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xozombiee · 1 year ago

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“AFTER HOURS!” | W. BONNEY

✫| synopsis: bartending in the west gets boring at times, especially when the same old cowboys and outlaws come through those saloon doors everyday. you’d thought this was it..that’s the end of your story. then a certain outlaw, who’s name was getting around, walked through the doors.

warnings: porn with little plot, mentions of death, riding, little praise..it’s always gonna be there, female bodied reader, lowk psy rubbing??, hair pulling me thinks, idk what else

note: am i doing this instead of my homework?…yes. also do i know wtf women wore in the 1800s? err no. i tried tho! this is not proofread btw

In a dusty, sun-kissed town nestled amidst the rugged landscape of the west, there stood a saloon that echoed with tales of grit and resilience. behind the polished mahogany bar, you stood tall with a fiery spirit that matched the flickering glow of the oil lamps that illuminated the room.

you weren’t any ordinary bartender; you were a force to be reckoned with. with glimmering eyes that held mystery, and a rough demeanor that you used to command respect from every patron who dared to enter the establishment. your hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with grace and precision as you served up drinks that could raise spirits or drown sorrows.

though the town was dominated by rough cowboys and outlaws, you had carved out your own place in their rugged hearts. they sought solace in your presence, and you became a confidante, offering a sympathetic ear to the broken souls who stumbled through the doors.

as the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the town, your saloon transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie and laughter. the clinking of glasses and the lively banter of patrons mixed with the soulful melodies of a lone pianist, creating a symphony that echoed through the wooden walls.

but behind the facade of joviality, you carried your own secrets and dreams. you arrived in this town not long ago, escaping a past that haunted your every step. determined to leave a mark on the world, you had chosen the life of a bartending, finding comfort in the stories and journeys of those who crossed paths with you.

with swift movements back and forth behind your bar, you served drinks to the men celebrating..whatever it was this time. they sang along with others, their words jumbled and lazy, but undoubtedly filled with passion. you laughed as one of them sung to you, his eyes droopy and a crooked smile at his lips.

cleaning a few glasses, you watch as they all chat amongst themselves, if they weren’t still singing that is. a part of you yearned to have a life like theirs. to be free to do whatever you please, and not be told otherwise. you’d liked the idea of running from place to place and meeting new people. though, that’d never happen for you.

your back turns as you gather the clean glasses together, putting them neatly side by side. the sound of the saloon doors open, a sound you were used to by now. with your back still turned, you notice how most of the attendees in the saloon had gone quiet, watching as the person and their footsteps approached the bar.

turning back around, you come face to face with a taller man. he wore a shabby black hat, a maroon corduroy jacket that sat along his shoulders, and a gun at his waist. two actually, you noted as the jacket moved when he sat at the bar.

with a polite smile, you come closer, holding his gaze with yours. “evening, sir. what can i get you?”

he gives you a tight lipped smile, “whiskey, please.”

you hold his gaze for a second longer before glancing back at the people in the saloon. they stared with either fear, or curiosity in their faces. a scowl grows on your lips, muttering a small ‘drunkards’ under your breath.

the man watches as you place a clean glass onto the bar, and grab a bottle filled with brown liquid. his gaze moves to the drink as it pours into the cup, almost filling to the brim.

“you look familiar,” your voice chimes in again. “have i seen you in here before?”

he shakes his head, gaze falling back to yours. “nah.” he replies. “just passing through.”

with a sigh falling from your nose, you try to read his expression; he looked tired. you weren’t an idiot, it was obvious he was on the run. you’d seen his face on the posters, but didn’t know what his name was or what he was wanted for.

your fingernail taps against the glossy wood of the bar. trying to hide your sympathetic expression, you glance around the room. “if you need anything else, let me know, yeah?”

he nods, watching as you walk away to tend to the other customers. the way you moved was calm despite working in such an intense environment. his eyes trailed up and down your figure before taking a sip from his glass.

it seemed like hours passed as you worked. going back and forth behind the counter was time consuming as it passed so quickly. more and more people were leaving the bar as the early hours of the next day were coming.

as you went to grab some glasses from tables, you notice as the man before was still at the bar. his head was hung low, eyes trained on his glass. he’d had about three glasses of whiskey by now, only taking sips from time to time.

you’d noticed through the night how people tried to approach him. he’d usually brush them off, or making small talk that ended in peaceful silence. he wasn’t someone that was easily approachable to the blind eye. he held a strong, cold demeanor.

after gathering all the dirty glasses, and kicking the last passed out drunkard, you slide back behind the bar. you take the bucket of dirty glasses to the small sink, placing it inside before turning the water on. as it fills, you stare at it as your mind falls else where.

before it overflows, you turn the faucet off. you pour a little soap into the mix before drying your hands off to let the glasses soak. with echoing footsteps, you turn back to the bar and are face to face with the man of the night.

“want another, or is three enough?” you ask, a slight smile at your lips.

he glances up at you, studying your expression for a moment. his eyes drop back to the wooden bar, fingers tapping his halfway-empty-glass.

“this is fine.” he answers.

your elbows come to rest at the cool wood, chin in your palm as you watch him. you’d debated for most of the night to ask him what exactly he was running from. it would probably sound stupid considering how everyone and their second cousin knew about it. all except for you, as you didn’t look much into news and such.

he stares back at you, giving you the same energy within his gaze. his blue eyes analyze every bit of you, and you almost shudder at the sight of it.

“so, how long you been on the run now?” you ask, voice interrupting each of your own thoughts.

he brings the glass to his lips, downing the rest before replying. “months.” he mutters, not even phased by your abrupt question.

you hum in reply, “alone?”

“mhm.”

with his short and simple response, you laugh. it wasn’t out of humor, but rather more of irritation. you’d think someone as well known as him would talk more. most outlaws never shut up about flaunting their reputations. it’s different.

“you’re not a man of many words.” you say, not really caring about how he’d take your tone.

he shrugs, sucking his teeth a bit. “i’ve got nothing to say.”

you raise a brow, “tell me a story or something. i hear the same shit every night from my regulars. give me something new.” you request.

pouring a little more whiskey into his glass, you watch as his eyes dart to yours. “it’s on me.” you assure, giving him a smile.

the man sighs, tilting his head a little at the thought. what could he tell you? that he killed a man? that he fought a man in a saloon just like yours right before shooting him in the stomach out of defense? no..you’d probably already heard it anyways.

“what do you already know about me?” he questions, taking another sip.

your eyes squint at him, “i know you’re an outlaw on the run, obviously..and that’s about it. i don’t even know what the hell they call you.” you reply.

he chuckles, a small smile at his lips. “you’re probably one of the first.” he says. “just call me billy.”

with another hum, you nod slowly and give him your name. “billy..yeah, i think i did hear that once or twice.”

“well, either way, i don’t have many stories to tell.”

your eyes roll, a huff coming from your nose. “tell me why you’re an outlaw. i’ve heard like three different stories, and it can’t be all of them.”

billy smiles again, eyes falling from yours and to your lips for a split second. you watch him debate in his head before taking his hat off. he sets it on the empty stool next to him, running his fingers through his hair. he had brown shaggy hair that was sprawled all over his head.

“i killed a man. it was self defense.” he says, almost as if he was pleading his case.

you deadpan at him, “that’s all i get? not even a backstory?”

“there’s not much to it. he was making accusations at me..which weren’t entirely false, then he came at me. we fought over my gun, and i shot.” he elaborates, glancing at you with disinterest as if it was a meaningless story.

you fall quiet for a moment, brows raised while processing his words. that story was heard, but you didn’t know if it was the truth until now. the other stories were about robbing a bank and killing a bunch of people. hearing the actual story now..you couldn’t understand all the fuss.

a laugh falls from your lips, hand moving to pinch the bridge of your nose. “so, all this talk is because you killed a man that was attacking you?”

“yes, ma’am.”

your smile remains for a bit, eyes watching billy. “so, what now? you just gonna keep running?”

he shrugs once more, eyes kept on his glass. “probably.”

“have you at least slept?”

billy shakes his head. you chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating multiple things in your head. if you offered him a place to sleep in the loft above your saloon, he’d probably laugh in your face. but, a part of you didn’t want him out on the street sleeping defenseless.

as a other sigh falls from you, you move away from the bar and stand straight. “i’ve got an extra room where i stay. wanna take it for the night?”

his eyes find yours, expression vague, “are you sure? i mean, i don’t wanna—”

“it’s fine. i’d feel guilty if i opened up tomorrow and my regulars are telling me you got killed in your sleep.”

billy focuses on you for awhile before taking one last sip. he lightly places the glass on the counter before moving to grab some money from his pocket.

your hand finds his wrist as he places it on the counter. “keep it. just take your ass upstairs while i finish up.”

he grins a little, grabbing his hat and standing from the stool. billy slowly moves to the door at the back of the saloon, opening it and disappearing from sight. you roll up your sleeves as you move back to the sink, dipping your hands into the soapy water to clean the glasses.

after about ten minutes, you make way up to your loft in the building. your footsteps slightly echo as you move toward the light in the living room. when you reach the floor, you watch as billy sits on the couch with his head thrown back on the edge while his hat covered up his face.

slowly approaching in front of him, you lightly kick his shin. he snaps his head up, eyes wide as his hat falls to his lap. he lets out a small breath in relief, making you smile. you watch as he sits up on the couch.

