#but i’m super happy with how this one turned out

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

[littlelamy]

I was the one who requested Reader going through a depression and stopped responding to Rafe. That was soooooo good, I just wish it was longer because you're such a talented writer and I could read your stuff forever. Could I.....maybe request a part 2? With some happy ending. Maybe she opens the door....or maybe he bumps into her outside when she's getting her perscribed anti depressant pills at the pharmacy or something. WHatever you want, but I just want Rafe to show Reader that HE CARES and she lets him in emotionally, and he is super attentative, not at all making her feel like a burden, and is happy to take care of her

a/n: here’s part 2!😘

you hadn’t expected to run into him. you’d finally worked up the energy to go outside, the sun's warmth on your skin almost foreign after days—weeks—spent in the isolation of your apartment. your hands trembled slightly as you stepped into the pharmacy, clutching the prescription your doctor had sent over. it was supposed to help, the medication, but even taking this step felt monumental.

you kept your head down, trying to avoid any familiar faces. but of course, the universe had other plans.

“y/n?”

your heart sank at the sound of his voice, soft but unmistakable. you turned slowly, your eyes meeting rafe’s. he was standing near the entrance, a small reusable grocery bag in hand, his expression shifting from surprise to something gentler.

you froze, unsure of what to say. your mind immediately jumped to how you must look—unkempt, tired, a shell of the person he’d met a few months ago.

“hey,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

rafe’s brows knitted together as he stepped closer, his blue eyes scanning your face. “what are you doing here?”

“just picking up something,” you mumbled, holding up your prescription bag as if it explained everything.

he nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “do you have time to talk?”

you hesitated, glancing around the store. the thought of having this conversation here, in public, made your stomach churn.

“not here,” you whispered.

“okay,” he said immediately, his tone reassuring. “my car’s outside. we can talk there?”

you nodded, following him out to the parking lot.

the silence in his car was heavy but not uncomfortable. rafe didn’t rush you, didn’t push for answers. he just sat there, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel, waiting for you to speak.

“i’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice breaking. “for disappearing. for not answering your texts. for… everything.”

he turned to face you, his expression soft. “you don’t have to apologize, y/n.”

“yes, i do,” you insisted, your chest tightening. “i’ve been a mess, and you don’t deserve to deal with that. you have your own life, and i—”

“stop,” he interrupted gently, his hand reaching out to rest on yours. his touch was warm, grounding. “you’re not a burden. and i don’t care how messy things are right now. i care about you.”

his words hit you like a wave, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself.

“i don’t understand why,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “why would you want to deal with someone like me? i can’t even—”

“because you matter to me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. “and it’s not about ‘dealing’ with you, y/n. it’s about being here for you. because that’s what you do for the people you care about.”

you didn’t go back to your apartment that day. instead, rafe drove you to his place, insisting that you didn’t have to be alone.

“just for a little while,” he said when you hesitated. “you don’t have to talk or do anything you don’t want to. just... stay.”

——————-

his house was quieter than you’d expected, the warm tones of the furniture and the faint smell of cedar making it feel more like a home than you’d imagined.

he led you to the couch, draping a blanket over your shoulders before disappearing into the kitchen. when he returned, he had a cup of tea in his hands, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

"it’s chamomile,” he said, sitting down beside you. “i don’t know if you like it, but wheezie taught me how to make it back when i couldn’t sleep."

you managed a small smile, the gesture feeling foreign but welcome. “thank you.”

“anytime,” he replied, his voice soft.

the first night was the hardest.

you felt like an intruder, like you didn’t belong in his space. but rafe seemed to sense your unease, keeping his distance while still making it clear he was there if you needed him.

“if you want to talk, i’m here,” he said before heading to bed. “but if you just need to rest, that’s okay too. whatever you need.”

——————-

you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, your mind racing with doubts and fears. but when the morning came, you felt a little lighter, the weight of your thoughts less suffocating than before.

over the next few days, rafe became a constant presence in your life.

he didn’t push you to talk about your feelings, but he also didn’t let you retreat completely into yourself. he’d sit with you during meals, even if you only picked at your food, and he’d put on movies you liked, filling the silence with soft laughter and the occasional comment.

when you mentioned feeling guilty about imposing, he shook his head, his expression serious.

“you’re not imposing,” he said firmly. “you’re here because you need someone, and i’m glad you trusted me enough to let me be that person.”

his words stayed with you, a small beacon of light in the darkness that had consumed you for so long.

one evening, you found yourself opening up to him in a way you hadn’t expected.

