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loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 7)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 6, Part 8

summary: You spend some time with Miguel.

warnings: smut. f receiving oral, fingering, grinding, switchy behaviour from both sides, angst. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this chapter beat my ass icl

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.3k

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

all-consuming grief,

It’s going to be a warm night. It's ushered in by the kind of dawn that bleeds red and gold, tawny and autumnal in the waning light. Like the washy colours of a Renoir, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s doing the thing he swore black-and-blue he wouldn’t. Reminiscing and romanticising; for the first time in a while, Miguel is able to see the sun set, legs splayed on the brick of his front steps.

Sitting by worn metal railing, he’s still in his work clothes. He chucked his rucksack on the step above, leaning long legs onto the ones below. They don’t ache as much as they used to, well-trained by a couple months of running and spending more time in the gym. There’s a shake in the fridge, labelled ‘Tuesday, PM’ that he’ll gulp down before bed, and one labelled ‘Wednesday, AM’ that he’ll take before setting off in the morning. In the morning, with cloudy skies and street cars to keep him company. There’s too much pollution, light or otherwise, for him to see some stars. He hasn’t seen stars in a while, now.

Long days seem to have turned into just days somewhere along the way. He can’t quite pinpoint when, and doesn’t really care to, but he thinks his brother would call it “progress”. There’s a grimace on his face as he thinks about it; a word that tastes like mud and feels like swirling cement in his mouth. It’s all bullshit, really. Gabi’s paltry attempt at therapising him, one which he would usually nip in the bud - taking metaphorical shears to slash at weeds and dense conversation. Catch-up calls about how he feels, how he’s doing – when he’s fine, he always is – as if Gabi is waiting for a shoe to drop.

He’s waiting for Miguel to have an epiphany, a breakdown the size of a collapsing star. It’s not coming, he keeps telling his brother, and the sooner the younger O’Hara realises – without the wide eyes and the pity – the better for the both of them. After all, Gabriel is his baby brother, and he’s spent his whole life worrying on his behalf: playing hide-and-seek in little closets and putting back together broken toys. Trying to drown out the sound of shouting and broken plates. They’re too old for all that, the worrying and gulping back tears, walking its well-travelled paths – and it doesn’t feel right that Gabi should do the same for him.

He sighs, deep and heavy and rolling down that quiet street. After what feels like forever, he’s tempted to lie down, to rest his head on the stone, close his eyes and think of something else. Of someone else - lots of someones, at this point in the day. He’s not the weepy type, but he is tired; shaking off the wear and tear, and fighting off sleep.

Then he sees it; a figure walking towards him, all sandals and khaki shorts and smiles. Mr Estevez, donned in his year-round attire of a polo shirt, a little tight around the middle, and cargos cut off below the knee – finally appropriate, considering the weather. He’s strolling closer like he’s got all the time in the world. If Miguel wasn’t so exhausted; the bone-deep kind, the kind that seeps into skin and lines a casket; he would’ve been annoyed. Instead, he hisses, furrows quickly deepening.

“Buenas, Miguelito!” Mr Estevez beams, scratching at scraggly facial hair.

Miguel frowns, but greets him nonetheless: that politeness drilled into him during childhood rearing its head.

“Buenas tardes, tío.” He grits his teeth as he gets up from his seat, creaky joints and all.

His landlord, the building’s handyman, owner of half a dozen shops all over the city, and Miguel’s uncle-that’s-not-really-his-uncle; Mr Estevez wears many hats, staying bright and informal regardless. He’s known the older man since he was 6, so he can’t be too disappointed; his tío has been late for weddings, funerals, and his little boy’s birth – it’s not much of a surprise that he’d be late now, too. Miguel stretches out a rough palm, and the man stops just shy of his hand, completely ignoring it. Before he knows it, Miguelito is engulfed in a great big bear hug, with wet kisses pressed to the apples of his cheeks. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, as usual, so they hang limply; arms flailing to his sides like a t-rex.

They separate, and he coughs at the great big hand that slaps his back. Grumbling, he walks up to the door, bag over his back, and stands expectantly. Mr Estevez doesn’t follow, instead dusting himself down to sit on the steps.

“I just need to get into the building.” Miguel starts. “Forgot my keys, and I've been here for hours. M’tired, and I–”

“Let’s sit, Miguel.” He scoots over, making space. “Look at the stars.”

It’s clear the older man isn’t moving. Begrudgingly, he obliges. “We’re in the middle of the city. You only see “stars” in the river – beer bottles and tinned crap reflecting the lights.”

“Language.” He gets a sharp nudge to his ribs.

“Discúlpame, tío.”

They stew for a moment, bathing in the silence that follows. The man besides him is the first to speak.

“I spoke to your mother.”

He’s scoffing and moving to get up, before feeling a firm hand on his shoulder.

“She’s worried, Miguel. Says you haven’t called in a while.”

“She hasn’t called me either."

“She’s stubborn.” The man besides him chuckles, bringing gentle eyes to meet his own. "Pig-headed. Remind you of someone?"

Miguel rolls his eyes, he just can't help it.

"She’s also the one that moved back home, so either way–”

"You know it's all been hard on her."

" –on her? It's been hard for her, surrounded by family, after she abandoned me? A-After…" His voice gets dangerously hoarse, threatening to crack under the weight of those words.

He can't stand the pitiful look sent his way: brows drawn, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Sorry. It's… It's nothing. I'm fine. Just fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Miguel."

