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gravid-transluna · 7 months ago

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Two Birthdays

words: 4111

content: lactation, milking, clothing birth, birth denial, fpreg

Part One

A birthday is a special day. Her friend’s twenty-first should have been Mari’s only focus. However, Mari had been distracted the entire day as they spent time at the resort’s expansive pool and spa. It hadn’t been so bad at first. Her friend’s mom, Noemi, was nearly a week overdue with her second child, and though she had started the day in modest clothes—a maternity sundress draping her huge, full swell, navel protruding starkly, pressing downward from her middle—, the afternoon sun had continued to shine down on them, forcing Noemi to shed her dress, pulling it up her belly and over her head.

Mari’s face had flushed and she’d turned away, ashamed and furious at herself for her own thoughts, but she’d already seen the nakedness of Noemi’s belly, taut at the seams and painfully overdue, hanging low over her hips and melting into her otherwise small, slim frame. Sweat had shimmered, bright, on the stretched, striped skin. A dark linea nigra ran down her middle to her navel. Her belly button was hard and round like a stone. Underneath, she only wore a white two-piece bikini, and her breasts, once small and subtle, hung swollen in her top, nipples and areolae visible.

Mari’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering every time Noemi lifted her slender hands to cup her swell, or when she rose from the sunbathing to reapply sunscreen and Mari saw her from the back; though she still tried to step with her usual grace and poise, her gait was wide, baby obviously dropped between her narrow hips, reducing her to a waddle.

It was a very uncomfortable day to be a lesbian with a fetish that especially appealed on an older woman.

This wasn’t the worst of it, though.

Mari first noticed it when Noemi reached across the table for her drink.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Of course!” Mari squeaked.

Then Noemi’s face changed. Her reaching hand flew to her belly, and Mari followed it to see visible tensing, muscles clenched on either side, misshapen around her huge baby.

“Oh!” she said. There was something in her face now. Surprise, but also a slight urgency.

“Ms. Noemi?” Mari asked. “Are—are you okay?”

“Mm,” Noemi said, and took her glass. “I’m fine. Thank you, Mari.”

This happened multiple times throughout the day, and every time she saw that mound tense then sag, muscles relaxing, Mari’s pussy pounded badly, pulsing.

She stayed in the shade, sipping nothing but cold water with ice while her friend and the others ordered drinks at the pool bar.

After about another hour of this, Mari couldn’t take it. She left and walked to the restrooms and found a stall. Inside it she immediately yanked her bikini bottom down her legs and pressed her fingers to her clit. Her pussy throbbed for release, dripping and clenching. She began to masturbate standing over the toilet, imagining closing her lips around one of Noemi’s stiff, milk-heavy nipples.

Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck. Her pussy began to pulsate under her slick fingers. Her thighs shook as she came.

“Shit,” Mari said aloud, then she wiped herself down and pulled her bikini bottom back up and exited the stall, washing the slick from her hands in the sink.

Suddenly the restroom door was flung open. Mari jumped guiltily, then her eyes widened in shock as Noemi raced past her, not even noticing her at the sink, bowed over her low belly, a hand clamped to her crotch. She ran into the handicap stall and slammed the door shut. It was quiet for a moment. Then—

“Ohhhhhh.”

A muted, breathless moan and a loud splashing sound.

Mari stood frozen. She heard a small gasping from the other side of the stall door, and approached hesitantly. She rapped a timid knuckle on the door and the gasps stopped.

“U-um, Ms. Noemi? Are you okay?”

There was silence. Then, “Yes, just some Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m sorry if I startled you, Mari.”

Noemi’s voice sounded strained, so uncharacteristic of her usually soft, modulated tone.

Mari hesitated. “Are you sure? Do you need any help?”

More silence. The stall door unlocked from the inside. Mari pushed it open and her heart thumped in her chest at the sight inside.

Noemi was standing over the toilet, thighs wide apart, knees slightly bent. Her bikini bottom and legs were soaked with fluids. Her belly, somehow, appeared to hang even lower, navel pointed almost to the floor now with weight and fullness. Her face was sweaty, cheeks flushed, short dark hair clinging damply to her forehead.

“Oh my god, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “Your water broke, didn’t it?”

Noemi’s face tightened and she pressed her lips together, nodding and closing her eyes. She clutched reflexively at the orb between her thighs as it flexed, hardening, muscles like iron. Her brow wrinkled and she grunted as though she couldn’t stand the pressure anymore.

“Mari,” she gasped. “I need you to step out, please. I’m—I think I need to—relieve myself.”

Mari shook her head. “I think it’s the baby! Are you feeling like pushing?”

“Ughh.” Noemi’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Yes. I need to push.”

“Oh my—“ Mari trailed off. “We’ve gotta call you an ambulance.”

Suddenly the contraction released Noemi. Her belly slackened. She collapsed onto the toilet seat, thighs spread wide to accommodate her massive stomach. She panted, chest heaving.

“No,” she said. “It will ruin the party.”

“But—“

“Please.” Noemi’s eyes softened, and Mari perceived her desperation clearly. “You’re one of my daughter’s more mature friends. I don’t want to embarrass her or cause a scene, and I need your help.”

Mari gulped. “What can I do?”

Noemi sighed. “Thank you. I just need to last until the party is over.”

The restroom door opened and someone walked in.

“Ms. Noemi? Are you in there?” The voice was a little slurred, tipsy from afternoon drinking.

Noemi composed herself and raised her voice. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“O-o-okay. Haven’t popped yet, have you?”

Noemi managed a weak laugh. “Holding it in.”

For now, Mari thought.

They waited until they heard the door close. Then Noemi said, “Could you—I need you to—” was she—blushing? “I can’t go back out covered in my waters.”

“O-oh,” Mari said, and she was suddenly aware of the distinct odor coming off of Noemi, the scent of her fluids, fecund and thick, the musk of a woman close to birthing. Noemi stood as Mari grabbed a wad of toilet paper and began to dab her formerly lean thighs, thickened over the course of her pregnancy.

“And–” She was really blushing now, Mari marveled. “I’d do it myself but–I can no longer reach around my stomach.”

Happy to. Mari drew her fingers around Noemi’s hips, noting the slight intake of breath as her thumbs brushed swollen underbelly. She hooked her bikini bottom and exposed her fleshy pregnancy pussy, damp and swampy, and the odor was stronger now. Mari breathed.

Then, “you have to close your legs.”

“Mm, trying.” Noemi struggled, the baby lodged in her pelvis making it almost impossible to pinch her knees shut. Her eyes widened. “Oh no…”

Her belly hitched and went hard. Her knees immediately buckled, thighs wide again.

“I need to push,” she said. She groaned as she began to bear down. The sides of her belly sucked in with the force of her pushing.

“No! Ms. Noemi, you have to hold it in, remember?” Mari said.

“Hnnnnfgh,” Noemi groaned. She tried to resist. “Hooh-hooh, god. I need to push.”

Mari, not knowing how to help, planted her palms on Noemi’s belly and rubbed the hot, furious skin. It burned under her palms, fevered. She could feel the desperate convulsions of Noemi’s strong internal muscles as they worked to expel her baby against her efforts.

“Oh,” Noemi grunted.

“Sorry!”

“No! No–ouugh–please. Don’t stop.”

Noemi closed her eyes and raised her chin, swaying back and forth as Mari stroked the tight, oblong surface. Experimentally, she flicked her thumb across Noemi’s bulging navel, and Noemi shivered.

The contraction ended, leaving Noemi worn and restless, her baby’s head burrowed deeper into her birth canal, fuller even, than she’d been before her labor. Mari removed her hands from Noemi’s belly, and Noemi appeared embarrassed, almost bashful.

“I wish–hah–you didn’t have to see me like this, much less care for me in such a compromising–ugh–condition. Modesty is hard enough to maintain when it comes to pregnancy.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mari said honestly.

Startled and disarmed, Noemi looked at her. It could have been the heat flush, or she could have been blushing again.

Part Two

They exited the restroom together and for the next hour, Noemi mingled near the pool bar, a drink in hand, and endured the powerful, relentless contractions. Mari stood beside her, and the first time another contraction struck she saw Noemi double over, muscles banding her belly, legs widening instinctively.

“Oh,” she whispered. “OH. I’m pushinnng-hnnngh.”

“No, you’re not,” Mari hissed back. “You can do this.” She placed a covert hand on Noemi’s curved back, massaging it gently, already accustomed to touching Noemi’s exposed, laboring body.

Noemi straightened, and painstakingly closed her legs as much as she could, attempting to hold her baby firm in her canal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her grunts diminished into effortful pants.

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“Good,” Noemi moaned under her breath. “Good. I’m feeling like pushing all the time now, even when the contraction’s gone. There’s so much pressure, right between my legs.”

Another contraction that hour had Noemi leaning heavily on Mari for support, her obtrusive belly pushing into Mari’s own flat tummy, making Mari wonder at the sensation of such a packed, heavy womb. She could feel the steely stretched muscles rippling against her. The skin contact moved heat from Mari’s stomach to between her legs, and again her pussy was beating, quick and warm like a pulse. She worried that she was leaking through her bikini bottom now, dizzied by arousal. Then Noemi moaned in her ear, arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Mari felt a wetness drip down her inner thigh.

“Aye, go get your mom!”

“Should she be drinking in that state?”

Luckily, everyone was too drunk at this point to think much about it.

Contractions were gripping Noemi mercilessly now, with barely any pause or respite, and she was barely holding on every time, fighting her body, her deep primal instinct to bear down against the baby in her canal. Every time Mari anchored her, caressing her hard belly, urging her gently, just hang on a little while longer. The last contraction left Noemi senseless with pain and need, foggy-headed. Her legs were permanently spread now, stance ridiculously wide.

“Oh, dear…” she breathed, and Mari followed her gaze to her front. Two wet spots had formed in her bikini top, nipples standing straight through the fabric.

“Ms. Noemi,” Mari said, summoning her courage. She looked Noemi in the eye. “Let me help you.”

Noemi let herself be led to the restrooms again, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, everything about her so full and aching.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” she said. “I can, ah, expel the milk on my own.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “I promised I’d take care of you.”

Noemi was blushing hard now, appearing almost drunk in her labored state. She allowed Mari to sit her down on the toilet. Mari gently teased the white bikini top from her breasts, and Noemi shivered, curling her toes at just the light brush of fabric against her sensitive nipples. Her dark areolas spread over her breasts, and around them blue veins ran through soft, tan skin. Her nipples jutted stiffly, heavy and laden, beaded at the tips with milk.