“i started the medication,” you said quietly, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

rafe looked up from his phone, his full attention on you. “how’s it going so far?”

“it’s... okay, i think,” you admitted. “it’s only been a few days, but it feels like a step in the right direction.”

“i’m proud of you,” he said, his voice warm. “that’s a big step.”

you felt a lump form in your throat, his words touching a part of you that had been starved for kindness.

“thank you,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his.

he smiled, reaching out to rest his hand over yours, gently rubbing small circles on it. “always.”

——————-

as the days turned into weeks, you started to find pieces of yourself again.

it wasn’t easy—there were still bad days, moments when the weight of everything threatened to pull you under. but rafe was there, steady and unwavering, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

he celebrated the small victories with you, like the first time you cooked a meal together or the day you went for a walk around the neighborhood. and when you had setbacks, he was there too, offering quiet reassurance and a shoulder to lean on.

“healing isn’t a straight line,” he said one evening as you sat on the couch together. “it’s okay to have bad days. what matters is that you keep going.”

his words stayed with you, a mantra you repeated to yourself during the harder moments.

one night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you felt a surge of gratitude for him—for his patience, his kindness, his unwavering support.

“rafe?” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet.

he stirred beside you, his arm draped over your waist. “yeah?”

“thank you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything. for being here. for caring.”

he shifted closer, his lips pressing against your temple. “you don’t have to thank me,” he murmured. “you’re worth it, y/n. every second.”

and for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

additional tags: @rafegf-real and @readingsmuts

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 1: December Moon [A1]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

A/N:  IT'S THE FIRST OF DECEMBER! IT'S RICKMAS TIME!

I hope you're ready for a month of Alan Rickman fics - I certainly am even if most of them have yet to be done 😂 I have, however, managed to write the first draft of a few here in the beginning, and I'm super excited to kick this off in what is now the traditional way - with Colonel Brandon of course! 😍👏

Happy December, Happy First Advent, Happy Sunday AND HAPPY READING!

Tags/TW’s: First Meeting, Love At First Sight, (Light) Mutual Secret Pining, Miscommunication (Body Language), Fluff & Angst

Word Count: 4.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

December Moon

There was little to do but wait. Mrs Marble fussed with my dress, Miss Abel forced my hair into an elaborate updo with entwined pearls and loose locks around my neck, and I stood there like a mannequin. Never had I thought December would be ruined for me. But, here we are, and I’m for once not a ball of sunshine close to Christmas.

“There we go, Miss. All settled,” Mrs Marble said with a twinkle in her little eyes surrounded by wrinkles. “You shall be the centre of attention, such a beauty you are, Miss.” My nose wrinkled at her words. In anyone's eyes, that was all there was to me. Beauty. Golden locks, hourglass figure, pale skin dusted with a blush to highlight my cheekbones, and clear blue eyes not unlike the sky during a cloudless summer day. My appearance to any and all was that of a stunning woman in her prime at twenty-one springs of age — soon twenty-two.

“Time to go, Miss.” “Give me a minute alone.” They nodded and departed while I stepped up to the silver-framed wall mirror displaying the entirety of me. Dreary… The only thought echoing in my head was a sad affair to have when looking upon oneself. My eyes were not bright today, my smile not flawless, my shoulders slightly slumped and the weight atop them only grew heavier by the minute.

Outside, the snow fell slowly, just enough to dust the ground in white but no winter wonderland appeared beyond the large windows lining one side of my bedroom. In the middle sat a matching door leading out to the stone balcony, which was privy to a beautiful view of our large gardens with fountains and a large span of open grassland beyond the intricate layout of the land created by a landscape artist.

I stepped out into the cold, my skin instantly pebbling in the light breeze despite my dress covering nearly every sliver of skin from my collarbones and down. The sound of carriages, people chattering, and hooves stomping against gravel travelled through the air and a sensation most dreadful crept through my veins. This Christmas would be unlike any other. No use dawdling any longer…

I sighed, and as I began to turn, a black dot appeared on the horizon where the grassland slope began tilting toward our estate. I watched for a moment as the dot became an outline of a rider in full gallop, and wished — for just a moment — that I could climb my mare and gallop across the grasslands for a while to rid myself of the weight resting on me. No amount of riding will ever be able to take away the demand to marry before the year is out. How cruel a demand… There is none I hold even the smallest amount of affection for, how can father demand such a thing of me?