“scared the shit out of me.” he mumbles, putting that ragged hat on again.

you move to sit next to him, bouncing lightly on the cushions. “must’ve been too tired to hear me coming up the steps.”

he leans into the couch once more, eyes trained on the ceiling. you watched his expression and how he studied the whiteness of the panels above.

“penny for your thoughts?” you whisper, watching his eyes shift over to you.

billy shakes his head, scoffing a little to himself. “it’s nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

“everything.”

you let your gaze falter, moving to the floor. “everything that’s happened?” you ask.

he nods, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. billy wants nothing more than to go back and stop everything that’s happened. to change what got him to this point.

but if he did that, he would’ve never met you. you were one of the kindest people to him since the incident. the way you carried yourself, much like him, was with confidence. he respected you, and that aspect of your personality.

“i understand what it’s like..kind of.” you say, patting down the wrinkles in your outfit. “i was never wanted, but i’ve done things. things i wish i could take back.”

billy watches as you speak, the way your lips move and the expression you hold shifts with each emotion running through you. he almost doesn’t understand what you’re saying. the only thing keeping him to reality was the fact you sounded serious.

he adjusts himself on the furniture, “what have you done?” he asks, a part of him afraid to know the answer.

“i’ve killed.” you reply, the tone of your voice dropping lowly. “it was in defense, like you.”

billy watches the way you bounce your knee against the flooring of the loft. the dress you wear moves along with it, and your shoe lightly taps.

“when did it happen?” he asks as his pure curiosity gets the best of him.

you look up at him, smiling a little. “i was fourteen.”

billy looks at you, empathizing with your situation. though he wasn’t that young when it happened, he still felt some sort of connection with your experience.

“i don’t regret killing him honestly, but i regret hurting my family and his. they didn’t deserve to go through that. it wasn’t any of their faults.” you say as you breathe out slowly.

in an small moment, his hand is on yours. it’s a light touch, like he’s afraid to hurt you. billy moves his other hand to the space beneath your chin, and shifts your head to look at him in the eyes.

his voice is light, “you were defending yourself. it wasn’t your fault either.” billy whispers.

the words make your heart swell. after everything, hearing those words made it all feel better. almost all the guilt left your veins. he was right after all. it wasn’t your fault. what that man did..you just did what you had to.

as he holds your gaze, you slowly inch toward him. his blue irises bore into yours, watching as you shift them to his lips. they were slightly chapped and held a small frown on them.

billy leaned closer to you and your breaths mingled, like two lights finding each other in the darkness. he could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, as all of his senses were focused on you and you alone.

he closed the distance, and his lips met yours. billy felt himself melt into you like a magnet. everything muted itself, and his hands made way to your waist. he pulled you onto him, your knees caging around his thighs.

your hands found their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. he tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin against his. the room seemed to dissolve around you as the only thing in existence was this. this perfect union.

time stood still, and you both wanted more, but neither wanting it to initiate it. then, with what restraint he had left, he pulled away, his lips still grazing yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with worry. “im sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“shut up.”

pressing your lips back to his, he lets out a grunt in reply before melting into you once more. the warmth of you, your lips, your being that sat in his lap—he felt lightheaded. billy moved his hands to your waist again, slowly trailing them up your back.

you feel the buttons of your dress being undone. he stops right before taking the sleeves off, prying himself away from you. billy’s eyes look into yours for confirmation, and you give him a quick, impatient nod in reply.

with that, he pulls the dress off slowly. your lips trail from his own to his neck, putting the flesh between your teeth. he groaned, trying to focus on untying your corset.

as he removed it, he wasted no time to discard it to the floor, hands making way to take off the chemise you wore.

“all those months on the run got you impatient now, cowboy?” you mutter, laughing as he would struggle from time to time.

billy looks up at you, his gaze slightly hidden by his hat, “no, just none of the women i’ve been with wore this much underneath. i’m also not a cowboy, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes, you grab at his wrists to stop him. he looks up at you, big eyes and all, causing the built up pressure in your lower stomach to worsen. “just leave it. i’m not wearing anything under, so don’t fuss.”

you watch him nod slowly as he started to stare, making no move to take off his clothes. “do i have to do it for you?” you whisper, hands undoing the brown suspenders on his shoulders.

he shakes his head, moving to unbutton his pants he wore. you watch the way he fumbles with them, sliding them midway down his thighs. billy’s hands eventually move back to your waist, bunching up your chemise to your hips.

billy’s eyes watch as your pretty pussy comes into view, sitting in his lap with such a prepossessing aura. he has to restrain himself from taking you right then.

his dick was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. it looked painful and it was because of you. you. you wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.

instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. you raise yourself a bit so he can align himself to your entrance. the cool touch of his hand meets your cunt, sliding a finger through the folds and collecting the juices flowing from you.

he uses your slick and spreads it across your sensitive pussy. you took a deep breath of air into your lungs. this feeling was new, since no man you’d been with ever did this, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

a small groan falls from billy’s lips as he uses it to prep himself, guiding his hand along his cock and pumping it slowly. he was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock.

you knew you would stretch around him, that your walls would be a perfect fit around his length. you were too impatient for any sort of foreplay; you wanted the stretch. you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.

billy grabs your hips with his unoccupied hand, bringing you closer to him. you let out a whimper as you began to sink onto him, eyes flicking to his. those blue ones he held were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now.

his hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. it was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to almost whine at the feeling of you.

your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. your fingers weakly fist his shirt as you begin to ride him, raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. he reached the deepest spot inside of you somehow. no one had ever done that. not like this.

his cockhead grazes your spongy spot as you fuck yourself on him. arousal and his pre-cum are smeared all over your thighs. this sight made billy’s breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking him. you looked completely dissoluted like this.

your hair was a mess now, your lips glossy and swollen, hands digging into his shoulder. billy felt himself become enraptured by you and this sight. it was something he could get used to..if he wasn’t an outlaw that is.

he pulls you closer to him. one of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. his hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.

watching him with a hazy gaze, you remove the hat from his head. you place it onto your own, grinning at how he stares up at you like you were the creator of all living beings and creatures on this earth.

moving one of your hands from his shoulder, you bring it to his hair and give some strands a tug. he groans, the vibrations of his chest transferring to his dick, which transferred to you.

each thrust of his was made for his selfishness in your velvet walls. the drag of his cock was perfect, his speed was unbelievable. it was like heaven itself, but without the pearly gates and clouds.

while stuck in your own brain, the feeling of teeth bring you back to reality. you let a shuddered sigh fall as billy digs into the collarbone that peaked from your square-necked chemise. he slowly kisses up your neck, bringing a hand to the back of your head.

“fuck..’s too good,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even.

you laugh, making him groan a little. he looks up, watching as you bounce with one hand held on his hat to keep it on. “too good? were all your other girls shit?”

he lets out short breaths, his blue eyes studying the way you moved as if he was in a trance. billy would answer if he wasn’t on another planet right now. a planet where you were taking him so deliciously, almost to the point where he could pass out.

“fuck,” he says under his breath as your pussy clenches around him. “where do you want it?” his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure.

you pant, “inside.”

billy doesn’t waste a second before obliging and quickening his pace, making the hat on your head fall lopsided. you could feel the pressure in you tightening, almost about to burst like a pipe.

he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and billy can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.

billy groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with his newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans echoing in the living room.

your cunt milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

he slowly eases his cock out of you. the both of you were breathing heavily as he pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. you wrap you arms around his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“wanna share my bed?” you whisper.

tags: @m0rphys

#xozombiee #YESS I FINISHED #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid #save a horse ride a cowboy #coriolanus snow #RAHHHHHH #guys pls like #and subscribe #william h bonney

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dahfloofysmol · 8 months ago

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HELLO. This is the official post for YouTube kids’ surprise party on the 27th of March. Any and all gimmick blogs welcomed!