Mari set the flat of her hand against one and marveled as more milk beaded at the surface and then began to drip down the swell of Noemi’s breast and onto the long shelf of her belly. Noemi hissed, a sharp intake of air.

“Okay?”

Noemi nodded, unable to speak. Keep going.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Mari said. She sat on Noemi’s lap and clamped her mouth around her nipple, cupping her other breast in her hand. Milk spurted from both breasts in tiny forceful streams. Noemi clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a sharp noise of pleasure and release, her back arching, other hand raised, opening and closing in the air. Mari suckled, feeling Noemi squirm under her, and lowered her free hand between her own legs, strumming her clit. Suddenly Noemi’s belly went hard again and she threw back her head to moan loudly, and Mari couldn’t tell whether from ecstasy or agony or a thrilling mixture of both.

“Oh, oh—Mari, please don’t—don’t stop. Fuck.”

Mari continued to suckle and the hand groping Noemi’s breast slid to her swell instead, tracing her linea nigra. There was no give to the surface, drum-tight, and Mari could feel Noemi’s belly seize violently, driving her baby down in a deep, involuntary push. Noemi’s moan lowered, guttural with sudden pushing, and Mari instantly took her lips away from Noemi’s breast. The milk stream diminished to dribble, her breasts not even close to being drained. Noemi squirmed at the sudden lapse.

“No pushing, remember?” Mari had settled well into a dominant role, playing out her ultimate fantasy, Noemi utterly receptive, responding to her every demand.

She breathed, slowly, and her hard belly relaxed somewhat.

“Good,” Mari said.

Noemi shuddered. “Yes, just—please. Continue.”

Mari smiled and said something she’d always wanted to say to Noemi: “Good girl.” The faint marks in the corners of her mouth, the maturity in her maternal hips, the refined elegance of her fingers—it was all subversive.

“I’ve never—never been called that by anyone,” Noemi panted. “Especially not someone no twenty years my junior.”

Mari bent her head again and Noemi’s lips tightened in preparation. She latched back onto her nipple, milk gushing into her mouth, and began to thumb Noemi’s stony pointed navel, her entire belly an erogenous zone at this point, her navel the sensory peak. Noemi nearly shrieked, delirious, and beneath her thighs Mari felt her hips bucking, building not only toward delivery now, but a climax. Mari continued to masturbate herself furiously, working her mouth at the same time, sinking her teeth lightly into Noemi’s breast, just enough to leave light, red marks. Noemi’s thighs began to quake with tremors and Mari’s pussy squeezed tight, clit bared—she gasped against Noemi’s soft chest at the same time that Noemi’s lips parted in a perfect O. Then they both trembled through watery orgasms.

Noemi looked at her with glassy eyes, hazy. She leaned in, lips soft and open and receptive for a kiss—then stopped, delicate features twisting into a grimace, and released a thunderous groan, lifting her bottom off the toilet seat with the force of her pushing. Her eyes went wide. Mari could tell something had changed. She was feeling something, deep inside of herself.

She tried to articulate the sensation. “Guh—the baby, it’s—mmmm, it’s right between—the baby’s in my vagina!”

Mari looked at her. She was desperate, out of control, her face flushed and beaded with sweat, moist short hair clinging to her forehead. Her contracting belly, lower than ever.

Mari leaned forward and rammed a kiss onto her lips, and made her taste her own milk.

Part Three

Mari rose from Noemi’s lap. Her tortured spasming belly hung so low at this point that even when she raised herself from the toilet seat Mari still couldn’t see her pussy, just the creases where her extreme underbelly sank into the flesh of her hips, and the tiny white string of her bikini bottom wrapping them, dragged by the heavy downward sag. Noemi was already trying to push again, nothing else in her mind except the baby now coming out of her. Legs planted wide, firmly squatted. It didn’t seem like she could even straighten up at this point, so heavy and low with the head. She grunted loudly, frantic in her efforts to pull her bikini bottom down her thighs and alleviate the immense pressure in her bottom. Sweat poured from her slick skin. She was obviously in the final stages of labor, and like she had been twenty-one years ago, she was consumed by the need to birth her baby.

Mari stood, watching in the sticky panties she’d just masturbated herself hard in, pussy still convulsing. She could see the light red teeth marks ringing Noemi’s areola. She had marked her. Noemi was hers. And yet, she wasn’t paying any mind to the girl who had suckled her to orgasm. Her only focus was pushing her baby out into her bikini, and once she did that she would become a mother again. Mari felt insecure, possessive. Would things return to the way they had been before? Noemi never noticing her, never giving her the attention she had craved. Suddenly, Mari reached for Noemi’s fingers at the hem of her bikini.

“Ms. Noemi.” Her voice was a firm reprimand. “I thought you wanted me to help you. I can’t help you if you push your baby out right now.”

Noemi could barely talk at this point. “Have—to—PUSH.” Mari still felt that awe, seeing such an articulate, modest woman reduced to animalistic instinct. She groaned, bearing down more, and her groan tightened as the baby was driven deeper into her bottom.

Mari circled her, tracing her fingers lightly from Noemi’s contraction-wracked torpedo belly to her curving bent back. Standing behind her now, she took Noemi’s delicate wrists in her hands and moved them away from the bikini bottom. Then she bent to see Noemi’s squatted thighs and bottom, and between her cheeks the wetted white bikini was beginning to tent outward. Mari gently rolled the bikini down to Noemi’s widespread knees. The pregnancy pussy she had just seen hours ago was now unrecognizably swollen and bulged with a startlingly huge head, yet her lips had barely parted. Mari wasn’t even sure if Noemi could birth something so big. Between Noemi’s thighs she could see her brown hanging belly harden again, the contractions now relentless, forcing Noemi into constant pushing.

As she watched, Noemi’s pussy bulged more and reddened. Her lips slowly began to part, distending—until Mari clapped her hand over the head. Noemi’s hot pussy strained against her palm, but Mari didn’t permit the head to progress any further. She heard Noemi’s strangled sob of frustration.

“It’s okay,” Mari cooed. “If you can’t hold it in, I can for you.”

Gently, she slipped the bikini bottom back up Noemi’s thighs and pulled it firmly over her hips, wedging the baby tight in her pussy. It yielded a little, but certainly not enough for Noemi to deliver the head. Noemi gasped at the feeling of the fabric against her sensitive, tender opening.

Mari then redid Noemi’s top, tying it in the back.

“There,” she appraised Noemi, trembling and gasping, filled completely with her baby. “I think you’re ready to go back out. People are probably getting suspicious of us.”

“Okay,” Noemi closed her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

“That’s it, Ms. Noemi!” Mari’s eyes lit up. “Hold it in for me.”

It was evening now. A lot of people had deserted, and those who stayed were trashed, too inebriated to notice Mari step out with Noemi in tow. They didn’t notice that Noemi only walked in a squatted position now, knees bent, legs far apart. They didn’t notice the sweat beading her forehead, or the flush of her cheeks. They didn’t notice her hanging belly, constantly constricting with contractions and hard unceasing pushes. And they certainly didn’t notice the conspicuous bulge straining her bikini bottom, dripping fluids from between her thighs.

Nobody assumed such a composed woman would be bent under the thumb of a girl twenty years younger than her, crowning into her bikini right there at the poolside.

Noemi staggered to a wicker pool chair, and slowly lowered herself with Mari’s help, only to yelp and cringe away when her bulged bottom made contact with the seat.

“Here—“ Mari said. “Try to sit back instead.”

Noemi sat with her back arched, legs open to the poolside, so that the head rested in her pussy without being crammed between her and the chair. She was already pushing, her knuckles white, gripping the arm rests so hard, Mari thought they might snap in her grasp. Her toes curled. Liquid pattered the deck beneath the chair, a puddle spreading under her. The head parted her more. She seemed unable to spread her legs wide enough, grunting and pushing and stretching. Even when she paused, it no longer slid back in, kept her lips taut and spread.

She pushed. The head no longer moved. The fabric trapped it snugly. She pushed again. Hard. Nothing. She pushed and pushed, caught in endless contractions and pushes. Mari heard her name panted, again and again, as she circled the head over the fabric with light fingers. Satisfaction stirred her.

Noemi was hers.

Finally, Noemi clambered heavily from her seat. She dropped into a deep squat on the deck and threw her head back, interrupting her silent pushes with a strained moan as she bore down once again, pained for leverage, obeying her instinctual need for a position change despite her unyielding clothes. Mari heard her joints pop; her forty-something body was at its limit.

It was time. They both sensed it.

Mari leaned in. Her breath shivered Noemi’s ear. “Are you ready, Noemi?” she whispered, forgoing the “Ms” title for the first time.

Noemi nodded. Once.

Mari paused. “Are you sure?”

Noemi nodded vigorously as she heaved with another push.

“Come on, then.”

The party was over. Nobody was left except for Noemi’s daughter, who had been laying passed out in a reclining chair since noon.

The pool water was cool on Mari’s skin as she waded down the steps. She discarded her bikini as she went, and the cold pricked up her bare nipples. Noemi breathed a deep sigh as she waded in herself. The water enveloped her thighs, her heavy submerging belly, and finally her splayed breasts as she sank. Mari swam up behind her and hugged her around the circumference of her gravid belly. She pressed herself to the curve of Noemi’s back, naked skin touching as they drifted for a second. Only a second, though. Soon it was over and Noemi was placing her head back, into Mari’s shoulder, and pushing. Mari’s hands traveled to Noemi’s bikini bottom and—

“Push for me,” she breathed, and pulled it down.

Noemi shouted loudly and groaned her baby into Mari’s hand. Her vaginal lips stretched, forming an angry fervent oval around the massive head. She groaned, forceful in her efforts. Her thighs gaped open in the water. Her pussy was a slick, round, red circle now, straining and slipping around the head. Her groans were almost inhuman, overwhelmed with need and desire and basic instinct. Mari felt the head inch out with Noemi’s powerful pushes, and admired its size and width. This was coming from Noemi, coming through her, creaking her aged bones and spreading her in a way she hadn’t been since her youth.

