#he's heavy on my mind today good lord

[tired-biscuit]

18+ mdni / fem!reader

I think Bakugou would do a little grunt whenever you'd touch his dick.

It's bound to happen more frequently if it's a sexual touch, of course. Like, when you find yourself on your knees in front of him - pressing a soft kiss onto his sensitive, pink tip, for example. Messily smearing the bead of pre-cum with your lips before taking a couple of inches of his cock down your tight throat. Sucking him so hard, then, that he feels the need to repeat the noise and lace it with a dirty curse, before he spills much too fast, much too soon for his liking; making you taste the bitter salt of his cum with a furrowed brow and a frown.

He grunts whenever your legs wrap around his waist, and he gets to sink balls deep inside of your wet warmth for the first time after literal days of hard work and that wretched prohero schedule of his; holding you in a firm, albeit loving mating press that lets him see you entirely as he at long last plunges into your soft cunt and proceeds to screw your soul out with that steady pat, pat, pat.

And he also grunts as he bends you over and makes that first contact with your sticky slit after leering for ages at how beautiful you look; attired in that pretty dress he only sees you pull out of your closet on date nights - the dress that always seems to end up hiked up around your waist by the time you come back home from the restaurant.

He grunts as you reach out to stroke him with only one of your hands before bed to make him relax; right over his underwear until that damp patch forms on the dark cotton, and you're smirking at him like a cat when your thumb grazes it. Grunts as he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels the need to fuck your thighs and turn you into a whining mess just to get back at you for earlier. Grunts as you straddle him then, too; the intent to sit on his cock and ride it into bliss riddling your sleepy features.

He always grunts at things like that.

But sometimes, a grunt slips out when you could just be messing around with him. Sure, Katsuki might not seem like a person to enjoy a silly thing like that - having a woman merely poking and playing with his dick, like it's a toy - but he endures it all because it's you who does it. After all, comfort has long since settled inside of his heart after years of being in an established relationship.

So, they're playfully innocent things. Him groaning as you absent-mindedly rub your ass against his crotch when you pass by him to get to the sink in your little kitchen; mind working on assembling a grocery list instead of thinking about sin, whilst he's left there to sweat and strain his pyjama bottoms just from a mere brush.

Your hand slipping when a rare opportunity shows up and you can shower together, making him groan as you cover both his skin and your own in strawberry-scented foam that makes him scrunch his nose in faux disapproval until he feels the need to call you childish, even though the corners of his lips are twitching upwards during it.

Sometimes, it's just you hiking your leg over his waist when you cuddle on the couch, putting it right there with no aim to arouse whatsoever. You're both trying to watch a movie you'll perhaps - probably not - finish for once; reaching the credits without falling asleep, and he's already grunting, softly scolding you that the weight of your leg makes his balls hurt, making you laugh.

And sometimes, he grunts just because he's so tired as you unbuckle his belt to help him undress after an especially rough day at work. Your knuckle runs over the zipper of his pants by pure accident whilst you drag it down, and the sound comes out deep from the back of his throat because he just can't help it.

Just like he can't help the grunt of relief when you finally drag him into bed a couple of minutes later; cuddling him to sleep until his face is nuzzled right against your chest, expression content because he's finally home.

[okaioh]

why wasn't I born an intergalactic space cowboy

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.2

synopsis: "He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury.."

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x fem! reader, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and gore

⚝wc: 1.5k

⚝a/n: I'm still shocked this got as much attention as it did! Thank you for reading, I hope this next part pleases you.

“Please, do your best to remain still,” Uraume chides gently. They press the cotton swab soaked in alcohol to your face, the stinging sensation causing you to wince as it penetrates the cuts on your cheek. Uraume offers a sympathetic glance. “I apologize for this…”

“You don’t need to-“

“Please.” They say firmly “I was aware of the tension between the servants, I... never thought they would do something to harm one of their own.” Uraume’s voice wavers slightly. They move to the wounds on your arms.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Sukuna stands in the threshold, leaning one arm nonchalantly against the doorframe. He surveys your battered form sitting on the edge of the bed—a trace of annoyance etched on his face. Uraume rises swiftly to bow before the king, but he dismisses the gesture with a casual wave.

“My lord, I’ve treated her as best as I can.” Uraume reports.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts to your face, his demeanor cold yet betraying a hint of concern.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.. my lord and I’m sorry-“

“You are not at fault.” He interrupts you, his voice firm as he strides over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. Clad in a black robe with a purple sash tied around the waist, his rippling muscles are visible through the cascading fabric. Uraume steps back, offering a brief bow before exiting, leaving you alone with him.

He scans your face with a piercing gaze, lowering himself to your level. His eyes drift to your empty wrist, narrowing with a mix of concern and intensity.

“Where. is it.” He demands. Your eyes widen as you realize the bracelet you were given today was missing.

“I… it must have fallen off when they attacked me” You piece together aloud. 

“So they would harm you as well as steal…” Ryomen’s voice grows taut with anger he clenches his fist, body tensing up. He rises from his kneeling position, figure looming over you.

“Are you able to stand?” He questions lowly. You nod.

“Good. We will be going now.”

You look up at your king, his expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. 

You lag behind him as he strides purposefully down the dimly lit  hallway. The evening light leaks through the dark red curtains of the hall, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Each step of his echoes with a menacing authority. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the servants quarters. Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“Do you wish to watch?” He inquires, voice low and steady.

“W…watch?” 

“Yes, do you wish to watch as I kill the ones who hurt you.”

“I—“ your heart races, Was this really happening? “No… my lord I do not.” You speak quietly. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, opening the door to the room.

The servants look upon him in reverence… or fear. Ryomen Sukuna did not bother himself with his servants, so seeing him generally meant bad news. He scans the room at the trembling help who shrink under his scrutiny, ‘utterly pathetic..’ he thinks. Their eyes drift to you, standing behind him. Ryomen shoots you a sidelong glance, awaiting you to point out your offenders. 

You look up at him, conflicted. Do you really wish for them to die? He scoffs as if reading your mind.

“You would protect them, even after what they did to you?” He sneers.

 He directs his attention back to the line of servants, all bowing their heads in fear. His gaze lands on one woman, and he notices the bracelet on her wrist—identical to the one he had painstakingly crafted for you.

At the sight of the bracelet, his demeanor changes abruptly. His expression darkens with a fierce intensity. With a swift motion, two of his arms encircle you, gently but firmly covering your eyes.

“Do not open them, until the screaming stops.”

Screams of horror reverberate through the room. You hear slashes mingling with the sound of Sukuna chuckling darkly. All the while two of his arms remains protectively around you, shielding you from the brutality he’s inflicting upon the ones who dared to harm you.

The screaming fades, his breathing slows, upper left arm lowers from your eyes.

“It is done.” And as your eyes slowly open, the sight before you is gut-wrenching. Blood and carnage litter the servant’s chambers. You clasp your hand  over your mouth as you fight back a gag. 

Ryomen looks at you, a hint of annoyance for your lack of appreciation. You gaze upon his bloodied form, he was covered in it. He wipes face, turning his back on the lifeless bodies.

“Let’s go; I require a bath and new clothes.”

You sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, adding oils and dried petals. The act of bathing Lord Sukuna had become quite routine. And yet every time he entered the room your heart would skip a beat. He stood at over six feet tall, his four muscular arms and broad, chiseled chest commanding attention. The tattoos that adorned his toned body only added to his already imposing presence.

He strides confidently over to the bath, crimson eyes never leaving yours. The scent of lavender and roses wafting through the tiled room. He lowers himself into the water, groaning as the hot water enveloped his powerful frame.

You grab a sponge, wiping the dried blood from his chest. Ryomen leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in relief under your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water sloshing around echoes throughout the room. One eye opens slightly to observe you, your gentle hands erasing the evidence of his carnage. Massaging away his stress and tension. He speaks in a low, commanding voice.

“Join me.”

You abruptly cease your movements, looking at him in disbelief.

“You mean—“

“In the tub, yes.” You hesitate, glancing nervously between him and the water. Knowing it was not wise to disobey your king, you begin to shed your clothing, covering yourself modestly as you allow the bathwater to cloak you. You settle on the opposite side of the tub, his eyebrow quirks in mild annoyance.

“I will not harm you.” His voice almost… gentle.

You move closer to him. Albeit too slow for his taste, one arm pulls you towards his chest, settling on the small of your back. The unprecedented position of intimacy with your lord both thrilling and unsettling.

“Are you… unhappy with my actions today?”

"No… my lord." It was partly true. You were still reeling from the events that had transpired. The king to whom you had dutifully bowed had unleashed his fury... for you? The man you willingly served, had been so enraged by your injuries that he had taken the lives of those who wronged you. He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury..

“Good.” Another hand reaches to stroke your hair, a touch so feather light you wondered if he thought you’d break. “I… do not wish for you to be unhappy.” He speaks softly. His finger traces your jawline. You shiver under his touch, but don’t pull away. If your heart were to beat any faster you feared it might give out altogether.  His hand trails down to your chest, placing his palm flat against the valley between your breasts.

“Your heart is racing…Are you frightened of me?” He questioned, feeling the rhythm quicken beneath his touch.

“F…frightened?” You try to keep your voice from shaking, but it betrays you quivering with uncertainty.

“It is understandable; I could kill you right now.” He grins as his words make your heart beat even faster. “I am merely stating a fact. Do not think of it.” His gaze travels from your face to your chest, lingering at the point where the water begins.

He stands up, water dripping down his body, your gaze travels down his abs to his v-line. He only grins as he sees your curious eyes widen at his lower half. It was quite hard not to look when he was so… big. The screams from his bedroom made sense after you were called to his bath the first time. 

“You are permitted to touch.” He declares, snapping your out of your daze, a shaky hand comes up to feel his abs. He groans softly under your nimble fingers, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He was a work of art, as if the gods themselves sculpted his figure.

You knew that after his bath, Lord Sukuna would typically summon one of his concubines to his chambers. This would inevitably result in several hours of indecorous moans and pained screams, audible through the door connecting your room to his. As his servant, you wanted to adhere to your place, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder... what it would be like to bask in your lord’s presence in such an intimate way.

“My lord, shall I summon someone to… attend to your needs?” 

He only chuckles darkly, one arm reaching down to gentle cup your face. His crimson eyes feasting upon your wet, naked form committing this scene to memory.

“No need,” He murmurs, his voice deep and resonant.

 “I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

taglist! (I know a lot a people in the previous post asked for a part two but idk if that meant you wanted to be tagged, lmk!) @haruchi-slit @gg-trini @pastelbunnelby @cauqhtz @shadava

[illyrianbitch]

Words of Affirmation

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

Summary: Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

Warnings: established relationship fluff :)

Word Count: 2.3k

just a quick sweet fluffy piece to make up for all my angst. dedicated to the one and only @sarawritestories

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cassian would never admit it, but the assumptions of his intelligence bothered him. He was always a brute, a mindless warrior, a soldier— nothing more. He knew, deep down, that his brothers rivaled him in all matters of the mind. They were more collected, more capable with familial matters and court affairs. Simply put, they were smarter. 

And he had accepted that— at least, he told himself he had. After all, he was talented where it mattered. He was a good male, a good friend, a good brother, a good commander— and amazing in bed. So truly, it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did when his meeting with Eris went sour. 

Cassian entered the room with heavy steps, a frown on his face as he began to peel off his coat, each movement slow and heavy with frustration. A part of him hoped that he could shed more than just the layer of clothing, hoped that coming home would rid him of the insecurity that had threaded itself through his ribs.

You observed him quietly, taking in the way his muscles tensed and released with each motion, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the deep exhale. He hadn’t looked at you yet, hadn’t made his classic entrance. On most days, Cass would return home with a huge grin, door thrown wide open as he bellowed out your name with a burning heart.

But he was quiet today. And you knew exactly why– you could feel it through the bond. Cassian was sad. 

Your footsteps were quiet against the wood floors as you slowly walked towards him. 

“Things didn’t go well?” 

Your voice was soft and gentle and the sound of it sent a ripple of relief through his body. Still, he felt heavy. Tired. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally discarded his coat onto a nearby chair. “I don’t know how Rhysand does it.”

“Does what?” 

“This whole diplomacy thing, even Azriel. I just… I couldn’t. I'm too stupid for it. Just an idiot.”

Your heart clenched at his words, a heaviness settling on the glowing bond in your chest. You wanted to console him, to fight and kill whatever it was that was unsettling him so deeply. But the thing that was causing Cassian pain wasn’t anything you could fight yourself. It was his own mind, the insecurities he was too afraid to acknowledge. 

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he waved you off with a frustrated gesture.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his tone heavy with defeat, “I’m just whining. I’ll get over it.”

You frowned, letting out a small breath. 

“No, don’t say that,” you said gently, taking a step closer to him. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“I’m not?” 

You took in the sight of your mate for a moment, took in his long hair and brown eyes, took in the stubble on his jaw and the way he let out a small breath. You extended your hand to him, voice low as you murmured, “C’mere, honey.”

He hesitated for a moment before he gently took your hand and closed the distance between you, large arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you. 

“You are a big ole’ dummy,” you teased lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you put your hands around his neck. You felt Cassian melt into your touch ever so slightly, eyes shuttering closed as a small hum left his lips. “But you are brilliant. Like really fucking smart.”

Cassian’s eyes opened to meet yours, somewhat narrowed in skepticality. You rubbed the nape of his neck with your thumbs. 

“I mean, you’re a war general. You’ve commanded hundreds of soldiers, have won countless battles– wars, even. You couldn’t get away with those things as an idiot.”

Cassian grumbled, but you caught the hint of a smile dancing in his stormy eyes, felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. A wry chuckle bubbled up from deep within him as he shook his head, his lips quirking up in a brief smile.

“Well, I don’t know about that one, we have Beron and Tam-”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Would you just let me compliment you?” You interrupted with a gentle shake of your head, eyebrows raised as you looked at him. 

A soft chuckle escaped him. “My bad.”

“You are so incredibly smart,” you repeated earnestly, slightly pulling him down and urging him to place his forehead against yours. 

He stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy as he searched for something in your eyes. He seemed to find it as he gave you a small smile. “You really think so?”

You pulled yourself back gently, dropping your hands from his neck to take his in your own. Then, you gently guided one hand to your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

“Does it feel like I’m lying?” you asked softly.

Cassian’s expression softened as his gaze flickered to where your hand held his. You watched as a glow of warmth lit up his eyes. 

“No,” he said quietly, “It does not.”

And then he was bringing his hands to hold your face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly, his lips a gentle caress against yours.

He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, if he was comfortable enough with considering himself to be smart, let alone brilliant. But you, his beautiful mate, the love of his life— you thought he was smart, you thought he was brilliant.

And truly, that's all that mattered to him. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn’t that he was insecure about his looks, no, that wasn't it. 

Cassian knew he was attractive, knew that he was hot and ruggedly handsome. He knew from the looks that he got from females and males alike, from the scent changes that he caused, and the lovers he had bedded. 

But sometimes, when standing next to Rhysand and Azriel,  Cassian would catch himself wondering if he was rough around the edges in ways that his brothers were smoother, more appealing. After all, they were the two more classically pretty males, the more softly attractive and very often audibly complimented. 

And then there was him, the rough warrior. 

Attractive, yes, but pretty? Elegant? Those were never words used to describe him. 

There was a soft glow in your room tonight, gentle shadows casted across the bed from flickering fae light. Cassian let out a deep sigh as he prepared to climb into bed, his muscles aching and head heavy as he shed the remenands of his day. 

You watched him with a tender gaze as you lay on the bed. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of your lips as your eyes traced the lines of his face. Cass caught your gaze with his own, a warm hearty brown that made your heart flutter. 

A playful smirk tugged at his lips as he noticed your lingering stare. "You like what you see, sweetheart?" 

You grinned, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you tilted your head. "Always.”

With a grin of his own, Cassian began to crawl towards you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he closed the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Admiring how absolutely handsome I am?” he said, “How Incredibly sexy?" 

You let out a small laugh as he reached your face, his body hovering over yours. With a gentle hand, you pushed back his tousled hair, your touch feather-light against his skin. A soft sigh escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the warmth of your touch. His lips wore a content smile. 

"So beautiful," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced the contours of his face with your fingertips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes scanned your face. You ran your finger along the crease that they created. "Beautiful?" 

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Yes, beautiful. Maybe I don't tell you enough."

He chuckled softly as he leaned into your touch, heart swelling with warmth at your words. There was a new flutter in his chest that he didn’t recognize. For a moment, Cassian felt shy— he wasn’t quite sure why. But he laughed it off all the same. 

"That's a word reserved for you, sweetheart." 

You shook your head, your fingers trailing down his cheek to cup his face in your hands. "My beautiful mate,” you whispered, "My handsome, gorgeous, incredibly sexy, and beautiful mate." 

For the first time in a while, Cass was stunned, unable to respond as quickly as he was used to. Your words held a certain reverence to them, a sincerity that made him melt into your touch— made him melt into your voice itself. Before you, Cassian never knew himself as something gentle, as something capable of softness and sensitivity. But here he was before you, in all of his warrior glory, feeling like a child with a playground crush. And there you were, staring at him like he was the most exquisite thing you’d ever laid eyes on. So when words failed him, Cassian did the only thing he saw fit. 

He leaned in to kiss you tenderly, bringing his lips to yours softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, feeling his warmth against you as he smiled into the kiss. From deep within your chest, you felt a glow— a deep, ethereal, and overwhelming glow. 

Beautiful, his mind echoed, beautiful. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You let out a soft sigh as you settled onto the couch with Cassian, pushing yourself further into his warm chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You’d spent the night at the River House, drinking more wine than you could handle and eating almost all of Elain's sweet desserts. There was a smile on your face as your eyes closed, your hearing quickly tuning into the heartbeat of your mate below you. 

You frowned when the sound began to quicken, echoing like a drum in your ears. You pushed yourself up, slightly turning your body and placing a hand on Cassian's chest. When you looked up at him, his face was scrunched, his gaze distant as if lost in contemplation.

Cassian wore a specific face when he was troubled, furrowed brows and a downturn of his lips. He wore it was he was sad or frustrated, when he had thoughts that plagued him at night. The face before you was a troubled one, indeed. But it was less rough than the others he bore, more vulnerable.