⁛•⁛

The hall gleamed. The polished marble floors, the spotless mirrors and golden candelabras reflected the glow of thousands of candles and the odd lantern here and there. The entire ballroom I entered, at a slow pace so as not to ruffle my perfectly fitted dress too much, was a haven for all things white and gold. The two colours I abhorred, along with pink in every hue. Still, it was a wonder to behold. A fairytale-like sensation lingered in the warm air while jolly, upbeat music filled the whole space where the rich and mighty of society had gathered. None were the wiser, none knew the true reason for my father’s sudden invitation to a “December Ball” — it had little to do with the season, and everything to do with my unwed state.

When Mother passed during the early summer, he became obsessed with marrying me off. Always under the guise of me being protected… Lies. For one, I was in no need of protection, nor were I in need of any rich man to keep my house should anything happen to my father — I was the last and only living relative of our family so all would become mine once he was old and worn out of life. I was perfectly protected in that sense.

“Miss Haymnick,” said a man in his mid-twenties, his brown hair neatly trimmed and his green coat perfectly tailored to his lean body. “Good evening,” I said with a short nod and curtsey. “May I request a dance with the lovely lady?” How bold of you. “No, sir. I am not sure I shall dance this evening,” I said with a soft smile to ease the blow. He merely nodded and stepped away with a slight rush and pinkish ears.

I moved further into the room, watching the well-dressed people filling it. My eyes landed on my father, dressed splendidly as usual and with a glass of brandy in his glove-clad hand. He was a handsome man, my father, but he was handsome in the traditional way — the boring way that seemed to be all the rage with the three young ladies standing a tad too close to him (I was no fool, he was a sought after man, my father, but he would not remarry — my mother had been his all and I was all that was left of her so protecting my future heritage was a priority of his in turn).

My eyes kept skimming the faces and clothes of those all around me. They were mostly known to me, one way or another, but none had ever caught my interest and did not manage to do so now either.

There were such shallow values, such lack of depth in those within the confinements of the ballroom I nearly felt my own soul dim under the weight of finances, politics, and outer beauty not deep enough to allow any true value to shine. Do not judge so harshly. You don’t know every person in this room. My mind whined at me, and I had to yield under its words — yet still, I felt as if I had met every person now present. Of course, my father had only invited the grandest of the grand, the richest of the rich, the most important in society to this celebration — which purpose had not been revealed to those attending. Such fraud…

I turned and Lady Hilliard stepped up with her son in tow. Oh, fantastic. I steeled myself as she beamed at me and forced her son, Mr Timothy Hilliard, to stand a step closer to me than her. “Miss Haymnick, what a marvellous celebration your family has put together, such lovely decorations and such high spirits.” I curtseyed slightly. “Lady Hilliard, Mr Hilliard.” I looked between the two and they both greeted me with a curtsey and a bow. “How fine of you to attend our celebration of December’s arrival,” I said, smiling to the best of my capabilities.

Mr Hilliard’s eyes roamed all over my being, the way he studied my neck had me swallowing a lump. He wasn’t a nice man, or one I found particularly attractive even if he in general was quite the catch in most young women’s eyes. “We are so sorry about Lady Haymnick, Miss Haymnick. My son—” she nudged him forward “—wishes to offer his condol— Oh, my word, is that—” she interrupted herself as the pair’s eyes moved past me and toward the opened double doors of the ballroom.

I slowly turned, as many had begun looking the that direction as well. “Oh, my word, it is!” Lady Hilliard squeaked quietly, a nearly hissed whisper of shock. I could not fathom her reaction to the man, my own being completely different. I had no idea who the tall man with broad shoulders dressed in red, gold, and black was. That did not stop my heart from skipping a beat at his unorthodox beauty, though.

I fully turned without realising, watching the man stride into the room with a regal air about him none I had ever met before could ever match. He was stunning, straight-backed but not high-and-mighty looking. He appeared strong and unfazed yet the way he moved spoke of a soft elegance. What truly made my breath catch in my throat was his eyes, though. They were on the smaller side, but in the golden light they shined while speaking of uncharted depths hidden beneath the slight veil keeping his secrets safe.