Her belly raised and then dropped with a final push, the drawn muscles of her uterus convulsing, and she shrieked. The head reached its widest point. Eyes, nose, ears, she opened around each feature. For a moment her lips whitened, pale around the head. Then a pop, a burst, a release. Noemi shuddered. Her legs jerked in the water and opaque amniotic fluids spilled from her.

“Uggghhh.”

“You did it,” Mari said. She marveled at Noemi’s motherly drive as she caressed the head hanging from Noemi’s pussy. “Just the shoulders now.”

“Ohhhh,” Noemi brought her hand between her legs, holding Mari’s as they both cupped the head. “My baby,” she panted. “My baby….”

“Let’s meet her together,” Mari whispered.

Noemi arched in the pool, belly and breasts and upturned nipples raising above the water. With a sweet, quiet groan, she gave birth into Mari’s waiting hands.

Noemi sat beside the pool on the reclining chair, her stomach sagging in her lap, ruined by a dark linea nigra. Her short hair plastered her forehead. Her attention was on the baby suckling at her milky breast. She looked up when Mari trotted to her with spare towels, and smiled tiredly.

Mari leaned down and wrapped her in the towel, and kissed her on the cheek.

“So,” Noemi said. “How do we tell my other daughter?”

#fpreg #clothing birth #birth denial #breast milk #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink #fxf smut #dom/sub dynamics

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thefangirlfever · 8 months ago

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Stress relief (Miguel O'hara x AFAB reader, 18+)

Minors Do not interact

Summary: Sometimes all the self-care you need is a good drink, a bath, your favorite toy...and your boyfriend.

Tags: F/M, smut, PIV penetration, mention of masturbation (M/F), shower sex (it's a bath but you get the idea), condom use, use of toys, doggy style, slight nipple/ breast play, established relationship, very self-indulgent, no plot just smut, mirror sex, hint at slight body dismorphia/ insecurity (it's very light but please be careful and prioritize yourself)

See the end for notes

Word count: 4111

It has been a long day today and you definitely needed to relax. When you got home and found the apartment alone, you decided to indulge into some self-care. You had taken your favorite vibrator, a drink and ran yourself a bath. As the water warmed up, you removed your clothes one by one, letting out a huge sigh of relief when your bra fell down the tiles of the room. After dipping a toe into the water, you finally adjusted the temperature and waited a few seconds before fully diving into it. At this point you didn’t care about the temperature being more of an aggression to your skin than anything else. In fact it even made you feel good and woke you up a bit after this whole day feeling a bit numb. You liked your job but there were some days when you felt like the whole universe was testing you out. Today was one of these days.

A few minutes was all you needed to adjust to the temperature and you soon felt very relaxed. You even closed your eyes a bit as your head rested against the cold wall behind you. Your every movement would create small ripples through the water and you would move your arms from time to time watching the way the small droplets would trickle down your skin or how the foam of the soap was making you look like you were on some cloud. It truly felt like this somehow. Finally a time where you could just exist. Simply existing without doing anything.

But you had prepared yourself in case you would still get bored. With a swift motion you caught the pink toy resting on the corner of the sink and looked at it. Its round shape and soft edges made it look quite unassuming but you knew that as soon as you would push on that small button on the bottom of it, it would only take you five minutes to orgasm.

Just when you were about to enjoy yourself, you heard the front door opening and soon a voice called for you:

“Y/N?”

Miguel must have seen your shoes lined up in the hallway when he came back. You were not expecting him to come back home this early but it was a rather pleasant surprise.

“I’m right here.” He followed the sound of your voice and soon you heard him knocking at the door of the bathroom. You didn’t even bother fully closing the door but he still cared enough about your privacy to not come in directly.

“It’s alright, you can come in.”

Miguel’s silhouette soon filled up the door frame. He was still dressed in his work attire, black slacks and a white shirt. He couldn’t hold back a grin when he saw you wallowed in your bath.

“Getting cozy, I see…”, he commented with a grin while leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. You couldn’t stop your eyes from trailing up and down his silhouette, especially around his broad chest, squeezed tightly between his crossed arms making the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin even more.

“Let me guess, rough day?” You nodded your head and leaned against the edge of the bathtub with your arms crossed, your chin resting on them, which mimicked his own posture. If it made him chuckle at first, his face took a different expression when he saw how the water was trickling down the curve of your body.

“It was...a long day.”, you replied. With a nonchalant look, he untied his tie and made his way to you. You didn’t miss a single one of his movements as he then sat down the edge of the bathtub, being careful enough to not get some water on his clothes.

“Well, that sure is a way to relax.” He dipped his fingers onto the bathwater. It was not as hot as it used to be but he still winced a bit.

“How are you not burning in this?”, he joked. You simply shrugged your shoulders which had for a result to make more water slide down your skin and to move a bit the foam of soap covering you.

“I don’t know. I think it’s the perfect temperature.”, you finally replied as Miguel’s eyes deviated from your soaked figure to the edge of the sink. His gaze locked on the pink toy and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Did I interrupt something?” You rolled your eyes at his cheeky grin and shrugged again. This time, his eyes followed the road the drops took as they slide down the curve of your bust before disappearing inside the water, right where he could see the top of your breasts clear of all soap.

“You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Oh good then.” He wasn’t sure if he should leave you alone and give you some privacy but since you didn’t seem to push him away, he decided to stay. It’s not like he ad anything better to do and the view was enough for a reason for him to stay here.

“So...you wanna talk about today or…”

By the way you buried your face into your arms, he had already guessed the answer. Since you had decided to go non-verbal he stayed quiet too. Either way, he was a firm believer that actions could speak louder than words. He slid a bit closer to you and pushed your hair away from the water so it wouldn’t get soaked. His fingers lingered a bit around your nape, gently tracing the curve of your slender neck, ever so slightly running down your spine which made you squirm a bit.

“Sorry...forgot you were ticklish.”, he apologized in a low voice, watching the water ripple around your body and your form peeking under the clear surface.

“It’s alright. You can keep doing this…”, whatever that was. Miguel’s eyebrows rose slightly but he didn’t question this for too long and his fingers soon traced your spine and this time he began massaging your scalp softly, trying to ease the worries away.

“Better?”

You almost purred out of delight which made him definitely feel like he was doing the right thing. When he was done massaging you this way, he grabbed a washcloth and began rubbing it along your shoulders and back. This time, your body was fully relaxed and he almost thought you light have fallen asleep. This didn’t stop him from washing your skin minutely, still making sure your hair wouldn’t get in the way of his work. Your skin soon glistened under the bathroom’s lightning and he found it a bit harder to keep his touching innocent, especially since the soap had dissolved, leaving you practically bare in front of him.

“You didn’t tell me about your day?”

Your voice took him out of his contemplation and he collected himself as quick as he could, looking away from the tantalizing sight that was no longer out of reach.

“It was a pretty boring day. Nothing extraordinary.”

From leaving your silhouette, his eyes soon landed on the shape of the toy. He must admit that this little thing...intrigued him. He knew you were using a vibrator and quite frankly, he couldn’t care less. Miguel was confident enough in his abilities to not feel frightened by such a small thing. However he did find it a waste of money for something that could be done… manually but he could definitely see the appeal of it.

His curious gaze toward the toy didn’t go unnoticed and you grabbed the toy, took the lid off and showed it to him. He was definitely not expecting such a shape. Even in your hands the toy looked...small. It was nothing more than a pebble.

“Here, take it.”, you said with a smile while putting the toy inside his palm. This thing didn’t stop to surprise him. It was quite light and...very soft. As he brushed his thumb against it, he encountered what he supposed should act like a mouth on you. He felt a weird sensation tracing the outline of the ‘mouth’, thinking about how many times it has ended up stuck to your clit.

Okay, maybe he was feeling a bit insecure… and jealous. God, he must be really pathetic for being jealous of some piece of plastic. But you didn’t help at all when you said just how powerful that little thing was:

“It has 10 different variations and it’s made to make you reach an orgasm in five minutes.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh when you saw his expression of horror.

“Five minutes? But...what’s the point?”

“I’m sorry, what?”, you asked while looking at him. You had shifted your body in the water which made it ripple around you and now there wasn’t much covering you.

“What’s the point of this? Where’s the fun?”, he replied.

“Hum...in cumming?”, you replied sarcastically while cocking an eyebrow. You must have missed something or he didn’t understand the purpose of a vibrator. “You know most people enjoy that.”

“No, I know...but...what about the rest? The anticipation, the undressing, the foreplay...you can’t talk with this thing like you do with your partner… you don’t feel things the same way…That’s not what I call making love.”

Miguel almost immediately regretted what he said. He must have sounded like an idiot and he was waiting for you to tease him about this...and you delivered:

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about this…”, you replied after a short silence. But as much as you were teasing him, his speech did have an effect on you. You knew Miguel and how he was about those things. The man never even considered doing a quickie so he would never simply take an orgasm as enough of a reason to use a toy. He was rather old school and you couldn’t complain. For a lot of people, sex was just a way to release some tension, it was barely more than a pulsion. It was just ‘fucking’ and you’ve lived your life this way until you’ve met him.

“And what if I do?”, he replied with quite the attitude, “You wouldn’t dare telling me I’m wrong?”

“Oh I would never…”, you replied with a sly smile. Your hand was now dangerously close to his knee and he didn’t dare letting his eyes roam anywhere lower than your chin. “I just find this weird given that you didn’t even try this thing…”

Miguel almost choked on his spit: “Try it? How am I supposed to use it? In case you didn’t notice I do not have a vagina.”

“Oh trust me, I did notice.”, you replied with the same sly tone. “But this toy can be used by two people and no matter your biological sex... You could use it on your nipples for example…”

As much as he wanted to look offended by this idea, Miguel couldn’t help but look down at the slit in the toy. Could that thing really… Just how powerful was this toy? You watched his cheeks flare up with great satisfaction as he stuttered:

“That’s...crazy…”

“Or you could use it one me.”

Oh...now he could see where this was going. And quite frankly, the idea was rather tempting. A mental image of your body spread for him while you writhed around and moaned louder and louder flashed through his mind and he could definitely see the appeal of it. However he shook his head:

“I don’t need this thing.”

Your smug snicker made him regret his words immediately as you explained the perks of the toy:

“It’s not a question of need. The toy is not your enemy but your ally.”

He continued to observe the toy quite curiously, with a bit less of animosity in his gaze. Finally, after a few seconds, his small voice broke the silence of the room: “You would let me use it on you?”