–even though you're definitely not okay. That part is left unsaid, spat onto the pavement like bitter backwash.

Mr Estévez sighs, ruffling a hand through Miguel's hair. It makes him hiss and dart away from the hand, pouting like he's a little kid again. He doesn't like it; the way he feels like all this life he's lived has been for naught. Trials and tribulations, and yet he doesn't feel that ache of growth; still stuck in the shoes of an awkward teenager.

"You think too much, Miguelito. Always have." He smiles, the kind that deepens the wrinkles around his mouth. It twists Miguel into knots, mouth dry as he tries to untangle himself from that feeling. "I'm worried about you, kid."

He sniffs, eyes trained towards the pavement. There it is again, worry; complicating and unravelling what was meant to be just another day.

"It's today, isn't it?"

All Miguel does is nod, shakily. It's been 2 years since his heart was ripped out of his chest. It heaves now, an erratic rise and fall he’s doing his best to control. Breathe, deeply and calmly; try not to think about his little girl in that hospital bed, and those blank eyes staring back.

“M’fine.” It comes out more desperate than he intends it, and he curses under his breath. If Mr Estevez hears the crude language, he doesn’t react.

Miguel is tense, hunched over the bag on his lap and curled into himself like prey – spitting and prickly and clearly uncomfortable. He’s never been the weepy kind, but the older man can’t help but think it’s a shame; so much love, and nowhere to keep it but inside. Miguel's bottled it up; the memories of precious Gabriella, all that warmth she brought out in her father; and he's turned them to poison pills to keep himself sick.

Miguel would never admit it, of course. He’s too stubborn. Pig-headed.

His tío sighs, moving to get up. He groans, in that dramatic sort of way he knows Miguel can’t stand, but still, there's a rush to help him up. Producing the door keys with a flourish, he pulls from the depths of cargo pockets, and unlocks the main door. Ushering in the younger man, who has grown so tall he needs to duck as he climbs the narrow stairs, there’s a finger prodded into the back of that cotton button-up.

“Miguel?” He starts, revving up a conversation he’s been meaning to have for a while now.

“Hmm?”

They both wait by the entrance of the apartment. The keys jingle in Mr Estevez’s hand.

“If I open the door, will I find out that you’ve driven away another one of my tenants?”

Conveniently, there seems to be a rather interesting spot in the hardwood that Miguel pokes with a dress shoe.

“...depends on your definition of 'driven out', tío.”

“That’s the third one this year! Not even 2 months– I knew there was something up. Not a single one of those little smiley faces to my messages, and–"

“I’ll make up for his side of the rent, you know I will.”

“I don’t like it. You should be saving up, to go get a house and settle down somewhere."

“I like living here, and I’ve said multiple times I’d pay the extra to live alone–”

“And then what? You rot in your room for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t– rot feels a little–”

“Nonsense. You’re lonely, Miguelito. If you don’t like it, you move out.”

They both know he won’t. It’s not really an option; the apartment is affordable and he likes living so close to his old neighbourhood, his old haunts. It’s like he’s tethered to that place with a bungee cord wrapped under his ribs, always snapping back.

“No promises, tío.”

“Doesn’t matter, Miguelito.” He sighs, scratching at stubble. “It’s been hard to find other tenants, with half the neighbourhood drying up. But as soon as I do–”

He points an accusatory finger at Miguel, and the sentence is finished for him.

“...best behaviour, I know.”

“Best behaviour.” Mr Estevez repeats, and starts to fumble with the keys. He throws a little comment over his shoulder. “I liked your lady friend, ages ago… the scary one, with the blue hair. She was–”

“Xina’s not scary, when you get to know her.”

“She was funny. Very pretty. Always paid rent on time, gave me food when I came to fix the heating…”

“It's out again, by the way.” Miguel chews his lip, with a strange expression. “And yeah, she was.”