You slightly tapped against him with your palm. Cassian blinked at the sensation, then he slowly looked down to meet your eyes with his own. You let your chin fall gently on his chest. 

“What's wrong?”

Cassian managed a smile, shaking his head as he brought his hand to run over your hair. “Nothing.”

You frowned. “Tell me.”

For a moment, Cassian’s thoughts traveled again. Mor’s laugh echoed in his mind, wine glass in hand as she pointed at him. You have the subtlety of a war horn. You’re so loud I can hear you across Prythian. I don’t know how Y/n handles it all the time.

"Am I too loud?" 

His voice came out rushed, drenched in a tinge of what you could only describe as worry— even doubt.

A flicker of surprise passed through your features. “What?”

He let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Mor said something tonight, it just got me thinking.”

“Mor says a lot of things. Especially when she's drunk.”

“I know.” He nodded in agreement, tongue running across his teeth before he let out another sigh. “But she had a point tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

He took a moment to take you in, to trace the features of your face with his eyes. Absentmindedly, he ran his hands through your hair. 

“Maybe I am too loud.”

Cassian's voice was defeated now, lips naturally falling into a frown. The crease between his eyebrows was still there as he peered down at you, hand still caressing your head.

You stared at him for a moment before you responded. "You're so loud." 

A flicker of disappointment crossed Cassian's face. But before the thought could spread through his mind, a soft smile graced your features. You gave his chest a small kiss. “But I love it. So very much.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up, a sense of release evident in his features as his lips curved into a smile. The crease between his eyebrows faded. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice filled with a sincerity that made his heart flutter. "My world would be too quiet without you."

Cassian’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently swiping loose strands away from your forehead. “Yeah?” 

You nodded against him, chin still resting on his chest. “I hear everything I love in your voice.”

He smiled, the bond deep within him singing as he stared at you. He felt you tug at it, felt a roll of warmth run through his body— something gentle, something loving. And for a minute, Cassian could have cried at the sensation, could have cried at the way you looked at him, at how happy he felt. 

With his heart swelling, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice filled with a depth of emotion that he couldn’t quite express in words. He hoped that you could sense it, that you would hear those words and know everything he was trying to say— that you would understand just how much you meant to him, how your love filled him with a sense of peace and belonging he never knew he needed.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, feeling his now steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know,” you said, “You practically scream it from the heavens.”

Cassian let out a deep laugh, the sound reverberating through his chest. You felt his body move from under you, felt as the sound caressed you like a pair of warm hands. 

As his laughter subsided, Cassian pulled you closer to him. “I’ll keep shouting it so you’ll always hear it,” he whispered.

A warmth spread through you at his words, a feeling of love so strong it was tangible through that sacred tie that connected you.

“And I’ll keep listening.”

��� ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

me not writing angst?? (i’m about to write the most gut wrenching pieces ever) unheard of. but we love a sweet established relationship <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

[stark-ironman]

Cockwarming with Hugh for the first time on my lord

Keep me warm, Love

18+ No Minors

A/N: there's a daddy kink in this one 🙊 I'm sorry and not proofread

Warnings: cockwarming, daddy kink, slight spanking, slight choking, mention of a little blood, on the phone while cockwarming

The shower steam fills the bathroom as you step out of your shower. Your muscles finally feel relaxed and your mind at ease after being stressed from work all week. Wrapping the towel around your body, you quietly walk out to the bedroom where Hugh is on a conference call with Shawn and Ryan.

Hugh's eyes immediately glance at your figure on the other side of the room and he turns his head slightly, taking in the sight of your body. He motions you to come closer, holding his finger up to his lips to keep you quiet as you get closer. His hands reach up to the towel, pulling it down in a swift motion causing you to gasp at the cold air and you hear Ryan ask if everything is okay. Hugh quickly tells him everything is fine as his hands immediately grab your hips and pull you close to him.

He mutes the phone and leans back in the chair, pulling his sweatpants down until his erect, hard cock springs free. "Come sit, love. Daddy feels a bit cold today." Hugh lowly tells you. You straddle his lap and slide slowly down on his cock, moaning softly at the stretch.

"Keep me warm and I will reward you later. Okay?" He says as his arm wraps around your waist and the other unmutes the phone. Hugh joins the conversation again and your wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head on his shoulder.

His hand glides across your back softly, causing your eyes to start to feel heavy but he moves slightly every few minutes to adjust, according to his whispers, but you know he's only doing it to tease you.

"Doing so good for me, baby." He praises in your ear, gripping your hips so he can slowly grind your hips against his. You sit up slightly, kissing him deeply as he continues to move your hips. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and you quickly pull it off of him, running your nails down his chest. The phone call is long forgotten as Hugh kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the skin before recapturing your lips.

"Hugh, are you still there?" Ryan asks and Hugh pulls away slightly to answer him. "Let me call you back, mate. I have to go help my wife right quick." He hangs up the phone quickly as you start bouncing on his dick, both of your moans filing the air. "Fuck, baby. You did so good for daddy." He grunts while helping you bounce. "Needed you s' bad.. daddy." Your voice is quiet but loud enough for Hugh to hear it as he smirks at you.

"You put that little show on purpose, huh? Was I not paying enough attention to my baby?" He coos teasingly, smacking the backside of your ass. Your head falls back from the pleasure, grunting in response. "I'm feeling extra needy today... I'm sorry."

Hugh stands up and carries you to the bed, laying you on the edge so your hips are hanging off but his arms are wrapped around your thighs to hold you up. "Well then let's make sure you feel daddy deep in your tight little cunt." He growls as the new position causes him to go deeper and a loud moan escapes your lips.

Your fingers claw at his chest and arms as he moves at a slow, deliberate pace and you can see the scratch marks slightly bleeding. Hugh's eyes stare deeply into yours, watching as the pleasure takes over your body. His hand reaches down between the two of you and his thumb rubs your sensitive clit, causing your thighs to start shaking and your eyes to shut from the over stimulation.

"Open them." Hugh softly commands, placing your ankles on his shoulders so he can wrap a hand around your throat while his other one continues to play with your sensitive nub. You open your eyes to see Hugh's lust-blown ones staring back at you, his mouth slightly ajar as his orgasm draws closer.

Your breathing becomes erratic while the rest of your body spasms underneath Hugh's as your orgasm hits. Hugh moans out praise after praise during your high, causing you to smile softly as his thrusts stutter and you feel him throbbing inside of you.

He leans down and kisses you softly, holding you close to him so you don't fall off the bed. "Come nap on my lap during the rest of this phone call and I'll keep my cum stuffed inside of you." He mumbles, causing you to chuckle as he stands up and heads back to his chair, making sure you're comfortable and he wraps a blanket around the two of you.

He grabs his water off the desk, letting you drink it while he calls Ryan back.

[holybibly]

Bunnies, are you ready?

These are the unholy thoughts of the day: hot cowboys with a lactation kink and a strong oral fixation who find it difficult to keep their hands to themselves when they meet a pretty busty waitress in a saloon who works part-time as a breastfeeding nanny during the day.

Your town wasn't big, but it was certainly a picturesque place to relax, so when rumours spread through the bustling streets and saloons about four damn good-looking cowboys from the big city, you didn't pay much attention. Cowboys often came to your town to take a break from the hustle and bustle. For you, they were just extra income as hot, horny things dropped fabulous amounts of money in your saloon to drink and entertain.

Especially as you've been so busy lately with your part-time job as a breastfeeding nanny that all you can think about is how much your breasts ache from all that milk and how much you want to milk yourself to relieve their heavy weight and plumpness.

When a noisy, chaotic crowd poured into your saloon this evening, it took your table, and you didn't expect much. Just another customer on another night, but God, how wrong you were, especially when the blue-haired cowboy, whose name you later learned was Hongjoong, wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, playfully running his fingers into your deep cleavage.

"Sweet lady, will you join us today, hm?" He purred in your ear, pulling down the hem of your blouse slightly, exposing your plump, milky tits even more to the gaze of his friends.

"I don't think so." You slapped his arm, freeing yourself from his grip. The cocky cowboy grinned, letting you go easily but not losing sight of the wet stains on your blouse, and the other guy at once commented that.

"Pretty lady, is breast-feeding? Or is there a milkshake on the menu?" His cat-like eyes narrow and focus on your cleavage as his tongue runs along his bottom lip, leaving a wet, glistening mark.

"Lord, San, don't be so shameless; you can't say such things." Another guy, with long hair and scarlet lips, rebuked him. And you were about to thank him, but his next sentence made you abandon that idea completely. "I wouldn't mind tasting that milk, though. I bet the taste is simply divine."

"Hmm..." The last guy sitting in the corner of the booth hummed. "Are you free, doll, or is someone already milking your pretty tits?"

"Assholes," you hissed, adjusting your corset. The tension of the fabric on your sensitive nipples only made you leak more milk. You sighed heavily, wanting to get away from the brazen, shameless cowboys whose eyes were now literally devouring you.

"Oh, don't be angry, beautiful." The blue-haired guy laughed and leaned back against the soft wall of the booth. "I'm Hongjoong; this is Seonghwa." He pointed at a guy with long hair. "San, but you've heard his name before. And this is Mingi." He pointed to a tall guy in the corner of the booth. "We're new here, and you're so gorgeous; can you blame us for being interested? But still, do you have someone, or should we try our luck?"

You roll your eyes in annoyance and look from one guy to the other until your eyes meet Hongjoong's.

"You're not my type, stud. So calm down, place your order, or get out of here. You know, there are a lot of other people who would like to be in your place.".

"The only place I want to be right now is..." San didn't get to finish because Seonghwa covered his mouth with his hand, but he didn't have to finish for you to understand what he meant.

"Don't pay any attention to him, doll. San is a very straightforward guy, but he's harmless." Mingi said, leaning towards you, only to wrap his arm around your hips and pull you towards him. "You know what they say, doll, safe the horse, ride the cowboy. Want to try?"

"Isn't someone falling for that?" You ask, squirming in Mingi's arms.

"Usually it works, yes." Seonghwa notices and reaches out to you, cupping your chin with his fingers and forcing you to look into his eyes. "I hope you can ride horses well, because we're going to give you a real wild rodeo, little flower."

[azrielbrainrot]

A Little Piece of Heaven

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Morning Sex

Description: Eris shows you how much he's missed you.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, really fluffy

Word Count: ~1,1k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I didn't have time to proofread this, I'm so sorry.

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Most mornings started with you feeling cold and missing the warmth of your mate beside you these days. Ever since Eris had become High Lord, he had been incredibly busy fixing the mess his father made of this court for centuries on end. You were more than proud of him for all the work he already had managed to do, the atmosphere in the Autumn Court was already starting to change, the cities didn't look so gloomy for the first time in too long, but Gods did you miss your mate.

Even when you were hiding from the world you managed to steal time for yourselves, but now that you could finally sleep in his arms, you ended up waking up alone most days, only seeing him back in time for lunch or dinner if you were lucky. That's why when you felt his body moving away from you as you were sleeping, you wake up suddenly, turning around and pulling him into you again, deciding to be a bit selfish for the both of you.

His body tenses against yours briefly, surprised to see you awake, but he soon melts into your arms with a sigh, kissing the top of your head and hiding his face in your hair.

“Good morning, my love,” he breathes out, his deep voice still tainted with sleep making your chest heavy.

“Good morning,” you whisper back, starting to drop kisses over his neck.

“You should go back to sleep. I have to go to work.”

It was still too early, you couldn't even see any light filtering in through the curtains. No wonder the bed is always cold next to you by the time you get up if he was leaving so early.

Eris pulls you away from his neck gently, kissing the pout that forms on your lips, leaning his forehead over yours even when he pulls away, clearly not too excited about leaving you either, his body and the bond inside him screaming at him to stay in your arms.

“They can wait a bit longer today,” you murmur against his lips, “You deserve some rest.”

“There's too much to do,” he says defeatedly, shaking his head in denial.

“A couple of hours won't hurt.” You tighten your hold on him when it feels like he's going to try pulling away “Please, I miss you so much.”

“I know, baby. I miss you too.”

“You're always gone when I wake up and you only get home when I'm already sleeping,” you start, “I barely see you anymore.”

“I'm sorry.” He kisses your forehead, pulling away so he can look into your eyes, thumb running over your bottom lip before leaning down to kiss you. “I need to make this court perfect for you, but I shouldn't neglect you in the process,” he whispers in between kisses, tongue exploring your mouth, making you lose your mind. “I should make it up to you.”

“You should,” you whisper, staring into those beautiful amber eyes. When you pulled him back into bed you had meant for him to sleep in with you, maybe wake up in each other's arms for once, but you would be lying if you said you didn't miss this too.

He hums into you, kissing you slowly but passionately, one of his hands moving down your body, easily finding your panties under your nightgown, running his finger over your clothed cunt, soft moans spilling into his mouth even though he had barely started - it really had been too long.

Your own hand moves down his torso, feeling his abs tighten under your touch, until you find the hem of his underwear, slipping in to find his cock at the same time he pushes your panties to the side, carefully inserting a finger inside you, cursing softly when he finds your cunt offers no resistance.

“Missed me this much?” He asks with a knowing look in his eyes, looking more like the arrogant male you knew and loved. If it was anyone else, you might have been a bit embarrassed at how wet you had gotten in such a short time, but this was Eris, and your need overshadowed every other emotion, especially when it had been so long since you last had felt his fingers fucking into you like this.

Eris wastes no time in adding a second finger as you try your best to stroke his cock in turn. You wanted to taste him, but it seemed that would have to be left for another day, your high building far too quickly under his skilled fingers.

“Eris,” you moan out, tightening your grip on his cock when his fingers touch just the right place, “I need you.”

Luckily he wasn't in a teasing mood this morning either, fingers abandoning you in favor of gripping your leg and placing it over his thigh, hand swatting yours away so he could grab hold of his cock and guide it into you, your hips moving to help him as his mouth finds yours once again, swallowing your needy pants.

This wasn't the best position, your clothes were definitely getting in the way since he had only pushed everything to the side, and you could barely move, but the way he was holding you in his arms and kissing you so passionately was more than enough to have you mewling into his mouth.

His deep, short thrusts were hitting all the right spots and your bond was purring under your skin. There was almost no way to see where you ended and he began, wrapped in each other's arms like you were each other's salvation. You had almost forgotten just how perfectly you two fit together.

It didn't take long for both of you to reach your highs, soft moans and love confessions filling the room. You wouldn't say you doubted his love and affection for a second, but feeling him like this, whispering sweet praises into your ear still reassured you somehow.

You have to stop yourself from pouting again when he pulls his cock out, picking up whatever was at hand to clean you up a bit. He helps you strip out of your clothes, taking his own off right after, and lays back down next to you, pulling you into his side, laying your head on his chest.

“Go back to sleep now,” he says, wrapping his arm tightly around you.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I will,” he promises, kissing the top of your head, “I'll be right here.”

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #3

Strangelove

kinktober day three | restraints, bratting (if you squint, he's very polite) | cw: 18+, sub!Gil, service dom!gender neutral! Reader, inappropriate use of Elvish rope, mouthy princess gil, oral sex (m receiving), safe sane and consensual | word count 4,1k | author's note under the cut | click here for the full kinktober list |

“Now,” a majestic voice rolls over the room like thunder.

You cannot see its owner for that he is hidden behind several of his advisors but your mind paints a picture familiar and amusing.

Face scrunched in petulance, crown slightly askew, the High King bends down to bring his face closer to the dignitary. “I have spoken all there is to say on the matter. Do not make me repeat myself!” He straightens promptly, dark eyes flashing in flickering golden light, and addresses the expectant crowd. “I have exceeded my quota of patience for today! Take your leave! Ego!” The command comes off as harsh even for the King when he is in one of his moods, so he hurries to soften the blow. “We shall continue on the morrow.”

Golden robes billowing out behind him, High King Erenion Gil-Galad takes his leave without sparing a second glance towards the disappointed Elves. Some nod in understanding, knowing just how heavy-handed some of the advisories can get when vying for the King's favour. Some frown and rush off towards the main exit, muttering displeasures to themselves. You linger, letting the crowd disperse into smaller groups, and nimbly make your way towards the side exit, unnoticed amongst various discussions and arguments.

The narrow hallway greets you with a silence and a chill, this year's autumn exceptionally windswept and grey. Erenion's abandoned outer robe stands out like a sore thumb: carelessly thrown over a toreutic statue, it glistens with what little sunshine pierces through low-hanging clouds pregnant with rain and fog. You pick up the garment and fold it at the waist before throwing it over your shoulder, adjusting the pile of notes to your chest. Well-worn soles of your shoes make no noise as you near the King's private study.

The door stands open, no more than a hand's width, and most of your field of view inside the room is occupied by the broad back of your King. It is tense, hard at the nape and taut at the seams of his shirt. Often, you have privately wondered of the possible incident that may finally cause him to burst out of his clothing - once or twice, you were sure Lady Galadriel had come very close to causing Erenion to simply spontaneously combust.

Such he stood with his back turned to you. Pent up, hard-boiled and simply done. A mostly empty carafe of wine at his left hand, a drained glass in the right.

“More wine,” he said the moment you announced yourself with a light step and a creak of the door.

“Yes, my Lord,” you replied evenly, racking your brain for the probable location of the nearest servant. Erenion Gil-Galad was a fair king and a kind ellon but that did not stop all servants from clearing his path when he got into a particularly sullen mood. A sulking King was no good company to anybody.

You trotted over to the nearest chair to place his outer robes onto. He turned swiftly. You needn't raise your eyes to see him struggle to swallow whatever bitter remark had been curling on his tongue; even so hotly angered, stupid he was not. Erenion knew better than to bestow unjust abuse towards his most dutiful and loyal attendant.

He spoke your name and you nodded in acknowledgement before smoothing out his robes and placing your stack of parchment on a nearby table. Not engaging in chit-chat but simply offering a quiet, steady, ataractic presence to the disgruntled King. Soft swishing of the parchment as you rearranged it invited a soothing ubiquity into the cool room. You felt, not saw, your King's shoulders drop. The clink of an empty glass being put down followed suit.

“These noxious vultures!..” Came the predicted grumble. Erenion's footsteps, unusually heavy and resounding for an Elf, traced a path from that corner of the room towards his desk. “Arguing for the sake of it...” Some of the more passionate choice words got lost in the pull of drawers being opened and paper bags' crinkling.