“Absolutely.” Your blunt response didn’t leave any room for doubt...and he liked that. The prospect of making you feel good combined to the sight of your soaked body made his cock strain against his pants and a devious grin crossed his face. The sight of your fingers wrapping around his tie and pulling him closer made that grin grow into a full-on smile and he could only oblige and kiss you as you wished.

Your body smelled absolutely divine with a mix of your lotion and soap, a sugary mix of vanilla and argan oil that made your skin glisten. His free arm wrapped around your back, not caring one bit if he might get wet in the process and your hands cupped his face during your kiss. Your nails scratch around his five o’clock shadow and then traveled lower down his body. The water made the fabric of his shirt cling to his chest, making his pectoral and abs visible under the now see-through material.

He was on his knees in front of the bathtub to reach you better, in a position that could only be qualified as one of devotion. He has seen the exhaustion in your eyes, your tired face… he had now only one mission, making you feel good. Making you forget all about the ups and down of your day and focus only on your pleasure.

One of his hands tugged at your hair, tilting your head back so he could have an easier access to the delicate skin of your neck, which he quickly nipped at. You could be sure you would find a few marks there the next morning…

“Can I take you out of this bath?”, he murmured against your skin, his lips tickling your flesh with their slow, languid dance.

“You better get me out of here.” And the small grin on your lips was enough of a motivation. His arms wrapped around you and he scooped you up until your body was pressed into his. His shirt was definitely ruined now, the fabric drenched but that was the least of his concern when he had every single inch on your skin pressed against him...especially against a very sensitive part of him.

Miguel gently put you down the bathroom counter which made you wince. The cold marble was quite the unexpected sensation after the welcoming warmth of the bath. In fact your whole body shivered in contact with the cold surface and the cool air of the bathroom.

“Something wrong, honey?” You shook your head at Miguel’s concerned tone.

“It’s just...a bit cold…”, you chuckled awkwardly. His brows frowned and he mumbled under his breath: “Sorry about that...I didn’t think of this…”.

He quickly brought a towel for you to sit on and wrapped an other one around your shoulders, using into rub your goosebumps-covered arms:

“Better?”

His small apologetic voice, the rise of his brows when he asked you that question and the strong friction of his hands definitely made you feel better.

“Better.”, you replied while placing a soft kiss on his cheek. When he felt your fingertips toying with the small curls around his face, a groan escaped Miguel’s throat. In a few seconds, his face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he breathed into your delicate fragrance. His hands rubbed your sides and his warm breath could soon be felt down your chest.

“Let’s warm you up a bit…”

His lips kissed the slope of your breasts, feeling how warm and flushed they were after the bath, almost tender. His tongue flicked one of your nipples while his hand toyed with the other one and an idea popped in his mind. With his free hand he reached for the toy. In one swift movement he removed the lid and he pressed the on-button. A soft buzzing sound could filled the bathroom and he swore he could have seen you clenching your thighs almost in a Pavlovian reflex.

There’s no way this little thing could have such a hold on you. Could it be?

“May I?”, he asked with your nipple still in his mouth. You could definitely hear the amusement, the smirk in his voice. Your hand guided his wrist holding the vibrator between your thighs. If he thought your breasts were alluring, it was nothing compared to your lush thighs. Was it just the water or...were you already wet?

When the mouth of the toy pressed against your slit and began to massage your lips, he could feel the direct effect on your body. Your whole being tensed and your back arched, pushing your breast deeper in his mouth. Maybe he liked this thing.

He kept the toy on your for a few seconds until he felt a strange movement coming from you. You were...almost humping the toy. No, you were definitely humping it. And that’s when he understood why it was shaped like this. The little mouth wasn’t doing all the job. There was this small bump under it, as wide as a thumb that would...rotate and rub at your entrance providing a double stimulation.

His scientific mind was in awe of such a technology.

His horny side greatly enjoyed the show.

“You can...increase the speed…”

At first he thought he had misheard your words but when he saw your fingers fiddling with the buttons, he thought he was in some sort of dream. His cheeks flared up, seeing you so needy and hungry, not afraid to show your needs… He could practically feel his cock twitching down his pants. It would be a miracle if he didn’t come undone just from the sound of that toy sucking and penetrating you at the same time.

“Oh God…”, he moaned before taking your breast in his mouth again, suckling on your nipple again. The combined stimulation of his mouth and the toy quickly brought you to an orgasm and Miguel definitely felt like he was close too from the sight of your body shaking and your voice chanting in pleasure.

He released your nipple as soon as you came but chose to not turn the vibrator off. He had to admit that the buzzing sound was quite...comforting. That after-glow on your face from your climax made it harder for him to resist his urge and his hand was now rubbing the bulge in the front of his pants, trying to ease the uncomfortable pressure.

“Miguel...do you want to…”

“Yes.”

You both didn’t need more to know what to do. His hand unbuckled his belt while you grabbed a condom from the bathroom counter. He swiftly put it on and his eyes stopped on your fingers as you were about to turn the toy off.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, quite confused.

“Mhh...turning it off since we are going to..you know…”

“I want you to keep it between your legs...please.” He thought you would reject his idea but your devilish grin let him know you had understood his idea.

“Looks like you’re now a fan.”, you teased him as he pushed your hair aside to kiss your neck. His tongue grazed your sweaty skin as he murmured: “How could I hate something that makes you feel good? Something that makes you look so good…”

“Wait...you mean to tell me I look good in this moment? I always thought I would make some pretty weird faces.”, you chuckled.

“But I like your weird faces.”, he whispered like a secret while kissing your neck up to your jaw. “I like how focused you look in this moment...how you always bite your lip...how your tongue stuck out a bit...how you arch your back…” His mouth pressed against your shoulder and he hummed softly against your skin, the vibration resonating with the one between your thighs.

“I think you should see for yourself…”, he teased you and you understood what he was hinting at. The large mirror just behind you… his fingers gently rubbed your sides in a silent request and when you nodded your head, he helped you turn over.

You were now facing the large mirror of the bathroom. The warm light didn’t make any secret of your every imperfection, dilated pores after the heat of the bath, the lines of your clothes when they had cut through your skin over the day, the marks, the cuts… And yet there was Miguel and his loving gaze, looking at you like you were a painting. One of his hands was holding the toy between your legs, not being disgusted in any way by the small pudge of your belly, whether there could be stretch marks there, body hair, scars or even no trace of feminine curve he would still love it. His thumb was drawing lazy circles over your skin; his lips were kissing your shoulder blade and his other hand drew the curve of your breasts.

“You’re gorgeous.”

His low voice made a shiver run down your back, the same way his fingers did.

“Just look at you. I want you to see for yourself…” His fingers gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head up so you could see your reflection. And now, in this tiny fraction of time you could see yourself through his eyes. You didn’t see the imperfections anymore or rather you had accepted them… and they looked so vain compared to the rest, compared to all you had to offer.

“You’re even more beautiful when you start moving…”, he whispered into your ear while his cock rubbed against your back. And you immediately understood what he meant when he entered you, when your back arched against him, when your waist whined and swayed languidly...as if you were dancing.

You barely noticed him increasing the speed on the vibrator but you definitely felt the pulsating air blowing with more intensity on your swollen clit. You were a sloppy mess down there, your walls clenching out of your control, your slick juices coating your thighs, your musky, dizzying scent filling up both your senses, overpowering everything else…

“Shh it’s okay...just breathe in...you’re doing so good…”

Miguel’s voice was only a murmur, a plead the longer your act lasted. He was now panting, groaning into your ears every time he would pull out before diving into you. His slow, deep thrusts contrasted with the steady and fast pace of the toy and you were slowly feeling dizzy. Your breath was more labored and heavy as if you had to use every last ounce of your strength even for this.

“You can lean on me, baby...it’s okay...you’re almost there…” Miguel’s praise and support, literally, guided you through these last moments before your orgasm. It wasn’t a sudden outburst but rather a slow and steady walk, like a hike through a mountain and when you reached the top of it… Your voice rose a bit higher as you whimpered incomprehensible words and your whole body turned into some mush as your vision was clouded by the relief of your vision.

Miguel’s lips were wrapped around the spot on your neck where your pulse was beating, too busy sucking on your already existing hickey when he felt your inner walls clench and spasm around his cock. The tightness made him groan and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

His chest was pressing tightly against you back and his hands held your hips in place as he finally came into one last thrust. The two of you were now skin to skin, trying to catch your breath when you heard the sound of an electronic device shutting down.

The vibrator had just ran out of battery.

This was usually very frustrating for you but this time, you could only chuckle, amused by the timing of it all and by Miguel’s reaction.

“Gosh...that’s all?”, he asked in a slightly disappointed voice and this time you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, did I say something funny?”, he asked with a confused expression that slowly turned into a teasing grin. His lips brushed against your ear and he nipped at your earlobe all while giving your butt a small squeeze:

“Not gonna lie, I’m kinda disappointed in this thing’s...stamina.”

“As if you weren’t tired yourself…”, you nudged him in the chest while laughing. He rolled his eyes back but he couldn’t deny how he enjoyed this small banter. His lips pressed a small kiss on the side of your face and he replied:

“Okay okay. I admit that I might need to rest a bit but...maybe later?”

His fingers hinted at something nice as they resumed stroking your stomach.

“I could definitely use some stress relief later tonight…”

“That’s what I was thinking…”

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

Notes: Youhou! I'm not late publishing it!

That was very self-indulgent because I’m stressed out, on my period and college is kicking my butt.

Thanks for reading!

My masterlist

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderverse #atsv #miguel x reader #fanfic #miguel 2099 #miguel smut #shower smut #actually it's a bath but you get the idea

514 notes · View notes

peyton-warren · 4 months ago

Note

Okay sorry last one!

Sy knows that you’ve been ignoring your health. (Brushing teeth, showering, eating properly, sleeping properly) but he’s been pleasing you every chance the two of you get.

Could be because you’re with him or you just have been busy, but you get a toothache and he takes you to the base dentist or a regular dentist. It’s something simple like just a stuck popcorn shell or something like that. Or maybe you pass out. Idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

He decides that if you want to cum again, you have to take better care of yourself. No grinding either. Every time you do, you suck him off while he teases you. Until you take better care of yourself. No orgasms

I might have taken this one a little off the track you set but we got back on it by the end. There is no smut there is a hell of suggestion at the end. I hope this is ok. And its a weeee bit longer than a drabble. Wrote this all by hand in the woods thanks for the prompt that resonated so much with me.

