and shook her head. “You act like it’s some kinda curse. You can sleep shirtless, I won’t mind. It’s not like skin’s gonna kill me, Arthur.”

“Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable ‘s all.” He retorted. “Well I ain’t, but you certainly are. Go ‘head. It’s not problem to me, but you dyin’ of heat stroke might be.” Y/N motioned with her hand and he tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment. He muttered something before taking her advice. She did her best to remain respectful, though she caught a couple glances, nothing too distasteful. Her face fell again when he hissed about his back again, and when he tossed the shirt away, a series of pops emanated from the muscles, making her wince in his place. “You sure you’re alright?” She asked, standing up, leaving her book in the seat.

“I’ve had worse. It ain’t pleasant but I’ll live.” The man said with a light cough, rolling his neck, that too popped rather loudly. He felt her hand come up to replace his, exhaling when she applied pressure to a specific point of soreness. It hurt, but in the way a stretch in the morning did. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked at his sorry state. It always made her ache, especially if it was something she couldn’t help fix.

Arthur wasn’t a good man, she knew that. But it wasn’t like she could judge. He’d never been anything but good to her, did right by the gang as best he could too. Every day she swore he did something else that went either unnoticed or un-thanked, and that killed her. Sure, there were probably men more deserving of kindness, people who didn’t rob and shoot to survive. But she hadn’t fallen for them, hadn’t ever met a man like that of which could compare to Arthur. When God came to judge the man’s soul, she’d gladly plead his case through the bars of the pearly gates. He’d been through enough, and when her mind ran away from her into a place darker than the night, she could sense it wouldn’t be ending any time soon. That hurt to think about. To worry about an unforeseen future likely full of strife of all sorts, things she’d probably have no say in, no ability to save him from.

But she had him safe for a night. In a place with walls and locks on doors, in her sights and close enough to touch. She couldn’t fix every problem he had, but she could make this night a little easier, surely. It was the least she could do.

“You trust me?” She asked. Arthur glanced up at her, a bit confused, but he nodded. She patted his shoulder. “Gonna seem a lil awkward, but just trust me.” She motioned with her head to the mattress. “Lie on your front.” He blinked a few times rapidly, clearly more confused than he was a second prior, perhaps a bit bashful. Y/N snorted and shook her head. “Easy, cowboy. Nothin’ like that.” She reassured. Arthur tilted his head back, tucking his tongue into his cheek as he glanced her up and down. After a short staring contest, he sighed and tossed his hands up a bit, doing as he was told.

“If this is how you plan on killin’ me, I commend your patience.” He commented, cheek set on a pillow. He heard her laugh, and it helped ease the tension in the room. He knew full well she wasn’t going to hurt him, he was just talking to fill the room with something else to focus on, given how uncomfortable it felt. Mostly because he wasn’t sure what was happening. He jumped when her weight ended up around his waist. “Easy, I told you it’d be awkward, but I need you to trust me here, sweetheart.” Her voice said, patting his arm. Arthur scoffed a little. “Pardon me for bein’ caught off guard, ma’am.” He sassed, getting a light thump to the back of his head, which he complained about.

“Hush. And keep your arms down, won’t work if you’re puttin’ stress on’em.” Y/N answered. He let his arms fall, grumbling about her being bossy, before he felt the heel of her palm press against his shoulder blade. His mouth curled into a hurt scowl, inhaling between his teeth. She rubbed a slow circle and hushed him quietly, instructing him to breath. It hurt, but the muscle began to loosen. She could feel the knot of tension under the skin, clicking her tongue sympathetically, it had to hurt like hell. “Okay. I need you to follow my instruction, ‘kay? I want you to take a deep breath, all the way until you can’t fill your lungs no more.” She whispered. Arthur did as told, not really sure where it was going, but he wasn’t up for questioning.

“Good, now, exhale it all. Until your chest is completely empty. Go slow.” Her words helped make him sleepier, more relaxed, which she knew good and well. It was why she was whispering. As he pushed out the oxygen until he was straining to keep doing so, with all her weight, she pushed into his back with her palm. A loud pop sound echoed off the walls with the quick following of a loud groan into the pillow he laid on.

She lessened the pressure and rubbed his shoulder again. “Did I get it?” She asked. Arthur didn’t give words, but let out an affirmative noise, face buried in the pillow. She smiled as he seemed to sink into the mattress the more she worked out the tension. She wasn’t content at just the shoulder though, so she moved over to the other side. Using her knuckles to trace around the bones. Every now and then, she’d stumble across another little knot, working them out with dutiful care.