As I had watched, stunned, he had moved through the room and were now passing me without so much as a nod to Lady Hilliard who tried fervently to catch the man’s attention. His eyes, though, were fixated on me. My heart thumped harder and harder until he passed me by and turned his head — looking in the direction of my father who now walked toward the man in turn with determined steps I rarely saw him stride forward in.

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries I could not hear over the murmur and music in the room. “Lady Hilliard,” I said, without looking away from the man’s back. “Who is that?” “Who is— Who is that? My word, you are young, Miss Haymnick. That is Colonel Brandon. A fine gentleman, rich and proper, unreachable yet gentle in his manners. He was sought after in his prime when ladies would line up to attend his balls and gatherings. Well, the few moments he was at home, that is. The man has been all over the world, fought in wars and returned unscathed time and time again. His estate, Delaford, was in disarray upon his overtaking of it but now it is most grand.” She blabbered and rushed the words out in a quiet tone so none other could hear, but I did not miss the longing in her tone.

“Is he wed now, then? Being so sought after?” I never thought you’d be of use, Lady Hilliard, with your gossiping from one end of the country to the other. “Oh, goodness, no, Miss Haymnick. He never married, he never sought a wife after his first love was lost. He is a broken but fine gentleman. My niece would do him good,” she said, the last part slightly under her breath and as I watched her for a moment her eyes seemed calculating. “She is too young for him, but nonetheless, he would be a fine catch,” she continued just as quietly, and the hunger in her features made me wrinkle my nose in disgust. She was a prime example of all things wrong with all in the ballroom. It was only thanks to my mother I had turned out differently, if that is such a grand thing given my circumstances, I don’t quite know…

“He’s such a catch,” she continued and my eyes hardened. “Rich, fancy, away most of the time and— Oh, he’s looking this way!”

I turned my head, unable to untangle my features from the disgust and annoyance before meeting the man’s eyes. His eyebrows drew together, his head gave a slight tilt as I managed to school my face into indifference — removing the ugly emotions and hiding the absolute flutter of emotions he stirred in me. His eyes hardened, though, and his thin lips turned into an even thinner line a second before I averted my gaze as his handsome features turned too harsh for my heart’s liking.

“Excuse me, Lady Hilliard.” She gave me a nod at my words but her eyes were hooked on the handsome man who now had looked at me differently. Perhaps my father had said something not to his liking about me?

I had no idea, but for whatever reason, his eyes had turned sad when he viewed me and the veil I had noticed before had solidified in a sorrowful manner. I might have been mistaken, perhaps he’s just like all the other frauds here… Calloused, cold, money-hungry and politically attached. My shoulders slumped.

I grabbed the many layers of fabric to lift my dress, making my escape from the ballroom easier as I rushed my steps to get away from the room giving me a sinking feeling of despair. One of the men in there would have to become my husband, and the suddenly appearing ray of hope when Colonel Brandon entered with his beautiful eyes, soft yet strong elegance, and stunning features, vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

There was no more to it, I would be wed to someone I had no interest in — someone who would never understand me, would never discuss the depths of poetry an entire afternoon or share my love of fictional stories all through the night, nor would I be able to discuss the intricate turmoil within an artist viewed only through the harsh brush strokes across a canvas painted many years ago.

I did not wish for a husband to keep me on his arm for display. I wanted no husband whose conversation was limited to finances and politics. No husband would ever suit me if he did not have a depth to his soul, a passion beyond money, or even a love of something that existed to please the heart and not the bank — something that garnered emotions without any further value.

I had walked myself right through the grand hall, out the doors, and along the gravel path around the house in my deep thoughts. I shivered in the cold evening air as the wind tugged on my hair and pulled at my dress.

The sinking feeling in my gut only ever grew with each passing thought, each hope of my heart being lost. I stopped at the frozen fountain, the ice glistened in the moonlight every moment the clouds parted above. My foggy breath seemed to shake out of me as his eyes haunted me — the way they changed without me having any knowledge of why. They had been so beautiful, so deep, so captivating when he passed me. Yet, when he looked upon me again, and our eyes had locked, his features had changed so swiftly.

“There is no hope…” I whispered while looking out over the gardens with a most forlorn sensation within my chest. “You will catch a cold.” I spun around, startled by the perfect voice taking me by surprise with my mind occupied of self-pity. “Who’s there?” I asked, looking toward the corner of the house where the silhouette of a man stood.

The silhouette moved closer, each step allowing me to see more clearly as the lantern light behind dimmed in intensity and the light of the pale moon turned brighter. Colonel?