Characters: Gender Neutral reader, Captain Syverson Pairings: Sy x Reader Fandoms: Sandcastle, Henry Cavill characters Word count: 4111 Type: angst, suggestive Warning: 18+. Warnings: blood, Reader injured, discussion of domestic abuse, self depreciation, discussion of mental illness, daddy kink, potential eating disorder, tiny Daddy kink

Summary: Reader has to be taken to the hospital by their new-ish boyfriend Sy. Sy learns some things about his partner that has Reader worried about their future together.

Author's Note: I have no idea how a real ER works, nor proper medical procedures nor hospital policies. I manipulated them for my own gain here. Nor do I fully understand how blood sugars work or what the tests doctors use tell them about your eating habits. Don't come after me if you know how they actually do work. Also thank you to @ellethespaceunicorn for the beta.

Ask Box: Open Masterlist

Banner by me with an assist by @ellethespaceunicorn Dividers by @cafekitsune

Dazed, you blinked your tired eyes open.

“There they are,” Sy cooed softly, crouching next to you.

You blinked again, trying

to focus.

He was next to you on his kitchen floor. You stared up into the concerned blue eyes above you.

Oh right date night. You two had been cooking dinner.

“I didn't know you were afraid of blood,” he said with sincerity, no teasing or judgment in his tone.

“I’m not,” you said defensively. Then you realized the last thing you remembered was nicking your finger cutting up veggies and then nothing. “What happened?” You asked.

“You passed out,” he told you. “I saw you waver out of the corner of my eye and caught you in time to keep you from hitting the deck,” he told you. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay?”

“Just okay? You think you can sit up?” He offered you a hand. As you placed your palm in his, he carefully helped you into a sitting position, his other arm gently curving around your back, just in case. “How’s that?” he asked, squeezing your hand.

“Okay. I think.”

“I don't like your uncertainty,” he admitted, softly, looking at you with a deeper concern. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No!” you shook your head vehemently, hating to cause him or anyone even a hit of inconvenience. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine, sweetheart,” he told you. “You look like you have seen a ghost. You're trembling and your palm hasn't stopped bleeding. We are going to the ER,” he insisted. “Even if I have to hog tie you and throw you in the back of the truck.”

“Sy, I’m fine,” you tried again.

Sy moved from you only briefly to grab a kitchen towel that read “Mama Tried,” and returned promptly to press it to your palm which you just now noticed is covered in blood. “I didn’t think I cut it that bad,” you admitted. You were unable to assess the damage before it was covered in flour sack material.

“You jabbed it in there pretty good just before you went down.” Sy pulled his phone from his pocket. “Now are you willingly coming with me to the hospital? Or am I calling the squad?”

You knew your stubborn asshole of a boyfriend wasn't going to back down until you were properly checked out. After a beat, a silence, just a split second before you were certain he was going to open his phone, you relented. “Alright.”

He placed a hurried kiss to your forehead as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Good. Now put your other hand over the towel and I’ll get you to the truck.”

You scoffed at this. “You are not carrying me to the truck,” you said. “I’ll get myself out there. Just get me off the damn floor.”

Sy chucked. “There’s my sweetheart. Hold the towel tight,” he insisted just before standing behind you and hooking his hands under your arm and effortlessly lifting you to your feet. His hand held your upper arm tight as he rounded you and looked intently at your face. “You al’ite?”

“I’m fine, Sy,” you ground out, done with being fussed over.

With a single nod, he placed that hand to your lower back and gently guided you to the door. “Easy and gently,” he reminded you.

“I’ll ��easy and gently’ you.” You continued to be unhappy with his instance of treating you with such tender care. You still were not used to dating a decent human being, unsure if you even deserved it. If he knew how you really were, maybe he’d throw you away, like all the other partners you had had over the years.

Sy, oblivious of your inner conflict, got you settled into the passenger seat and buckled you in. “All set, baby?”

You only nodded, still applying pressure to your cut palm. He gave you a soft smile and carefully closed your door. Took him all of two seconds before he was in the driver's seat and starting the engine. “Let’s get you patched up.”

The drive to the local hospital was over within 20 minutes and was accomplished in silence. You tried to ignore the new throb in your palm that appeared. Sy had stopped you once from peeling back the towel by laying his hand over yours. “You don't wanna do that.”

“I wanna see.”

“No you don’t. Firstly it'll start bleeding again once you release the pressure,” he used his Captain voice, you knew his military training had kicked in. “Secondly, I don't need you passing out again when you see it.”

You all but huffed at him. “I am NOT afraid of blood.”

“You may not be, but you aren't gonna like the looks of that.”

You relented and gave a dramatic sigh. “Aye, aye, Captain,” you said dryly.

Once you arrived at the hospital, and got through the headache of checking in, the two of you settled in the waiting room. Sy took your injured hand and put it on his thigh, taking over putting pressure on the injury. You sat in further silence until a nurse called your name, less than 30 minutes later. Sy kissed your temple and let you take your own hand back. You both stand and head for the nurse who eyes you 6’4” shadow with suspicion. “Just them,” the nurse states in a no nonsense voice.

“It's ok,” you reassure her. “He’s with me.”

“Is he your emergency contact and/or spouse?” she asks you, and your stomach dropped at the thought of going in without Sy.

“No,” you say in a small voice.

“But ma’am-”

“Do not,” she cut Sy off. “Policy is policy. I don't make it,” she sternly stated.

“You are just the enforcer,” Sy finished for her in a very knowing voice.

“You got it,” she beamed at him. “Have a seat. They'll be out as soon as they’re done.”

You gave him a soft smile over your shoulder and mouthed ‘Sorry.’ He kissed your forehead. “You’re in good hands,” he tried to sound calm for you. You nodded and followed the scrubbed nurse into the ER. The door closed behind you with a soft click, signaling it locked. The nurse led you to a room, flipping the plastic flags over the door to whatever she needs to as you step in.

“Have a seat on the bed,” she said in a softer tone than she had with Sy. As she halfway pulled the curtain closed, you settled with your back on the upright position of the gurney. She clicked at the computer near the bed. “Laceration on your non-dominant palm. How did it happen?” she asked, nodding to your hand as she reached for gloves from the rack on the wall.

“Slipped while cooking dinner,” you offered, leaving out the part where you passed out.

She eyed you before placing a hand on your wrist. “Let me take a look.”

You relinquished the towel which you now realize had a significant amount of blood on it. “Oh geez, I hope he can get that out.”

The nurse’s eyes flit back to your face. “Who is he?” she conversationally asked.

“My boyfriend,” you said almost shyly. This thing between you was still new and fresh, only a few months old. You were still getting used to using the title for Sy.

“You live together?” she asked as she put the makeshift bandage back down. “Hold that again please.”

You do as you are told. “No, only been together a few months.” you affirmed.

She nodded and stripped the gloves from her hands, dropping them into the biohazard trash before turning back to the computer “You are gonna need stitches,” she told you, “but first the doc has to come see you to confirm.”

“Yeah kinda figured that was why my army boyfriend brought me in. If he coulda handled it himself we wouldn't be here,” you guessed.

The nurse pulled a wheelie stool over and sat down near your bedside and looked at you compassionately but no nonsense. “He the reason you are here?” she asked.

“Well yeah, he insisted-”

She shook her head, interrupting you. “No sweety,” she tried again. Her name tag/badge read Joy you noticed. “Are you safe with him?”

Your eyes widened at her meaning. “Yes!” you stumbled over the word, surprised someone would think you are not safe with Sy. “Absolutely,” you insisted. “He’d never hurt anyone he cared about much less me,” you defended him further.

“You have to know how this looks,” the nurse stated. And you finally put all the pieces together. “Especially with him being active duty,” she pointed out. You had heard the rumors that military men were statistically more likely to be the aggressor in domestic violence situations.

“Not him,” you asserted, trying to think of another way to convince her she had it all wrong.

Instead she reached out and squeezed your knee. “It's ok. I have to ask. Just a couple more questions and then I'll go get the doctor.”

You relaxed into the mattress. “Okay.”

“Do you want your boyfriend back here with you? I can continue to tell him its policy to keep him out in the waiting room.”

You almost started panicking again at the thoughts that anyone would think anything but the best of Sy. “No, I want him here please, if I can.”

“Of course you can, especially if he will help you stay calm.” She took a deep breath, holding it for a beat and then releasing it, which you mirrored. “Will his presence keep you at ease?” Her eyes stared at yours, watching your reaction closely.

You took another deep breath and nodded. “Yes please.”

“Ok sweetie. If you change your mind, tell me or the doctor you’d like to see ‘Dr. Strong’ and we will get security to remove him from here, okay?”

“I won’t need that,” you assured her., “But I’m glad you have that in place for other people to use. “

She gave you a sad smile. “Unfortunately it's all too common of a situation for us.” She put her hand on the door handle. “What’s the boyfriend’s last name?”

You gave it to her and she nodded. “I'll go get him now and the Doctor will be with you as soon as he can.”

“Thank you.”

And she was gone.

And you were left alone with your thoughts for a few minutes. You had never thought so much of as an ill thought about Sy outside of how obnoxious his snoring was when he’s been drinking and now you felt like you hit the jackpot with Sy. But also, it felt a bit early to be proclaiming declarations of love. Sy didn’t seem like the type of man who would ever harm his partner but you had been fooled into thinking the best of others in your past and were proven ---

The door opened and saved you from continuing that thought. Sy’s face appeared around the curtain with a concerned look as Nurse Joy peeked around him. “Will be a bit til the doctor will be with you. Keep holding that towel.”

Sy rounded the bed and sat on the stool the nurse abandoned. “Thanks,” you said. “For everything.”

“You are welcome. Just doing my job.”

And she was gone again, the door closing behind her. “New friend?” Sy asked after that exchange.

“Something like that,” you affirmed.

“What’s the verdict?” he nodded towards your hand.

“Needs stitches,” you stated nonchalantly.

“And the passing out?” he prompted.

You hesitated. “Oh, ummmm,”

“You didn't mention that?” he surmised.

“No.”

“Of course not,” he sighed.

You stopped looking at your hands in your lap and flashed your eyes to him. “What’s that mean?”

Sy just shook his head and laid his hand on your knees closest to him. “I’ve just noticed you aren't very good at taking care of yourself is all.”