The door swings open. Mr Estevez doesn’t let him off the hook, though, engulfing him in a warm hug. This time, in the doorway of his apartment, eyes screwed shut; he doesn’t try to wriggle out of it, melting into his tío’s arms. It feels different now that he’s not a kid: angry and hurting with a different sort of ache, but he leans into it, all the same.

~~~

There's a pressure released from the apartment, lately. Miguel feels… well, first of all, he feels ; thinks with his heart and not his head, sometimes. It's lighter, coming home with that weight on his shoulders and with someone there to distract him from it. Living life, he thinks, for the first time in a while. Vivid and vibrant and awake ; relishing the autumnal weather. It's always been his favourite season, despite how childish he thinks having a favourite season is; something you had asked him on a whim one morning.

Normally, he wouldn't entertain it, and with all the shit Pete spews, sometimes, he's had plenty of practice ignoring it. A well-timed dirty look, and then he'd get his head down and work; occupy himself with something less frivolous. But when you say it, with half a piece of toast sticking out of your mouth, it doesn't feel like a chore to answer. It doesn't feel like a stupid question, and he finds his face growing warm at the thought of you caring about these little things – wanting to know him , however that comes.

And so, his answer is Autumn. It's a little stilted; but catching him off guard after a run will do that to him. It's purely practical , he says, eyes tracing the slopes of your body in that shirt and shorts that stops at your thighs; high enough that he feels like a perv for looking. Autumn has temperate, even weather. Perfect for sweaters and hoodies. Warm enough that you don't need a jacket. Just right. You snort, nudging him. Bullshit, Mig. You flutter your eyelashes mockingly, your tone light. You just think it's the prettiest.

And he hums, catching you off guard. You're both drawn towards that little window over the sink, the one that overlooks a fire escape and the street. He's had that view for three years, now. Sleeves always rolled to his elbows as he does his washing up, but never quite looking. The street just below is framed in its windowpane, quite the pretty picture. Crisp leaves scattered on the sidewalk, carpeted in red and honeyed amber. And he can feel it from the other side of the glass; smell it, touch it, taste it. Autumn: hot chocolate and giggles, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and cupping tiny palms to warm them up. Sunsets seen for the first time, watched through bus windows on the way back from school – he misses those the most.

"You don't think it's beautiful?" You say, leaning your head towards the half-open window.

You don't notice, but he looks over to you, swallowing roughly. He says it with a small voice.

"I…I do."

You're darting to the bathroom not too long after, breaking the spell. Frustrated, he resists the urge to curl up into a ball and scream into his palms. He's got what he wanted; a good fuck, a pretty face, a warm smile. Friends, at the most, who happen to get the other off after a long day. A welcome distraction, at the least. He's got what his body has been telling him he needs for the past few months. It makes him feel weird, so oddly settled; but, all things considered…

Miguel is doing okay.

“...and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I swear , I left him…o-on read and he won’t stop texting me.”

Really, actually; he’s doing fine.

“It feels weird– mmffuck– but I can’t ignore him any longer.”

Maybe even… good. Better than okay.

“I still have a bunch of my stuff over there. At least half of it is clothes and books, a-and I’ve put it off for as long as I can…”

He hums in response, pulling quiet curses from you, above. Pressing the flat of his tongue onto your clit, your hips jump up and he purrs ; rearing up to dive even deeper into your pussy. Too quick for him, you catch on, hand in his hair to pull him up.

Sitting up on your haunches, he rests his head on your bare thigh – licking the taste of you off of his lips.

You tilt your head, looking at him with those eyes he can’t help but marvel at. A beat passes.

“...so?” You start, expectantly. “Will you help me or not?”

His response comes in the form of teeth nipping at pillowy skin. You yelp, and swat him away whilst he chuckles.

“I’m serious , Mig. It’s too much to pick up by myself. And you’re the only person I know with a car…”

“ Ouch, hermosa. ” He frowns as you peter off. “Is that the only reason you’re fucking me? For my car?”

“If I say it’s because of your sparkling personality, will you help me?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s got his brows pressed together like he’s seriously considering it, but it ends up being just smoke and mirrors. He’s pretending , biding his time to hook a hand under your legs and force you to lie down onto the bed. Your head hits the covers with a gentle thump as he hikes up the lip of that big tee even further; squeezing your thighs around his head like earmuffs.

It’s when he makes eye-contact, tongue circling your hole, that you realised you’re fucked. Up until now, he’s been toying with you – playing with his food, so to speak – lazily swirling his tongue around your clit and pressing buttons to see exactly where to push. And you'd welcomed it, a hand in his hair as you talked about your day – which he'd asked for, of course.

Now, he's insatiable, eating you out like a man starved; all tongue and wet kisses to your swollen bud. You're slightly raised up on his shoulders, clamping around his tongue as he fucks into you fervently. Big palms spread you wider, and he hums into it, content.

"So pretty ," He sets you down, pupils blown as he studies the way your back arches and the way your legs shudder in the sheets. He slides upwards, sitting next to you, tracing a hand across the gentle curve of stomach that peeks out from your big t-shirt.

Still coming down from your high, you're only just able to register it: he looks mesmerised, a dopey smile plastered on his face.

"What?" You scoff when a moment passes, and his hand inches closer towards your lower lips.

"M'just looking." He shrugs, with a little smile on his face. "I'm not allowed to look?"

You scoff, but you're still shaky so it comes out a little more pathetic than you intend. Nevertheless, you start to sit up but he stops you with a gentle hand at your chest.

"Call him." He says, pressing two fingers to your clit and then down to your gushing slit.

Maybe it's the way he hunches over you, eyes flicking towards your lips, or the way he slips those fingers in; but your eyes go wide, and you're choking on your next words.

"Call… Call who?" Playing dumb, dancing on a razor's edge, and Miguel only quirks up an eyebrow at the stupid question.

"You know who." He says it low, smooth and dulcet as he curls his fingers at that sweet spot, experimenting. "I'll help you, fine. But I want you to call your ex, too. Let him know when to expect us. Is that okay, sweetheart ?"

That last word comes with a twang, the lilting tone of what sounds like mockery. He twists the knife, nudging the flat of his palm onto your clit – still tender and throbbing from your last orgasm.

Before you change your mind, you pick up the phone laid face down on the bedside table, pressing shaky fingers to its screen. You don't dare to look up, knowing Miguel is watching; dark eyes studying your every move.

Flicking his wrist this way and that, he swallows roughly as your fingers stutter on the screen. Not completely satisfied, he still has the time to look smug, settling into a comfortable pace. Finally, your phone rings with a tell-tale dial tone. It rings once. It rings twice, and–

"Hello? " The voice is muffled as it says your name. Put it on speaker, Miguel mouths and you oblige.

"Hey, J-Jamie." The phone is shaky in your hands, so you lay it out next to you on the bed.

"It's late, baby." You don't have time to be annoyed at his tone – or the unwarranted pet name – because Miguel speeds up, pumping in and out of you with a little more force.

"I… I know. S-Sorry." You clamp down the moans that threaten to erupt, rocking your hips in time with the thrusts.

Head lolling back into the sheets, you spend a good ten seconds in oblivious bliss, until Jamie breaks the silence.

"You've been ignoring me for ages, baby… and then you call out of the blue. What is it?" He's tired, it sounds like. Irritated for sure.

"Just w-wanted to–" Miguel presses his thumb to your clit and you jump. Once back down to earth he has to prompt you to answer. "-my stuff! Fuck , I just want to pick up my stuff."

"...now?"

Tomorrow. Miguel mouths.

"Tomorrow. " You repeat, wrapping a hand around his forearm to slow him down. It's too much, too fast; and he has the audacity to add another finger, scissoring out to stretch your cunt.

"O-kay. " He clicks his tongue, with some things rustling in the background. "Okay. You're acting weird, but..."

You're conflicted. His tone makes you melt, reaching for your phone to answer when Miguel snakes a hand under your shirt, palming your tits. To your surprise, he presses shaky kisses to the skin, rolling around your nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, clamping a hand around your mouth to stop the noises that spill out.

"...we still need to talk about what happened. About how we left things."

Anger flares up at your chest; hot at the sheer gall. He wants to talk? Now, when you had been met with a brick wall of silence; begging and begging for even a simple explanation?

What made it sting even more was that even after the breakup, everything happened on Jamie's terms. He broke up with you, providing little warning. He completely ghosted you, refusing to answer countless calls and messages. And now, he wants to talk; to make himself feel better and wank off his own ego, no doubt. It's not bitterness that makes you press Miguel closer, to revel in the pleasure that he gives you, you convince yourself. It's for you ; finally, unabashedly, just for you.

You don't bother to answer, hanging up the call with a click. Tugging at his hair, you pull him off with a wet pop; slick-soaked fingers slipping out of your cunt.

He cradles your chin, angling you upwards.

"You okay? Too much?" It barely registers; you're too focused on the tangle of curls framing his face, and the rosy pout of messy lips.

You shake your head, writhing against the sheets.

"More." You move his hand over to rest between your legs. "Please, Miguel."

His eyes flutter, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

He says it with sobering clarity, bolstered by just how precisely he slots against your bare pussy. You can feel it, the full length of his cock; pressed up against you as he slips it out of his sweats. Head spinning, it slaps onto your stomach. Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Oh fuck. He's big.

"Just like that." He coos, spitting into his palm and pumping his cock. “Wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum.”