“You fallin’ asleep on me, Morgan?” Y/N asked after some silence, pulling at the muscle in his lower back. Once again, he simply gave a noise. She snickered when she caught a yawn he let out. When he let out an appreciative noise when she worked at his waist, she chuckled again. “See, no one realizes how much strain we put on our lower backs until you’re in a position like this.” She commented lazily. “Mhm.” He replied. Y/N couldn’t stop smiling again, her cheeks were starting to hurt. She glanced down when she felt a warm touch on her leg, finding his hand turned toward her, lightly holding her ankle. She melted as his thumb carefully caressed the bone, a silent bit of appreciation. She knew full well she couldn’t left it there, but the moment was so sweet, and not easy to come by.

He blinked slowly when she leaned over him, tapping his temple. Her weight was off of him, something that kept him from dozing off. Arthur lifted his chin, looking at her in his peripheral. “Mind flippin’ over, hun?” She asked. He yawned again, nodding slightly. He moved from his stomach to his back, too relaxed to make a cheeky comment about her sitting back down. He rubbed his eye tiredly as she picked up his opposite hand. “Ya know, if someone asked me if you were drunk right now, I’d say yes. You look like you’re gone, mister.” She teased, pressing her thumbs into his palm before dragging the pressure down his wrist. Arthur let his other hand drop down, his vision a bit hazed over. “Might be.” He mumbled, barely opening his mouth to speak.

He smiled slightly when she laughed. He felt the pull of his tendons as she pushed his hand back, cautious to not over do it. “Sorry.” He commented unconsciously, the word slipping out without much thought. Y/N looked at his face with her brows furrowed. “What for?” She questioned, moving her hand up to his bicep. He flinched when the soreness became apparent under her touch. “My hands. Ain’t too nice for holdin’ I know.” He said. “Now why would you think that, Arthur?” She asked, squeezing the muscle that connected his neck to his shoulder. He tilted his chin out of the way as he thought of how to word his answer.

“You got dainty hands, all soft and nice. Mine…mine are all scratched up and tough. ‘s gotta feel like gravel at this point.” He explained. Y/N scoffed, taking his other hand in her own to repeat the process. “Oh shush, that ain’t true. They’re a workin’ mans hands, that’s all. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with’em.” She replied. “They ain’t kind like yours either.” Arthur retorted, making her pause for a second. She shook her head with a sigh, working out the tension in his scapulae muscle. She stopped and moved her hand to his jaw instead, prompting him to look at her.

She looked inviting in the warm lamp light, accentuating the curve of her cheekbones and the color of her eyes. How warm she was, and he could smell the hint of soap. “Robbin’ or not, you’re a good man, Arthur. Maybe not all the time, but you ain’t a monster either.” She said. His face showed he wasn’t buying it. He eased further when her hand dragged up, pushing his hair back. “No I ain’t.” He whispered back. Y/N clicked her tongue and grabbed his cheeks with both her hands, leaned close and eyes intense with the need to convey her point. “Arthur Morgan, look at me.” She demanded. He listened, even if it felt difficult to do.

“I don’t care bout the law’s definition, and I’m well beyond the words of the Holy Ghost. I don’t care how many men out there hope for you to hang, and I don’t care how much blood stains those hands of yours.” She stroked his cheekbone and up beside his eye, running over the lines that had formed in his skin, brought on by years of expressions. Mainly laughter and grins, things she savored every time she saw them. “The Arthur I know is a loyal man, a workin’ man, a brother and a mentor, a leader and a guard. He fights for what needs to be done and earns his keep, and then some. Your hands might be gun wielding but they’re also caring. When you draw in that journal, or when you pet your horse, pat Jack on the back like he was your own blood.”

His eyes had widened by now and his throat felt like it was being gripped, a pressure building up and threatening to break like a damn. It was so much to take in, too much, but looking away felt like blasphemy. He might not have been a man of worship, not to God, not anymore. But to sin against her might be what damned him, and he wasn’t ready for that. He never would be.

“You might be a bad man, but you ain’t been nothin’ but good to me. Whether you like it or not, you will always be a good man to me. And I’ll be damned if I let you go a day not knowin’ it.” Y/N finished, her voice a bit choked by now. She managed to keep her tears down, but her eyes got misty nevertheless. Arthur rolled his jaw and clenched his teeth, at loss for what words to say. She fixed his hair again and sighed. “Am I clear?” She asked. He stared, fidgety, before he sat up suddenly. She felt his arms wrap around her waist tightly, his forehead resting on her shoulder.

Y/N took a moment to process before she relaxed, bringing her hands to him once again. Her cheek rested on his head, scratching his scalp, the other hand resting on his shoulder. “You haven’t answered me.” She commented. Arthur squeezed her for a moment. “Loud ‘nd clear, ma’am.” He replied, voice a bit hoarse but not any less genuine. She smiled and turned to peck him on the temple. “I’ll keep tellin’ you til it sticks. Mark my words, Arthur Morgan. I’ll keep that bitter man you think you are at bay.” She promised. He managed a choked up chuckle against the fabric of her nightgown.

“I’ll hold you to that, sugar.”

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