Some roles we need are:

-DJ [real-pollo-campero]

-great DJ (as per requested 🤨) [spotify-kids-real]

-video jockey [buildabearfr]

-Someone to make the cake [forever21-official]

-Puncher server [big-mayo-official]

-Decorator [barns-and-noble-official]

-Party crasher(s) [officialtinder and youtubefr and actually-kroger]

-Corner Person [Pinterest, yahooo-official, reallytimhortons]

-Person who’s dealing with a crazy sugar high [firewaysubs and zotap]

-Emotional support [walmart and def-bjs-guys]

-Mom [Krista the art program and Canadian tire] AND dad friend

-Birthday person IS taken (obviously lol)

-Someone to bring snacks [incognito-mode-official]

-Ring Leader (person in charge of the games) [totally-official-yahoo]

-person who performs a special but confusing (and overly translated) version of happy birthday [google translate ]

-piñata [firehouse-subs-fr]

-setting off fireworks [google-news-official]

-here for the food and bringing tWO DOGS!!! OMG DOGS!!!!! [swearification-and-cursing]

-person currently trying tO EAT THE CAKE!! STOP THAT!!! [shakespeare-official-account]

- stopping the Cake Eater [wow-google-maps]

- putting spiders (?????) under the cake [true-blue-straya]

- the person that is every bisexuals awakening [it’s-target-official]

-pops in for the last 5 minutes with a card + a store bought cake [the-real-google]

- gay wine uncle [the-McDonald’s]

- creepy uncle (???) [rick-e-chedder-official]

-single rich aunt who disappears every night at specifically 8:00 pm [totally-not-kraft-mac-and-cheese]

-shapeshifts between wine aunt and vodka uncle, and the comic relief [the-one-and-only-duckduckgo]

- bringing lights so we aren’t all dancing in the dark [real-vivaldi-browser]

- summoning Satan under the table with a bottle of whiskey and pancakes (??????????) [definitely-canada]

-person asking weirdly specific and absurd questions [actual-aspec-military]

-the COOLEST cousin [support-speaks]

-cousin who hangs out in the corner and looks like they know something you dont [the-official-publix]

-person who hits on everyone at the party even though they’re already dating 2 ppl [fr-winn-dixie]

-contributes Ziploc® bags [totally-scjohnson]

-bringing burritos [the-real-chipotle]

-YouTube's kids southern aunt who blesses everyone's hearts bc they think theyre dumb most of the time [i-bless-your-heart]

-middle school cousin who argues with anyone and everyone to look cool [wallyworld-the-unofficial]

-gives oil (?????????????) and branded pens as party favors [truly-jcjenson]

-the strange neighbor kid who talks to no one but sings the loudest and brings a weird yet tasteful gift [the-real-aperture-science]

-bringing Walmart sugar cookies [not-really-discord]

-guy bringing the Knives [wheatley-labs-official]

-joining in on the games [totally-official-yahoo]

-the disco ball [jollibee-real]

-that one uncle with lore of untold numbers of deaths involved, and that includes guns [partycityistotallyofficailguy]

And any other role I haven’t stated!! I’ll accept pretty much anything

In case what you pick is already chosen, tag your second option ;p

—>The biggest part of the surprise party is wishing YouTube kids a happy birthday, but in the most creative way possible. In the “ask me” works, but literally anywhere; on your blog or on a post from anywhere (that you know they’d be okay with a little shenanigans) works wonderfully.

->Also, saying happy birthday is awesome, but spicing it up would be more fun!!! Day Of Birth, One of Awakening, Oh Child of the 27th, and any other batshit way to say “happy birthday” would both be awesome and absolutely hilarious.

Again, invite any and all gimmick blogs, and feel free to let me know what you’d want to do! We attack on the 27th >:DD

ADDITIONAL NOTE: sometimes there will be more than one person in each role! I do actively encourage for people to come up with silly and niche roles if you think of one ;D

ON THE 24th I WILL NO LONGER TAKE ROLLS!!!! Spread the word please!

@barnes-and-noble-official @basically-bumble @totallyofficialtacobell @totally-official-yahoo @totally-bing @officialtinder @officially-google-translate @officially-ikea @official-fedex @incognito-mode-official @forever21-offical @officialkfc @kfc-official @k-f-c-official @life360-i-swear @xgames-blog @cars-official @big-mayo-official @bingle-official @the-real-google @the-real-firefox @nasa @wow-google-maps @wallyworld-the-unofficial @walmart-the-official @realgoogleslides @realgoogledocs @yahooo-official @unfortunate-wattpad @firewaysubs @firefox-official @pinterest-real @spotify-kids-real @duothelingo @definitely-wikipedia @firehouse-subs-fr @google-2point0 @gimmick-thief

#BIRTHDAY PARTY #birth of party #party birth #YouTube kids is in for a treat #I’m not gonna like #IF I have time #IF #I will make a collaborative drawing of everyone and their roles #I think I will #but for now gotta focus on people claiming roles 👍👍#March 27th #we have a good amount of time to do this >:D #LETS GO #//cackles in delight//

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 8 months ago

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Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

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v1nsmoke · 5 months ago

Text

𝑺𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑨 𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑺𝑬… // 𝑪𝑶𝑾𝑩𝑶𝒀!𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑺 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

oneshot - western au rick grimes x fem!reader

tw: guns

summary: upon accepting th eoffer of his friend, rick doesn't expect to meet a girl with him

fandom: the walking dead (twd)

a/n: for my pookie dorcsa <3

tags: dorcsa

wc: 0.6k

note: western au, third person pov, fem!reader. i'm still trying to finish formatting and proofreading my full book, so this is all you get for now.

The distant sound of music and laughter of the saloon filtered out through an open window, the orangish light illuminating the man’s back as he trotted over to the establishment from where his horse was hitched. It was getting late, too late for his liking to be outside. Still, he didn’t want to pass off the offer of his friend inviting him for a good old drink at the saloon.

He pushes the swinging door open, entering the saloon. The people inside paid him no mind, all of them occupied with their own activities and duties. His duty was to find his friend in the mass of people inside, which at first seemed like an impossible task, but after noticing the signature leather coat of his friend, it was easy for him to locate the man.

Rick pulls a chair under himself, taking his seat next to his friend.

“I thought you’d never show up,” Daryl, the friend speaks up, circling the tip of his finger on the rim of his glistening whiskey glass, the orange-brown liquid inside reflecting the shine of the lights inside the saloon.

“You know I ain’t going to miss out on an opportunity for a good ol’ drink,” Rick replies with a joyous smile.

“By the way,” Daryl starts pointing at the seat on his other side, “the lady next to me is a friend of mine. Say hello to her.”

Glancing at the direction Daryl was pointing at, Rick saw a girl, not too young but definitely younger than him, a drink in her hand as she quietly sat there.

“Hey there,” he greets her.

“Talkin’ to me, mister?”

“Is there anybody else I could talk to?”

“Your friend sitting next to you,” she sternly replies.

“Valid,” Rick replies with a sigh, shifting his gaze back to his drink.

Daryl just watched as the situation unfolded in front of his eyes, not saying a word. Let Rick handle this, he thought.

“I’ll get you another drink if you get her to talk with us. Best of luck,” he looks at Rick from the side of his eye.

With a sigh, Rick gives in.

“All this for the sake of a free drink…”

He switches places with Daryl, now him standing next to the girl.

“So, Daryl told me you were a friend of his, that true?”

“Mostly yes. I help him out at his ranch, it’s more like I work for him.”

“That’s something. Why though?”

“For the money and horses,” she timidly says.

“I got a horse with me, just outside of the saloon.”

The girl stays quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, staring at the man with an enthusiastic gaze.

“You do?”

Rick nods in response.

“Let me take you out to him,” he says, pushing himself away from the counter.

He makes his way to the entrance of the saloon, the girl curiously following suit.

The chilly night air hits them as they exit the saloon, the oil lamps on the porches dimly lighting the dark town. Outside, tied to the nearby hitching post was Rick’s horse.

The girl slowly approaches the animal, glancing back at Rick for some kind of approval or confirmation. He nods with a slight smile.

The girl walks up to the horse, staring at it for a few seconds before gently placing her hand on the animal’s head, stroking it.

“You’ve got a beautiful horse,” she states calmly.

“I know, thank you,” he thanked.

Rick just watched silently as the girl developed a bond with his horse, smiling as she patted the animal, a smile on both the girl’s and Rick’s face.