~~~

When tomorrow comes, you’re still sore from the litany of bruises and hickeys littered. It’s a Saturday, and you’re up bright and early. Well, Miguel is up bright and early, clattering around in the kitchen as you wake up.

He seems energised, mug of coffee in hand whilst you rub the sleep from your eyes. You waltz into the kitchen through the open doorway, morning breath and all.

"Morning," You say, soft and giggly at the way he jumps ten feet in the air, too wrapped up in himself to notice at first.

"Morning." He breathes, melting when he sees you in the shirt he had picked out for you last night. He shakes himself out of it. "Hungry? I can make something."

"No, no. M'good." You sidle up to the counter, head clocked at the fancy machine on the heavy slab. There's a question on the tip of your tongue, one you roll between your teeth. "Could I have some coffee? I mean… could you show me how?"

Where you expect laughter, mockery, or surprise that you've lived here for months and can't figure out the coffee machine; he nods, patient and calm. You ask him more questions; curious with every flick of a switch, and the way he lights up when talking about it. To your surprise, you want to know more – anyway that comes.

He's talking about expensive beans, and his favourite roasts – and a place across town that sells the exact kind he likes, but it's too fucking gentrified for him to go there more than two or three times a year. That makes you giggle: his little pout, the press of brow; and he looks up in surprise before joining you in light laughter.

You finish, pouring cream into his special mug with a flourish, and he steals a sip before you can. You elbow him away, angling for that stolen taste. When you do, it is deep and rich; sweet in a way that reminds you of Miguel, grounded and balanced and silky. In short, it's the perfect cup of coffee. More than content, you hum.

"Is it good?" He asks because he's already making mental notes, planning to greet you with a hot flask of the stuff in the mornings – if it means he gets that smile, of course.

"Very." Fervently you nod, lips curved to the ceramic as you blow; and Miguel is trying really hard not to stare. Maybe it's the fact that he's seen you in a way not everyone gets to; pretty and vulnerable and writhing on the tip of his cock; but it has him fending off vivid daydreams. Your lips wrapped around his length, his hand pressing you further down, feeling that warmth as you choke on his–

He blinks and you're gone, padding off to your room with that mug of coffee. You return not too long after, phone in hand and tapping away at the screen. Miguel ignores the way it makes him feel, having your attention and then losing it just as quickly. Like a kicked puppy, he resists the urge to beg for more – of your time, of your attention – turning away to clean up instead.

"I spoke to Jamie," You start, leaning with your back to the counter as he rolls up the sleeves of a comfy sweater. "He said he'll be around later in the evening, after his shift. Around 10. Is that okay?"

He shrugs, not caring either way. You're a friend, and he's helping you because that's what friends do. He can still taste you on his lips, but it doesn't mean anything. Not in a way you'd want, anyways.

"Sure." He doesn't turn around, stealing glances at the open window whilst he clatters around. "I've got a session later on anyways."