You hid a secretive smile. The Royal Snack Shelf, having been restocked by yours truly, was doing splendid at its job. A whimsical, silly detail even, but nevertheless quintessential at easing the burden of your King's day-to-day routine. A mentor in your past had given you valuable lessons on sweetening the bitterness of all that is tedious and mundane and you had taken them all to heart.

Periodically interrupted by crunching, the King's mouth ejected a day's worth of vitriol into the world, onto you and onto nobody at large, as he paced the long, spacious office like a caged lion. With every sentence he seemed to deflate a little and you counted every tiny victory as you mindlessly sorted and re-aligned your pages. The ranting was a canonical event and you did not interfere.

“... Grach! What secret information do your scrolls contain that is more important than listening to your King?!” Erenion's exclamation was not loud, but his deep and rich voice made it sound petulant and harsh.

Ah. One of those nights.

You straightened your back, taking your sweet time to readjust the muscles of your spine that were beginning to cramp from your hunched position and rapidly evened the stack that had previously preoccupied all of your attention. The bottom of it connected with the table with a sharp, resound tap, and Erenion immediately froze in his tracks.

You turned around slowly, body coiled in perfect precision, a masterful image of picture-perfect regard. Wide-eyed, Erenion frowned, dark brows creasing over the bridge of his nose. Your voice was even when you spoke.

“I am your dutiful servant, my King.” Bowing at the neck and not at the back, you crossed your hands behind yourself, looking him directly in the eye. “It is my job to thoroughly inspect all that concerns you and see to your comforts, which includes your spiritual well-being. At the present moment, it is imperative I allow you to vent your frustration without risk of scrutiny and judgment.”

Erenion, ever the imperfect perfectionist, scoffed. A knee-jerk reaction you harboured no ill will towards, for that you knew it would serve to be so much more rewarding when he finally decided to yield. As the King's brow darkened further with peevishness, his body language spoke of unmistakable interest. A creature of greatness and great contrasts was your King, most exhilarating. Bittersweet, like sour cherry wine.

“You think you know me better than myself?”

You pretended to think about it. “In certain areas, yes.” Jerking your shoulder a little, you took small, short steps towards him, observing him for any changes. Although his face was now contorted in a kingly version of a pout, his chest remained open and shoulders lax.

Looking down on you, Erenion seemed almond amused. “And what is it that you think I presently require?”

“Temperance,” you crooned. The air between your bodies thickened. With your eyes, you traced the fluid lines of his arms covered by his form-fitting undershirt. The hills of his biceps tapered down to wide forearms and sturdy wrists; towards broad palms, adorned with multiple rings but calloused from practice of warcraft. Erenion Gil-Galad was a beautiful King, all smooth lines and luxuriance from the regal curl of his plush mouth down to his shaking fingertips. “You need a lesson in temperance, my King.”

“Is that so?” He inquired lowly. Amusement, intrigue and apprehension all mixed up in his voice, colouring it with hoarseness usually reserved for lovers of a capricious occasion. Erenion was not known for those, but then again, it was unbecoming of a Noldorin High King to voluntarily overturn control of his persona to an assistant, even if it was temporary.

But you were just so good at what you did. How could he not surrender? With a gentle touch and a sharp word, you beheld the King within your eye as if nothing else outside it existed at all. The usually reserved personal aide, you became anything he needed you to be behind closed doors, be it a punching bag filled with sharp nails that cut him right back at every snap or a firm palm, offering rich handfuls of well-earned praise.

There was no diplomatic school advanced enough to lecture anyone on how to handle a King, so you could say that it came naturally. And proof was in the (re)actions: the willingness of Him to acquiesce, the intensity with which you handled him and just how far you were willing to go.

Erenion Gil-Galad stepped back. Again, and then again, until he landed noisily in the nearest chair, his broad, tall body sagging into the comfort of soft upholstery. Like this, you were just about eye-level with each other, and you beheld him with genuine sympathy and utter devotion. He stared back, eyes wide, deep irises seamlessly blending into dark pupils.

A cursory sweep around the room while he was contemplating your expression revealed an unexpected treasure: a thick roll of elvish rope laid on a nearby chair, likely accidentally left behind by a commander rushing in to receive or confirm orders. You smiled and looked away, least your plans be ruined by Erenion's inherent reaction to do the opposite of what people wanted him to do.

Carefully, you raised your hands to rid him of the crown. It always had to go first - dutiful servant as you were, it was most cumbersome to be reminded of his higher status when doing something scandalous with the King's body. Not that the situation lacked appeal, as a concept, but the crown had a weight attached to it. You were set on freeing the King of his burdens, after all.

Erenion's eyelashes fluttered as you gently carded your fingers through long, thick chocolate hair. Tugging lightly at the roots and brushing over the shortened warrior's edges at his temples. Tracing his strong jawline to brush a teasing thumb over his lips just to withdraw before he licked it like a playful kitten. You caressed the sensitive leaf shape of his ear and were immediately rewarded with a pleased rumble coming from the depts of his chest. For now, Erenion was much content to sit back in his chair and hold the outside of his palm against your leg, but it would not last.

Not when your fingers made swift work of the laces on his shirt and freed him from it. As the fabric landed on a nearby ottoman, his large palms settled over your hips, possessively kneading the meat there.

“Impatient,” you chided with a gentle shake of your head, eliciting a displeased grumble from the King, followed up by his fingertips digging deeper into you, clinging to your bones. A tap on his nose caused his eyes to shoot open. Your smile only grew. “Impertinent.”

Opening his mouth, Erenion's eyes shot to his crown abandoned nearby and back at your face. He pursed his lips, and, in lieu of a response, leaned in to rub his cheek over your clothed chest. You stood still, letting him find his comfort, but did little else. Until the very moment Erenion withdrew, his famous kingly pout back on full display.

“Melmë.”

“Erenion.” You echoed, matching his tone. “Are we in a rush?”

“Yes!” He grumbled. Looked at the window, where the clouds had obscured stars and the moon, blanketing Lindon within an impenetrable darkness. Several candles illuminated the room and that was it: not a single torch was lit outside the window. Erenion sighed. “Well, no, alas...”

“We are not in a rush.” You placed your palms atop his own, squeezing them once: a wordless command to release you. He did so and you stroked his face, his eyes, which he closed. Placing a kiss on his forehead, you swiftly grabbed the rope and returned with it, unfurling the roll as Erenion grew visibly more restless from the lack of touch. He dared open his eyes and immediately gasped, aghast. “Temperance,” you reminded him.

“No!” He protested, but made no move to get up or otherwise interrupt your planned activity.

You were sure many would call you mad for enjoying this exact moment of your games: the feigned resistance. Erenion would gripe and groan and complain and inevitably ruin his trousers in the process and there was no sweeter reward for your troubles that could be. The more he objected, the higher he riled himself up. That final leap over the edge beckoned you both in the distance. Erenion fell apart beautifully and...

A sigh. “Yes,” you stressed, wrapping the rope around his chest and the back of the chair before weaving it swiftly and delicately over his forearms, effectively securing them to the armrests. The length of the rope allowed for a safe amount of movement and several pretty knots.

It should withstand a good deal of resistance; Erenion's awareness of his own size and strength and their comparison to yours put an upper limit on just how physical these games would get. Ever cognisant, Erenion would flat out refuse even the possibility of causing you pain with his body so certain workarounds had to implemented. And even then, you found yourself wistful, wishing nothing more than for your King to lose himself to simple, mindless pleasures.

When was Erenion Gil-Galad ever simple? Effectively prevented from seeking out touch, he sat poised and regal, chin pointed in defiance, as he watched you shed your outer robes and and miscellaneous clothing. His eyes roved over you hungrily, yearning, as you stood before him in nothing but your underthings. Veins of his hands thick with rushing blood, what little was south of his trousers anyway: obscured by his breeches, the outlined of his hard cock stood as tall and proud as him.

You sat astride it, reveling in the hiss that came from his lips as you pressed your weight atop it and stayed still. The line of his jaw was fascinating to explore: you enlisted your lips, your fingers to do so.

As you'd predicted, his patience was... Not there.

“Well?”

“Hm?” You rumbled at the root of his ear, hot breath ghosting over the lobe.

“What now?” Centuries at Court kept his voice steady; his body was the biggest traitor. Blood rushed, a siren's song to you, enticing to switch your attentions to the other side of his face. Tenderly and thoroughly, you lavished it with attention, attacking Erenion's erogenous zones with tempered precision. You were in no rush to reply. He could not wait to feel. “I am sat in my office, indisposed and restrained, for the sake of your amusement?” He spat.

“No,” you murmured. And immediately corrected yourself because lying to your king is wrong. “Well, yes. But you are restrained for your own sake, as well. Good things come to those who know how to wait.” You preached, finishing off with a quick bite at the ball of his shoulder. Your hands slid lower, palming his thick pectorals, flicking his nipples.

There wasn't much to do but feel and bestow sensation and Erenion knew that. And enjoyed it so, his length twitching against your leg as you alternated between hard and soft, fast and slow, biting and kissing. Periodically, you withdrew enough to observe the changes on his face: how it grew from annoyed to flat to quivering. He panted softly through parted lips, groaning upon coming in contact with your own sex.

The buck of his hips straightened you up atop his lap. “You are much too impatient, darling,” you whispered against his lips. “Rushing to start one thing before the last has even ended,” withdrawing from his cock, you kissed him gently, pulling away as soon as he leaned in to envelop your tongue with his hot mouth. A whine slipped out instead and you smiled, brushing your closed mouth over his, moist and spit-slick.

“Multitasking is a necessary skill!” He objected, the ‘for a King’ hanging heavy and unsaid.

In lieu of a response, you ran your hands through his crown-free hair and gathered it in a loose ponytail, arching his head back. He moaned, low and long, and you rewarded him with a kiss to his lips. He did not misbehave this time as you mouthed at each other, losing time and space where your lips connected. You heard the creaking of wood, felt the bulge of Erenion's muscles as his body released all of its pent up tension.

Slowly, you lowered yourself back down to sit over his cock. Swallowing his moan and a noise of your own, you felt sparks fly as a sloppy movement brushed over where you were most sensitive. It was a sobering action. There was very little time for pleasure while you were doing your job, or, rather, the pleasure came from granting your King such. Boldly, your tongue snuck into his mouth to coax out his own so you could suck on it with conviction.

Erenion moaned, back arching within confines of his restraints. A wet spot was steadily growing under you, the result of your combined desire. Your mouth slid off his, smearing spit over his cheek as you panted. To pretend to be unaffected would be pointless and foolish. A pair of dark eyes sparking with amusement met yours: he looked too smug for an Elf who was at the brink of coming undone.

Cheeks flushed and mouth wet, Erenion Gil-Galad gave you a little smirk.

You wished nothing more than to bite him. So you did. Teeth clashed as you initiated another kiss, taking full control of it this time. It was wet and messy, full of growling and fangs as you temporarily abandoned your gentleness. You fucked his mouth with yours until your tasted bloody meat, and only then you withdrew, observing the momentary change in his behaviour. He was surprised, conquered, staring at you with reverence.

Your game of tug of war continued. He pushed and you pulled: he arched his chest and you bit down on his nipple, pulling it taut and letting your teeth scrape the surrounding sensitive tissue until his gasps descended into whimpers and bitten-off, broken Quenya. You raked blunt nails over his sides as he shuddered with sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. Very few knew their King was ticklish and even fewer had the skills to incorporate it into ardurous sensual torture. You could have given any experienced courtesan a run for their money with how you played the High King akin to an instrument.

Maglor's incredible and terrifying singing had nothing on the broken noises coming out of the hot wet mouth of your King. Erenion was no songbird, no, he was a lone wolf howling at the moon. You observed the results of your handiwork as he shook with desire. There was little else to do but marvel.

Erenion Gil-Galad was a vision. Arms and chest criss-crossed with angry red welts where the ropes had rubbed a webbed pattern into his skin, he sat flushed and panting. Mouth red, as if wine stained, and eyes lidded, moved in wordless pleas for release. The need was showcased at the apex of his thighs where he'd leaked right through his trousers. Brown fabric was stained nearly black all around his sizeable bulge.

It was when you found yourself kneeling before it that reality sharply hit you in the face. Here you were, a servant, kneeling at the feet of your King, and he could do little else than plead for your mercy. And there was nothing else you wished to see more than give it to him - to see his face fall slack and easy, to see his twitching fingers finally find rest. But it was not the point of this. One release just bought the two of you a little time until the next.

The only thing you truly had control over was the amount of time it passed between the two. Not when you gave it and not how you gave it, for all that Erenion had to do was dismiss your advances and you would go back to sorting his mail and compiling his daily schedule.

Distracted, you nuzzled into his crotch, and fiddled with his trousers. His erect cock greeted you with a throb; the King moaned and threw his head back, straining the ropes to a point you began to consider they would lose their magic at once and simply snap. No such thing happened even as you blew gently onto the heated head of his cock.

“Cruel!..” He mumbled in between curses in languages you did not even know. “I was patient!” He objected to your withdrawal from his cock with fervor.

You were simply adjusting yourself. Not that he saw it, nearly delirious with need.

“Patient on account of lacking other options,” you teased him mirthfully.

He chuckled, but that noise quickly turned into a moan as you stuck out your tongue to trace the thick, prominent vein curving along the underside of his cock. Taking care to avoid the sensitive head, you took some tablets to lavish the shaft with soft licks of tour tongue. The sweet-salty taste of him beckoned you, clear droplets sliding down his cock just so you could curl your tongue around the middle of it to catch as much of the nectar as you could.

You went downwards, popping each of his testicles into your mouth. A whine in a pitch very few had ever heard echoed in the room; the chair creaked, it's back legs lifting off the ground. You immediately withdrew, placing apologetic kisses all along his cock as you ascended towards the tip. Erenion had been patient indeed and was now firmly stood at the edge of total overstimulation.

Sensitive Elven bodies, used to hard wars and tender lovemaking, had a very fine line that separated pleasure and pain. It'd been a steep learning curve to learn how to pluck the strings of your King just right, but once you figured out how to get him in that sweet spot betwixt the two and never firmly on the side of either, your sessions became something beautiful.

You wrapped your lips around him - he shuddered - and hollowed out your cheeks, tonguing along the frenulum as you swallowed as much of your King as would fit in your mouth. What couldn't fit was taken up by your hand, working him with all your might, going in for the winning round with single-minded abandon.

Erenion bucked his hips wildly, adding to the cacophony of your coupling. Moans, sighs and wet squelching, the creak of the chair that surely was to be replaced come morning - it all faded into the background as you kept your eyes firmly on the face of your King. Contorted in sweet agony, he gasped for breath once, twice, before his brow turned lax and a torrent of bittersweet nectar flooded your mouth.

Kneeling in awe and reverence, you swallowed it all. Erenion's chest heaved, covered in a translucent sheen of cool sweat, and he remained moaning softly all throughout it, reacting only when his flaccid flesh slipped from your mouth. His mouth was open and eyes closed as you undid the knots, content to ignore your own discomfort until the moment to relieve it offered itself.

You rubbed his wrists, eyeing his face for any discomfort. There was none - Erenion remained as timelessly beautiful when disheveled as he was in his golden garb. The corners of his mouth turned up in a lazy, absent smile, he freed a wrist to pull you in. You mirrored his smile.

“Come,” he spoke, voice rough. Unsteadily, he stood up, and pulled you towards the hidden door leading to his chambers. “We are not finished yet.”

Pretending to be surprised, you chuffed softly at the lack of care he showed at his own state of undress. He truly cared not, for he was the King, and managing his reputation (and any missteps of his in that regard) was your responsibility as his personal attendant anyway.

Would he ever make it easy for you? No. But, perhaps, one day you might get him to beg...

Someone said slightly bratty sub gil x service dom reader? OK I said it. I am pretty sure this is gender neutral, but in case it isn't, point out gendered things/words to me. I didn't bother to proofread it because I got too horny while writing it. I don't like this as much as I wish I did but oh well.

a/n: the bigger sub/smaller dom is an actual issue if you get physical during your scenes. I've dommed men roughly the size of Ben (I'm 5'4 130?lbs) and there are scenes and things that we simply cannot do safely, unless the sub is at least somewhat restrained. Even further, taking into account that canonical gil-salad is 7+ft... Tie that elf down before you let him brat/overstim or you'll get flat out 💅yeeted💅 across all Lindon.

[dipperscavern]

lord dipper lord dipper!!! m’lord, the council Must know about blowing the stark men today!!! the topic cannot be overlooked much longer! (fr tho the ask abt cregan putting his hand on the back of ur NECK?????? changed me as a woman)

[brittany broski british accent] yES YES. I HEAR YOU MY DEAR!! THIS REQUIRES OUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION, IT DOES SO. (also me too girl that ask changed my brain chemistry)

cregan would look so big from your position on your knees LAWRD. all intimidating as he undoes the laces on his breeches (or if you’re good, you can do it for him 🙂‍↕️), lookin down at you with that smirk of his. would be all shaky breaths and grunts, a small nose scrunch if you run your tongue on the underside of his cock tee hee. a hand on the back of your neck, whether it’s to ground you or a placeholder for him.. who knows? sometimes he’ll use it to keep you in place if it’s an attitude adjustment.. sigh. what can he say? don’t talk with your mouth full.

robb… oh robb. that man is a throatfucker and u can’t change my mind sorry! only sometimes, when he just needs to be rough & messy n shove his cock down your throat. anyways, he loves the feel of your lips wrapped around his cock. likes receiving more than giving (but would absolutely still give don’t get me wrong). he tips his head back, groans & grunts rising from deep in his chest. grits his teeth when you suckle a lil on the tip (i’m clutching my pearls). he loves you & your mouth, and when you’re done he’s pulling you up & slotting his lips against yours, slipping his tongue in your mouth and groaning at the taste of himself…

jon would have a hard time keeping still. you’d be the first mouth he’s has around his cock, man does NOT know how to act. idc fight me you’d make that man writhe. he’d regain a bit of his composure when you smooth a hand over his thigh. his brows are pinched together hard, eyes shut as he groans and breathes sooo heavy. the occasional whimper. he’d try and steady his breathing to no avail, bless him. and his hips would jut forward ever so slightly, then would pull back cause he wants to make sure you’re able to breathe. he’d definitely have a hand on your jaw, but if he’s losing control & accidentally tightening his grip, he’d fist the furs/his cloak/anything else he could grab onto cause he doesn’t wanna hurt you. 😭

[eighttens]

Elevatorcrush!Yunho x reader

Synapses: so… maybe you’re kind of a stalker, but who wouldnt be over a guy like that?!