You get defensive immediately, though this isn't the first time you have heard that from someone else who cared about you. “I do just fine with that,” you asserted.

“Then why didn't you mention that to the nurse?”

“Because that's not a big deal,” you attested. “Not as much as bleeding to death.” You raised your injured hand to illustrate. “I’m sorry about your towel.”

“I don't give one goddamn about a kitchen towel,” he stated but is interrupted by a knock on the door, drawing both of your attention. Nurse Joy walked around the curtain with a man in a white coat.

“Hello here’s Dr. Brock.”

Sy’s hand squeezed your knee.

“How are you today?” Dr. Brock asked.

“Fine outside of trying to filet my palm. Wait,” you suddenly say. “I only remember nicking my finger. When did I slice my palm?” you looked at Sy, and felt the attention of the medical personnel in the room shift to look at him as well.

“You grabbed for the counter as you passed out,” he simply stated.

“There was no mention of passing out,” Joy stated, and you realize you had just ratted yourself out.

“Did you hit your head?” the doctor asked, springing into action to examine your eyes.

“I don't think so,” you sounded unsure.

“No they didn’t,” Sy joined the conversation. “I caught them on the way down.”

Doctor turned half his attention to the attentive boyfriend beside you as he applied gentle pressure around your head. “Were they out cold?”

“Yes”

“For how long?”

“At least 3 minutes but it felt like a lifetime,” Sy disclosed.

Doctor Brock nodded as Joy typed on the computer. “Let’s get them a CT scan, a CBC panel to start,” he spoke to the nurse who clicked the mouse. “And a stitch kit for their hand.” He gave that the briefest of looks and a nod. “Looks like the bleeding has stopped. We can take care of that while we wait for radiation to come get them.”

He turned back to you. “Afraid we are going to keep you from dinner for a bit longer,” he told you.

“It's ok,” you whispered.

It took another hour, but you found yourself stitched , bandaged, scanned and short a few vials of blood. You and Sy sat in the room, talking about which fast food to grab on your way back to his place when Dr. Brock and your new favorite nurse returned. “We have the results from your scan and your blood work,” he told you as he sat down in front of the computer. Sy’s hand gently squeezed your uninjured hand while the doctor logged in and pulled up your chart. “Ok,” he paused as he read. “Your CT scan came back normal. Nothing unusual in your brain.”

“That's good.”

He nodded as he continued to look at his results. “There’s a few things in your blood work I’d like to talk to you about. Your glucose was concerningly down.”

“We were in the process of making dinner,” Sy tried.

“No it was more than just one missed meal,” the doctor told him.

You avoid looking at Sy out of guilt. ”I may have missed a few meals today.”

“There's only three to miss,” Sy sounded upset, and your stomach flipped. “How many did you miss?”

“All of them...?” you stated uncertain, again.

“And the past few days?” the doctor asked.

You shrugged and looked sheepishly at him. “A few...”

“Your blood work says more than ‘a few’,” he said sternly but gently. “And your urinalysis says you are severely dehydrated.” He looked at you. “How much water do you have every day?”

“Water?” you lamely asked

“Yes, plain water. Maybe with some lemon or bubbles in it, but just water?”

“Not much. I’m more of a coffee kind of girl,” you tried to tell him, aiming for a joke but it falling flat on your audience.

“I’m going to need you to up your intake of water by a lot.”

“For how long?”

“For always,” he looked at you. “Human bodies need water to survive.” he glanced quickly at the screen before turning back to you. “How has your depression and anxiety been lately?”

Well shit. You looked guiltily at Sy again before answering. “It's been better.”

“On a scale of 1-5, l one being the lowest you’ve been and 5 being the best feeling ever, where have you been lately?

Another sideways glance at Sy before answering. “A 0.5?”

“I see,” the doctor said and typed a few things.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sy asked, sounding more than a little hurt.

The shrug you give him does nothing to remove the look from his face.

“What can I do for them, Doc?” he asked, his eyes never leaving your face.

You opened your mouth to protest but Dr. Brock beat you to it. “That’s up to them as to what they need. But open communication is a good start.” That was directed at you. “And reassuring them they are worth taking care of themselves.” That was directed at Sy.

“I can handle that,” your boyfriend stated.

“Glad to hear it. Nurse Joy will get you your instructions and get you checked out. You can have your GP pull the stitches in 14 days. And go over your mental health needs with them too, please.”

You just nodded.

“Take care of each other.” And he was gone out the door.

The ride home was as silent as the ride to the ER but for different reasons. You felt the anger rolling off Sy. You were ashamed at having your mental health issues revealed to him in such a manner. This relationship was still too new and now you were afraid he was going to ditch you and run for the hills.

“You can just drop me at my car in your driveway and I’ll head home,” you surmised you had fully ruined your date night if not your whole relationship.

“What?” Sy sounded confused. “No.” He pulled his eyes from the road for a second to look at you. If you weren't wrong, he looked hurt again. “We are grabbing dinner and then we are gonna talk about what is going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

“Look if you wanna break up with me-”

“What kind of assholes have you dated, sweetheart?” he asked angrily and your mouth audibly snapped shut followed by a soft sniffle. He DID think you were an idiot and he was going to ditch you tonight. You knew it. Trouble was he held you hostage until he returned you to your car. And the sound of your next sniffle, Sy hit his blinker and pulled the truck into the first parking lot on his right,parking his truck across 4 spots before turning in his seat to look at you, his hand landing on your forearm. “Please talk to me,” he softly said. “Whatever it is, I'm here.”

“You hate me,” you asserted. “I’m a horrible person. And now you know the truth about me.”

Sy’s hand flew up to the ceiling of the truck and flipped the light on and watched you wiped at your tears. “Did I say any of that?” he asked. “Ever.”

You shook your head. “No but you probably are thinking about it now that you know.”

“Know what? That you have a mental illness that makes your life hard to navigate?”

“Yeah.” you sniffled.

“For fuck’s sake, darlin’, do you know how many of my men have mental illnesses, both diagnosed and not? And I trust them literally with my life,” Sy tried again, agitation just on the edge of his voice. He took a breath and tried another time. “Sweetness, whatever you have going on , I ain't lying when I tell you I’m here for you, for all of it.:”

“But-”

“No buts, gorgeous, you aren't getting rid of me that easily,” he insisted, giving you a small smile, which you did not return. “Unless you want me to go. I hope you don't. You seemed like you were enjoying our evening tonight before your swan dive.” You smiled at that. “But if you want out, let's talk about that and I’ll try to convince you to stay so I can fix whatever it is you don't like but I do not want out. I make that call, not you,” he asserted gently.

You sat in stunned silence for a moment. All your standard cookie cutter responses to try to convince someone you were a horrible person died on your tongue, leaving you with nothing to say.