He catches a flash of something on your face, and you're pushing it away; prickly and uncomfortable. In his defence, he's stopped bringing people over for faux chemistry tutoring and there's less banging coming from across the wall. Less , but not completely gone, because you've learnt he has a penchant for dropping shit and cursing like someone's Dad.

But you can't help but think about Sarah , and Jia …. and how close he would get to Sita on the dining table. Fuck .

You're sighing now, tracing the curve of his jaw as he settles in front of the window: jaw set, arms crossed, and distant. He does that sometimes, goes off somewhere else – all teeth and claws. Tense, brows drawn up in a way that makes you want to smooth them out.

You put your phone down and mug away, sliding across linoleum to gently nudge his shoulder with your own.

"Are we…" He starts, and you track his line of sight to a quiet street below. He hums, without looking away. "Are we good?"

It makes you turn. You blink, as if out of all the nonsense you bicker about daily, that was the most ridiculous. Good? Good? Of course we are, of course we always will be. How could we be anything else? You shut it down before it spills out of your mouth, overzealous and desperate.

He clarifies with a nervous cough. "Last night. Was it… good?"

His frown deepens, and you wonder if it's just you that hears it in his tone. His real question, the one that makes you splinter and creak like a felled oak tree: Was I good? Am I good enough?

"Yeah. " You say it like the most obvious thing in the world – and to you, it is. For all his flaws; assholery and its trimmings aside; Miguel has never been a bad lay. You don't even think he has it in him; he couldn't half-ass it if he tried.

"It was–" Fucking amazing . The kind of thing you'll fuck yourself to for the foreseeable future. Cathartic and breath-taking and hot . All of the above.

Miguel finishes your sentence with something a little less… horny. "It was a lot, wasn't it? I wasn't really thinking, how uncomfortable it could be for you, and–"

Gently, you laugh and cut him off. "I've been having mediocre sex for basically the whole of my adult life, Mig. This is… exciting and new. I like it, I really do."

Exciting and new. It brings him crashing back down to earth. You're enjoying the way he makes you feel, the thrill . Not… him. Not really, anyways. That pang of disappointment feels different, for some reason. He's never liked the song and dance of flirting, but he cherishes its rewards: of being wanted, and someone wanting him . So that fiery flame of need; deep and heady; is unfamiliar under his skin.

"We can slow down, if you'd like." You bring a hand to his arm, warm and gentle. "I don't mind. We can go back to just messing around on the couch…."

You've got a cheeky smile when you say it; a vague memory of a different time, when you had gotten a little too comfortable on the sofa, leading to hands stuffed in trousers and pressed up against one another. Quick and desperate, you had wanted to see him fall apart; like he did your first night together, and the next, and the next.

He gets closer, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. With a gentle hand, he strokes your hip, bunching up the fabric to get a peek of thigh.

“What do you like?” He’s deadly serious, red-brown eyes searching your face for something he can’t quite place. And just like that, the air is thick with tension. All you can manage is a limp shrug.

“I don’t know, really.” It comes out as a croak , as you’re much too occupied with the shrinking gap between you both. “I haven’t done the things you’ve done.”

You’re making assumptions, of course. Filling in the gaps of what you’ve learnt in the past few months; of alleged threesomes and a laundry list of women at his feet. He’s an asshole; pretty and gruff and sarcastic; but God , he knows how to touch you just right.

“I could show you.” He slots a knee between your thighs and your head spins. “Make you feel good. ”

Before you can think, you’re nodding; chewing at your lip to bite back moans when he rucks up your shirt. He nudges your legs apart, both hands on your waist as he slots himself between them. You can feel it; quickly hardening, loose underneath sweats. Miguel slides wide palms to your ass, kneading its globes. With one hand, he picks up your leg by the thigh, and snakes the other to your pussy. Bare, because you’re trying to kill him, of course, and he groans at the feeling of his hand at your cunt; already wet and pliant for him.

After a few wet taps to your hole, obscene, he slips himself out and you heave; pussy fluttering at just the thought of him inside you. Gathering up your slick on his palm, Miguel pumps his weeping cock, pressing its tip to your hole.

"Still sore, Miguel." You hiss, looking down at where you both meet with the prettiest pout he thinks he's ever seen.

It has you clawing at his back for purchase as he finally sinks in, stretching you out in that wonderful way he did last night. Except this time, he's slow and careful; steeling himself with shaky breaths.

"Oh, fuck. " He settles in about halfway, stopping to hike up your leg just a bit higher. "Want me to make you feel better?"

He says it breathless and crooning, forehead comes to rest on yours. With that other hand flat on the counter, you're lifted up to only toes on the floor, and he angles himself to buck up; filling you deep, and cock sliding past that sweet spot inside. He sets a pace, grinding into you, rather than fucking. If last night was dirty ; taboo, quick and primal; then this morning feels different. Intimate and reverent, he rolls his hips perfectly ; sending flashes of that first night down your spine.

With the moans that spill out of your mouth, it takes all of Miguel's willpower not to swallow them in a kiss. Impossibly close, he traces up your thigh with a large palm; eventually pressing into the small of your back. Arching into him, your lips barely brush together, and you're both panting into open mouths; drunk on pleasure.

"Miguel." There's a warning somewhere in your tone; underneath the layers of lust, you remind him of your previous agreement.

"I… I know. " He swallows, nose pressed to yours, eyes screwed shut. He thinks if he opens them, he might spill into you right then and there.

He's trying, he really is, tracing your cheek with his nose and mouthing at your neck – light kisses against the skin. He smells like coffee, bittersweet and heady, and you groan, rocking into him in a way that rubs up against your clit – before finding an ounce of restraint and putting a hand to his neck.