My breath stuttered out of me, the wind tugged at the ends of his long coat as he walked toward me in a harsh stride. “You will catch a cold, Miss Haymnick,” he said anew, and I could have sworn my heart did a somersault at the delectable rumble unlike any other I had ever heard. “A lady such as yourself should not be wandering the grounds unaccompanied and under-dressed so late at night,” he continued and stopped just two steps away from me.

The clouds parted as I turned fully toward him. His harsh features were cold to view when his eyes seemed so closed off and empty. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtseyed. “Miss Haymnick.” He nodded his head deeply, his voice slightly harsh yet wonderful. “Have I offended the lady?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He straightened. “I may be no beauty to look upon, but even that has yet to warrant such a display of disgust upon a woman’s face before introductions have even been made. Therefore, I ask, have I offended the lady in some manner?” he asked while holding my gaze captive.

I blinked a few more times, seeing the gorgeous man up close again — this time in pale moonlight — had my mind out of sorts and my heart in an uproar. He was striking, stunning, powerfully elegant. “No, you have not, Colonel,” I said, my eyebrows drawing together while his features softened a smidge. “Nor have I looked upon a handsome man as yourself in such a manner, sir.” He arched his eyebrow and a flutter broke out in my stomach. “I may be up in years, but I am not blind, Miss Haymnick.” “I’m sorry?” “You viewed me with the most abhorrent of looks, disgust smeared over your beautiful features. I shall not pretend I have not received harsh welcomes before, but paired with the lie you but a moment ago told regarding my looks I cannot—” “Lie? I have not lied, nor have I viewed you with disgust, sir,” I said, my hands balling to fists at my sides.

He reached up and unclasped his cloak at the neck. “You said I am a handsome man,” he said as he stepped forth, his voice slightly lower — softer. “After having viewed me with disgust, I find that to be a lie, miss.” He draped the warm cloak over my shoulders as I leaned back, taking half a step away from him before he had time to tie the string around my neck.

I glanced down, the fabric was lush and warm while thick and heavy at the same time. It smelled like heaven — of hay, horse, musk and wind. How something could smell of wind I could not fathom but as I drew a deeper breath to calm my raging heart at his sudden proximity it hit me with full force.

“There,” he said, taking a step back. “You ought to dress for the weather, miss.” I looked up at him, stunned at his sudden kindness amid the accusations of lies. “Thank you… But, wait, I have done none of the things you accuse me of, sir.” He arched his brow again. “A good person, as I have heard rumours of you being, ought to strive for honesty. No?” “I am honest!” I shouted and stomped my foot in frustration — Mrs Marble would have a fit if she saw my manners. “You saw me,” I continued loudly, “before I had time to—” no! He cannot know of anything, a man like him would laugh at the pitiful feelings my soul harbours. How could a colonel ever understand such things…

His eyes had widened, the shock of my outburst apparently enough to spook him out of the withdrawn, colder state he’d been in ever since our eyes had locked for a second time in the ballroom. “I am not lying, my good sir,” I said quietly. “A man such as you, so perfectly attuned to the world we live in, would simply not understand, as I cannot understand the likes of men such as you.” “Men such as me?” “Yes. Men such as you, colonel.” “And you have met many men the likes of me?” I merely sighed at his calm words, nodding toward the estate housing a party filled with men such as him.

He chuckled and shook his head slightly. My heart stopped beating for a second. “So that is how you view me, after a handful of seconds. Then I shall bother you no more, miss. Excuse me,” he said and clicked his heels before turning to leave. “Sir!” I called, not truly knowing why but my heart roared at him leaving. Something about him was so different to any other I had ever met despite the words I had just spewed in my dismay.

He stopped, only half turning so I could view his profile before he turned his head fully. I took a step closer, curious and something else moved around within that curiosity, too. “Yes?” His voice, so dark and deep, made a shiver slip down my spine. “Are you not?” I asked. “Am I not, what, miss?” “Like them.” “Life would have been easier had I been, but I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” “That does not disappoint me, colonel.”

His eyes widened as I took another involuntary step, something about him pulled me in and the more time passed the softer his expression turned and the brighter his eyes appeared. There were layers there, depth and that warmth I had always searched for in the eyes of others. So I stopped two steps away, spellbound by the beauty he was — even if that was shallow of me.