#v1nsmoke #twd #rick grimes #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #rick grimes x reader #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #western #cowboy au

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bow-n-scales · 8 months ago

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oddly specific things that remind me of the children of the gods <3

children of ares: the click of a lighter, getting clothing caught on doorknobs and furniture edges, layered necklaces, beat up combat boots, brutal honesty, raucous laughter, chipped mugs, calloused hands, adrenaline rushes, tough exterior soft interior, meticulously polished armour and weapons

children of athena: grandfather clocks’ chimes, olive martinis, secret rooms behind bookshelves, “reading is sexy” tshirts, deserted museums, paper cuts, tea stains, intricately carved sword hilts, golden war helms, calculative gazes

children of apollo: whiskey-coloured eyes, chrysanthemum tea, badges/pins EVERYWHERE, dandelion fields, sandcastles, colourful bracelets, knowledge of music theory, perfect pitch, fireflies, band-aids with smiley faces, tie-dye shirts

children of artemis: metallic clothing, ripped jeans, dagger strapped to inside of thigh, gazing at the constellations, lumberjack plaid shirts, running barefoot underneath the moon, long braided hair (eg. katniss everdeen), sharp eyeliner and even sharper gazes, white platinum/silver jewellery, temporary tattoos, cd collection

children of hephaestus: worn-out headphones, crooked grins, cassette tapes, fireworks, drawers overflowing with tools, LEGO sets, neon signs, mismatched gears, bandaged thumbs (accidents happen sometimes & that’s okay), volcanic-like fury, being up-to-date with all technology-related news

children of iris: stained glass windows, skittles, bracelet beads, marshmallows, kaleidoscopes, cotton candy at carnivals, misty weather, coins at the bottom of fountains, bright eyeshadow, rainbow garlands, fogged-up windows with tiny drawings

children of aphrodite: polished sea glass, vintage avon perfume bottles, decorated handwritten letters, overflowing closets, femme fatale energy, sofia coppola archive, wild rose bushes, lipstick stains, eclectic decorations, chainmail armour, ever-changing fashion styles

children of hypnos: lavender spray bottles, fluffy slippers, liminal dreams, ticking clocks, stretching after a good nap, valais blacknose sheep, the smell of fresh linen, pillows that are cold on both sides, sleeping through thunderstorms, oil lanterns, customised sleep masks

children of nike: golden laurels, confident smirks, unending courage and determination, gold medallions, glorious ballrooms, the stinging feeling of disappointment after losing something, wars over uno, polished trophies and medals, an obsession with Nike sportswear, track and field competitions, feathered capes

children of hebe: tea sets, skincare routines, pansies, overflowing chalices, healed inner child, satin gowns, doe eyes, ribbons braided into hair, champagne towers, bubble guns, butterfly emblems

⋆˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ requests are open!!

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twola · 2 years ago

Note

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control. But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table.

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before.

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey. He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.”

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up.

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers.

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.”

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for.

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss.

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse.

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence.

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin.

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside.

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility: a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,” he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick.

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #twolafic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead smut #tumblr prompt #voluptatem

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jake-g-lockley · 2 years ago

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Cookies and Whiskey (Javier Peña x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: This is co-authored by @lil-stark ! She literally handed me the most beautiful idea on a platinum platter AHHHHH. I loved writing this so much, my heart is so happy at soft!Javier.

Word count: 2.7 k

Warnings: yearrrrrning

You glance at the clock as the man before you stubs out his cigarette and loudly yawns. He rubs his eyes with the edge of his palms a groan emitting from deep within his chest.

“Tapping out, Peña?” You smile understandingly.

“None of these words are really words anymore.” He mumbles as his big brown eyes meet yours causing the army of butterflies to tickle your insides.

The past few days have made everyone increasingly tired and you could see that it was taking a toll on everyone, even on the DEA’s most resilient. You and Javier often burned the midnight oil at the office, not wanting to mix business with the comfort of your homes. It worked out easy for you because you’d often commute to work with Javier, with the additional advantage of Javier living in the same apartment complex as you.

Javier slaps the file he was working on close and stands up to grab his jacket, with you following suit. You smile at the guard who took the office keys from Javier, locking the office behind the both of you. The ride home was relatively quiet, only punctuated by you humming something that had been stuck in your head. Javier focused on your humming, feeling his whole body tune towards you as he drove on autopilot.

The spell only broke when Javier turned the corner of the street to the apartment complex, his demeanour turning slightly sour at the prospects of having you leave him for the night. He spends most of his day with you but he can’t seem to understand why he feels the nauseating need to continue being around you. The few hours that he spends with you not around are agonising to him, hurts him in places he didn’t realise could hurt.

You closed your eyes the second the complex came into view. You always hated this, saying good night and not having a good night. Sometimes you find yourself hearing so hard that you would fight the urge to kick Javi’s door down and barge in like you owned the place, taking what was rightfully yours.

You glanced at the way his hands gripped the steering, strong and powerful. You wondered if they would grip you the same, holding you down and steering you in the right direction. You sigh to yourself and set your hand on the handle, waiting for Javier to stop the car.

Javier tries hard not to feel the indescribable anguish as you click the car door open, gently closing it behind you. He loved how your hands held the capability to kill but chose to be gentle with everything else. It mesmerised him, the way you would hold files, papers, or coffee mugs; he wondered if you would hold him the same way, fragile and breakable. Then something fired up in him when you would hold a gun, powerful and strong, the agility showed him something that he could not resist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You say as Javier admits defeat with his emotions and slips the key into the lock.

“Only if you get me coffee.” He replies with a fond smile, before slipping inside.

He shuts the door and sighs softly, his eyes becoming heavier by the moment as he tossed his keys into the glass dish by the door. He can’t keep going on like this, his mind was overruled by thoughts of you. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, not carrying where it landed. You were not his to keep or to lose and he needed to get his priorities straight. Slumping onto the couch, he presses his face into his hands, groaning slightly at his plight.

He sat like that for a few minutes, getting his thoughts straightened out. He didn’t want to dream of you, only to wake up in the morning, upset at the fact that nothing was real and he had to go back pining for you. He was rhythmically massaging his temples with his knuckles when suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

“Javi?” Came your soft voice, making Javier immediately jump up from the couch, all thoughts of sleeping evaporating from his tired mind.

He scrambled quietly, trying to find his shirt that he threw away, but it was nowhere in sight. He tried to act casual, slowing his steps as he approached the door, slowly opening it and peaking around to see your sheepish face.

“Everything alright, hermosa?”

A few minutes ago, you had sleepily trudged your way to your unit, trying to fish your keys from your bag, your mind filled with thoughts of Javi. You frowned when your fingers couldn’t grasp the familiar keychain amidst the mess of your bag. You knelt down and split the contents of your bag onto the floor, rummaging through to find your keys. A panicked pang slammed into the depths of your stomach as you realised that you had left your keys at the office.

You bite your lip as your mind shifts to your second option as you eyed the window to your unit, contemplating whether you should break it. You could just sleep over at Javier’s place. The both of you were already inseparable, it wouldn’t be so hard for you to just crash on his couch for one night. Your brain was still going through the scenarios as your legs began to carry you towards Javier’s place.

Eyeing the rust on the knob, a voice saying “Are you sure?” sounded in your head. You sighed and knocked the door, praying that the man hadn’t already succumbed to his tiredness. Your mouth dropped open as you eyed the golden skinned, half-naked man who opened the door. You blinked up at him as you registered his question, your brain slow and mushy from the sight you have been blessed with.

“Uh, yea, umm. So a little bit of a problem, I'm locked out of my apartment, and I don't want to break any windows just to get in.” You ramble slightly, and Javier’s mouth twists into a light smirk.

“Well, you know you're welcome here, make yourself at home, I’ll get you some clothes you can change into." He says as he takes your bag from you and steps aside, opening the door a little wider for you to step inside.

You had been to Javier’s unit before, during Steve’s birthday and it was the complete contrast of the man you knew at work. It was homely to say the least, constantly smelling of candles and cookies, along with the lingering scent of cigarettes that Javier would chain smoke. It's warm inside, humid really, explains why his shirt is off, but doesn't make it easier to stay focused.

“Do you want a drink, or water?” He gently asks, setting your bag aside.

You blurt out "water" without thinking twice and he nods, walking to his room to get you the stuff you need. He comes back and hands you a towel, toothbrush, one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, to your right.” He says softly, nodding towards the small hallway.

You quietly padded towards the bathroom, your heart soothed at the hospitality he had shown you. You stripped as fast as you could, eager to get under the water to soothe your aches and knots. When you were done and switched off the shower, you heard the soft tinkle of music and you smiled, slipping on the clothes Javier lended you. They smelled like him, coffee and smoke, your favourite things about the pretty man.

You step out and make your way back to the living room, where Javier is sitting on the sofa, his hand over his face as the other one holds a glass of whiskey, your water on a coaster on the coffee table before him. The radio was playing sweet melodies and you sank into the sofa, leaning slightly forward to take your glass of water.

You watch as Javier tips the rest of the whiskey into his mouth and stands up, going to his little bar and filling it with another finger of the brownish liquid. The music changes and it's one of your favourites, making you smile as Javier approaches the couch again. He sets the glass onto the coffee table and holds his hand out for you, making you blink up at him with a confused look.

“Wanna dance? I know this is your favourite song.” Javier says, a little too smoothly for your liking.

You smile and slip your hand in his, letting him pull you up. You cling onto his shoulder as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer than he intended to. Your eyes fall onto where your hand settled upon his shoulder, trying hard not to linger at the sharp toned muscle. They quickly snapped back to his eyes as he pulls you away from the coffee table, into the empty space of the living room, swaying you and him to the rhythm.

“So, are you really locked out of your apartment or did you want to see me?” He breaks the quiet suddenly, making you roll your eyes at him.

“In your dreams Javier, I really am locked out.” You sigh, your hand unconsciously tightening its grip on his shoulder.

“Well, then pinch me because this does seem like a dream to me, cariño.” Javier says.

You let go of his shoulder and pinch his cheek without even waiting for another second and he laughs, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Actually, to be completely honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing you like this more often.” He whispers, almost to himself, but you were already hooked, questions flooding your head.

“Like what?” You say, watching him from under your lashes.