You apply a little pressure, intending to push him away, but he likes it: eyes fluttering open, and mouth curved into a little O. It's a pretty sight that has you drooling, tits pressed against him as he practically purrs . And so, you pull him closer; nails dancing underneath his shirt, whispering filth into the shell of his ear. You're close, grinding into him like the push and pull of waves, merely waiting for the crescendo of orgasm to take you out to sea.

"I'm close, Miguel." All he can do is hum, pulling you closer. "Fuck, I feel so good. You make me feel so good."

"Yeah? " He asks, needy in a way you haven't quite seen before.

"M'gonna cum," You nod. "...because of you, baby. You did good. So good. Shit, ohh –g-god–"

You clamp down on him, gushing around him with shaky legs. And Miguel is good; patient as he watches you fuck yourself through the aftermath. When it finally slows, he slips out with an obscene squelch clamping a hand to the base of his cock and leaning heavily on the counter.

"It's okay," As if on cue, you kneel in front of him as best you can, tugging down your shirt to expose collarbone and the swell of tits.

Miguel growls, grunting as he splatters thick cum across your chest, pumping his poor cock through it.

He wouldn't have lasted a second longer, not with that smile across your face; smug as you swipe fingers across your chest and lick up the mess he's made.

He's sighing, tucking himself back into gray sweats and pulling you up with a hand in yours; grumbling as you absentmindedly follow him to the sofa.

You're leaning back onto the arm of the tattered material, and he settles to sit so your legs lay in his lap. He's frowning, again, and it makes you giggle, still licking up what's left on your fingers.

He rolls his eyes, tapping a spot on your chin. A fat glob of his cum, dripping from your jaw to your neck. You miss it on the first swipe, and he gets impatient on the second, grabbing your hands and clambering over you. He drags the flat of his tongue to your skin, licking it up for you – and your eyes go wide. That… that felt good.

You giggle at the sensation, so attuned to your roommate that you can hear it: his eyes clattering into the back of his skull, as he rolls his eyes a second time.

"Is that okay?" He says it into the skin, pausing over a particularly tender spot. "Not too far?"

"Feels nice, Mig." You sigh, content. Sun streams in on a lazy morning, and you're sore in the kind of way that feels good; fucked out and blissful.

You lean into it, and then he sucks , teeth clashing onto the skin as he gives you a hickey and the juncture of your jaw. You wriggle, and he pins you down with one big hand holding down your arm, nipping and kissing and soothing it with a flash of tongue. This time he smiles, wrapping around your middle, tugging down your shirt to decorate your chest with hickeys. You play with his hair, wrapping soft curls between your fingers.

You spend a little too long like that; curved into him, spines moulded to the shape of each other. It feels nicer than either of you would care to admit; the pretense of sex wrapped around you both like a thin veil. Before he leaves, Miguel indulges himself just this once; head on your chest and sinking into those arms wrapped around him. You smell like coffee and sweat and Autumn, somehow. He presses kisses wherever he can reach, for a bit longer.

Miguel is okay. He's doing just fine.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 x reader

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changisworld · 22 days

Text

Skz biggest kinks & pleasures (maknae line)

18+,MDNI, I’m not putting smut warnings as a surprise for readers but it’s all just smut, don’t read if underage

ONLY CONTENT WARNING ILL GIVE IS ONE OF THE KINKS HAVE PISS!!!

Word count;3,335

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

hyung line version here

**this is not proofread so sorry for any errors x**

HAN JISUNG: COCK & BALL TORTURE

I genuinely cannot imagine Han having a dominant bone in his body & also cannot ever imagine this guy being 'vanilla' in the SLIGHTEST!! Whenever you guys have sex, he is always shaking, whining & drooling absolutely everywhere & he hasn't got a single bit of shame.

You both experimented sexually within the first three times you slept together. You have both experimented with vibrators, strap-ons, handcuffs, wax etc & it did the trick.. until it didn't. Han could orgasm from these things, don't get me wrong, but since he had gotten 'used' to these things, he hadn't gotten bored or anything but you could sense he wanted more now.

You have just put the small stick candle onto the bedside table after letting it drip onto his abs & perky pecs as he is handcuffed to the bedpost, his face red as he squirms slightly, humming as the wax dries into his skin, cooling down.

You settle in between his legs before crawling up his small frame, your knees touching his balls as you kiss him (full of tongue & spit obviously) when your knee moves & puts a lot of pressure on his poor, filled balls & he squeals into his mouth. You instantly move your knee & sit up, both of your eyes wide, but for different reasons.

You are scared in case you genuinely hurt him as you look down at the site, but you then notice an even bigger puddle of precum on his lower stomach, his cock twitching & jumping as he blushes, boba eyes staring at the same thing you are.

"Did you like that Hannie?" you question, voice raising at the end, not wanting to do something & scare him. His mouth opens but he stutters for a few seconds. "Uhh, I-I don't know, it's new" he word vomits out, cheeks & ears getting more impossibly red as he looks into your eyes, trying to see your reaction.

You hum at his response before your hand reaches down & you take his balls into your hand before squeezing them, not too hard but there is still force behind it which makes him hiss as his hips jerk up, his cock dribbling at the tip which makes you chuchkle.