“Is it true? That you think me a liar for calling you a handsome man?” I asked quietly. “I am not a handsome man, make with that what you see fit.” “But, you are—” his eyes widened “—and I do not know what to make of the way you changed when you viewed me for a second time.” “You viewed me with disgust—” “I was disgusted by Lady Hilliard, for how she spoke of you.” “And, how did she speak of me?” he asked, his voice turning even softer yet it kept the depth that rumbled through me like gentle thunder in the distance. “I’d rather not say such things, but she wishes for you to marry her niece.” “Many wish to see their nieces and nephews wed—” “No, not like that, sir. She spoke about your-, your wealth and how you are never home.” “I am not home, for there is no reason to be. I have wealth for I have none to spend it on beyond the orphanage and my estate.”

I blinked at him, feeling lost for a moment. “If I had a wife, I would be here more. If I had a home, and not a mere estate, I would venture out into the world less. As it stands, none have caught my attention. That is, until tonight.” Why my heart faltered and saddened by his words I could not say. The man was far beyond me in years, he was a sophisticated and aged gentleman with beauty I could barely comprehend — every second I looked upon him he simply turned more handsome, inside and out. The way he spoke of a wife, of a family being what makes a home, it was beautiful and poetic.

“Then why are you standing here, sir?” I dared ask while I gripped the edges of the cloak he’d hung around my shoulders. “Because you are standing here, miss.” “I— I don’t understand, should you not pursue her before the evening ends?” “I am, by asking if I had offended her, given her change in view from the most beautifully wondrous look rivalling that of clear summer skies, to one as harsh and cold as disgust distorting her stunning features unlike any I have ever witnessed before.”

My breath snagged in my throat in the blink of an eye. My shoulders stiffened and as he held my gaze unyieldingly I turned warm on the inside. Those eyes had seen horrors and beauty all around the world, yet now they appeared solely focused on me with a warmth within them rivalling the sun.

“You find me beautiful?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. “Most beautiful.” I sighed and averted my gaze. “As they all do.”

His cold finger came up under my chin and I jolted back. It was not proper for him to touch me, for us to stand so close with no chaperon near. “I apologise,” he said. “Have my liking of your appearance offended you?” I shook my head. “No, sir.” “Then why..?” “I am beautiful, sir. I am aware,” I said with a soft smile while drowning in his eyes that had gone most soft and deep. “It is not always something…” my voice trailed off, for how could I explain that my beauty was a curse in the disguise of a blessing?

“It does not matter, miss. I am no match for you, either way. I shall take my leave so another, more suitable match can sweep you off your feet as you deserve.” What a romantic thing to say… “I wish you the happily ever after you deserve,” he said a breath later and clicked his heels together with sorrow in his eyes that tugged at my heartstrings. I had no time to make my brain understand he was leaving until he was out of view.

I jolted. I finally connect with someone and I, what, shoo him away? Oh, no… I drew an unsteady breath, feeling that warming scent of him waft up my nose. I ran after him, my feet thudding against the ground. “Colonel!” I called as I rounded the corner, just as he galloped out of the gates too far away for him to be able to hear me over the snorts of the horse and spraying of icy snow around its massive hooves.

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I'll be adding links to parts as I go along through Rickmas - so if you revisit or find Rickmas2024 later on you'll have access to direct links to continuations. My plan for this year is several serial fics and a few one-shots here and there as I know I'll get stressed and need breaks where I can just write whatever my little heart desires from time to time. Rickmas is INTENSE to write for, so 🙈

Anyway, how we feeling? We ready for this month's shenanigans? 😊

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[Dec:2024]

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 1 - Peter Maximoff

"The Best Gift"

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Peter wants to get reader a present for Christmas that he earned himself.

WARNINGS: light swearing

Target in the 80s

____

Everyone knew Peter was a huge klepto. 

At first, people assumed it was just because he was an attention whore who craved the interactions that came with his constant thievery. But Y/N was beginning to believe it was just a desire he could not control. 

But then Christmas was rolling around and he made it his mission to get Y/N a present the honorable way. No stealing involved. He wanted to earn the present to give it to her.

The question was… how the hell do you get money? 

“A job?” Alex had deadpanned when Peter complained about his predicament. That had made the speedster gasp in complete horror. A job? Working?

That was downright awful. 

“You walk around a few neighborhoods with an empty can asking for spare change?” Alex had tried again, bored with the conversation. 