“Like this, wearing my clothes, in my arms, doing whatever we pleased.” His face was so close to you his breath fanning your face.

“And what do you think would please the both of us?” You whisper, your lips now a hair's width from his, your cheeks blazing.

“Baking cookies.”

“Huh?”

This was certainly one of the top five things that you hadn’t expected from Javier Peña.

“You know, making yummy cookies and then eating them?” His eyes were twinkling under the dim lights and you couldn’t tell whether he was humouring you.

“Say yummy again.” You ask, a laugh edging up your throat.

“Yum-my” he punctuated, squeezing your hip, causing you to giggle.

“Fine, show me how you bake cookies, Agent Peña.” You smirked, trying not to melt at the way he was holding your hip.

You were sure you were in a fever dream, soon you were perched up on the kitchen barstool, watching as Javier mixed up ingredients in a bowl. You had to swallow a little more times than you had intended to, your mouth pooling with saliva at the half naked man whisking eggs. He was meticulous, carefully measuring out the ingredients one by one.

As soon as Javi left the kitchen island to put something in the fridge, you reached out to pull the mixing bowl.

“Do not eat raw cookie dough, cariño!” He shouts and you jump in your seat as your eyes snapped to Javier who was glaring from the open fridge, his hands on his hips.

“Fine.” You pout and slump back.

Javi moves on to scooping the cookie dough onto the trays after preheating the oven, pressing extra chocolate chips onto the flattened cookies. Without a word, he takes a little bowl and fills it with chocolate chips, sliding the bowl to you. You grin and pop the chocolate chips into your mouth as you continue feasting your eyes.

“Your stare is going to burn a hole through me, angel.” Javier suddenly says, when his back is turned to you, sliding the cookie trays into the oven.

“I wasn’t staring.” You stammered a little and Javier turned around slowly, anchoring his hands onto the kitchen island separating the both of you.

“Says the person who loves me saying the word ‘yummy’.” He smirks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Javier Peña.” You say, straightening your back.

“Well, I beg to differ, hermosa.” He licked his lips and leaned in.

Javier decided to test out something that Steve had told him over a couple of beers, crossing his fingers and toes, hoping to god that Steve wasn’t just teasing him.

“Bullshit.” You said, all sing songy and Javier decided to finally catch you at your own act.

“Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, given the fact that I know what Steve knows.” He says and you swear your heart almost stops.

Steve fucking Murphy.

You had confided in Steve and Connie a long time ago, them being your closest friends. You told them how you felt about Javi after a few too many glasses of wine and they promised to keep it a secret. You made a mental note to place a swarm of ants in Steve’s work drawer if you ever got out of this situation alive.

“Well maybe Steve lied.” You say, your response automatic.

Big mistake.

“So you know what I’m talking about?” Javier raised an eyebrow.

Your breath hitched as Javier circled the kitchen island and prowled closer to you.

“Steve can’t lie for shit, angel, we both know that.” His eyes were sparkling with something unknown and you didn’t know whether you wanted to reach for the unknown or stay planted in your seat.

So instead, you slip off the stool and edge away from him.

“Thank you for your hospitality Javier, I promise this won’t happen again.” You mumbled your eyes downcasted.

You turn on your heel and try to walk to the bedroom when his hand wraps around your wrist and twirls you, making you collide with his chest.

“Is that really what you want, hermosa?” Javier says as you tried to catch your breath.

You nod, trying your best to keep eye contact. What was the use of trying though, you were already caught.

Javier suddenly dips his head into the crook of your neck, pressing a gentle kiss onto your searing skin, making you shiver.

“You’re a worse liar than Steve, amor.” He murmurs, his nose pressing into your neck.

You stiffened in his arms, making him stop his ministrations and look up. You were looking at him like he was your world but there was a veil of doubt covering your eyes and Javi could sense it.

“Hermosa, que paso? Did I do something wrong?” Panic rushed over him, terrified that he had taken it too far.

You took a deep breath, trying to word the things you wanted to say gently.

“Javier, you cannot use me and then leave, my heart can't take that. Please.” You say, your eyes welling up in tears at the prospect of you and him ruining what you already had with him.

“Oh, cariño.” He sighs and literally melts at the sight of your tears, pressing a lingering kiss onto your temple as you wrap your arms around his bare midriff.

Suddenly, his hands are on your arms, easing your grip around him. He drops to his knees, still holding your hands as he gazes up at you.

“Look, my sweet angel. You’re my best friend and I would literally die if I had to choose to walk out on you or us. So don’t you dare think that it would happen in this lifetime or in the next few lifetimes.” Javier surprised himself with what leaves his mouth, your presence making him delirious.

You kneel down too, bringing yourself to be at eye level with Javier. You cup his cheek as he pulls one of your hands to his chest. You search his baby doe eyes and smile, a feeling inside you blossoming and you realise that he was most definitely true to his word.

Before you could think twice, your lips were on his, kissing him softly. He sighs ever so gently and pulls you closer, falling back slightly and letting you lead. You pressed harder against him, licking his bottom lip gently when suddenly the timer goes off, causing the both of you to jump.

The both of you laugh shakily, your cheeks tinted in the prettiest pinks. Javier stands up and pulls you with him, turning off the oven, before kissing you again.

“Let’s snack, then, maybe, continue this in a place a little more, quieter?” Javier whispers.

“Okay.” You whisper back.

Just like that, your little mishap had the biggest silver-lining you had ever encountered. You squeeze Javier’s arm a little tighter as he pulled the cookies out of the oven, smiling to yourself.

Everything was going to be alright.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

Tagging: @joygirlmelii @wolfbook87 @nyotamalfoy @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @magic-schoolbusdropout @anony-muse @anonymously35

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nanamimizz · 9 months ago

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tags: 18+ minors dni, a/b/o verse, fem reader, omega reader, alpha john, licking, marking, themes of jealousy and possessiveness. for @prettyboykatsuki with their explicit permission.

synopsis: jealousy comes knocking on our door no matter what or when or why.

He doesn’t smell like you, it’s the first thing you realize when John Marston walks back into camp after taking Old Boy to the horse hitches with the rest of them. It makes your body twitch and stall for just a moment - you spill some water on the table that Mr.Pearson reprimands you for and you can only half apologize. You watch with sharp eyes how he moves, how he walks and how John easily slots himself next to the other men at the table with his hands on his gun belt even when he is passed a bottle of whiskey.

The camp is large and has a variety of scents and smells, one gets used to them and you can identify them as easily as picking out the white clouds from the blue sky. Pine for Charles, lavender for Mary-Beth and firewood for John Martson who is currently being covered by the scent of roses and cherries that you know no one at camp smells like and it makes something inside of you insane at this outsider’s scent. It’s enough to make you excuse yourself, marching over to the scarred man and tugging him behind you, away from the men who watch with amused expressions on their faces as John almost trips with the force you pull him into your shared tent.

The thick wooden beam that supports the middle of the tent is your witness stand as you push the taller, broader alpha to the wood and hold him there by the shoulders, nails digging through the sleeves of his coat. There’s an alarmed undercut to his firewood and brandy scent, agitation and nerves biting against your own as you bare your teeth at him.

“What is it with you, woman?” He asks you, dark brows furrowed and his scowl on his scared face would make anyone cower but you with your stubborn fearlessness that you push him further against the wood as the sweetness of your foreign scent turns sour in your agitation.

“Why do you smell like that - like some, fucking tramp?!” You hiss, voice low but venomous and John has no doubt that if you had a tail it would be flickering behind you with your jowls peeled back like some sort of feral hellcat. John frowns, brows pinched as he tries to free his arms from your grip.

“What you mean? I smell fine.” He throws back, bringing the lapel of his jacket to sniff half heartedly - picking up on nothing out of the usual. You puff, muttering some words under your breath. The only ones he catches are calling him the village fool as you crowd him, pressing yourself flush to him and John is happy that you closed the tent behind you so no one at camp can see how the fullness of your figure perfectly melts into his. There’s a flush to his cheeks that was not there before and you can’t notice it on how you feel sick on the scent of roses. On the tips of your toes, you press your face onto his neck and rub against the scent glands there. Pressing and rubbing until your cheeks shine with the scent of firewood and musk and brandy as you huff into his skin. Your tongue sneaks out to lap at the oils and John jumps beneath your silken touch as you moan softly against his flushed form. The salt of him melds onto your mouth as his scent clouds your mind and the sour-mango scent fogging the enclosed space of the tent blooms in golden nectar and clove.

It’s enough to make him moan, enough to make something heady flush in his mind as your teeth once bared nip and suck until the alabaster skin of his throat turns into purple petals of the jarul flower you would catch along the coasts. You pull away only to be tugged back and John’s voice is reduced to raspy little sounds in your ear as you lick, bite and suck at the other side of his neck until you can see the indents of your teeth as red as a sunset. If you could, you would have stayed there for hours, scenting and marking your John until he reeked of mangos and clove and henna leaves and so many things from the other side of the world.