"My baby likes having his balls hurt, hmm? what about your pretty penis too, Hannie?" you question as you put more pressure on his balls as you flick the head of his cock a few times, making him thrust his hips as he tries to escape but also get more of the feeling. He nods enthusiastically, tilting his head to hide his reactions as much as he can despite handcuffs making him unable to use his arms to cover his face.

You don't like the way he is hiding his pretty reactions so you slap his dick with the back of your hand which makes his head jolt back to its original position, making you smirk. "Tell me if it's too much, mkay? Sit pretty f'me." you tell him, joking since you know he's not going anywhere. You get off the bed & dig through the bedside drawer & return holding a small cock ring, much tighter than any other one you have both tried, never having the right moment to try it.. until now.

You straddle his thighs, you slowly grind to feel friction as you struggle due to how much the man beneath you is hissing & squirming around but eventually roll the cock ring down to the bottom of his shaft, it beginning to turn a dark reddish/ purple colour almost instantly which makes you both drool, only hans drool actually leaves his lips.

You lean over & begin kissing his soft lips as you begin to lightly dig your nails into his cock as you drag it up & down, digging harder the closer to the tip you get. He struggles to kiss you back & loud but muffled whines escape his lips, his hips jolting & his cock twitching uncontrollably. "P-pinch my b-balls y/nnie, pu-pulease" he begs, hair almost blocking his view due to how much it's sticking to him. "You're so dirty Hannie, so slutty." you remark before beginning to kiss his neck as you do as he asks, sucking a few hickies into his neck as you begin pinching his full balls before slapping them, then repeating the motion & you're convinced you can orgasm from his noises alone.

His bottom lip is the same colour as his cheeks now from all the nibbling on it he has been doing, his eyes watering & his cheeks getting stained from the tears, not even having one thought in his head anymore, which you notice.

You sit up as his legs begin thrashing around, shaking as you use your other hand to start flicking the tip of his cock, residue sticking to your fingers coming from the area as you start to pinch in a rougher way, twirling the skin in your hands as you look at Jisung, in his own world.

"This is all it took to get you all floaty? You're so weird for enjoying this, you're seriously gonna cum from getting your dick slapped?" you laugh as you ask him, not actually meaning what you're saying seeing since you could probably fill a glass with your own juices you're that turned on. You admire Han, not even expecting an answer, drool puddling the pillow as more drool is drying into his chin, just to have even more drool cover it, his cheeks soaked with tears & also sweat.

You put his entire cock in your hand as you tighten your hand around it as much as you can & he lets out a squeal as you begin jerking him off & despite his cock literally purple because of the cock ring, you are convinced the cock ring didn't do a good job as he cums in record time, it spurting out ropes of it all over your hand & his tummy, him rattling the handcuffs, trying to get away from the sensation as his eyes completely roll back, panting heavily.

You let him ride out his high & you quickly remove the cock ring, trying to not overstimulate him too much since its the poor babys first time experiencing this before you lick the cum off his tummy to avoid having to leave him before crawling beside him & letting him nuzzle his face into your chest, before falling asleep almost instantly.

FELIX: MARKING

Nothing turns Felix on more than being able to have a constant reminder you belong to each other & what better way to show one another off when you're not together than having a hickey or two on your necks?

I can't be 100% sure if he enjoys giving or receiving them more but if i had to pick one, I'd say he enjoys giving them more seeing since he has more freedom to choose wherever he wants, unlike you seeing since he is still an idol, meaning you need to be way more cautious which makes him sad since he would do anything to have loads of hickies littered all over his neck.

You are straddled on top of Felix as your lips are locked together as your lips are locked together & he is playing with your puffy clit. You are grinding against his fingers as your eyebrows are furrowed together, letting out small gasps as his fingers are working like magic.

"Fefe, inside, pretty please." you mumble through kisses & who is he to deny you? He slides his ring finger inside your wet walls as he prods around a bit to find the gummy spot & despite him having short fingers, he is good with them & only takes a few seconds to find it & as he does, he slides a second finger inside too, rings touching your lips which makes you twitch due to the coldness.

You start whimpering & you break the kiss & start to grind against his fingers as you clench around him, making him swallow deeply. He takes this opportunity to begin kissing your jawline & working his way down as he helps you work yourself towards the first of probably very many orgasms.

His lips suction to your neck as he lets his teeth take a few playful bites which make you twitch from the slight tickle, making you giggle a bit which he returns. He litters some kisses around the left side of your neck before lightly pushing your head so he can access the right size before doing the same thing.

He begins to suck on your neck, humming at the light scent of the perfume you put on earlier in the day & also because of the taste of your skin, you both think he's addicted to it.

Your fingers wiggle their way into his hair as you lightly push at his head, somehow wanting him even closer to your neck as you melt further into him if that is even possible.

You can feel his teeth grazing every once in a while against your skin which makes you leak even more arousal as you tense up as your orgasm washes over you, Felix holding onto your waist to keep you from falling off his lap due to the amount your legs are wobbling on each side of him.

Once you come down from your orgasm, Felix slips his fingers out of you & you guide his hand up to your mouth before sucking your own juices off of him as he smirks at your reddened face, admiring it.

"So pretty f'me aren'cha babe? Made you a new necklace too, want you to give me some on my thighs, princess. pleeeaaasseee" he flutters his eyelashes to you as he give you his iconic beautiful smile. You hum a 'yes' response before you're sliding off of him, legs still a bit like jelly as you pull his sweatpants down, him raising his hips to make it easier for you, pulling his boxers down too with them.