Note: inspired heavily by Yunho‘s forehead, lord praise the stylists for letting it breathe this comeback!!!! I love it so much he looks too good im not normal about him at all. Hope you enjoy, please dont be a silent reader- share your thoughts and if you have ideas PLEASE REQUEST MY INBOX IS OPEN!!!!

You had a confession to make. You took the elevator in your apartment complex every chance you could get. Not for any medical or physical needs, not because you were too lazy to take the stairs, not because your bag is heavy, no. None of that. It’s all because of him.

The first few times you saw he didn’t really register in your brain. You only took in his towering height and slender form before focusing on whatever else was on your mind again. Probably because the first few times you really were always too tired to climb the seven flights to your floor.

You’ve taken notice of him again and again since then though. He looked to be a few years, three or four at most, older than you, and judging by the briefcase you thought he worked in some higher profession. The business casual style also doesnt stop your fantasizing, quite the opposite actually. You wont lie, you’ve imagined once or twice what he works as; a doctor? A lawyer? Dare you imagine, a professor? The thought alone makes your head swirl, so you’re quick to dismiss it every time.

Since you started paying more attention to the people (person) on the elevator with you, you may or may not have started to synch up your routines with a certain man your eyes find time and time again. You didnt know much about him, other than that he always got on and off the fourth floor, and the times he came and went.

It started with a simple coincidence. You left a few minutes earlier than usual because you had a project at Uni that required a lot of materials, prompting you to take the elevator for convenience. Lo and behold, there he was again, stepping into the elevator as it made a stop on the fourth floor. You nodded at one another, and he sent you a small, seemingly sympathetic smile as he eyed all the materials you were carrying. Since then you knew that he left for work at 7:15 sharp, and since then you’ve subconsciously started your morning 15 minutes earlier too, to match schedules, but he didnt have to know that.

In terms of the time of return, you didnt have to change much (not that you were changing anything in the first place, you told yourself). You simply had to get home a tad bit faster, and then take the elevator. There, you and him would shuffle into the small space and share a moment of silence before he would step off, leaving you to ascend further on your own.

Today was a day like most other, you made it though all your classes managed to hand in the work that was looming over your head, and your timing was right on the money to see a certain someone. You might be a little very exited to see him, you admit, but you allowed yourself the unsolicited giddiness that spread through your body at the thought of him.

Youre glad you were wearing a bit of a nicer outfit that day, because by some high heavens grace, something in his appearance had changed. You felt stalker-ish for noticing the change, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gushing over it. His forehead. Where normally the black bangs would lie against his skin, kissing his eyebrows, his hair was pushed back for a change.

Your reaction was very normal. Yes, you were feeling extremely normal about this change. Nothing like a man from the middle-ages seeing ankles for the first time, no, nothing like that at all.

You stood a little stiff in the elevator next to him, heels pressed against one another to keep you grounded as you practically buzzed where you stood. Oh my gosh girl get a grip! You wanted to curse yourself, but before any of the self deprivation could really start, the silence in the elevator broke.

He cleared his throat, hand coming up to shield his mouth as he coughed into his fist. Your head whipped over to his and you could see him glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear a noise from him, but you would have to thank the heavens later for the cold-seasons. You were content now, happy to have heard his voice.

He really threw you for a loop when he spoke again however, leaning down to match your height, probably make you a little more comfortable. „This might be a little out of nowhere, and i hope i dont sounds really weird and creepy but your perfume is really nice.“ his voice was low, as not to disturb the silence in the apartment complex.

Before you have time to soak in his words, even less to think of a response, the elevator has already reached the fourth floor. He‘s swift in his exit, leaving you reaching out for him dumbly, scrambling to think up some words. No success, so you just watch his leaving form with an open mouth.

Once his words sink in though, your face starts warming, your stomach spinning and your knees becoming embarrassingly weak. „Thanks…“ you say to no one in particular as the doors open again: on the seventh floor this time. You float to your apartment, unlocking the door with a wide smile on your face. What was the chance of something like this happening? Slim to none at all, you think as your smile widens again (if that’s even possible).

Was this the start of something? Only time could tell… well, ten hours and nineteen minutes, but you weren’t counting…

[readychilledwine]

Lollipop pt 2

Summary - Azriel and Seraphina Vanserra will take what happened between them after the High Lords Meeting to their grave. Well, at least her father's grave.

Warnings - NSFW, oral (f rev), fingering, degradation, Dom sub dynamics, power play, shadow play/bondage, praise kink, corruption kink, use of pet names, 😻 slapping, spanking, overstimulation, Azriel being a fuck rabbit, dumbification, cock warming, virginity loss, orgasm denile, implied anal and throat fucking, a very rough first time.

An - so.... this was supposed to post at 1pm my time 😒 evidently I drafted it instead of hitting schedule post. Low key thought you all hated it and I failed. Anyways! Forgive me 💜 and don't worry, you'll still get two smut corruption pieces today, though. Ps if you see mistakes, you don't.

Read Part One Here

Seraphina rocked back in her heels as he circled her like a hawk, a small smirk playing on his face as shadows broke her skin out in chills. “How lucky am I,” he moved closer to her back, “to have such an eager, pretty mate.”

She was beautiful. Smaller than he normally liked, but he knew from Eris that Beron kept her food very controlled to prevent her from gaining weight.

Which was a damn shame in Azriel's mind. The more curve, the better, and he would change that once she was his and his alone.

His scarred hand ran up her dress before gently wrapping around her throat, testing the waters instead of diving in head first. Seraphina, in return, whimpered loudly, the scent of her honeyed arousal coming into the air. Her hands found his thighs, gripping for purchase as she tilted her head back, allowing him, and his hand, more access. “Good girl,” he praised her softly, kissing below her pointed ear. “You know how to tug the bond, right?”

“Yes.”

Azriel kissed her bare shoulder before correcting her, “Yes sir.” Serphina nodded, watching him from the mirror. Her eyes widened at the feel of something cold and sharp on the base of her spine. “Breathe,” he kissed down her neck, and in one swift movement cut her dress enough to be able to rip it off.

She was calm throughout his testing of the waters. He rose a brow at her deep breaths. “You aren't afraid?”

She shook her head, her heart racing as hazel eyes met hers in the mirror. “What exactly do you plan to do to me?”

His shadows seemed to thicken and his eyes darkened as he stared at her in the mirror, placing that sharp dagger back into it's holster. “Everything,” he growled before gripping the back of her neck and turning her into a heavy kiss.

It was electric. It was passionate. It was fire meeting shadows. Dancing together as her hands found stability and purchase on his chest after her dress fell.

He backed her to the bed instantly. Growling as he shoved her back and was instantly on her body again.

He had waited years for this. Years for a mate, an equal. The fact that he would be her first. That he would be the one to ruin her and corrupt her was just a bonus.

Bites and kisses started going lower down Seraphina's body, making her shiver. Azriel bit down on her neck, causing her back to arch and a soft whine to leave her mouth. Her hand tried shooting to her lips, hoping to trap the noises in just for shadows to rip her arms away from her, locking them above her head in a vise like grip.

Azriel tutted her softly. “Do you want to be my good girl?” She nodded eagerly, arching into his shadows and hands as they roamed her body. “Words or we stop.”

“Yes sir,” his own heart fluttered at her submission, at how quickly she was taking her role.

“Then let me hear everything. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel.”

“Yes sir.”

“And stop looking away. I want you to watch what I'm doing to you.”

She nodded again, lip pulled between her teeth as his kisses reached her breasts and his warm tongue began to play with her nipple. The soft moan that left her lips was music.

Her body was a harp, a fine tuned instrument just waiting to be played, and for once, Azriel truly felt he was a musician. He wanted to cherish her, to show her how she as his mate would spend her life treated and worshipped.

But then his mind flashed back to her pretty mouth wrapped around that candy, to her visual fantasy Rhys had happily put into his mind the second it started, and all that hope went out that window.

His sole mission was to ruin her. To ensure no other male would bring her to the brink of pleasure over and over and over the way he could. And Azriel never failed a mission.

Kisses became soft bites, making gasps and moans fall from pretty parted lips and Seraphina's amber eyes to roll back. She thought he was going to kill her. He had hardly touched her and she knew she was soaked. She knew that coil would snap within moments of him doing anything to her. A pained whine came as his teeth sank into the inner side of her right breast, bruising and marking the soft untouched skin there before turning and marking the left the same way. “Mine,” he growled causing more heat to shoot through her body. “All mine.”

His kisses began to trail lower again. Mouth coming to a halt above her center as he looked at her. “Also. Fucking. Mine.”

Azriel did not give her a chance to respond, a chance to understand what was about to happen, and that first lick had her jaw fall open, head going back to the pillow and an almost scream like whine leaving her mouth. He wasted no time, instantly feeling that noise shoot to his cock and began eating her out like it was his last meal. Every nudge of his tongue in her center, on cilt, in her folds had her moaning, arching, pulling at his shadows as they restrained her tighter, holding her wide open and completely under Azriel's control.

His hands dug into her hips, leaving bruises there instantly as well as he groaned into the taste of her before wrapping his lips around that swollen bundle of nerves and focusing a ruthless attack there. He watched her under hooded lashes as she arched, as she cried, as the foreign feeling brought tears to her eyes and began to ruin her mascara.

She'd cum just from this. Just from his tongue rolling her pretty clit, circling it, pushing down on it. She'd cum for the lightest touches. And that got him off. It made him feel like a God.

Sera felt her eyes roll back again, an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach as her breathing and moaning picked up. She needed something, needed more. “Please,” she began to beg, her voice breathy and desperate as he began fucking her core, stretching her slightly with his tongue. “Sir, please. I-”

He pulled away, a hand quickly striking her pussy before rubbing gently to soothe her. “Good girls do not beg, pet. Are you a good girl or a whore?” He glared at her slightly as she whined before smacking her again. “if you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then I will treat you like a whore.”

He turned her, allowing his shadows to restrain her on her stomach with a limb towards each corner of the bed. He placed a pillow under her hips, positioning her ass and pussy in the perfect spot for him before waiting to see if she tugged the bond, if this was too much. Her hips wiggled instead, trying to sneak attention from that trapped pillow.

He sent a silent prayer and thank you to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to any deity listening, and then he spanked her.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Watching as her milky pale skin turned bright red for him, watching as she began dripping for him. “You are a fucking whore, aren't you? Getting off on me spanking you.” He spanked her again, watching as her legs began to shake. “Are you going to cum from me spanking you?”

Shame should have filled her then and there, but it didn't. She should be ashamed of herself. She had always been taught sex was not for her. It was for the male. Her sole job was to please him and him alone. Yet here she was, seconds from finding absolute bliss as her mate did nothing more than treated her like a babe in need of punishment.

Azriel brought both hands down on her ass, and watched as she screamed, body jolting and her tight hole clenched around nothing. She came screaming his name, tears streaming down her face. He ran his hand up and down her back, slowing her breathing through the High before running his hands back to her pussy and feeling those soaked folds.

“You have to relax,” he warned gently as she stiffened. “If you don't relax, I will end up hurting you, and I don't want to hurt my perfect pet, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Sera tried relaxing. Focusing on the humming bond. On his amusement, his pleasure in seeing her like this. She whimpered as two fingers ran from her clit to her whole, lubricating those thick scarred digits in her nectar.

Azriel pushed his middle finger in. He felt his own eyes roll back, imagining the feeling of her soft tight walls on his cock as she let out a breathy moan. He began pumping immediately, not giving her time to adjust and then inserted a second finger before leaning over her to put his hand in her hair and pull, forcing her to arch her back more as she began to cry again. “Gonna feel so good on my cock, pet. So fucking tight and warm.” The praise warmed her immediately. Another wave of heat and wetness flowing through her. “This pussy is mine, you hear me? You are mine. You belong to me.”

Seraphina felt her heart flutter at that. At the idea of being his and his alone. At the idea of no one else stretching her like this. Her walls began to twitch as he found a spot he had been searching for and began to ruthlessly curl and thrust his fingers in to it.

She was soaking the pillow, her thighs, his hand. Azriel's shadows began to remove his clothing, freeing his aching cock and allowing him to stroke it in time with his fingers. Sera was panting again, her hips trying to meet his hand only to be held in place as he felt her approaching the edge again.

Before she could, he pulled away, landing a harsh spank on her bruising ass before standing and removing his leathers completely.

“All in one or gently. Pick now.” His desperate voice sent a wave of power through Sera. The idea of him being this worked up for her while she did nothing but submit to his will make her glow with feminine pride.

“Just fuck me.”

He was surprised by the answer, hand coming to use her juices as lubricant on his cock before he got behind her with a dangerous grin. “I'd tell you to hold on to something, but it appears your hands are a little preoccupied.”

It was pleasure, pain, completion, everything. Sera felt herself fall into shock before a loud wailing moan filled the room along with the scent of her Maidenhood breaking.

Azriel's hand gripped the sheet next to her head as he too let out a pitched moan. She felt exactly as he had imagined. Warm, velvety walls pulsed around him. He gave a gentle teasing thrust, watching as her mouth fell back open. Her make up always ruined, her hair a mess, body littered in bites and bruises.

He had not been gentle with her once tonight, and he was about to start now unless she asked. He placed a foot solid on the bed and grabbed her waist. Then he began.

Seraphina saw the heavens when he moved. His thick cock dragging in and out of her, lighting every inch and nerve on fire as she could do nothing more than lay there moaning and crying out for him.

Her walls were twitching, begging for release instantly as they pulled him in deeper and deeper. He was going to fuck her into two pieces. She hadn't even had the chance to look at his cock, but Gods she felt it. She felt it brushing her cervix with each thrust. She felt it hitting places healers didn't even have names for yet. She felt it pulling her apart inch by inch until she was the perfect sleeve for him.

Azriel watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a small smile forming on her face, and she began to drool slightly.

He had fucked her dumb this easily. Fucked every brain cell from her and rendered her completely to his will.

Seraphina would be easy to train. Easy to make his personal whore. His perfect little mate, his perfect little wife, his perfect cock sleeve, always ready, dripping, and eager for him.

He fucked her until dawn broke through the window. Taking her cunt, her throat, her ass. He came on her face, inside of her, on her tits. She was soaked in his seed, her essences, his and her sweat.

He held her tight in the tub. Bouncing her on his cock as she sat in his lap crying from overstimulation. He released into her again, triggering another orgasm from her that left her in a silent scream and whimpers. He didn't allow her off, forcing her to sit chest to chest with him and warm his cock.

No words passed between them.

No words needed to.

When she tried to speak, he pushed two fingers into her mouth. “We will talk when master is ready. Am I understood, whore?”

She nodded, gagging as the digits pushed in further and maintaining eye contact like he had taught her. He hardened inside of her tender abused cunt again. And he lifted her off and turned her.

The slow realization hit her. 12 orgasms wasn't enough.. 8 hours wasn't enough. Her mate was insatiable.

And she was all too happy to just be used.

[koolades-world]

The moment the om cast realized they fell in love with you (part three)

requested by a few people! here it is :)

Diavolo

He had been looking forward to the end of the week for what felt like hundreds of years now. He always wished it was the weekend, so that wasn't it. Although the thought of making every day Saturday was very tempting, Lucifer and Barbatos would not forgive him. What he really was looking forward to was his first one-on-one sleepover with Mc. Every time in the past they had happened to have a sleepover, everyone else was there. The brothers loved hogging Mc's attention. Not that he could blame them, though. He adored spending time with Mc. Just the fact that they agreed to come to the palace to spend time with him without the brothers present made him giddy. He wasn't sure if it was getting to have casual time with Mc and getting to learn human sleepover traditions.

When he initially suggested having a sleepover to Mc, it was because they mentioned having lots of fond memories when they were younger of sleepovers. It was only after the fact that he realized what he had just done. It didn't make him any less excited, but he felt more antsy about it. He had even worked extra hard and gotten more work done than he usually would to get Barbatos off his back for a night. Lucifer had even promised to keep his brothers away from them for the night so they could enjoy time together.

Mc had sworn to show him everything that humans younglings do at sleepovers, including doing each others nails and hair, throwing mini fashion shows, reading popular magazines, raiding the fright for midnight snacks, binge watching movies, and of course, playing games. He was looking forward to learning more about humans, but he found himself looking forward to spending time with Mc. He was always so busy, so this would be a rare opportunity.

The moment he heard Mc had finally arrived at the castle, he was scrambling to meet them at the door. Unfortunately Barbatos was too attentive for him, so he had to settle for meeting them in the grand hall. They were carrying a pink duffle bag that could barely close, something they borrowed from Asmo thanks to his name being embroidered across the side. They were dressed in pajamas, already prepared for the night. Mammon stood by their side, looking like he was ready to go out.

"Have fun, Mc. Let me know if ya wanna go home at any time. I'll come getcha even if it's three in the mornin'." He wrapped an arm around Mc's shoulders and side hugged them for a moment before letting go.

"I will. See you tomorrow. Stay safe, get home at a good time. Don't stay out too late." Mc patted Mammon's arm, and he reluctantly left after glancing at Barbatos, Diavolo, and Mc. Diavolo felt smug, but he wasn't sure why. There was no reason to be. He quickly let go of that feeling in favor of finally getting to spend time with Mc. "Hi Dia. Hi Barbatos." Mc waved to the prince and his butler.

"Please let me know if you need anything, My Lord. I'll be attending matters else where. Dinner will be done shortly." Barbatos excused himself.

"So, where are we sleeping?" Mc shifted the bag on their shoulder. Diavolo reached over and took it from them since it looked heavy.

"Well, would you be fine staying in my room? Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I can arrange something else-" Diavolo began to regret his earlier decision and grew anxious that Mc might not like it.

"I don't mind. That's part of a sleepover anyways!" Diavolo let out a mental sigh of relief. He should have known Mc would have been fine with it. They happily followed him through the castle, waving to Little Ds as they passed by. They arrived at his room eventually. He nervously opened the door. He had made sure it was extra clean before hand.

"Earlier today I went out shopping and bought loads of things I think you'll love! It wasn't easy to find some of this." They unzipped the duffle bag once they were in his room. Underneath the clothes and toiletries were an assortment of items. nail polish, various human board games, a Devil Switch that he recognized as Levithan's, and some magazines.