“You’re mine, don’t ever - don’t ever come back smelling like you ain’t.” You mutter in between nips of your sharpened teeth.

So he’d never smell of anything other than you ever again.

But his name is called by Hosea, who’s voice is like a spear of sobriety through the veil of omega-posession and alpha-want that makes you pull away. John is a vision and you are too, red faced and panting; face slick with drool and oils from his scent glands. Dark eyes look at you with a wanting so deep you are tempted to disobey Hosea’s call until it rings out again clear as day. It makes John swallow, ducking his head and running a scared, calloused hand through his head as he nods to you.

“I’ll see you later, um…okay. I’ll see you tonight. Here.” He mutters, ducking away and out the tent flap cursing when he hears some of the men holler at the marks on his neck and the heavy scent of omega on his clothes. You find yourself unbothered as you step out and return to Mr.Pearson who finds himself unable to look you in the eyes.

#lamb.writes #john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #abo verse #red dead redemption 2 x reader

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radioisntdead · 1 month ago

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Hi again so I was wondering if you could do a angel dust x fem listener where we comfort angel dust and he talks about when he was a alive and the

Struggle he went though and he probably mentions his sister Molly

Good evenin' my dear! My apologies for this taking forever to get too! I did tweak it a little bit, Angel and reader just kinda talk about their siblings and being alive here, not really comforting each other but talking?

Late night talk

Angel dust & F! Reader

Warning: drugs, both reader and Angel are intoxicated, and canon divergent because I don't think we know much about Angel's being alive, ending is kinda abrupt.

It was some unspeakable late night hour and the two of you were in some rundown motel room, far away from Valentino, surrounded by all types of drugs, alcohol, a first aid kit and empty food wrappers.

The two of you were quiet, Angel was dangling off the bed while you were laying sprawled on the cold floor, staring blankly into the ceiling that felt like it could collapse at any given moment.

"Ya' know, I'm a twin," Angel dust said breaking the quiet, his eyes focused on the yellowing ceiling.

"Twin?" You glanced over.

"Yeah, I had a' sister, her name was Molly."

"Oh neat."

Silence filled the air again as a few minutes passed before he spoke up again,

"Ya' know I don't think I stood a' fuckin' chance when I was alive,"

You glanced up at him, only seeing the white fluff of his head, "Weren't you born in like, the big scary spaghetti mafia?"

"Ya' mean the Italian Mafia, the spaghetti mafia sounds like we were doing pasta crimes."

"Well you were doing crimes with olive oil,"

"Okay that was not me, I do not fuck with the olive oil!"

You broke into a laugh, "You haven't yet! No idea what grape man might try next." You heard him gag.

More silence passed before he popped up, "But seriously, I never stood a' chance, ya know my brother and I started bein' taught about the family business when we were like, twelve?"

"Yeah that's pretty fucked, I remember being twelve and playing video games not being taught how to commit crimes,"

"Right? gave me my very first gun for my birthday" Angel turned over on his stomach looking over at you, He was right honestly didn't stand chance, he never did.

Born in a mobster family as the second son, with a horrific father and a mother who could do nothing but watch as her sons were raised to live a life of crime, she wasn't the greatest person either though.

His sister on the other hand, was lucky, kept away from the whole crime business due to being born a daughter as opposed to a son.

"Who the fuck gives a twelve year old a gun?!" "My Pa did, twice."

You simply blinked, you were no saint, clearly, but you wouldn't give a kid a gun and just go, 'here kill people!'

"Ya' know the first time my brotha and I had to dispose of a body together we accidentally dropped it? The bag it was in ripped open and I just saw this guy with no face, torn clean off, It was jarrin' at the time,"

You grimaced, "Ouch, imagine getting your face torn off, he was probably alive during that too, eugh."

"Mhm, painful process I can tell you that much."

You got up from your rather comfortable position on the floor to grab a water bottle you had tossed aside on the table in favor of liquor instead earlier.

"Pass me the bottle o' whiskey' will ya?" He asked, you lazily grabbed it and tossed the bottle over to him, one of his four arms catching it.

"You know I had a sister too," you said as you popped the cap off of the water chugging it.

"Huh, Ya' always kinda stuck me as an only child"

"Yeah, well I practically was, she was prepping for college by the time I popped out," you wiped the residue of water off your mouth with your sleeve before setting the half empty water bottle back on the table and going back to lay on the floor, still slightly warm from where you were laying.

"I used to look up to her when I was younger, she was the cool big sister who stopped by every holiday or break, the one that said I could 'Tell anything too' and she'd be there for me," you let out a rather dry laugh, "honestly a load of bullshit."

"Damn," He took a swig of his drink, drinking the rest of the liquid before tossing the now empty bottle aside, you could hear the bottle crack on the ground.

"You know what's kinda funny? My sister was the only one in my family to get past the pearly gates."

"Huh, mine ended up down here, girl didn't last a week before extermination day," you went quiet for a few seconds, "What the fuck even is this conversation?"

"No clue, I was talkin' about how my sister went to heaven and you're over here talkin' about how yours is double dead."

"One twin going to hell and the other heaven is some book tragic book trope nonsense,"

"That nonsense is what happened,'' he said pointing a shaming finger at you, Sometimes he wondered how Molly would react to how he was now, she would be disappointed or maybe she'd pity him.

Maybe both.

After all he overdosed, ended up in hell and sold his soul to a purple psychopathic freak, and well look at him now! Laid on a cheap motel bed, under the influence, sharing stories about his sister and parts of his life on earth to someone called a friend.

Sometimes he wondered that maybe if he was born into a different family, in a different time things would've been different, maybe he would've ended up in heaven.

His sister was the only family member he could stand.

They drifted apart when they grew older, as he began to indulge in drugs, from cocaine to PCP to whatever he could get his hands on.

His sister tried to get him to quit, and to be fair he did try, a few times only to end up back snorting white power up his nose, and well, he ended up overdosing.

"I remember once our parents went out for the night, Molly took out a bunch of her dresses and had me pick one, then she did my makeup n' everythin' and we were just talkin' as she did it, just causal no judgement, nothin' just us bondin' I guess, I miss that.''

"Honesty I'm jealous, the best I got from my sister was her saying she was a safe space, that I could go to her about everything and then turning around and throwing it in my face," you took a moment to sit up, "Thank fuck I didn't tell her much, I can't remember exactly what she said but it just gave me this like, sickening feeling that just said 'You wouldn't be safe around this person if you told them what you are."

"I know that feelin' fuckin' hate it."

"Yeah."

"I'm hungry, I want whatever hell's equivalent to McDonald's is,"

"What the fuck is a McDonald's?"

"How the fuck do you not know what a McDonald's is?!"

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed this, I edited this fic and decided to get it out today as opposed to Wednesday or Thursday, because my somewhat estranged brother is supposed to make an appearance tomorrow and I am positively nervous so this was fitting! I tried a little different way of editing dunno if it's noticable but I think I'm gonna stick with it! Also why did I think to write so much dialogue??

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in and I do hope you all have a wonderful night!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #angel dust & reader #hazbin angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel angel dust x reader #angel dust x reader

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charthurlover · 5 months ago

Text

What perfume/cologne would the Van Der Linde gang wear

hi!! this is my first tumblr post, and i don’t exactly know how to do this or work the app, so forgive me if this is horribly worded or confusing.

anyways, this is my opinion on what colognes or perfumes the gang would wear. horses and cain included, since they are technically a member of the gang!!

Abigail -

something woodsy, maybe like the forest or a campfire, cedar wood, trees, plants.

examples:

- G-Water

- Tam Dao

- Snoqualine

Arthur -

tobacco, scent of alcohol, mud, outdoors.

examples:

- Jasmin et Cigarette

- Rien

- Earthworm

Baylock -

ashes, grease.

examples:

- Tobacco Blaze

- Garage

- La Yuquam Homme

Bill -

any popular male fragrances, or like gunpowder and fire.

examples:

- 9mm Ballistic Therapy

- High Noon

- Campfire Nights

Boaz -

dynamite, money.

examples:

- Wall Street

- Don Xerjoff

- 1805 Tonnerre BeauFort London

Branwen -

oatcakes, apples, water.

examples:

- Lostmarch Lann-Ael

- Be Delicious

- Cavalli Acqua

Bob -

blood, gunpowder, sweat.

examples:

- Vena Cava

- Richard Dark Side

- Secretions Magnefique

Brown Jack

pomade, alcohol, blood.

examples:

- Classic Fragrance

- Heeley Agarwood

- Molotov Cocktail

Cain -

dog, mud, grass.

examples:

- La Panthere Edition Soir

- Grass

- Zoologist Bat

Charles -

light florals, nature, clean fur.

examples:

- Coach Floral

- Super Cedar

- Coyote

Dutch -

blood, metal, tears.

examples:

- Vassago

- Spacewalk

- Rainy Season of Dresden

Davey -

snow, wood, fire.

examples:

- Waltz of the Snowflakes

- Tobacco Vanille

- Inquisitor

Enis -

whiskey, beer, grass.