“That’s so pathetic,”

Alex had then put down his game controller, giving Peter a look, “Get a friggin job, dude,”

Work? Peter Maximoff? The concept sounded both foreign and terrible. He liked how things were now. He went to school (sometimes), he hung out with his hot girlfriend (all the time), he played video games (also all the time), and he was happy like that. 

The thought of taking up some of his precious time doing labor was awful. Absolutely terrible idea. Peter Maximoff would never be caught working some measly job for some measly paycheck.

Anyway… he got a job at Target. 

And he hated it. 

Scrubbing toilets, cleaning spill ups in different aisles, trying to count change as fast as possible while the customers complained and their babies cried, dealing with angry buyers. He was not meant to deal with the stress. 

Currently, he was re-organizing a shelf that he had just fixed up a few minutes ago, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He suppressed a grimace, turning his head to speak to the customer, “How can I help you-?” he paused, eyes lighting up when he noticed who had touched him. 

Y/N!

“Loving the customer service voice,” she mused, laughing when he threw his arms around her. 

“Save me from this cursed place,” Peter mumbled dramatically into her neck.

Y/N laughed, pulling away to fix his uniform, “Also loving the uniform.” His uniform consisted of a crisp ironed white button down and black tie accompanied by a red vest. Lastly were a pair of navy jeans and his converse, kind of throwing off the professional look. 

“Save meeee,” he repeated, trying to pull her back. 

“You’re the one who wanted a job so suddenly,” she pointed with a playful eye roll, “What was the reason for this again?”

“Um,” he bit his bottom lip, scratching the back of his neck, “I was bored…?”

“Uhuh…” she didn’t believe him at all, but let him be, “You look cute in your uniform,”

Peter blushed, looking down at himself. He thought he looked stupid. “Of course I do. I look cute in everything,” he decided to reply. 

“That you do,” she grinned, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss, “Take it easy, baby. I’ll see you after your shift ends?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed with a small smile, leaning in for another kiss.

Y/N, being the bully she was, backed away, “You’ll get another after your shift!” he pouted as she skipped off, not running after her. He obviously could catch up to her if he wanted to, but he knew he needed to lock in if he wanted to keep this job and get enough money for her Christmas present. 

So he went back to re-organizing the shelf, using that super speed of his to his advantage. He grinned in victory once he finished (in two seconds), that smile fading as his walkie roared to life.

“Clean up on aisle C37.” 

Stupid shit.

____

It was six a.m. on Christmas day when Y/N had woken up to the sound of knocking on the door to her dorm room. She groaned, pulling her blanket over her head and ignoring the knock.

Which continued. 

“I’m going to kill someone today,” she grumbled, stumbling out of bed and shuffling into her slippers, making her way to the door. She didn’t even bother checking the peephole, opening the door, “What the hell do-?”

“Merry Christmas!” Peter shouted excitedly, beaming at her with a terribly wrapped present in his hands. The wrapping paper was of sharks eating pizza, all crumbled up and almost unnoticeable. There was a bow right on top, and red color that certainly didn't match the wrapping paper choice.

It was adorable.

“For me?” Y/N rasped out, still tired and a bit delirious. She then realized she must look crazy, so she began smoothing down her hair.

Peter nodded, excitement evident in his body language, he was practically buzzing. “Yes! Open open open!” he shoved the gift into her hands.

“Well come inside first,” she laughed quietly, stepping out of the way so he could enter her dorm. He zoomed in, sitting on her bed as he waited for her to open the gift. Y/N took a seat next to him, unwrapping the gift. Inside was a velvet box, which she opened.

A silver necklace, adorned with little diamonds and a pendant. A locket! With a smile, Y/N opened it, eyes brightening seeing a small picture of them together inside. “This is so beautiful, baby, thank you!” 

“I didn't steal it!” He said proudly, “I bought it myself!”

“Really?” She was touched, arms going around him for a hug, “Is that why you were working at Target?”

“Yes,” he hugged her back tightly, “I wanted to work for your gift."

"That's so sweet," she pressed a few kisses to the side of his face, making him giggle. He coughed, trying to hide the sound that just left him.

"I decided to not quit, surprisingly,” he said, trying to change the subject slightly.

“Whoa, really?” Y/N asked in curiosity, “Why?”

Peter shrugged softly, “Thought I could use some responsibility in my life.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my Peter?” Y/N joked, pinching his cheek, “I'm proud of you, baby.” Holding out the box, she asked: “Put it on?”