"Woah! You got all of this just for me?" Diavolo excitedly picked up a game box and shook it, listening to the pieces inside.

"I would say let's not start too much right now since Barbatos said dinner is almost done, but, I have another idea. A core part of a sleepover is ordering takeout! My favorite is Chinese and Thai, but pizza is more typical. Actually, do you even have that down here? I'm still not sure." Mc began removing the things they needed from their bag.

"Are you suggesting we... skip dinner?" Diavolo looked at Mc.

"Well, not exactly. We can still eat some, but just leave room for takeout later. I can't deny, Barbatos' cooking will be better." Mc nodded, with mischievous grin. Diavolo felt his heart skip at that smile; the smile they gave to everyone in the room. But, this time, it was all for him. It actually reminded him of the smile of an angel. He basked in their glory.

"Alright! You don't think he'll figure out, will he?" Dia questioned. Mc turned away from him, and when they turned back, he felt blasted by their smile again.

"Oh, there's no way he won't know. I don't think he'll stop us though as long as he eat a little. We can't waste his hard work, after all." Mc stacked the boxed games in a pile, placing the magazines on top of that. They pulled a laptop out of the bag and placed it with Devil Switch. He suddenly felt very stupid. He should have known that Barbatos would know, and probably knows right now.

He could blame the pounding in his chest for this forgetfulness. He always felt this way around Mc. He always managed to find a way to act afool around them. Before their arrival, he was always more put together and serious. Things were more chaotic now, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He finally had someone to be less princely with, someone who would indulge his shenanigans. He would trade the fun with consequences for the boring days of paperwork any day.

Diavolo suddenly received a text from Barbatos telling him dinner was ready, and to bring Mc. "Barbatos says dinner is done and we should go down to eat." Mc looked up from their things.

"Alright. Let's go then." They began giggling as they left, leaving Diavolo to follow. They pretty knew their way around the castle from how often they were there. They excitedly told him everything they had planned for the rest of the night. He chimed in with all the questions he had, to which Mc answered diligently. Once they reached the grand dining room where Barbatos had set out their plates. Tonight was brushetta, dinner rolls, and a fancy looking pasta dish.

"Thank you Barbatos!" Mc thanked the demon. Despite saying they would not eat very much, they finished their entire plate. The entire meal, both Diavolo and Mc were chortling together to which Barbatos looked at them knowingly. As soon as the meal was over, they both thanked Barbatos again and scurried off quickly.

"First, we have to order the pizza, because we need to eat that before we do our nails, otherwise we might mess them up." Mc turned on their D.D.D. and placed the order online with Dia's opinion. As soon as the order was placed, Mc moved onto the next thing. Dia found it a little hard to keep up, but was excited. Time flew when he was with Mc.

First, the played a few human board games. They played Scrabble, Operation, and Life. Mc had brought more but they decided to stop early since they thought they might run out of time if they kept going. Their food arrived in the middle of the second game, so they ate as they played. After that, Mc insisted they do their nails and skincare. All the products they had were curtesy of Asmo. After using the products he knew he needed to get them for himself. After that, they played games on the Devil Switch that Levi had lent them. However, time seemed to slow when Mc brought out the magazines.

It wasn't the magazines themselves. Mc had brought a few choices, just in case Diavolo wasn't in the mood to read one of them. Mc recommended one fashion magazine to him, but he found himself lost in several places, so Mc suggested they read it together. What he wasn't expecting was for them to climb into his lap. They began flipping through the magazine in his hands, pointing at things on the pages, but all he could focus on was Mc on his lap. No other real thoughts went through his head. Luckily for him, Mc didn't notice and eventually, he was able to pay attention to what they were saying.

He felt warm with all the feelings buzzing inside him. At one point, he thought they might leave him, but they just leant far enough to grab their laptop. They pulled up Deviltube to put on a movie. Again, the entire time, the only thing he could focus on was Mc. Mc was so trusting and kind to him. They had been nothing but the best to him. He just couldn't place what he was feeling for them. It felt oddly familiar. As Mc leant back into his chest, he suddenly realized what that feeling was. He sat on it for a while as the movie played in the background.

"Mc?" Diavolo whispered after the movie was over. Mc didn't respond. He tilted his head and realized they were asleep. He smiled and tucked a blanked over the both of them. Now he was just left with his love for Mc and where he might go from there.

Barbatos

Barbatos carefully set up the tea table for two. He was expecting Mc over at the castle that evening, just after dinner. He would have preferred before dinner in order to steal them away from the brothers for longer, but this still worked. He has to make sure everything was just perfect, for them.

He made sure the tea he made was the kind the liked and all the little snacks were their favorite. He has grown to have them as his favorite too, since it reminded him of them. He thought the little set up for two was quite cute after looking back at his work.

“Barbatos! Mc is here!” A little D called out to him. He quickly stopped rearranging the table cloth. Was it really that time already? He grew slightly embarrassed at losing track of time and not being there in person to greet them.

“Thank you. You are most appreciated.” He made sure he was put together before heading to the door.

“Barb! So happy to see you!” Mc smiled at him as soon as he opened the door and practically tackled him into a hug. He chuckled and patted their back.

“Hell, Mc. It’s a delight to see you as well.” Mc took a step back to look him in the eyes.

“I have something for you!” They rocked on the heels as they presented him with a little gift bag that had a cute little label that said “for Barbatos.” He felt his heart begin to race at how giddy they looked.

“How thoughtful of you.” He accepted the gift and met Mc’s expecting eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it! I’m excited to see what you think.” They giggled. He carefully pushed aside the tissue paper to reach what was underneath. Inside, was a few small bags of tea was labels he didn’t recognize. “It’s tea from the human world! I figured you must have tried pretty much all of them by now, but when I went to the human world the other day, I couldn’t help but wander into that shop and think of you.” They clasp their hands together, swinging them around.

“Thank you very much. It smells lovely. You always know exactly what to give as gifts.” He found himself lost in their happy grin.

“If you like them, we can go to the human world together. I remember the name of the shop. I think you would like it in there.” They flipped over one of the small bags to reveal the name of the shop hand written on the back.

“That sounds wonderful. We must do that.” Despite how collected he looked, on the inside he was scrambled. Mc invited him to the cute little tea shop. As… a date? Was he thinking too far into this? They both enjoyed tea, that’s all. Surely that wasn’t their intention.

“Let me know what you think. I tried the green tea, and that one in particular reminded me of you.” They showed him a different bag of a green, almost silvery colored tea with various little pearls of some kind mixed in.

“You really are the most endearing human I have ever met.” He held the bag up to the light, watching as the light eddied and danced around it.

“I’m glad you like it.” Mc smiled nervously. He felt himself begin to melt at their precious smile.

“Let me go drop this off in kitchen, then we will be off to our tea. Please excuse me for a moment.” Barbatos bowed and turned to leave the room. As he left. He heads Mc saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure what they would do while he was gone, but he needed a moment to regather himself.

He placed the tea with the rest, leaving the little gift bag on the counter for later. He glanced in a nearby mirror for a moment. He looked as he usually did. Nothing was amiss with his appearance. It was always perfect. Despite this, he still fixed his hair and shirt. He took a deep breath and made his way back to where he left Mc.

When he reentered the room, he couldn’t find Mc at first. He grew nervous. Had they left him? Was it something he said? However, the situation had no time to escalate. He heard Mc just down a nearby hall, conversing with a Little D.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with Mammon. Maybe Lucifer will let us do a trade! You’re both yellow.” Mc laughed. He has heard that laughter about a million times now, but he never grew tired of it, and how gorgeous is sounded. When he pushed open the door a little more, he saw Mc on the ground. Barbatos rushed over to check on them, just in case something might be wrong.

“Hi! Sorry I wandered off a little. Just helping #2.” Barbatos looked at what was in their hands. They were holding a dust pan flat against the ground. Little D #2 was holding the matching brush and pushing some debris into the pan.

“You are a guest here. Please do not feel obligated to help out around here.” Barbatos knelt beside them to take the dust pan.

“I wanted to! I love #2. I just happened to see them here, and lent a hand since this is what they were doing. You know me. I hate standing around while those I love are hard at work.” Mc placed a hand on his shoulder. At first, he was unsure about how to feel about what they said. Then, he felt a little jealous that Mc had admitted they loved Little D #2. It was stupid of him to be, and he knew it was more of a parental love (even though #2 was much older than Mc). But he couldn’t help it.

Barbatos got back up and watched as Mc finished cleaning with #2, musing over his thoughts. He replayed their words in his head over and over again. Maybe he was looking too deep into it, but he still grew hopeful. Maybe Mc loved him too. Mc always found a way to interrupt his cleaning duties and take them over. He still found it odd that even though they were just a human and were limited on everything that he wasn’t, such as energy and time, they still went out of their way to reduce his work load.

He waved these thoughts away. He was most definitely looking into it too much. “If that’s what you so wish, I will not stop you. If you’re done here, may we proceed to our tea?” Barbatos offered his arm to them once they stood up. He hoped they would take it.

“We may! You’re such a gentleman.” They giggled and accepted his offer. They leant close to him, placing their head on his shoulder. “Bye #2! Nice seeing you!” As Mc waved to the Little D, Barbatos led them to the tea table he set up. He was so giddy at how close they were to him. It felt nice to have them all to himself. It felt good to not have to compete with the brothers or His Majesty.

While he would never admit it, he was always unsettled of sorts that Mc might choose someone else and never return to him. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling despite living for as long as he had. He recognized the underlying reason behind all of his bubbling emotions when he was around Mc. It has been so long since he felt like he loved someone they way he did Mc. But he wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet, at least.

The whole way to tea, Mc talked his ear off. Barbatos enjoyed listening to their chatter. He felt like he could listen to it forever. He chimed in at their request, as when they asked questions and such. When they finally reached the cute tea table he had set up, he proudly presented it to them.

"Barb! You shouldn't have! You're so sweet! This is adorable. You remembered my favorites too!" Mc squealed and did a couple little happy hops. They pulled Barbatos into another tight hug. Before they pulled away, however, they gave him a peck on the cheek. He felt himself seize up, his arms frozen around them. Mc didn't notice, as they continued shaking him around joyfully.

If he had felt this before, he surely would have remembered it. He had felt love before, but it hadn't been nearly this strong. The love he had for Mc had him in a tight chokehold. Despite him working hard everyday, nobody appreciated him as much as Mc did. Every little thing he did for Mc did not go unnoticed and they always tried to take some of the work off his back. They always said thank you, which even Lord Diavolo and Lucifer couldn't even match. Once they let him go, he tucked them into their seat and let them pour about how amazing his work was to him.

"Awwww, you even iced my name on the little treats! Next time, you should come to the House of Lamentation, so I can do the same for you! It won't be this but I want to do the same for you." Those words are what finally sealed the coffin. He was most definitely in love with the person across from him. Nobody ever did anything for him. He found himself sad once their time together was over. He insisted on walking them home, so he could keep them safe and enjoy a little more time with them. He had always taken time for granted despite being the one to understand it to the fullest. Now, he treasured every second.

"Thank you Barb. I really had so much fun. I hope you enjoy the tea." Mc leant in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was like the one from before, but this one was more deliberate, and lingered.

"It was my pleasure. Please feel free to stop by the castle anytime. We will have to arrange another gathering shortly." He felt himself avoiding eye contact. Mc was the only person with the ability to make him nervous.

"We should! See you tomorrow." They waved to him. Before they shut the door, he saw Lucifer greeting them. He turned to walk away, but before he was out of view from the window, he glaced back. He saw Mc enthusatically waving him goodbye. He waved back with a warm smile.

Once he got back to the castle, he stared down the gift bag. He admired their handwriting on the tag. He found himself almost reluctant to return to his work. He took the little bag to his room and tucked it away in a drawer. He touched his cheek, and sighed. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

@mona-aiko sorry I took so long!

will do the next part for sol, thirteen, mephisto and simeon!

[sigyns-drafts]

waaa Hades,Buddha, Loki and Poseidon x gn!reader (seperate) who is tired and fell asleep during a meeting and it turned into a cuddle session after they got out of the meeting room.....😭

(I'm sorry I can't be more specific anymore I just want fluff of them :') , also sorry if your request is closed :') but I'm dying for them istg , If you don't write for this many characters you can exclude them! I don't mind! Or even ignore the request, just please stay hydrated and I hope you have a good day <3 )

A/N: Of course anon, I totally get you for wanting more content on your favourite characters, literally the same here!

Apologies it took forever and to everyone requesting! I've been very sick and things kept piling up, but I'm slowly making a return. <3

You described everything I needed to know just right, so please don't be sorry for anything! Thank you for being so caring, I apologise it took me forever. Don't forget to stay hydrated too~♡

Slumber in the Divine Boardroom 💤

➩ You and your divine boyfriend are attending an important meeting, but for whatever reason you find yourself very tired and eventually doze off.

Your boyfriend noticed and what does he do about this? Once everyone is gone turn this into a cuddle session between the two of you of course~

➩ Reader type: Gn!Reader x Hades, Buddha, Loki, Poseidon

⚠: Wholesome fluff, Romantic fluff, a lot of cuddling and nuzzling, teasing and flirting

Hades:

In the dimly lit meeting room located in the underworldly realm of Helheim. 

Hades found himself presiding over yet another gathering together with other formidable figures. 

Y/n, his partner who was only there for moral support like usual, could care less about what they spoke about when the weight of exhaustion and struggle to stay awake hit them like a heavy brick. 

Living with Hades and being his lover, while luxurious, was still a burden to handle at times.

Especially when the god was met with so many constant schedules and tasks he would have to attend and keep up with. 

Much to y/n's dismay, who not only wanted to be there for Hades using their own spare time to follow him around. 

They also wanted to spend time with their beloved king alone, which was a rare occurrence. 

As the talk of afterlife's affairs droned on for hours and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the cavernous walls, y/n's sleep deprived state only worsend over time.

Hades, who continued his stern discourse in front of his important guests, took notice in y/n's eyes, closing involuntarily, just across from where he stood. 

He almost felt guilty to have dragged y/n out here when they could have stayed at home resting. But y/n was always so persistent! 

The gentle hum of conversation became a distant murmur as y/n drifted into a peaceful slumber, head resting on the cold, obsidian table.

Eventually the meeting concluded, and the attendees filed out without questioning why Hades's love was asleep, leaving them alone to have their moment of peace. 

Uncharacteristically, a softer expression crossed the lord of the underworld's face as he observed Y/n's serene repose. Hades was pondering if he should wake y/n up but.. Something held him back. 

He gently strokes his hand through y/n's hair, taking it behind their ear before whispering in a low and soft tone to himself, but targeted towards his partner. 

"My precious, already sound asleep when you could have just told me you wanted to stay home today~"

Deciding to not wake up Y/n, Hades carefully summoned a cloak and draped it over them both, creating a makeshift cocoon of warmth to carry his love.

The chilly ambiance of Helheim transformed into a surprisingly cosy haven sometimes, especially when you'd be all cuddled up. 

Hades, normally not the type to do these things, now revealed a gentler side. 

While adjusting Y/n's position to ensure their comfort, the man picks them up with his strong arms. Making sure y/n's head rests nicely and steady on his wide and surprisingly warm shoulder. 

The god allowed himself a rare vulnerability, watching over Y/n with a small grin and a protective gaze.

As the flickering torches cast dancing shadows, the silence enveloped the room, broken only by the tapping of the man's shoes against the stone flooring. 

Hades decided the next best thing to do was to bring y/n back to their chambers and perhaps, even he could take a small rest there to enjoy their solitude a bit more.

Hades gently placed y/n onto their queen sized bed, careful not to disturb their peaceful slumber. Settling beside y/n, he couldn't resist the allure of their presence. 

The shadows seemed to soften as he pulled them into a warm embrace, wrapping his arms around their sleeping lover and relishing in the moment. 

Time passed in the quietude, and as sleep began to claim the god of the dead, y/n stirred. A soft blush tinted their cheeks as they realised the situation.

Nestled in the arms of Hades sent a warm shiver down their spine.

Y/n, not wanting to disturb Hades, who had succumbed to hypnos himself, gently moved closer. A gentle murmur escaped their lips, a tender reminder of the impending responsibilities that awaited the lord of the Underworld. 

With a soft touch, they roused Hades, their fingers tracing over the god's sharp features.

"Hades," y/n whispered, their voice a delicate melody in the quiet chamber. 

"We had another meeting to attend after the first. It's time to wake up darling.."

Hades, stirred from his slumber, opened his eyes to meet the gaze of y/n. 

The vulnerability in that moment was showing itself still, and a rare smile graced the god's lips. 

The weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted as he thought to himself how lucky he was to wake up to y/n everyday. 

As Hades and y/n shared a lingering gaze, the gravity of their roles in the Underworld momentarily forgotten, Hades pulled y/n close to press his face against y/n's neck and nuzzle them. 

Y/n blushes even more at this and chuckles while combining through the Gods white locks of hair. 

"Oh hades~ you really can be a softie huh?"

With a soft nod, Hades agreed and acknowledged the reminder of his duties, yet he couldn't help but savour the warmth of his partner. 

"I'm only soft for you.. But only you y/n~"

Buddha:

Buddha, who found himself hesitant to attend another divine meeting between the leader gods of their respective pantheons, to discuss important matters regarding humanity, didn't want to go alone. 

So when struck with such a dilemma what does he do? Well he would bring a companion, and decided to bring none other than his most beloved Y/n! 

As they entered the grand hall of the gods, Y/n felt a mix of awe, nervousness and exhaustion. 

After all, they both had travelled far from their home! Also not to mention the fact y/n had been pulled into this extraordinary gathering a little out of nowhere. 

But upon such an offer from their man, how could they possibly refuse such a thing? 

They barely got to travel as much as they would have liked. 

As the meeting unfolded with gods discussing the fate of humanity. Y/n found themselves rather comfortably seated next to Buddha. 

However, soon struggled to stay awake, succumbing to the weariness of the divine environment. 

While the discussions continued, Y/n drifted into a gentle slumber, head resting on Buddha's shoulder.

After the gods concluded their deliberations and departed, Buddha, noticing Y/n's fatigue, chuckled softly to himself. 

He decided to play a light-hearted prank to wake them up. In his hand, he conjured a piece of his favourite chocolate snack, gently placing it near Y/n's nose. 