examples:

- Tom Oud

- Stout ‘n Smoke

- Dune Road

Grimshaw -

sulfur, metal, cinnamon.

examples:

- Bloody Smoke

- Vanille Absolu

- Jupiter

Gwydion -

birds, leather, salt.

examples:

- Seemannn

- Black Saffron

- Millésime Impérial

Hosea -

moonshine, stew, metal.

examples:

- Moscow Mule

- Starfish & Coffee

- Santal 33

Jack -

water, horse, corn oil.

examples:

- Petrichor

- Cuir de Russie

- Seems Legit

Javier -

mahogany, cotton, musk.

examples:

- Redwood Leaves

- Lazy Sunday Morning

- Urban Musk

Jenny -

snow, wool, wood.

examples:

- Redwood Mist

- Battaniye

- Grey Vetiver

John -

sweat, musk, grease

examples:

- Flores Negras

- Silver Musk

- Cristina La Veneno Ni Puta Ni Santa

Kieran -

blood, grass, oats.

examples:

- Hora de la Verdad Sombra

- Figuier Eden

- Harran

Karen -

beer, guns, whiskey.

examples:

- Beguile

- Wicked John

- Kutay

Lenny -

blood, books, bullets.

examples:

- Seems Legit

- Diamonitirion - elixir atonit

- Moon Child

Mac -

metal, bullets, kerosene.

examples:

- Craft

- Iron Duke

- Nuvolari Rubini

Maggie -

dirt, stone, bog.

examples:

- Le Sillage Blanc

- During the Rain

- Swamp elixir

Mary-Beth -

books, ink, gold.

examples:

- Bibliophilia: Love of Books

- Supreme Vanilla

- Royal Blood

Micah -

rot, corn, mold.

examples:

- Saint Louis Cemetery #1

- Funerie

- French Kiss

Molly -

roses, grass, trees.

examples:

- Roses Musk

- Leila Lou

- Colors de Benetton

Nell II -

sweat, cows, pig.

examples:

- Amyi 3.17

- Cuir de Russie

- Hyrax

Old Belle -

carrots, beer, hay.

examples:

- Carotte

- Sónar

- Basilico & Fellini

Old Boy -

musk, tears, cow.

examples:

- Another 13

- Ozone

- Osmanthus

Pearson -

meat, vegetables, crawfish.

examples:

- Gino: Steak Scented Eau de Parfum

- Eau de Cuisine

- Wild Carrot Oud

Reverend -

whiskey, incense, coffee.

examples:

- 7 Loewe

- Bourbon e Fava Tonka

- Black Opium

Sadie -

blood, tears, gunpowder.

examples:

- Bull’s Blood 2nd Edition

- Cool Glacier

- Rendez-Vous!

Sean -

whiskey, sweat, bullets.

examples:

- Malt Akro

- Monochrome

- Amour Nocturne

Silver Dollar -

fire, wool, metal.

examples:

- Encens Pyro

- The Sheepfold, Moonlight

- Rosenrot

Taima -

deer, blood, meat.

examples:

- Ma Bete

- Trinity Blood

- Good Girl Gone Bad

The Count -

sugarcubes, peaches, pears.

examples:

- Pixie Dust

- Allure Eau de Parfum

- First Base

Trelawny -

doves, rabbits, silk.

examples:

- Ruğa Sablo

- Wet Garden

- Baklava Musk

Tilly -

bullets, baby powder, swamps.

examples:

- 266ts Pontiff’s Harley

- Cashmere Mist Eau de Toilette

- Haxan

Uncle -

manure, horse, cow.

examples:

- D’zing

- L’heure Fougueuse

- Zoologist Cow

again, this is my first post so i’m very sorry about it being bad or isn’t looking right for tumblr. so sorry.

#rdr2 #van der linde gang #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #micah bell #red dead redemption 2

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unrepentantweirdo · 5 months ago

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Robert Joseph MacCready Headcanons and Birth Chart- Part One!

Hello everyone! It's time for what has been months in the making. I promised to give you my MacCready headcanons and his astrological birth chart, and today I'm delivering. (Partly because y'all are going to hate me when I post the next chapter of Defenders At The Crossroads (DATC), because it's going to be sad angsty RJ hours.)

Part one is going to be the headcanons I have so far. So without further ado, let's get to it!

Full name: Robert Joseph MacCready Born: April 4, 2265, around 8:35 a.m., Capital Wasteland (Aries sun, Scorpio moon, Taurus ascending; will be explained in one of the next parts.) Hair color: Light brown Eye color: Blue, kind of like this- https://www.pinterest.com/pin/eyes--375839531382357679/ Height: 5' 8.5" (173 cm) Build: Lean and wiry. Muscular arms and legs from all the walking and carrying he has to do. After starting to travel with Cassie, he develops a bit more muscle and gains a little weight, since he's able to eat properly. * Like atombonniebaby, I HC that Mac is of Scottish descent, but I think he also has a bit of Irish thrown in there. * Has plenty of scars across his body from his adventures in the wastes. Couple of bullet wounds from a sentry bot, some cuts here and there. * He has decent posture, only slouches when he sits sometimes. * Is attached to his current clothing, but especially the duster and hat. Both were gifts from Lucy. That's why it hurt when the sleeve got torn off by ferals during his first attempt to clear Med-Tek. * As an adult, his temper only comes out when someone is disrespecting him, someone is abusing their power, or someone is harming kids or loved ones. * Prefers to bluff his way out of confrontation, because Duncan needs him. But he isn't afraid to get down and dirty and fight. * Is actually a bit allergic to dust. Cassie ends up giving him a bandana (that isn't Gunner) for when they explore old buildings. * While he hates being wet (because wet=cold), he likes warm showers and baths. He'd be a shower hog, I think. * He has a few missing teeth, the ones that are left are a little messed up (cavities, crooked). When they start bothering him a lot, Cassie drags him to Vault 81 to get them fixed. She stays with him and holds his hand, even when they knock him out. * His best friend was Lucy, both growing up and as an adult. Yes, I HC that Little Lamplight Lucy is his Lucy, and I will die on that hill. * Him and Lucy went on a trip to the Commonwealth shortly after they reunited. It was there that they got married, and where they found out Lucy was expecting Duncan. * He has PTSD. Usually manifests in night terrors of Lucy's death, sometimes panics when surprised by ferals. On really bad days, he's crying when he wakes up. * Carries a lot of guilt. Not telling Lucy the truth about being a mercenary, him not being able to save her, Duncan getting sick. So much guilt. * Slightly afraid of thunderstorms and being in open spaces. * Hates staying in one place for too long, loves to travel. * Is abrasive and hardened toward others, but for his loved ones he's soft and affectionate. * Smells like gun oil, leather, and a hint of cigarettes. Whiskey if he's drinking, and gunpowder after a firefight. * Super observant, whether it's looking through a scope or reading people up close. (He's not as good as Deacon with the latter, but that's mostly because of age and experience.) * He's touch-starved. Other than Duncan, he hasn't had close contact with anyone since Lucy died. * He loves homemade gifts. * Love languages: physical touch, quality time, acts of service; both giving and receiving. * When it comes to flirting, he's pretty smooth. But when Cassie flirts back, he turns into a blushing, stuttery mess. Over time, it just becomes blushing. * When he first starts having feelings towards Cassie, he panics and feels like he's betraying Lucy. Hancock and Daisy are the ones that help bring him around, as well as a near-death experience. * Worries about Cassie more the closer they get, as she is a close to mid-range fighter. It eases some when he teaches her how to snipe. * Mentally swears almost all the time; it's why he almost slips up so often. * He likes to draw, whether it's silly doodles in his letters to Duncan or drawing things he likes. * Loves to read to Duncan (and any kids he and Cassie might have, so far I have one planned for sure).

PART TWO (MORE HEADCANONS!)

PART THREE (THE BIRTH CHART THAT NAILED HIM!)

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fo4 maccready #maccready #rj maccready #robert joseph maccready #fallout 4 maccready

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gaysindistress · 2 years ago

Text

Sad Girl - three

summary: James has an interesting new business’ proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, guns, violence (it is a mob au after all), Bucky’s smartass

word count: 2.2k

part 2 | series masterlist

a/n: Would anyone be interested in a series playlist?

taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

7 o’clock rolls around with no sight of the woman. Everyone starts to gather in the dining room and James looks to Natasha, silently asking her to go check on her.

7:10 comes and goes with a saddened Natasha and a disappointed James. Maids rush up with a plate full of food.

7:45 passes and dinner begins to dwindle done but no Miss. Stark. Maids rush back down the stairs with the same plate still full of food, now cold and untouched.

James sits in his office, walls lined with books from every imaginable author. His desk, black and sleek like the rest of his house, only holds his computer and whiskey glass. A fire flickers in the brick fire place, casting an amber cast across the room. The grandfather clock that is nestled between two book shelves shows that it’s some time after ten pm but there is no rest for the wicked. The only sounds that fill the room are the crackling of the fire, the clicks of the computer keys, and the occasional tapping on the crystal glass.