At another beat of silence, Sy grabbed his phone from the center console. “Do you want pizza or tacos for dinner?”

~~~~~~~~~

Once you were safely at his house with your dinner, Sy left you at the kitchen table as he took an exuberant Aika outside to potty and chase a ball around for a few minutes. By the time he returned, you had set the table and were in the process of cleaning up the mess you had left on his floor, on his counter, your blood mixed with food that had been left out too long.

Sy dramatically sighed when he found you trying to one handedly clean everything up. “Will you stop before you hurt yourself further?” You looked at him sheepishly. “But thank you,” he tried instead. “Thank you for setting the table.” He took your good hand and escorted you to the table set with two plates, two glasses of water and the only candle you could find in his house and you were fairly certain it was a gift from his mom or sister. He pulled your chair out for you and you rolled your eyes as you sat down, but you sat down. “Good baby,” he mumbled into the crown of your head. “One slice or two?” he asked, chivalrously opening the box for you to see the options available as if you weren’t in the truck when he ordered your usual pizza.

“You are a dork,” you informed him.

“Yes, but I am your dork,” he told you, pulling two pieces to put on your plate. “Since you didn’t eat at all today, you get two. And you have to eat them all, even the crusts. And drink all your water too,” he informed you.

You made a face at him but nodded, agreeing to those terms. “Okay, Daddy,” you teasingly mutter as you pull a stringy bit of cheese and pop it in your mouth.

Sy growled low in his throat, a noise you only heard when you did something he liked in the bedroom and you felt your belly heat at finding a new kind of his and one you didn't object to. You smirked at him as he sat down, your focus now on his darkening eyes. “You wanna play with Daddy, little one?” he menacingly asked you. You nodded enthusiastically, your ravenous hunger shifting from the pizza to the man in front of you.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy.” you started to rise from the table to move towards him.

“Sit your pretty ass down,” he commanded without raising his voice. You felt yourself grow hotter at his tone, immediately and unthinkingly settling back into your spot. “You will eat everything on your plate, or you will not leave this table, am I clear?” Normally you would balk at such a statement but now you just nodded. “I need words, little one.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good baby,” he commended. “You will also drink everything in your glass, do you understand?” You lost focus, you wondered if this is the tone he took with his men and if so did any of them get turned on as you were right now. “Hello, pretty baby?” Sy’s voice broke through your wandering thoughts.

“Yes Daddy, I mean Sir. I mean Daddy,” you stuttered, unsure what title to use, both seeming fitting at this moment.

“I see that attention is a problem for you. So let me try a different approach,” he asserted. “If you have everything on your plate, drink all the water I give you and take your daily meds if you haven't yet,” he raised a questioning eyebrow at you, knowing you usually packed your medications with you when you came over for date night. “You can cum tonight. If you don’t do those things, all you’ll get to do is help me cum, am I clear?”

You swallowed loudly, knowing he was not at all joking in her terms. “Yes, Daddy.” And you took a big bite of cooling pizza.

“Good baby.”

General Tag List: @ellethespaceunicorn @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212,

@avengersfan25, @foxyjwls007 @gummydummy19 , @cynic-spirit , @rosecentury

HC Tag LIst: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn @summersong69,

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Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) any of them. AND Just cuz I think you'll be interested in seeing it I am gonna tag @deandoesthingstome

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain sy #captain sy x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fic #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson x reader #sy x reader #syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x reader #cpt syverson #henry cavill characters #gn reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

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tunastime · 9 months ago

Text

Sunset in the Heart of that Green Valley

started drumming up an au accidentally with some input from the mutuals beloved. told myself it wasn't going anywhere but this so I had to stick as much as I could into just. this. I SWEAR. < lying

Bdubs can't remember a part of his life without Etho--no matter the shape or profession, the danger or lackthereof. It was always Etho, and himself, and this wild, wasted world. Or, Bdubs watches his cows on the farm. Etho joins him on his horseback ride around the perimeter fence.

(4111 words)

It's a long, slow ride a mile from the wire fence and sparse tree line that borders the ranch. It's nothing but cool wind and wiregrass for miles, soft green and brown as the spring starts to roll in. Soon enough the field will be full of baby calves and their healthy mamas, big brown eyes and full stomachs. Horses too—lots of 'em, kind natured but tough, enough to fight you but not enough to bite the hand that feeds 'em. He'll be able to lift a foal into his arms to stand it upright and watch its mother nose his armpit and look at him with those soft brown eyes. For now, BdoubleO takes that long ride along the border, listening to cicadas sing in the trees. That's not the only thing singing though. Besides the breathing of his horse beneath him and the cattle dog that runs ahead, is the soft, mellow voice of his partner, Etho, humming indistinctly.

He has his head turned toward the tree line, eyes scanning listlessly for any sign of movement. Just a couple of weeks ago, they lost a handful of chickens to a fox, a thing neither of them could stand to kill even as they went looking for it. From where he rides next to him, Bdubs can see the holster for his revolver strapped tight to his thigh. He's never actually seen the gun, for what it's worth. Not in action. Not even the smell of gunpowder on Etho's leather work gloves. He's only ever watched his thin, strong, meticulous hands clean the individual parts and put it back together. It makes sense why Etho's focus is so drawn to that tree line. He probably doesn’t want it to happen again.

Bdubs watches the curve of his shoulders under the off-white button-up he's wearing. It's loose at his elbows and under his arms, but from the way he slouches, hat tipped back to cover his neck, it's tight across his back. Bdubs sighs—for a moment, that's the only thing that breaks the silence. Bdubs' longing rings out in the stale air, and a chuckle joins the hum of that wordless melody.

"Somethin' the matter, 'dubs?" Etho says, glancing over. He can just hear him through the scarf tucked around his face, tied behind his neck. His hair is tucked under his hat, tied away nearly the same. Its just his eyes, warm and smiling, eyebrows raised, when he looks over. Bdubs scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"No," he says. "Nothin's the matter. What's it to ya, anyway?"

Etho shrugs. He shuts his eyes for a second when he does. Bdubs can picture the little frown on his face when he does.

"Figured I'd ask," he says cooly. "That was a pretty profound sigh."

"Nothin' for you to worry about," Bdubs gripes. He taps Lacey with his heels and she meanders forward, huffing out through her nose. He hears Etho laugh as he pulls away, and it's only a second before Etho's at his side again. He tugs Bdubs' hat over his eyebrows.

"Don't be like that, 'dubs!" Etho pouts. "You sounded upset."

"Quit teasin' me," Bdubs grumbles, swatting at him with the hand not wrapped around the reigns. Lacey patters to a stop as Bdubs slackens on the reigns, trying to grab Etho's hat. Etho ducks his head.

"Bdubs!" He laughs, pushing his hands away.

"Quit!"

"You quit!"

Bdubs huffs again, shrinking back, then straightens. Etho's turned away from him, all of a sudden. Bdubs goes to speak, but as he does, he hears Etho say something so quiet it's felt more than heard.

It's sunset, he's just realized. The orange light leaks through gaps in the trees, casting gold bars over the wheatgrass and dry dirt. He can see light blue leaking into orange, pink, yellow, blending into white clouds above him. This time, the profound sigh whistles out of Etho's chest. Bdubs bites his tongue. Haloed by the gold light, Etho looks like the type of things only lonely cowboys dream about. The perfect outlaw, or the hardworking ranch hand, or the kindhearted sheriff looking for love. The things you read in dime novels, no matter the flavor of romance. Bdubs feels his heart squeeze, the want pooling in his elbows and the joint of his hips. He won't sigh again, or make any other sound, not as long as Etho watches the sunset.

"Wow," Etho mumbles. His horse snorts. Etho huffs a laugh, reaching just far enough to pet between his ears. "Wow..."

"It's gorgeous," Bdubs says. He'd be lying if he said he was talking about the sunset.

Etho turns back to him after a beat. Bdubs's eyes flick up to his face, tilting his head a little as Etho's soft eyes linger on him. He can see the indistinct scarring up part of his face, near his eye and eyebrow. Tugging off his gloves, Bdubs raises a careful hand up to Etho's face. There, he tucks two fingers in the space between his cheek and the scarf over his face, and tugs it down. Etho doesn't stop him. In fact, he's smiling just so when Bdubs does. He's got nothing to hide, really—the scarf is for the dust, more than anything else. He scrunches his nose as the scarf falls around his neck.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Bdubs says softly. His hand cups Etho's cheek, thumb smoothing over the rough, scarred skin of his left cheek. Fire. They're all healed burns. His thumb dances over them anyway, like he'd never seen them or brushed them or kissed them before. Two long strands of hair frame Etho's face. Here, Bdubs tucks one of them behind his ear, still moving to cradle his face. The look that passes over him makes Bdubs' stomach fold over. He's smiling, wide and soft, and his eyes shut as he leans into Bdubs' palm.

"Hiya, Bdubs," Etho mumbles. His voice hits a low octave as he whispers. Bdubs flushes. Etho's hand falls to Bdubs' hip, both steadying for himself and for Bdubs' balance, thumb pressed into his hipbone as he leans forward into Bdubs' space. Etho's hand comes to tip his hat back as far as it'll go before it knocks from his head, scrunching up his nose as Bdubs' flush grows a little warmer, a little further over his cheeks and ears. He's smiling, though, and so is Etho. Bdubs can't help it—he was just so damn handsome, that stupid cowboy. Damn him. He keeps himself lingering in Etho's space for a beat longer, tracing out the high of his cheek with his thumb. The sun's still setting, warm and orange behind him. He can't even see stars yet.

"Can we stay?" Bdubs asks, sighing out his nose. His eyes flick behind Etho's shoulder for a moment, watching the bars of light through the trees. "Just to watch?"

Etho smiles, his eyes going all soft and round like they do when Bdubs says something he particularly likes. Must've liked that, then. He noses Bdubs' palm just a little, looking up into the sky before settling on Bdubs' face again.

"Sure," Etho mumbles. "Why not? Stars haven't even come out yet."

Bdubs grins, knocking their foreheads together, a soft laugh bubbling up in his chest before it leaves him with his exhale. Etho scrunches his nose.

Leaning forward as far as he can, Etho kisses him. His warm, gloved hand fits over the back of his neck, brushing through the close cropped hair there. His lips are chapped from the dusty air, but they're dry and warm and Bdubs feels Etho hum against his mouth. He presses back and up into him, free hand falling to his knee to stabilize himself. Etho pulls in a fast breath through his teeth and kisses him again, firm but gentle. Bdubs shuts his eyes and keeps them shut, feeling Etho's hand curl against the base of his skull, feeling them work in tandem with each other. It's nice and easy and tender in a way that curls up in Bdubs' chest and rests there, calmly. It's sweeter than anything else he knows, or damn near close to it.

He smiles against his lips, dragging his thumb in a slow line across the rippled scar on his cheek. He's so gentle with him, Etho is, as he is with Etho, up until the point of course that they're chasing each other around on foot and on horseback and scrapping in the dirt just to prove a point. But here it's intentional. Bdubs rubs his cheek and that scar so Etho knows he wants to feel it He wants to feel where it starts at the high of his cheekbone and ends just under the low dip of his eye, how the uneven surface gives to smoother skin, how it’s all patches of rough and light. He wants to see that it cuts through his eyelid and eyebrow and that the eyebrow never really grew back and his hearing wasn't always that good in that ear. He wants to. He loves him. To love Etho was to love each thing he called an imperfection.

"I'll be damned, cowboy," he mumbles under his breath. Etho laughs, just a little, from somewhere high in his chest.

"What's that?" he asks, crushing his cheek into the heel of Bdubs' hand. Bdubs shakes his head.

"Nothin', gorgeous."

"Mmh," Etho agrees. Bdubs can tell his face is warm from more than just the desert heat.

"You liked that, mm?" he says. He leans up to kiss Etho just once, sighing out through his nose.