To his surprise, the sweet aroma stirred Y/n, who slowly opened their eyes.

"Huh, Buddha, what's that delicious smell..?"

Y/n, initially confused, was met with Buddha's playful smile. 

The two shared a moment of laughter, breaking the serious atmosphere that lingered after the gods' departure. 

Buddha, aware of Y/n's love for snacks, much like his own, decided to extend the lightheartedness of their cute moment further. 

"You know, since everyone is gone, we could go find a cosy spot to ourselves and enjoy some more treats~"

Y/n's lit up and they nodded excitedly at Buddha's suggestion! This had been so worth travelling for. 

"Oh yes please! I'd love to explore a little around here and then continue resting somewhere very nice."

While they wandered away from the divine hall, Buddha made sure to show y/n around and explore with them!

While they did they found a serene garden hidden within the world of gods, much to y/n and Buddha's enjoyment for their plan. 

Sitting down under a giant tree, Buddha and Y/n cuddled closely to each other. 

"Oh this is simply divine Buddha, thank you so much for taking me with you~!"

Buddha leaned against the tree while feeding himself and y/n, his partner resting against his chest enjoying the moment and snacks they were fed.

"Me too sweetie, I knew you were the right one to bring with me."

Buddha grins happily, looking down at y/n, his eyes shining with love for them. He leans down and teasingly kisses their cheek. 

"Even though you feel asleep during the meeting, which is my thing!"

The couple burst out laughing at Buddha's joking comment, it was true! 

Y/n blushes slightly, they couldn't help but smile widely at Buddha's words. 

He would usually take the chance to nap during such meetings if it wasn't to his interest. 

With the rustling of leaves, Buddha and Y/n savoured the snacks, bonding over their shared love for their special delights. 

The garden became a space where they could find peace all to themselves.

Loki:

In the grand halls of Asgard, the gods gathered for a crucial meeting. 

Loki, mischievous as ever, had brought y/n along with him. 

He claimed he couldn't leave y/n alone at home, but his true intention was to find amusement in y/n's company during the important discussions.

As the meeting unfolded, the weight of the gods' discussions combined with y/n's exhaustion from the day took its toll. 

Y/n found it hard to keep their eyes open, succumbing to the lull of drowsiness. 

Unbeknownst to them, Loki couldn't resist the opportunity to toy with y/n while maintaining his composure.

Loki leaned in, whispering in y/n's ear, "Sweet y/n, the godly matters bore you to sleep, I see~"

Y/n mumbled a half-conscious response, "No no! Just... tired."

Loki grinned, plotting mischief as the gods continued their discourse. 

However, his plans were thwarted when y/n's eyelids drooped further, and they drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When the meeting concluded, and as the gods departed, Loki turned his attention back to y/n. 

He marvelled at the serene expression on their peaceful face, finding unexpected adoration replacing his mischievous intentions. 

With a gentle touch, he attempted to wake their lover up, calling their name softly or shaking them gently. 

But no response or reaction came! 

Growing impatient yet oddly fond, Loki decided to resort to a different tactic. 

His fingers danced along y/n's sides, tickling them with ease. 

In an instant, y/n jolted awake, eyes wide open in surprise.

"Loki! What in helheim are you doing?!" Y/n exclaimed, totally flushed and caught off guard.

He chuckled, pulling y/n close to himself.

"I couldn't resist, my dear. You looked so peaceful, but my attempts at a normal awakening failed."

Rolling their eyes, y/n sighed to themselves.

"You could've just shaken me gently."

"I tried! Either way this way is much more entertaining hehe~" 

Loki teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he nuzzled himself against y/n's neck.

Despite y/n's initial annoyance, a smile crept onto their face. 

The tension dissipated as Loki wrapped his arms around them even tighter than before, his soft kisses tickling y/n's neck. 

The god of mischief had traded his tricks for a tender moment, and as you cuddled together in the room, leaving only the intimacy of the two of you.

Poseidon:

Poseidon and Y/n found themselves in a grand hall, attending a crucial meeting among the sea gods. 

As discussions flowed, Y/n, overwhelmed by the divine chatter, struggled to keep their eyes open. 

Poseidon noticed and chuckled under his breath, finding it entertaining. Though you could barely tell that he was excited, from his serious and unchanging face. 

Poseidon leans close to y/n and starts whispering, almost mockingly.

"Someone's having a bit of trouble staying awake, aren't they?"

Y/n, in a half-dreamy state, mumbled a half-hearted response, "No! Just a little bored from... godly matters."

As the meeting concluded and the other ocean gods dispersed, leaving Poseidon and Y/n alone in the now empty hall. 

Y/n, succumbing to exhaustion, had dozed off in their seat. Poseidon, finding the situation amusing, decided to take advantage of the moment.

The god finally lets his cold stone of a face change and smirks. 

"Well, well, my dear Y/n, it seems the weight of divine matters was a bit too much for you."

Y/n, still half-asleep, groggily responded, "I'm awake, I'm awake... I just closed my eyes for a moment!"

Poseidon raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his ocean blue eyes. 

"A moment? It felt like an eternity. You missed quite an enlightening discussion on ocean currents.."

Y/n, now fully aware of their surroundings, blushed and tried to defend themselves. 

"I'm sorry, Poseidon. It's not that I wasn't interested. I just... the ambiance was so soothing."

Poseidon grinned, his godly aura radiating strongly. 

"Soothing, you say? Well, maybe you just need a less comfortable place to discuss matters then."

"What? No! Please Poseidon, I truly love the beauty of your halls and wouldn't want to change it for the world."

"Not even to make yourself.. Even more comfortable?"

Y/n blinks, now feeling very confused with the mixed signals they were getting. 

"Pardon me love..?"

With a snap of his fingers, the grand hall transformed into a cosy space filled with pillows and soft blankets. Y/n looked around, bewildered.

"What is the meaning of this, are you not going to lecture me?"

"I thought for a change I could be more easy on you, after all you are my lover. Now, let's catch up on the discussion, shall we?"

As they settled into the comfortable space, Poseidon pulled Y/n into a playful embrace. 

The serious tone of the meeting and his was replaced by laughter and gentle teasing. Something Y/n definitely had to get used to! 

"But seriously darling. Clearly, the weight of godly responsibilities is too much for you to bear."

Y/n rolled their eyes, there he went again insisting.

"Oh, please. You're one to talk, Lord of the Sea. Your ocean currents lecture nearly put me to sleep."

Poseidon chuckled, his selden heard laughter echoing through the transformed hall. 

The god, known for his seriousness, was now wrapped in the warmth of his love's presence, turning an important meeting into an unexpected cuddle session.

But of course, still making sure y/n caught up on what they had missed. 

And so, surrounded by the divine comfort of their impromptu sanctuary, Poseidon continued to playfully lecture Y/n.

Both revel in the joy of each other's company amidst their responsibilities.

[chososwifey24-7]

The Garden

Heian Era Sukuna x fem!reader

Cw: Sukuna being a little ooc (not too much though), lots of fluff, mention of death (other servants).

Being Sukunas servant was never the easiest, but never the hardest either. He was easy to please as long as you simply called him 'Lord Sukuna' and you gave him what he wanted.

Though that's what you've heard. The gossip around the temple about the Lord never went unheard by your ears. How could it when you had never met him.

You always asked everyone around you what he was like, and the most common answer was cruel, cold, unfeeling, and sadistic. That's all you've ever heard. Except for the occasional woman saying he was very handsome.

The men all said the same thing. Never cross his path when he's in a bad mood.

You've asked his closest servant Uraume what it's like serving him directly, when you could serve him directly, and the same answer was always given, 'In due time, you will meet him'.

That's all your mind could ponder as you worked today.

Your job was simple. Weed your section of the garden. Or atleast the section you were assigned too.

You were assigned to the section with a few rose bushes. Specifically red roses.

The red rose was common, but it truly made a statement. A beautiful but bold statement.

You kneeled solemly next time the dirt and picked at the pesky weeds around the rose bushes.

You were too in your head to hear the approaching footsteps. The heavy ones next to the lighter footsteps.

Uraumes voice hit your ears, though in between all of the weeding you were doing.

You couldn't be bothered to look up. You knew you'd be scolded by Uraume if you slacked off at all.

You continued to weed until one of the thorns on the rose bush knicked your finger. A small hiss escaped your lips as you brought your finger to your lips.

Uraume called out your name, and you looked up towards Uraume, and that's when your gaze met him. Lord Sukuna.

"Are you alright y/n?"

Uraume asked and held out their hand to you.

You stood and gently placed your hand in Uraumes.

"Um, yes, one of the thorns in the rose bush just knicked me. Nothing big."

Your eyes continued to glance between your hand and Sukuna. He noticed your gaze and eyed you up and down.

Averting your gaze for good, Uraume, let your hand go and began walking again.

Sukuna scoffed and looked at you.

"Be less careless next time."

He said coldly and sharply, but for some reason it didn't seem as harsh as you thought it would sound.

"Yes, Lord Sukuna."

You said and bowed.

With that, Sukuna smirked and eyed you up and down again.

"At least she knows how to properly address me. I would've hated to have to kill yet another person who couldn't honor me."

With that last statement, you shuddered, and goosebumps began to crawl over your skin. You didn't want to have to think about the other servants he killed because they failed to please him.

That was your first meeting with sukuna.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

It wouldn't be until a week later that you'd meet again with sukuna.

It was evening time, and you had already finished all of your tasks of the day and decided to sit on the cement bench in the garden.

You were reading a book from one of the libraries that Uraume told you it would be alright to take.

The book had you so drawn in that you didn't notice the man, no, not man, Lord Sukuna, sitting next to you.

It wasn't until one of his large hands grabbed the book from you that your attention was snapped.

"Lord Sukuna! I apologize for not addressing you sooner."

You immediately got off the bench and kneeled to your ruler, your lord.

"You're fine. Now sit."

You do as he says and sit next to him.

"Interesting choice in book. I remember that it used to be one of my old favorites."

He said and turned the book over in his hands before handing it back to you. He eyes you up and down again and there was a look in his eyes. A softer one than your first meeting.

"Used to be?"

You ask and look up at him with curiosity. You honestly didn't believe that Lord Sukuna ever read. He seemed like he never had the time. Especially with all of these servants running around.

"Yes, used to be. I found a more interesting one on tactics of war."

Ah, you should've expected such an answer. Sukuna was known for conquering lands, and he was known as a fierce ruler.

"I see, I'll have to give it a read sometime. If my Lord likes it, I should try it."

This statement is what intrigues sukuna. It seems genuine, not just a statement to please him. It makes a slight heat rush to his face.

You give him a bright smile before excusing yourself from his presence.

That was your second time meeting the king of curses.

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Over the next couple weeks, you and Sukuna would chat and talk about each other's favorite things. You found that sukuna likes to stroll the garden in his free time.

He learned that you are amazing at baking. Something he could see you doing, but didn't expect.

This time around, you found yourselves both in the garden again. Sukuna has let you get closer to him and has even been less sour and demanding towards you.

You had your head leaned against his shoulder at the moment as he was reading you the same book he was telling you about a week ago. His favorite.

His voice was soothing and soft. Not cruel, loud, and proud. Well, maybe just a little proud. After all, he was reading his favorite book, and not to just anyone, but to you.

Your eyes began to slowly droop closed as the sun began to set over the horizon. Sukuna's voice continues to bless your ears.

You soon fell into a slight slumber with your head rested against his shoulder. Light breaths escaping you every once in a while.

"How foolish. Falling asleep on your king?"

One of his four arms wrapped around you despite his words before he leaned in to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I guess I could get used to you, woman."

[benijbol]

ꔫ Melancholy

A/N; My mind is an OSHA violation,,, genuinely dk if i wanna continuously post my writing on here or just goof around el oh el ,,,

Summary; Your father betroths you to some old lousy lord and Davos helps take your mind off of it . Davos Blackwood x Fem!reader.

Warnings; 18+ smutty. choking?

3630 words.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The sun hangs heavy in the sky, beating down with an unforgiving heat that’s almost unbearable. The air is thick and stifling, the kind that clings to your skin and makes every breath feel like a struggle. The meadow stretches out in front of you, a sea of wildflowers in full bloom—pale blues, deep purples, vivid reds, and soft yellows. You wander through them, one hand trailing lazily over the tops of the tall grasses, the other clutching a single wilted daisy that you had picked without thinking. 

The news of your betrothal still echoes in your head, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. Some lord whose name you barely remember. Old, balding, with the kind of belly that speaks of too much wine and too little work. You can’t quite picture his face, but you can picture your father’s, stern and unyielding. “It’s a good match,” he had said, as if that would somehow make you forget the man is twice your age and rumored to have a temper as fierce as a summer storm.

Your stomach twists at the thought of him. Lord Selwyn or Ser Sefton, was it? You don’t even care to recall his name. You were always told your duty would come someday, that your family’s honor and the weight of your name would eventually fall upon your shoulders. You just never thought it would be this soon or this… distasteful.

The sun catches in your hair, and you brush a few damp strands away from your forehead. The humidity is unforgiving, clinging to your skin like a second, stifling layer. Your dress, made of light cotton, sticks to your back, and you curse under your breath as another bead of sweat trails down between your shoulder blades. You feel the sting of it, itching, irritating, but you make no move to brush it away. 

You pause at the edge of a small stream that winds its way through the meadow. The water is clear, trickling softly over smooth stones, and for a moment, you think about plunging your hands into it, just to feel something cool against your skin. But then you hear footsteps—clumsy and unmistakable—and you know who it is before you even turn around.

“Davos,” you say, not bothering to mask the irritation in your voice. You don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus on the flowers, on the soft rustle of the wind through the tall grass. 

He’s been following you since you left the hall, and while you’re not surprised—he’s always been a persistent shadow—it’s not a comfort today. Today, you’d rather be alone with your thoughts, even if they are bitter.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Davos replies, a bit too cheerfully for your liking. There’s a rustle of leaves and a grunt as he climbs over the low stone wall that separates the meadow from the woods beyond. He’s trying to sound casual, but there’s an awkwardness to his tone, a hesitation that you haven’t heard before.

“What gave it away?” you mutter. “Was it the fact that this is the only place I go when I’m trying to be left alone?”

He chuckles, a little breathless, as if the walk has winded him. “That, and the fact that you’ve been glaring at anyone who comes near you since the news of your betrothal.”

You whip around to face him then, the wilting daisy crumpling in your grip. He looks exactly as you expect: messy dark hair that curls slightly in the heat, his tunic sticking to his chest in a most unflattering way. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his expression is somewhere between sheepish and amused.

“If you came here to mock me, you can go back to wherever it is you skulk about these days,” you say, voice sharper than you intend.

Davos blinks, taken aback, but he doesn’t leave. He never does. “I’m not here to mock you,” he says, a bit more seriously now. “I’m here to… I don’t know. Keep you company, I suppose. Seemed like you could use it.”

“I don’t need company,” you snap. “Least of all from you.”

His smile falters, and for a moment, you almost feel guilty. Almost. But then he shrugs, trying to play it off. “Well, you’ve got me anyway,” he says, plopping down on a patch of grass beside you. 

You sigh, exasperated, and turn back to the stream. The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable, like the humid air around you. You can feel him watching you, feel his gaze lingering on your profile, and it makes your skin prickle with annoyance.

“Do you even know who he is?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. “This lord they’ve promised you to?”

“An old fool with a red nose and yellowed teeth. My father would trade me to the highest bidder if he thought it would earn him favor at court.”

Davos's face twists in an expression of distaste. “He’s an ass, then.”

“An ass, yes,” you agree, “but an ass with land and men. Apparently, that’s what matters most.”

There’s a bitterness in your voice that you don’t bother to hide. You bend down to pick another flower—a bluebell this time—twisting its stem between your fingers until it snaps. Davos watches you, his eyes flickering over your face, searching for something in your expression.

“You could run away,” he suggests, only half-joking. “Steal a horse and ride to the edge of the world. I’d go with you, if you asked.”

You snort, shaking your head. “And where would we go? To the Riverlands, where your father would have us both dragged back in chains?”

“Could be an adventure,” he replies with a grin, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face. “We could join a mercenary band. Or a pirate crew. You’ve always looked good in leather, after all.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Leather would be too hot in this weather,” you quip back. “I’d rather not die of heatstroke before I get to taste freedom.”

Davos chuckles, and the sound is warm, familiar. It eases the tension in your shoulders a little, though you’d never admit it. He shifts closer, just a fraction, his knee brushing against yours. The touch is fleeting, but it’s enough to make you acutely aware of how close he’s sitting. How close he always sits, now that you think about it.

“Maybe you just need to cool off,” he says, his tone light but his eyes watching you carefully. “The stream’s right there.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I dunk my head in the water?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” he replies with a smirk. “Might knock some sense into you, too.”

You swat at him, half-heartedly, and he catches your wrist with surprising ease. His grip is firm but not rough, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist where your pulse is fluttering a bit too quickly. You glare at him, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds on a little tighter, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you’re not quite used to from him.

“What?” you snap, more to break the moment than anything else.

Davos' smile fades, replaced by something more serious, more uncertain. “Nothing,” he says softly. “Just… you don’t have to go through with it, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

You pull your hand away, feeling a sudden wave of frustration. “And what choice do I have, Davos?” you demand. “Run off with you to join the pirates? How noble. How honorable.”

“Maybe honor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters.

You scoff. “And maybe you’re just a fool.”

Davos looks like he wants to argue, but then he shrugs, a resigned sort of smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I am. But I’d rather be a fool than see you miserable.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence that stretches on too long. You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing, turning your attention back to the flowers at your feet. But then, you feel his hand on your shoulder, tentative and awkward.

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I mean it,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You could have more than this. More than him.”

Your breath catches, and you don’t know whether it’s the heat or his words that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You twist your head to look at him, and there’s something in his eyes—something you haven’t seen before. Or maybe you have, and you’ve just been too blind to notice.

“Davos,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“You’ve always been too good for them,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Too good for any of them.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “And what about you, Davos Blackwood? Are you saying you’re good enough?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze is steady, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, thumb brushing the line

 of your jaw. There’s a reckless determination in his eyes now, something bold and unrestrained, and it sends a shiver down your spine despite the oppressive heat.