He nodded enthusiastically, taking the necklace out. Y/N held up her hair as he put the necklace on her, doing the clasp before leaning in and kissing her neck, then shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Peter,” she smiled, standing up and grabbing a present from her desk, “here,” she held it out, “A gift for my favorite gift,”

He blushed at being referred to as her favorite gift. 

How the hell did he get so lucky?

___

tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 let me know if you want to be removed or added

[websitewizard2005]

SUSELLE TIME YEEAAHHHH redraw of this post from last year

[chloesimaginationthings]

New Patreon tier art now FNAF themed,,

[rendiggitydog]

This piece is for @bdoublehoe, who requested DDVAU HotGuy (by @kitsuneisi)!! Such a fun design 🙏

(This was for @hermitadaymay, commissions are no longer open!)

[thechibilitwick]

i went to kikuoland it was the greatest day of my life (song go listen)

terrible shrimpku photos i took (i didn’t have a light stick so i used her instead)

[missing-sock-misto]

Inspired by a friend. I wasn’t going to do it, but the thought just stuck with me for a solid month XD

[murdleandmarot]

A Tecklenburg Victoria (I’m in love with her), and a Tecklenburg-ified Bluebelle :)))

[painted-fanbird]

Huh, turns out that arch-nemesis might be kind of trustworthy after all…

Who knew.

[grilde1chesse]

decided to mash @wisecrackingeric-2’s & @vizishereig’s requests into 1 for conveniences sake. hope that’s ok (^^)ｂ

51 & 54 (washing each other’s hair & running hands through hair) from this list

ship: serennedy

Leon is exhausted, anyone can see that. From the way he holds himself — tense with his shoulders hunched in what only can be described as uncomfortable — to the dark smudges under his eyes. He looks ready to collapse, but for whatever reason won’t let himself.

“Rough mission, mi amor?” Luis asks, making his presence known before enveloping Leon in his arms.

Leon just hums, body going almost lax in the embrace. “Nobody died,” he mutters, a less direct way of saying ‘it could’ve been worse’. Luis presses a kiss into Leon’s temple, hands rubbing down his sides.

“You’re a mess,” he observes, no hint of judgment in his tone. “Let me take care of you.”

…

The shower stings Leon’s cuts, but he forces himself to swallow it down. The water is a muddy brown swirling down the drain, dried blood and dirt making a sickening cocktail pooled beneath him, caked onto his skin and finally getting the chance to wash off.

“The water feel alright?” is what pulls Leon from his thoughts, looking up to find Luis smiling down at him, lathering his hands in shampoo. He forces himself to nod, slouching back down against the tub’s wall.

“Yeah,” Leon murmurs, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Thank you.”

Luis doesn’t respond, ducking down instead to run his soapy hands through Leon’s hair. He hums, scratching gently at Leon’s scalp as he works in the shampoo. He doesn’t miss the way Leon’s head tilts up to meet his hand, eyes drooping shut in an expression of pure bliss.

“Pobrecito,” Luis coos, to which Leon makes a show of rolling his eyes. Deep down however, they both know he secretly loves the gentle treatment. “You poor thing,” he translates, fingers working out any tangles. “You’ll work yourself to death at this rate, and that’s coming from me, cariño.”

Leon just huffs, head tilted back and shoulders finally loose. He could stay like this forever, he thinks. He lets himself be taken care of like that, turning into putty in Luis’ hands. It’s not long before Leon finds himself drifting off, fighting ever so slightly to stay conscious, to feel Luis’ hands on him a little while longer.

It would’ve taken a much stronger man than Leon to succeed, however, soon finding himself half asleep in Luis’ embrace, fingers combing through his still damp hair. Using the last of his waking strength he wraps himself tighter, face buried in Luis’ chest.

“Love you,” he grumbles, voice barely audible.

“I love you too, mi amor.”

[blazing-spectre]

More cowboy AU stuff I did while trying to get used to using my old tablet and brushes :3c featuring Xanthe and his two left feet

[emily-mooon]

Did a little sprite recolour for Neil and Stacey to make them more accurate to their actual colour palettes :]

[sturgeonsalad]

[colorsofcthulhu]

I drew a scene from @thiswasinevitableid ‘s fic “Amnesty Records” ages ago and never posted it, so now here’s the redraw and the original at the same time! These are about a year and a half apart, and its cool to see how my style changed :)