Etho nods, stilted, still flushing as Bdubs draws himself and his hand away. There's a moment that Etho's hand stays warm and solid on his hip and the back of his neck. His dark eyes sweep over him, the clouded vision of his left still trying to focus on Bdubs' face. A soft smile lingers on his face, lifting the edges just enough to form the smile lines Bdubs loves to kiss. They're there more often than not, still fading as Etho's face softens, as he takes care to wash the grime off and soothe his skin with beeswax. They linger for a second before they, and Etho, draw away, settling back on his saddle and sitting up. He stretches, screwing up his expression as Bdubs hears his spine pop.

"Augh," he vocalizes. Bdubs snorts as Lacey does, shuffling her hooves in the dry grass.

"Let's get a move on then, old man," Bdubs teases, reaching for his reins and to prod the soft of Etho's knee. Etho jerks, trotting his horse a step away from Bdubs hands. There, he sticks out his tongue, fixes his hat, and tucks the bandana around his nose again. There's that familiar shape—sheriff to outlaw, the line of Etho's eyes honing his gaze to razor sharp. Bdubs sighs, letting himself laugh, before he jerks his head forward, pushing his hat back onto his head. He prods Lacey with the heels of his boots and she steps forward into a jog.

Above his head, the wink of stars begin to shine in the dull, pale blue sky. He can still see the lick of orange light like flames above the treeline, cascading over the red-grey and sparse green hills, framing Etho in a delicate picture. Bdubs grins, eyes settling on his partner behind him. He sees Etho's eyes squint as he presumably smiles. Nudging a little more, Bdubs brings Lacey up to a trot, and further to a canter as he hears Etho laugh, loud and clear across the planes, behind him.

In the distance, he can see the warm cast of oil lamps they lit before they left. As much as Bdubs' bones crave the man not even a few yards behind him, they ache for the cool halls of their house, warm coffee, and the light he can just barely catch in the rising night.

Later that night, Bdubs scrapes congealed fat out of the cast iron skillet Etho cooked in. His body and stomach are heavy with the meal they’ve just finished, beans and pork and cornmeal grits, the taste of whatever last few seasonings Etho had thrown in still lingering between his teeth. He scrubs the pan in the hot water, feeling out what were nicks in the pan and what was dirt. He’d hate to ruin the seasoning they’d just built up on the pan. He raises it from the soapy water after a moment, giving it a good shake as his eyes track over the dusty-grey surface. Clean as can be. As he finishes, toweling off his hands as he lays the skillet to dry, he turns back to the room behind him.

It’s starting to smell a bit like coffee and a bit like woodfire smoke, the embers of their fireplace and stove fire still filling the room. Etho has tucked himself on the couch, knitted blanket draped over his shoulders and a book open on his folded legs. That was one thing about the desert that Bdubs never got used to—it got cold quickly. The air seeped the heat right out of the ground, right underneath your feet, as soon as the lick of sunshine from the day was gone. Etho had the right idea, curling himself into the smallest spot on their worn couch, blanket drawn tight around him, enough to where only his socked feet poked out. He’d tied his long hair up and away from his face, stark white locks delicately balanced on the top of his head. Bdubs hums as he wanders over.

Etho picks up his head, blinking slowly at him. His gaze seems far away as it pins on him.

“Hi, Etho,” Bdubs says, scrunching up his nose. “You fall asleep on me after dinner?”

“Mm?” Etho questions. He shakes his head. “No, no, never.”

Bdubs snorts. As he stands beside the front of the couch, Etho’s hand comes out, his cold fingers wrapping around Bdubs’ wrist. Bdubs makes a small, startled sound, but lets Etho tug him forward and onto the couch beside him. He was deceptively strong—it was the one thing nobody would guess about him. Well—maybe not the only thing. Etho’s life, much like his own, was so different compared to the docile, almost domestic, ranch life they’d build together. Bdubs sinks into the couch cushions, and not even a beat later, Etho leans his back against his arm. Bdubs’ hum peters into a giggle.

“Y’know,” he starts. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you might me lyin’ to me, Etho.”

“Mm? About what?”

Bdubs shrugs.

“Dunno, you looked pretty dang tired a second ago.”

Etho shakes his head, leaning back a little further. Bdubs gets the message. He shifts around until his leg hooks under Etho’s arm, until Etho can settle back and rest his head and back against Bdubs’ chest. The book rests on Etho’s shins now, all but forgotten as Etho tips his head back to take a look at Bdubs behind him. He seems satisfied with what he sees, because he shuffles to get comfortable.

“I don’t know about that,” Etho drawls, a smile tugging at his mouth. Bdubs scoffs. He kisses the top of Etho’s head, hands cupping around his ears to hold his head still. He feels that smile tug at his cheeks a little more and nuzzles his head for good measure.

“Alright,” he placates. “I’ll believe you for now.”

Etho hums, satisfied.

“Good.”

Bdubs lets his hands fall to Etho’s shoulders. As Etho reaches to pick up his book from his lap, Bdubs shifts him a bit more, sitting upright. His hands fall to Etho’s upper back, before he starts to shift his hair, unweaving it from where it had balanced atop his head. Etho seems to pick up on his message, sitting forward a bit as Bdubs begins to comb his fingers through Etho’s white hair.

It’s much longer than it’s ever been, Bdubs thinks—it must be. He doesn’t think it’s ever been past his shoulders when they were together before, and definitely not when Etho was a sheriff. He’d never get away with hair past his shoulders. It was bad enough that he got so many nasty scars from scrapes and threats and whatever people threw at him. Bdubs smooths his hand down the back of his neck, feeling out the base of his skull. It’s painful to think of what Etho had to get through to get here. His hair must be a testimony to that, the fine, white-blond strands reaching to just past his shoulderblades. Bdubs is careful as he weaves his hands through, tucking stray strands behind Etho’s ears, combing back from his widow’s peak to the base of his head.

He was a criminal before he was a sheriff—Bdubs remembers that. He remembers it because he was one, too. Pretty damn good. It was hard, though. Hard on Etho, who was just trying to do something with his life, to put his artistry to work, his craftsmanship. When he finally landed a job, the gang was already falling apart. He wasn’t even the first to leave—someone left for a damn sheriff. And Bdubs had laughed, then. He watched Etho set his hat on Bdubs head and felt those now memorized, strong hands squeeze his shoulders.

He found him again when Etho walked past the tiny 3-by-3 cell Bdubs had managed to worm his way into. Wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes? The fine line of Etho’s jaw cuffed by a high collared marshal's uniform, badge and all, hat pulled low over his eyes. He hadn’t meant to lock himself up in there, but as soon as he was out, he promised Etho he’d never go back. And he never did. He sat himself at the strong wooden desk catty-corner to Etho’s and dispensed justice like he’d never done a wrong deed in his life. They were fair, though. Nothing but fair. No blood but on their teeth or nose or throat. No blood on their hands.

Etho sighs warmly as Bdubs starts to braid his hair. He keeps a firm hold on the strands he weaves in and out of each other, working slowly and carefully as he absorbs himself in thought. He was there for a lot of Etho’s life. But he wasn’t there when Etho got his scar. He only saw it afterwards, during that first time he saw him from that cell.

Etho had described it late one night, after all was said and done between them, their bodies pressed so close in the same, small bed in Etho’s home that there wasn’t a molecule of space left. He’d let Bdubs trace the valleys and ridges of the burnt skin, tucked his face into Bdubs neck to breathe out a wet sigh. Coals and fire—not an accident like Bdubs had always presumed. He’d weaseled himself out of their gang of bandits, but it’s not always that the life of bandits leaves you. He’d messed up an order for another group, he’d said, when he finally got a job as a metalsmith. Too few bullets. It was a lie. He’d known from the shape of the man's mouth as he’d spoken it, but his face found the furnace regardless. Hot ash, coals, smoke in the back of his throat. It had been a long time since he’d been really able to see out of that eye. It hurt to read. It was too blurry to focus.

Now, Bdubs knows, Etho focuses and reads just fine. And Bdubs drags his fingers over his skin like it were any other part of him to touch. And touch he did. Hey! He wasn’t ashamed of himself! He spent a good few years loving this man and he was allowed to love him right and true. Whatever Etho wanted, Etho could have. He’d build him a terracotta and tile ranch house, with darkened oak and stained wood floors, a fireplace big enough to hang a kettle in, horses, cows, dogs, cats, wheatfields tall enough to lose himself in. The rolling hills of the valley were endless. They’d find a homestead, a life, friends, family, anywhere they went. And so they went. And they found the ones they’d loved all along just as they thought they would.

Bdubs cards his fingers through the braided hair for a final time, letting it hang loose and wavy around Etho’s shoulders. He instead maps the rise of his spine with his palm, listening to Etho hum and feeling his heartbeat.

“How’s your book?” Bdubs asks softly. Etho nods.

“Good,” he says, just as quiet. “It’s a real tough read, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs glances over his shoulder as Etho leans back into his chest, trying to catch a glimpse at the cover. Etho’s tucked the book under his knee, though. He can’t even peek at the type of book it is.

“Mm?” he says. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhm,” Etho drawls. “I’m real deep into some equations that I can’t wrap my head around. It’s this long complicated thing that’s supposed to help determine scale and size of the fractal-izing of light, and how we can use planetary distances to figure it out.”

Bdubs blinks, scoffing.

“Etho,” he hums.

“I’m trying to figure out how this could be relevant for our growing seasons and how I can best predict rainfall in the valley—”

“Etho—”

“And I’m sure Tango will want to know all about it considering he’s making that huge telescope, don’t you think—”

Bdubs thwaps his head laughing.

“Quit!”

Etho laughs, reaching back to grab at Bdubs hands on his head. They swat uselessly at each other for a moment.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Etho?” Bdubs grumbles.

“You’re just jealous because I understand math,” Etho jeers. “It has nothing to do with how smart I am.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Bdubs huffs. “I bet you read the almanac in your spare time!”

Etho gasps, but the gravitas and dramatic turn he does to worm away from Bdubs is enough to hint that he’s doing it for a reason. He scrambles back, tucking his book behind him as he does. Blue cover. Bdubs doesn’t know many books with a blue cover. Maybe it is the almanac after all.

“How dare you insult my knowledge of flowers, Bdubs!” Etho gasps. “I just know all those things.”

“All those things about the regional weather, too?”

Etho nods, trying to hold back a smile. Liar.

“Mhm,” he says. “All of it. I’ve known it since I was a wee little boy, ‘Dubs.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure,” he placates. “Nothin’ to do with how we just moved here a year and a half ago, no?”

Etho shakes his head.

“Not at all. I’ve known it all my life,” Etho says. He can’t fight the smile this time, or the way he draws out the a of his word, his smile growing with it. He finally cracks enough to giggle and Bdubs swats his knee. Etho sticks his tongue out at him.

“And what’s the almanac say about me?” Bdubs asks, watching Etho shuffle back into his corner, looking comfortable. He tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“You?” Etho says. “I don’t know. Nothing—I’ve never read it. I doubt they put people in it.” Then Etho smiles, adding: “I can check my book on 100 facts about B-double-O, though.”

Bdubs startles.

“Your book on what?”

Etho snorts, tipping his head back, laughter bubbling out of him. Bdubs jabs him with his socked foot and Etho curls further into himself, still giggling. Bdubs can’t help but smile, though, watching Etho break into a giggling fit over his stupid comment. He rolls his eyes as he peels himself off the couch and over to their bookshelf. Standing there for a moment, feeling the cold seep slightly into his clothes, Bdubs scans for a book. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for yet, but he’ll know it when he sees it.

In the meantime, he halfway searches for that obviously fake book Etho had mentioned. He snorts, just to himself. A hundred facts, huh?

Plucking one of his well-worn novels from the shelf, Bdubs turns back to the couch. He drops a kiss to the crown of Etho’s head as he passes and Etho is quick enough to pull him down to kiss his cheek. It’s worth it, though, as Bdubs tucks himself back against the other side of the couch and Etho’s legs tangle with his. He loves the stupid smile on Etho’s face too much to care about much else.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitshipping #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #fics #text #mcyt #mcyt fic #help girl how do all my aus start out with ethubs < THIS IS NOT AN AU #NOT ONE THAT I SHOULD CONTINUE THAT IS #green valley au #< haha ignore that #direct shout out to myke and shep who enabled this and also gave several good ideas #like the stupid bdubs book. and the images myke sent. ill and sick i say

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