“You could find out,” he suggests, and there’s a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his with more force than you intend. He makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hands come up to cradle your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

It’s awkward at first, all teeth and misaligned mouths, but then he tilts his head just right, and your lips slot together more easily. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing tender. It’s heated, desperate, like you’re both trying to prove something. You taste salt and sweat on his skin, feel the press of his chest against yours, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough. “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

You don’t. 

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin through the damp fabric of his tunic. You can feel his breath, hot against your cheek, hear the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath your palms. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, surprising yourself with how much you mean it.

He grins, and it’s a little wicked, a little wild. “You always did like playing with fire,” he says.

“Shut up, Davos,” you reply, but there’s no venom in it. Only want.

His hands move down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he pushes you back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. The sudden contact makes you gasp, but he covers your mouth with his again, swallowing the sound. His lips move against yours with a new urgency, a kind of raw hunger that sends heat pooling in your belly.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “Is this madness?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse.

“Probably,” you reply, breathless, and he laughs softly.

His fingers find the hem of your dress, skimming up along your thigh, and you shiver despite the warmth of the day. “Then let’s be mad together,” he whispers, and there’s something fierce and determined in his tone that makes your heart race.

He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dark, “tell me what you want.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I—”

He cuts you off, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric. “Tell me,” he insists, a little more forcefully now.

“Touch me,” you breathe, and he obliges, his hand slipping lower, beneath the hem of your dress.

He watches you closely, his expression intense, waiting for the slightest sign of hesitation. But there is none. You feel his fingers brush against the dampness between your legs, and your breath hitches, a low moan escaping your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and there’s something darkly triumphant in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and the heat between your legs only grows more insistent. You feel the roughness of his palm against your inner thigh, his fingers deft and exploratory as they tease along the edges of your smallclothes. You should be embarrassed—should feel some kind of shame at how wet you are, how much you want this—but you don’t. Not with him.

His eyes never leave yours, even as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing over your slick folds with a lightness that makes your breath hitch. He grins at the sound, his mouth hovering just inches from yours, and there’s something wicked in the curve of his lips.

“Sensitive today, aren’t we?” he murmurs, a teasing lilt in his tone. You shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real venom. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, wanting more, needing more.

“Don’t play with me, Davos,” you warn, though your voice comes out breathier than you’d intended.

He chuckles, low and dark. “Oh, I think you like being played with,” he counters, his fingers slipping between your folds, finding the spot that makes you gasp and clench around nothing. “Like a fine-tuned lute… I just have to find the right strings to pluck.”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, but Davos seems to notice, his eyes lighting up with amusement. His thumb circles slowly, deliberately, around that sensitive bundle of nerves, not quite touching it, just enough to tease. You can feel your breath quicken, your skin flushed, heart racing like a wild thing.

“Davos,” you growl, and he laughs again, that soft, husky sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

“What? You want more?” he asks, voice mockingly innocent. His fingers press deeper, stroking, exploring, and you can’t help the small sound that slips past your lips.

“Say it,” he demands softly. “I want to hear you ask for it.”

You glare up at him, trying to muster some shred of defiance, but it’s hard to think with his hand between your thighs, with the rough pad of his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit, making your head swim with sensation. The heat is unbearable, the humid air wrapping around you like a shroud, but all you can feel is him—his breath on your skin, his fingers inside you, coaxing, teasing, filling.

“Please,” you finally whisper, hating how desperate you sound, but unable to care. “Please, Davos.”

“Please, what?” he presses, his grin widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You have to be specific, my lady. I’m not a mind reader.”

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. You’ve never been good at asking for what you want, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something dark and intense and… hungry. It makes you feel bold. Reckless.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice. “Now.”

For a heartbeat, he freezes, as if he can’t quite believe what you’ve said. Then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face, and he leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “As you wish,” he whispers, his voice a low, dangerous rasp that sends shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, he pushes your dress up over your hips, his hands firm and demanding. You feel the cool breeze against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressing against yours. He steps back, just enough to fumble with the laces of his trousers, his eyes never leaving yours.

There’s a hunger in his gaze now, a wild, reckless glint that makes your pulse quicken. You want to say something, anything, but words fail you. All you can do is watch as he frees himself from the confines of his clothing, his cock hard and thick in his hand.

He looks at you, almost as if seeking permission, and you nod, a small, jerky motion. His grin returns, sharp and wolfish, and he steps forward again, pressing you back against the rough bark of the tree. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you with surprising ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the head of his cock brush against your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice rough, and there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, something almost… vulnerable.

You nod again, and he doesn’t wait for further confirmation. He pushes into you with one smooth, powerful thrust, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Gods,” he groans, his hands tightening on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. “You feel… perfect.”

You can’t respond. All you can do is cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, each thrust deep and sure and deliberate. The rough bark of the tree scratches against your back, but you barely feel it over the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body.

His mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing over your skin, and you shiver at the sharp sting of it, a delicious contrast to the heat of his tongue as he soothes the bite. His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring. One hand slides up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his voice a low, husky growl. “So needy. So desperate for me.”

You should be offended, should slap him for his insolence, but instead, his words only make you moan, make your hips buck against his, wanting more, needing more. He chuckles, dark and amused.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like it when I talk to you like this.”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to spill from your lips, but he’s relentless. His hand tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp, to make your blood sing with the thrill of it.

“Say it,” he commands. “Tell me you like it.”

Your voice comes out in a ragged whisper, barely more than a breath. “I… I like it.”

His grin widens, and he leans in to press a rough, hungry kiss to your mouth, swallowing your gasp as he thrusts deeper, harder, making you cry out against his lips. His hand moves from your throat, sliding down to where your bodies are joined, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice low and husky, and the praise sends a rush of heat through you, pooling between your legs. “Come for me. I want to feel you come.”

You don’t know if it’s his words or his touch or the sheer intensity of it all, but you feel the coil tightening in your belly, winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, a wave of pleasure crashing over you so intensely you see stars. You cry out, your body shuddering around him, and he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, more desperate.

“Fuck,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly it almost hurts. “Fuck, you feel so—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, his words dissolving into a low, guttural moan as he comes, his hips jerking against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. You feel him spill inside you, warm and wet, and for a moment, the world seems to blur around the edges, the only thing that matters the feeling of him, the weight of him, the heat of him.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing, the pounding of your heart in your ears. Then, slowly, reality begins to seep back in. The heat of the sun on your skin, the sticky humidity of the air, the rough bark of the tree at your back. You feel Davos’s breath against your cheek, hot and uneven, and you realize he’s still holding you, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and uncertainty. “Are you alright?” he asks, and there’s a note of genuine concern in his voice.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. “I… yes. I’m alright.”

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods, his grip on you loosening slightly. “Good,” he murmurs, and you can see the relief in his eyes.

You both stay there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around you slowly coming back into focus. You know you should say something, but the words elude you, tangled somewhere in your throat.

Davos seems to sense your hesitation because he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know,” he says, his voice light, teasing, “if you wanted to distract yourself from this betrothal nonsense, you could have just asked.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest that you can’t quite deny. “Next time, I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply dryly.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

I feel like i should be making a taglist of some sorts idk UHM,, if ur up for itttt... im so awkward sorry

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

1. TEXAS RED

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: if you're seeing this for the first time, welcome! If not, and you were following my other blog, welcome back! Either way, I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire brought to you by my imagination ✨️

Summary: In the town of Agua Fria lived a shooter called Texas Red. Many men had tried to take him, and that many men were dead. A duelist and potential outlaw, with a secret no one knows. The perfect recruit for Dutch Van Der Linde to sweet talk into joining up.

Warnings: game typical violence, gun violence, dueling, old fashioned ways of thinking (no racism depicted in this chapter, but misogyny is mentioned) mild language, Arthur is a grump but also a sweetheart.

WC: 6.5k

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair? “Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

The light from the outside window is what wakes you first, the brightness pooling over your closed eyelids before they even open. You’re still in Agua Fria, the place you've made a name for yourself. Charlie Brooks, but that's not the one that comes to mind. 

Texas Red. The unkillable. Nothing more than a duelist to many, and even less so to those who don't care for that sort of thing. But to those who dare challenge the big iron on your hip, you are not anything short of a quick handed master. Only eighteen years old, or so they say - it’s what you’ve told them, but like your name, it isn’t true. Whichever way you spell it out, your reputation is the reason people know you; You have the fastest draw on this side of anywhere. 

For someone who's known near and far as the kid who never lost a match, the nickname is a little less than favorable. Texas Red isn't for the blood on your hands, it's for the ginger of your hair. It's factual, not demeaning… but still unfavorable. You do not care much what they call you anymore, just as long as they know what comes with it. Too many men have underestimated your ability, one and nineteen more. 

Here in Agua Fria there's folks that will come from far and wide, just to test your trigger finger. Today is no different. You've spent the night in a hotel above the saloon, so by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, you know there ought to be a man there, ready and willing to die. 

“That's him.” 

You hear from under the breath of the bartender. He served you only last night, one drink of silky whiskey before bed, nothing more. You told him your name, but not the one people know. Word gets around, you suppose. Your pistol has twenty notches on the handle, folks can tell enough from that alone. One of the outlaws that hangs around here does the same thing… except he takes pride in those marks, as opposed to you. You make those marks to remember the weight of your pistol, heavier every time a notch is made.

The man before you is tall and strong, likely a farmer that does heavy work. He has a sly look about him, but you don't feel bothered too much. You think his hands, worn by the sun and weathered by his work - whatever it may be - will not draw fast enough to even graze you. They are too stiff where they hang by his side, probably from pushing a plow, or milling a field. 

He hasn't spoken a word to you yet, but that's what you assume. He's here to challenge me, they always are. No one asks after you otherwise… except for maybe some working women, but that never ends well.

“You're the kid?” He looks you over, a furrowed brow and a smirk brush his features, but it doesn't last. Yes, you think. I'm the kid, and this is my gun.

“Yes sir,” your voice is a little lower, the early morning is stuck in the pitch of it. 

His question was so vague, but having been asked about eight times out of twenty ‘are you the kid?’ makes you a pretty damn good guesser of what your answer ought to be.

He takes another once over after a step forward, and now you can see that he stands about a head taller than you. He's not quite intimidating, but you can admit, the anxiousness of a man initiating a duel is always a thing that prickles your skin, warms your very fingertips. Maybe that's why you shoot so fast. 

“You don't look like a killer,” he looks down, but his nose is somehow still in the air. He wants to prove something, to someone or to himself you can't be sure, but only the most foolish of men dare your gun this way. 

“I'm not one.” 

And he laughs. You don't even think to look up at him, you keep my face forward. I don't have anything to prove, but of course you know you’ll have to.

“You shoot folks, got a name for it,” he settled his hands on his belt. It's a gun belt, sure, but the rounds don't even match the gun at his hip. They look bigger, as for a rifle. This farmer likely shoots ducks. Sitting or flying, that’s not the relevant point. 

He has experience, and that's what clouds his mind. He thinks you’re a sitting duck. 

“I do, but I ain't no killer,” you paused, rounding the man, stepping up to the bar and pointing for a glass of water. This early in the morning, any form of alcohol shouldn't be legal. You reckon it's the very thing that made this gentleman bold and eager enough to try what he's about to. At least you’re pretty darn sure that he's about to, otherwise he’s just an adoring spectator. “I shoot folks as need shootin’, but they always ask for it. I ain't malicious or nothin’.” 

“Maybe you's the one that needs shootin’.”

Atta boy, getting to the point. You have to smile. He looks confused by it and he very well should be… people don’t normally crack a grin when being threatened.

“S’pose you wanna be the one that does it,” You take a drink of the water you’re handed, but it does little to wash away the tickle in your throat, trying to climb its way up in the form of the chuckle. 

“If I gotta be.” 

You’ve never seen this man around town. Being here in this area almost two months, you’ve seen more of the traveling recluses than any of the farmers. Seen more of the local outlaws, too. They never stay long, they cause a little trouble here and there… but never the farmers. They come into town maybe once, twice a month. They harbor most of their own supplies on their land. No need for the town. 

“And you think you'll hit me?” 

“I've never missed.” 

And then that chuckle finally does escape you. 

“I knew twenty men who hadn't, either,” but the other's words were a bit more out of ignorance. They wanted to show off, thought they had nothing to lose. You were just a skinny kid with red hair and a heavy gun that you could barely stand to carry. 

“I like my odds.” 

So you turn to the bartender. He watched this same charade last month. A different man, not quite as tall, but just as confident. He stops wiping down an empty glass, and looks to you with a look of annoyance. What did you do to deserve it? You haven't the slightest clue. When he looks at the challenger with sincerity and condolences, you know what he thinks behind those eyes.

This is a fine young man, he may have a wife and some children. He doesn't know what he's doing, he had a strong drink. He only heard one story, it isn't fair. 

But of course, you can't back out. You’ve never backed out. Never having anything to lose, and like today, no one has ever tried to convince you otherwise. If you die now, you can go out a hero of sorts, the gunslinger of Agua Fria. If you live, then you'll someday die a legend. Texas Red, the unkillable.

You will have to step outside, and you will have to shoot this man, but for the first time, you feel you oughta know his name. You stepped to meet him and offered your hand. It's smaller compared to his. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Robert Sims.” 

He shakes your hand tightly, he wants to show how strong he is… as if that somehow makes him shoot faster.

“Glad to meet ya. I'm-” 

“The infamous Texas Red,” he finished for you, but every time you hear that nickname it somehow gets worse. Why on earth did the good Lord above curse you with something so nasty as ginger hair?

“Infamous? Don't know about that,” you lean back against the bar for another drink of water when your hands drop to your sides. “I'm just a kid. Name's Charlie Brooks.” 

He scoffs, his eyes falling to the floor. Maybe he doesn't wanna do this. He seems to be rolling it over in his head. If he wins he kills you, a scrawny kid with an ugly hat, and not a friend in the world. If he loses, well… he dies. 

But as if foolishness ruled his mind, he settles on his thoughts, and you can see it clear as day when he decides. 

“Are you ready to step outside?” 

And you smile again. He could've been your friend. He seems like a kind enough man, a little arrogant, but a man of honor in himself. He even struck you with a slanted smile of his own, but for no reason other than your reputation alone, he wants to kill you. Always a shame. 

“S'pose so.”

And he doesn't say another word… Ever. 

Thirty paces apart on the dirt road outside, the poor man never even cleared leather, but a bullet rests between his collarbones, and he himself rests on the ground. He’s got a pouch on his hip you noticed earlier, so while everyone around is frozen in place, you carefully go up to his body, stripping the valuables from him before moving on your way. To the winner go the spoils.

You holster your weapon, turn around and face the folks that stopped their journeys to watch. Some had seen the last one, they expected the outcome. Others were a bit surprised. David beat Goliath. The bigger opponent fell. 

You took a walk around the block to settle down, find a nail to notch your pistol yet again. You’ve never forgotten your earlier opponents, but something about this one makes you sadder than the rest. One and Twenty more, and whoever else is stupid enough to have the same idea.

Once you feel at rest you land back in the saloon, but it's not as empty as before, your single friend Robert Sims being the occupant. Now there are three men. There is a tall dark haired man with a mustache and a bowler hat, a darker skinned man beside him against the bar, and a young man that looked all too similar to yourself in complexion and hair color. It was nice to know that you weren’t the only one God would curse that way. 

You don't plan on letting yourself be bothered, so you sit down one stool over, beckoning a whiskey you can shoot to chase the adrenaline. You thought you had calmed down, but sitting here it feels as though you’re in the middle of a footrace, with the speed accelerating instead of decreasing. 

“Charlie Brooks?” The tall man with the mustache was the first to speak, and directly to you. 

These men have guns on their hips, and you hope they are not thinking what the last man thought. You’ve barely calmed down enough from Robert Sims, and your head would hurt having to shoot twice in one day. 

“Yes,” your confusion forced through. 

“I'd like to talk with you. This man here tells me you're quite the gunslinger,” he gestures to the bartender and you give him a glance, seemingly just doing his job minding his business when he's not running his mouth about you. 

“He told ya? Or were you outside?” 

The man had a laugh that seemed comforting almost. It was hearty and full of actual joy. He pat you on the back and you had half a mind to turn away from it for a moment, unsure of why he was so friendly or if you appreciated it yet. It’s been a while since you felt the comforting or friendly touch of someone who didn’t later try and shoot you.

“I did in fact see your show of skill, but I wasn't sure if approaching you after a fiasco like that would end up poorly for me.” 

And so you smile, because his sense of humor is alike yours, and he looks to be unphased by your violent acts of earlier. You technically didn’t break any laws. Didn’t do anything wrong, even by killing a man. He had threatened to shoot your first, if no one claims they saw the duel, you can write it off as self defense… but this man doesn’t seem too deterred. In fact, he looks all too happy having witnessed your properly provoked quick draw.

“I ain't jumpy, if that's what you're worried about.” 

But he had a different point on his mind, so the subject was changed in an instant. 

“Look, son. I'm gonna cut to the chase,” he pointed at your pistol, the newest twenty-one mark shining where it peaked out of your holster. “You have a gift for using that. I could use some talent like yours.” 

And suddenly you’re confused again. Who is this guy? What does he want? 

“I ain't a bounty hunter, sir.” 

“I can very well see that. I'm not looking for a temporary gun, kid. I need someone long term.” 

And suddenly your interest is piqued. The other men haven't said a word, and yet they seem to be a part of this offer, whatever it is. They are fully invested in your answer, on the edge of their seat - metaphorically, since they’ve been standing - while waiting. It’s strange, as if it’s all been plotted.

“Not sure I quite understand,” You slide the empty glass back after taking the second shot of whiskey, but hold your hand over the top, keeping the bartender from refilling a third. 

“If you'd be so kind as to follow me and my friends, I would be happy to explain in further detail,” he steps away from the bar, his hand outstretched to the door. This situation reads danger in every which way, but you don't stray from it. You can’t believe you’re doing it, but you follow along, an open mind. 

Nothing to lose.

-

Your horse was in the stables, an older stallion that was probably bred from war. His coat was full and black, like a starless night sky. Fury, you called him. These other men had put their horses up in the stables as well, but they were quite a bit stranger when it came to interacting with the horse hand. They paid him off so he’d forget any of you had been here. 

These men must be outlaws. Dutch, Javier, and Sean… From the time of their introductions, you were watching them with vigilance. You had started to gather that much from the way people ran inside when they passed, but the other behaviors lead you to believe that they weren’t the typical type. They weren’t just bad men looking for trouble and fun. They had reasoning, and they had qualms about who they spoke to about what. They were careful, if that word can even describe an outlaw. 