Upstairs she has finally found peace in her pj’s, face void of any makeup and salty tears. Her hair has been combed, oiled, and put into a braid. The old black sweater hangs off her body and covers the forest green shorts she got from a friend as Christmas pj’s. Sitting in the desk’s chair, she rests her head on her knee as she stares at the computer in front of her. The screen is black and has been for hours. She can’t bring herself to work on anything or even ask for the WIFI password. Not having eaten anything, her stomach grumbles at her to go search for something, anything, an apple even.

Groaning at her body’s demands, she gets up from the chair and works up the courage to brave the world outside of those black double doors. She debates taking something for protection but quickly shakes that from her head remembering that James had taken both guns from her.

When she leaves her room, there is no one around and the only light she can see is coming from deep downstairs. At the top of the stairs, she starts to wring her hands truly wondering if she does need to eat but her stomach grumbles in urgency again. Bare feet slap against the freezing cold stone as she makes her way towards the massive kitchen.

The light she spotted earlier is coming from down the hallway where Natasha said his office was at. Ignoring the urge to peak inside his office, she finds a fruit bowl in the middle of the black island. She leans over the counter and picks up a pear from the array of random fruits. This will have to do until tomorrow. She sits at the counter, eating her pear as something in her is pushing her to go investigate that light while another part is telling her to just go back upstairs.

Tossing the core into the trashcan under the sink, she steps back into the hallway and is faced with two options; go back upstairs or go towards the light. How fucking ironic this all is? Run away from the man who basically bought her or go towards the metaphorical light and risk dying? Curiosity wins and she walks towards the office before she even realizes what is doing.

She can hear the fire crackling and fast typing but no voices through the cracked door. Natasha had mentioned that he had a door policy but failed to mention what it actually was. All douche bags had the same policy right? Open door means come in. Cracked means knock and closed means go the fuck away.

A light knock breaks the trance James is in and he looks towards the door in confusion. The clock reads 11:11 pm so it shouldn’t be any of his men.

“Come in,” he says, one hand on his glass and the other sliding to the gun that was strapped under his desk.

She opens the door a little wider and slips through the crack to face him. She takes in the office so starkly different from her fathers. Her eyes run across the walls of books and down to the simple desk he is sitting at. He too has two black couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. A bar cart is next to his desk and two rather comfortable chairs sit in front of it.

He drops the hand reaching for the gun onto his lap and leans back into his chair, watching her and waiting for her to say something. It seems like he’s going to be waiting for a long time because she’s wordless as she slowly walks around the room, manicured nails trailing across the books. The awe that is on her face is adorable to him and makes a mental note to bring up books whenever the conversation feels stiff or forced.

She makes it to the grandfather clock, drops her hand and rounds the desk to make herself a drink at the bar cart. The glass bottles clinking against the glass of the cart narrates her actions as she ours herself a drink of undoubtedly expensive whiskey. Drink in hand, she takes a seat in one of the chairs facing James. By now he has shed his black overcoat and black blazer leaving him a fitted white button up that have been rolled up to expose his forearms. His right arm disappears around the table but his left arm can be seen. Rumors have been spread about that left arm. Rumors she doesn't care to repeat and seem untrue because here it is, intact and covered in intricate tattoos up to his wrist. The watch he wears catches the light from the fire every now and then as he moves the glass around.

“Did you eat?” is the only thing he can think of saying.

She nods, still taking in all of the man that sits across from her.

“Good,” he says, setting the glass down and shutting the computer.

“I don’t know why I came here,” she says quietly like she’s talking to herself out loud.

“I don’t have anything to say to you. You’re just as bad as him for saying yes. I fucking hate you for this and don’t think for a second that I will ever be okay with this.”

He nods, accepting her hatred because he knows he deserves it.

“This is so messed up. Who gives up their daughter for some business deal?” she trails off, “I’m his daughter, he should have more respect for me than this. I mean who… who does this?”

Tears fall down her cheeks again, “Who does this, James? Who fucking does this?”

“I don’t know, Doll.”

“Who does this?” she asks again, finally making eye contact with him.

The tear stricken face of a once strong woman stares back at him and what breaks his resolve is the knowledge that he played a part in it. He rounds his desk to stand before her and extends a hand out to her. The fighter deep down demands she break every bone in that stupid hand but the broken and scared little girl pleads to be held and comforted even if it’s by him.

She takes his hand and curls herself into his chest, whiskey glass and arms pined in between the two of them as he wraps his arms around her. The smell of his cologne engulfs her senses as she cries against his chest. One hand holds her head against his chest while the other rubs her back and he sets his chin on top of her head.

“I will never stop hating you.”

“I know, Doll. I know.”

________________________________________________________________

Sleep evaded her for the rest of the night and by the time her phone awakens with her six am alarm, she’s already up. Coffee seems like the only cure for her tired eyes and exhausted soul. Crawling to the end of the bed to avoid the freezing wood floor, she digs through her suitcase searching for socks and a pair of leggings. She forgot slippers in her haste yesterday and she’s not wearing heels to get coffee so socks will have to be her armor.

Maids and other workers can be heard getting the house ready for the day. Every now and then she hears men greet each other and cars drive around the property. Once again there is no one upstairs as she steps into the hallway. Everyone seems to be downstairs, keeping peace upstairs for their sleeping king.

Natasha is sitting at the island, a cup of coffee in-between her hands as she talks to Steve. Neither are expecting anyone from upstairs so they pay no attention to her when she makes it down the stairs. It isn’t until Steve glances over Natasha’s shoulder that either acknowledge that she is in the kitchen with them.

“Good morning,” Natasha greets as she spins her chair to face the woman, a smile wide on her face.

Steve offers a small smirk and a quiet ‘morning’ over his coffee cup before he takes a drink. The woman smiles and gets her own cup, setting it down opposite of Natasha and Steve.

“How did you sleep?” asks Natasha.

“Fine. I didn’t make a list for the men who are getting the rest of my stuff. I’m sure my father will stop them from taking whatever he wants back. I can just buy whatever doesn’t make it here.”

“Oh okay that’s great. Did you want to go with them?”

“Oh god no,” she scoffs, “I don’t want to see him until I’m absolutely forced to and even then I’ll figure out how to get out of it.”

Steve chuckles at her answer, “I don’t doubt that, Doll.”

“Is Doll my new name?”

“Take it up with Buck if you want to change it.”

“Right because ‘Buck’ is my handler and decides what I’m called,” she rolls her eyes, turning to the fridge to find some sort of creamer for the tar black coffee.

“We follow what he says so if he calls you Doll, we’ll call you Doll. If you calls you …” Steve is interrupted by an apple zooming past his head.

“Say my name and I won’t miss next time,” she threatens.

A deep chuckle comes from the entry way of the kitchen, revealing James standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Of course he’s dressed in a black suit with a burnt orange shirt at six am.

“What would you like to be called?” he asks the irritated woman, still leaning against the entry wall.

“Doll is fine,” she shrugs her shoulders, “for now.”

“Doll it is then,” he pushes himself off the entry way and goes to pour himself some coffee just as the others had.

“Steve and I have some business outside of the house but we’ll be back around 10. After that I need you, Doll, to go over,” he pauses, not wanting to mention the elephant in the room, “the contract and what’s required from both of us.”

“Sounds like fun,” she states emotionlessly, trying not to look at him and how damn attractive he looks this early in the morning.

But if she had stolen a look or two, she would’ve seen the chain that is peaking out from under his shirt or how there’s a pearl bracelet adorning his right wrist. She may have noticed that when he moves, his suit jackets reveals a black leather shoulder holster that also clips onto his waistband. Maybe just maybe she would’ve seen that her revolver is snuggly secured on one side with his own 9mm on the other side.

Of course she wasn’t looking because that would mean she was too distracted by the details of his outfit to notice that he was standing right beside her and the other two had left the room.

“What happened to your ‘s’ necklace?” he asked, finger tracing the two remaining necklaces she’d pulled out of her sweater when she got up this morning.

“I’m not a Stark anymore so I left it,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“Left it or smashed it?” his hand traces its way up her shoulder and puts a fallen strand of hair being her ear.

“Both.”

“Looks like you need another one to replace it now,” his hand finds itself on the back of her neck.

“I’m not yours,” sounds hopeless on her tongue as he draws her closer to him, no more than a few inches separating the two of them.

“Never said you were,” his blue eyes make a painful slow journey from her lips to meet hers.

His eyes are daring her to make a move and hers are begging him to stay put.

“I’ll see you in my office at 10:30,” his tongue darts out to lick lips and he places a kiss on her forehead, leaving her dazed and confused with the change in their relationship.

As he walks away, she wants to scream out and throw her coffee cup because why the hell did she let him get so close to her? Why the hell did she let him touch her?

“I’ll never be yours,” she says hoping he believes her words but they both know her self control will fail her.

#mob au #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sad girl - bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you

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