You followed them out of town, and down a road a bit. Agua Fria was a bit drier than other parts of Texas, but it had some nice trees here and there, with ponds and hills to break up the dusty roads. When you came to a clearing, a full on campsite set up, you immediately looked around, taking in who you thought would be the most imminent threats. 

“Right over here,” Dutch said, dismounting his horse and leading it to a hitching post. You followed him and the others, and the redhead, Sean, took your horse off your hands. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“This is the camp, ain’t much to look at but we’re all very tight knit, here.” 

You followed behind Dutch, he was the ringleader of all of this, as far as you could tell. He gave the orders, and the others followed. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why. He had all the capabilities of a natural born leader. His presence, his personable way with words, and even his ability to convince a random stranger to follow him. 

“S’cozy,” you said, nodding to each person you passed. He didn’t bother introducing you to them yet, and you figure it’s because he wants to see how well you fit first. No point in getting anyone attached. 

“It is indeed. I’ll have you wait here for just a moment, you can mingle, if you’d like. I’m gonna talk to a few friends of mine,” he told you before ducking into a tent, the flaps falling behind him. 

You huffed a breath, turning to the first face you saw and tipping your hat. 

“Howdy, Ma’am.”

The young woman looked up to you, a sweet smile on her face. She had lovely dark hair and beautiful blue eyes that reflected a clear sky. 

From within the tent, tensions were a bit higher. 

“First Mack and Davey, now this… kid? You can’t keep picking up people like they’re stray dogs, Dutch…” Hosea Matthews, Dutch’s right hand man was the one to speak first. He’d just heard quite a story - which to be fair, Dutch liked telling grand stories - that seemed to be impossible. 

“I know, I know… but you wouldn’t believe it even if you saw it. Hell, even I don’t.” 

“Let me get this straight,” another voice piped up from the corner, standing to make his presence more known. “This eighteen year old kid, who can barely hold up a gun… is the fastest draw you’ve ever seen?” 

“I blinked and the man was dead,” Dutch furthered his point, hearing a low whistle from the youngest man in the tent. They began to peak through the open tent flaps, not letting anyone else see them. 

“Abigail seems to like him.”

“Abigail likes everyone except John these days,” Hosea joked around, sitting himself back down when he’d taken his look at the kid. He was a spry little thing, but looked like a boy still in adolescence.

“Listen,” Dutch began, his hands raised to calm the air. “This kid could mean the difference between life or death in some of our upcoming jobs.”

The younger man looked to Dutch, then to Hosea, and then to the ground, shaking his head. Dutch was like his father, but these fantasies he conjured up sometimes to justify his antics could be wild. 

“He can shoot faster than me?” 

“My boy, I’d let you challenge him yourself if I wasn’t sure he’d drop you where you stand.” Dutch clapped a hand on his shoulder before turning to Hosea. 

“If he’s really as fast as you say, we should keep him. He can’t be of any harm otherwise.”

-

A moment lasted longer than you thought it would, but you’d garnered the attention of not one but two ladies whilst sitting in the shade of the trees. 

Abigail, the heavily pregnant young woman you’d started conversation with, and Tilly, a young lady who seemed to be swooning with every word you said. You didn’t have the heart to say nothing to her, you weren’t even sure you’d be sticking around. 

“And then what happened?” Tilly asked, scooting closer. 

“Well, I guess I shot him. S’how most these stories end, sadly.”

You suddenly felt a bit sorrowful. You’d shot a man down only today and here you’d moved on so quickly. The time of self recovery was getting shorter and shorter. Maybe you ought to stop shooting folks, then you could make some ground on a normal life… but that’s never really been your way, not since you left home. If you stay with this gang, though… the shooting gets worse, and you know that for a fact. 

“But you’re a good shot, probably why Dutch wants ya,” Abigail lifted a brow, nodding towards the tent. You were sure he’d liked you well enough, and you liked this whole tight knit unit well enough. If you shoot enough folk, you reckon you get to stay. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Tilly smiled behind where you were standing, and you took it as a queue to turn around yourself. 

“We sure as hell want him,” Dutch said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “I have some people I want you to meet. This is my partner, Hosea Matthews.”

And the man - Hosea - smiled and waved. He seemed nice, and gentlemanly. He had a kind face, like that of a dedicated father. 

“And this,” Dutch stood aside, revealing another man stood behind him… “Is Arthur Morgan. My enforcer, and right hand man.”

You froze when he lifted his head, hat tipping upward enough to see his face. Your breath hitched in your throat as you scanned his features, falling to the stretch of his body and then roaming back up to the brim of his hat. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or from awe, but the tenseness in your body was thick and unwavering. He had all the toughness of a rugged outlaw, but his eyes were calm, serene. Like pools of oasis water against a dry and scorching desert. A beautiful man by anyone’s standard, but completely unaware of himself. 

Standing before you now, he nodded in greeting, and you had to snap out of the haze that even now surrounded you, clouding your mind and blocking out anything that wasn’t him. 

Sweet Lord above, help me look away… and finally you did, begrudgingly. 

“He’s gonna show you around, give you the rundown of how things are here,” 

“Sounds-” you coughed once, trying to play off your strange behavior as you cleared your throat. “Sounds just fine.”

“Alright then,” Dutch leaned in towards Arthur at the last second, nudging his arm as he did. “Don’t test ‘im before he’s had a chance to settle. I don’t feel like losing two fast guns on the same day.”

You heard the tail end of the conversation, but pretended it passed over your head. You were standing quietly, still halfway in awe of the man. Sandy strands of hair that fell over the corners of his eyes, his strong jawline stubbled in the same lovely color. He let his hat fall over his eyes again, but you were certain if you’d been able to see them again, you’d not be able to look away.

He fell into a slow walk beside you, beginning to lead through the campsite.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

Kid, as if you were actually one… 

“Charlie Brooks, sir,” You replied, holding a firm hand out. This was reflectant of a similar introduction you’d made earlier this morning. Didn’t matter what happened though, you wouldn’t be shooting the man before you. Not even if he begged. 

“Dutch says they call you Red.”

You dropped your pleasant expression, huffing a fast breath to match the new look on your face.

“Texas Red… But I ain’t even from Texas, so,” and it was true. You’d only earned that nickname here. 

“The red part still fits,” Arthur was teasing you. Perhaps this is what Dutch meant by ‘don’t test him.’

You sighed, realizing that you’d found the downside to this ruggedly handsome stranger… “My name is Charlie Brooks.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t get upset, boy… I’m only poking fun.”

You drop the tension in your shoulders… you didn’t like being teased, but perhaps it wasn’t as bad coming from this Arthur character. 

“Men learn fast not to poke fun at me,” you told him, partially as a threat, but followed it up quickly. “I s’pose I’d better compose myself around here.”

Arthur laughed, genuinely. He seemed to find you amusing, or maybe he found you to be annoying. Either way, you earned these hearty chuckles to enjoy for yourself. 

“You may be quick with a gun, kid… but just know, that pistol on your hip couldn’t save you from me,” his voice was in a lower register when he said it, and you didn’t know whether you should be intimidated or completely and totally enamored. He wasn’t completely serious, unwilling to scare you away for Dutch’s sake. But he did want you to understand where you stood with him, and you did. 

You only nodded, and kept walking. 

He had shown you the laundry areas, where the girls nearly strip the boys down just so they have something to do in the daytime. He showed you to Mr. Pearson’s ‘kitchen,’ if you could even call it that. He showed you where the weapons are kept, but not where to refill them. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to yet. You take in every word he says, committing it to memory, not only so you can fit in around here, but also so you can recall the sound of his voice on a whim. 

He shows you down to the sloped rim of the pond, where usually one at the time, members of the camp come to bathe in their spare hours. You wondered how far down the way you would have to bathe, just on the off chance someone might come and see. 

“Bill takes care of the horses, mostly. I’m sure he’ll add yours to his rounds if you ask ‘im,” he mentioned, walking back past the horse rails and troughs. Your horse was standing happily in the sunshine, enjoying the blue skies and grass compared to the dusty and dark stables you always put him up in.

“I’ll remember that,” you say, as if you’ll forget anything else. So far you remember everyone’s name - everyone you passed by, at least - and every individual location of the camp. 

“Miss Grimshaw and the others should have a tent for ya by sundown… if not, just bunk with me until tomorrow,” he offered, hands sat steadily on his gun belt. Your face flushed, but lucky for you, he was much taller and couldn’t see under the brim of your hat when you tilted your head. 

“That’s kind of you,” you nodded in reply, saying nothing more. 

He began to back away, needing to attend to something else, but he stopped short. 

“You’re alright, kid,” he complimented, as best as he could give one, anyway. “See you ‘round.”

And you stood still, watching him walk away with your hands at your sides. 

“I’m in deep shit…”

-

Early to bed, early to rise, yatta yatta yatta. You still hate mornings. The camp wakes at the crack of dawn, and you stir just as some folks are leaving, mounting their horses and setting off for the adventures ahead. You’re fairly certain it’s Dutch, Bill, and that other man Hosea, the one with the kind face.

You did end up taking Arthur up on his offer to bunk for the night. He was kind enough to set up one of the spare cots for you, unwilling to argue about sleeping on the ground and all that. He pegged you for the arguing type and wanted to leave well enough alone. 

He was gone from the tent-like structure by the wagon, away somewhere probably having a cup of that coffee you smelled. They must have had a pot brewing somewhere, because it was the only thing willing you to leave the shaded area you were resting. The sun wasn’t high in the sky, but you could already feel the effects of the heat swirling in around the camp. 

It was strange, going about your morning routine with others present. Washing up your face in one of the water barrels, raking your hair back over your head with your wet fingers to let the hair sit flat before you crushed it down with your hat. You’d been nearly presentable, good enough for the morning, anyway. 

It wasn’t long before you were sitting close to the congregated group, a cup of coffee in your own hands. It wasn’t the best you’ve had, but hey, it helped you keep your eyes open. You didn’t dare interject into the conversation, unknowing of it they would accept it. Not that it mattered, because you liked hearing them interact as is. They were a rowdy bunch, but they had some wit here and there.

After a while, you zoned out during talks of events you hadn’t been to, people you hadn’t met, things you didn’t get to see before coming here. You watched a bunny that leapt across the camp, running into the wilderness ahead only to disappear behind some rocks. You realized by then you were at the end of your coffee cup. You stood up to take it back to Mr. Pearson, but were interrupted by one of the others in the circle. You remember his name is John. 

“How about you, Brooks?” He asked, catching you off guard, for you had absolutely no clue what the conversation was. 

“How about me?” you replied, a furrowed brow as you stopped in your tracks and waited. 

“Are you really as fast as people say?”

You scoffed, a slanted eyebrow to the man when he seemed in disbelief. You don’t blame him, he’s never seen you shoot. 

“Faster.”

“Boy’s got some pride on ‘im. Shouldn’t be too hard to break it down,” the only other redhead in the gang reared his accented voice. “Ay, Arthur?” 

You turned to the man, stoic and quiet, his hat covering most of his face so you couldn’t see what his features were saying. 

“If Dutch says he’s faster than me, I won’t push my luck.”

Except for he wanted to. He really wanted to, and you were curious to see his skill as well. Maybe not against you, because hell… you ain’t never lost before but there’s a first time for everything, and you like it here too much to throw it away. 

“I don’t buy it. That’s just Dutch telling tales like he does,” John stood up and clapped his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Never in my life have I seen someone with Arthur’s shootin’ speed.”

“Never?” 

You knew it was probably not in your best interest to boast your ability on the first day, but shit, it was the only thing you had going for you. You had to make way in this group somehow. 

“Never.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “I propose a game. Two bullets, our names carved in. We set up a can to shoot and whoever’s bullet gets trapped inside s’the one that got there first.”

Arthur lifted his head, and for the first time this morning, you saw his eyes. Your face instantly got red, but no one seemed to notice, too caught up in the heat of the exchange. 

He nodded once, a slow and decisive nod. He was thinking it over. 

“Sure,” he said, his thick accent coating the word. “Guess I’ll play along.”

And the group dispersed, grabbing everything needed. Arthur took it upon himself to carve the bullets, and strangely, you trusted him not to tamper with yours. He didn’t seem like the type to play dirty. He didn’t look like he needed to be. 

Sean set up the can on a log, a crudely drawn X out of charcoal on the rusty front of it. There were words being exchanged as you both stepped up, opening your guns to drop out all the bullets before Arthur handed yours over. His etching wasn’t too bad, but you dropped the smug look on your face when you saw what he actually put on it. 

“I told you my name’s not Red,” you huffed, taking it anyway and dropping it into the cylinder, giving it a quick spin to line it up. 

“Doesn’t matter, no one’s gonna see it but you,” he teased, loading his own gun and standing beside you, about five yards away from the can. 

“Need me to count?” you joked back, hopefully not in vain. You wouldn’t be pridefully wounded if you lost in all honesty. You’d been waiting for your talent to fail you for a long time now, and without any stakes on the table, you suppose today could be the day. 

Both guns now strapped to your hips, you waited in silence, and so did everyone else. It wasn’t something that needed cheering on, but it was definitely something to be on the edge of your seat for. 

You saw Arthur drop his hand out of the corner of your eye, so you cleared leather as fast as you could in hopes that your shot would land, and it did… or at least, you thought it did. The can went flying and both guns had been fired. 

“Who won?” John yelled over in question to Sean, who went to kneel down by the log, picking up the can. 

“Uh…” He held up the can, showing two bullet holes, before dumping out both bullets from the inside. “Both of em’.” 

And for the first time in any shoot out you’d ever participated in, you were too stunned to speak. You never doubted this man’s abilities as a talented gunslinger, but given you’d never seen him shoot, and knowing your own track record… it was surprising to see. 

“Well,” Arthur turned to you, as the others continued to chat amongst themselves, not sure how to split the bets they had made beforehand. “You beat me.” 

He offered his hand to you to shake, but you shook you head, you didn’t understand. 

“It’s a draw, both bullets hit,” you tried to reason, but he was set on his own explanation. 

“You hit first. Mine went through the top as it was fallin’.”

You shook his hand anyway, but froze in place when he spoke. Could he really tell? Was he that detail oriented when shooting? You’d never known much of your craft, just that you could do it, just that you’d practiced a bunch and got pretty damn good… but you didn’t even think to make that observation. 

“That don’t count,” you tried to absolve him, still feeling as though from what he said alone, he was the better gunslinger. “I’ve never said this before… but I would not duel you, Arthur Morgan. You’ve scared me somethin’ awful with that gun.”

He had a chuckle in his exhale as he let it fall from his lips, a nod and the drop of your handshake. “Guess we both met our match today.”

“I’d say so.”

-

The day was slow. When Dutch and Hosea and Bill returned in the evening, there was some wind of a job coming up, the first one you’d inevitably be invited to. It was discussed quickly and not in great detail, and the heads of the camp still had some ideas churning about it. Hopefully you’d be able to keep up in the heat of the moment, as you’d never done anything like this before. Never robbed folk - alive folk, at least - or taken something as a means to survive. You’ve lived off of bets and fools you shot dead. It was a lousy way to live but it had never gotten as low as stealing or cold blooded murder. 

The thoughts turned over in your head and for some reason you couldn’t seem to lose them, but at the end of the night they were momentarily stalled when Arthur helped you carry the already assembled cot into your new tent. It was simple, just a double sided narrow-pitched tent, no room inside for anything but a cot and a single human. You could just kick your boots under the cot when you slept, that would be the extent of your storage space. At least it had the privacy of the two flaps at the front, current parted like curtains to allow entrance. 

Once everything was set up, Arthur took a step back, but didn’t leave yet. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I’ll owe you one,” you promised, trying to be as casual about his genuine help and concern over you the past day. No one had ever shown this much attentiveness to you, and though you know he’s only acting on orders from Dutch, it feels like he really cares. He’s kind and he’s gentle, despite his rugged appearance and reputation. 

“S’no problem,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking from side to side to make sure everyone had either retired for the night or was too occupied to listen in. “I wanted to tell you something.”

You furrowed your brow, crossing your arms. 

He sighed and met your eyes again, debating his words in his head. Out with it already…

“I know you’re a lady,” he tried to speak evenly, but the tail end of his sentence got caught. 

Your eyes widened before he even finished his sentence. You looked around as well before shoving him inside your tent, too small for one person let alone two. 

“You don’t know anything,” you assured him, suddenly self conscious of how he perceived you. What was it? Your voice? The way you walked? Your body? Was anybody else going to notice? 

“I wasn’t pryin’, I swear,” he said, reaching into his satchel, still on his hip after a long day. “Bill left early this morning, I took care of your horse. These fell out of your saddlebag…”

He held out to you the most damning piece of evidence there could possibly be. Long cotton wraps and a sanitary apron, the brand new woolen padding you’d gotten was pressed inside and ready. 

Shit. You didn’t even think twice about hiding the contents of your saddle bag when arriving here. No one had ever been kind enough to care for your horse, so you didn’t worry. 

You looked into his eyes, firm but not judgemental. When you looked at him just a second too long they turned to a silent fear. Like he was a child getting caught stealing sweets. 

“Don’t tell Dutch,” you begged, and he huffed a sigh, unsure of what to do. 

“I can’t lie to im’,” he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. You were new, this wasn’t just about loyalty, it was about hierarchy. You, the new soldier, could not dare ask the second in command to deprive his leader of the truth. 

“I’m not asking you to. Just don’t tell him, yet. I’ll think of a way to let him know…”

You knew it was a stretch, but he was wonderful with the women of the camp, a man of high honor among the ladies. Surely he would help you, just until you were ready to share your secret. 

“We’re different, y’know? If you’ve been hidin’ all this time out there, that’s one thing… but you ain’t gotta do that here.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently…” you trailed, silently pleading with him. 

He nodded, the look in your eyes nearly breaking his heart. There’s a story within you, but he’ll wait to hear it. For now, he just complies, hearing your voice at it’s softest point, the feminine silkiness flowing through. You only ever spoke to yourself like that anymore.

“Okay,” he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, before maneuvering out of your small tent. “Just until you tell ‘im yourself, ya hear?” 

You nodded in understanding, a thankful and sweet smile dining your features. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“G’night, Red…”

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