You begin to jerk him off slowly as you kiss his balls & thighs before you begin nibbling on them playfully, before giving him the same, dark purple marks he just gave you as he lets out hums of approval, giving you butterflies.

SEUNGMIN: PISS

The reason you & Seungmin have always got on well sexually is because of how much you both have in common when it comes to kinks & how much you both love to explore together, & that is how you both eventually found out how hot you both find piss to be during sex. It started off with how much & how dying he was to help you squirt & it just developed from there.

Seungmin is laying on his back with his head on the pillows of your shared bed as you are sitting on his face (another one of his biggest pleasures is eating pussy while barely being able to breath because duh) grinding against him as his tongue is working its magic, pushing you towards your second orgasm within the last five minutes.

You are whimpering out above him, pulling on his hair to get him impossibly closer to your dripping core as his hands have a firm grip on your ass cheeks, fondling them in his fingers as he tongue fucks you.

"Min-Minnie, g'na cum." you push the words out as the feeling begins to bubble over, but before it has a chance to fully do so, he removes his tongue & pushes your hips up so you're now hovering above his face as you basically scream from the frustration as you can feel the almost orgasm dissapearing again.

"You know what I want before I let you cum, baby. Don't be so nervous, we both want it, mkay? Wanna taste you as much as possible. You deserve to let go, so good for me all the time." he says to you in a soft tone as he gives your ass cheek a small slap before letting you sit back on his face.

Despite everything you have tried together, pissing on him has always made you shy, but he always reassures you before, during & after.

He begins to suckle on your clit this time, slurping up all your juices as his spit mixes with it. He lets out small moans & grunts at your taste as one of his hands leave your ass to come around to your lower stomach before he begins prodding at it & putting pressure on it, hinting at you what he truly wants.

You try to hold off for a little while longer but the added pressure makes it impossible & you let go. Your golden stream begins to dribble out of you & straight into Seungmins mouth & face, making him moan at the taste of you, but he can tell you're holding back. He bites your clit & you yelp before your piss begins to spray out, making him hum in satisfaction.

Your moans get twice as loud as they were a minute or so prior as you see your piss now soaking his face & towel beneath you, along with his hair now getting wet, the same as your fingers since they are still weaved through it & your orgasm hits you like a car. Your legs shake around his head as your stream & also orgasm comes to a stop.

Your breathing is erratic as you take deep breaths, hair stuck to your now shiny face. "Such an angel for me y/n" he breathes out, panting as he helps reposition you so you're now on the only dry patch of the bed as he leans in & kisses you, your orgasm & piss soaked all into his chin & cheeks. You taste yourself on his tongue & it makes you moan quietly.

Your hand worms its way down into his boxers but you can feel a big wet, sticky patch which makes you break the kiss & look down & the result makes you chuckle. "You came in you underwear for me Seungmin? I'm honoured." he 'tuts' before beginning to blush. "You expected me to be able to hold off when you just did that to me? You're insane." he murmurs before kissing your neck while playing with your hair.

JEONGIN: OVERSTIMULATION

Is this any surprise at all.. HAVE YOU SEEN HIS FINGERS? they're made for pleasure i swear, they're so long & just hkvedbvbv. I feel like poor Innie is still a bit too nervous to try anything too 'taboo' or 'out there' but the things you have both agreed & have tried together, you both love.

You're on the bed laying on your back as his fluffy hear & gorgeous face is between your thighs for the third separate time that day. He is making out with your clit sloppily as he has three fingers buried inside you, scissoring in & out of your leaky opening, driving you towards your second orgasm from just this session alone & to say you're a moaning mess is an understatement.

You're uncontrollably squirming on the bed & your legs are thrashing around as you're babbling random swear words & his name as but he is keeping you grounded by having a firm grip on your pelvis with his free hand as your fingers are pulling on his pretty locks.

"Innie, gonna cum again." you whimper out as your back arches off the bed as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your pussy not getting a break even for a second as Jeongins fingers keep pistoning in & out of you & his tongue simply swallows your juice & orgasm while continuing the same pace.

Your orgasm fades but the sensation doesn't. If anything, it intensifies as the over sensitivity takes over, which makes you begin to hiss & grumble. "Too-too much Innie." you pant as your fingers do their best to pull his hair & face out from your dripping hole. "Cmon, y/nnie.. you've only orgasmed twice today, can't even just take one more, hmm?" he questions, knowing you can't say no. You've already orgasmed twelve times today & you both know this but he knows you'll do anything to please him.

You give a weak nod & he gives you a cheeky smile before diving straight back in, fingers speeding up & him taking your swollen bud back into his mouth, suckling on it before moving down to make out with your other set of lips. Your squeals are bouncing off each wall in the house no doubt & your third orgasm of the past twenty minutes washes over you as you begin trembling & shaking so much Innie decides to take pity on you & unlatches himself as he gives your swollen pussy a small slap.

You are in the middle of trying to get your breath back as Jeongin grabs a pillow & places it next to you before moving you so you're hips are now resting on it & your ass is facing upwards.

"spread your legs a bit for me, hunny. You can take it, can't you? I'm so hard for you y/nnie." he groans out as he jerks himself off behind you as he helps you move your legs just enough so he can slot himself in between as he spits onto his cock for extra lube as he drags the tip of his cock up & down your burning sensitive folds, making you hiss.

He begins pushing in & the hair gets caught in your chest as he bottoms out, releasing an animalistic groan. Once he feels you clench around him a few times, he begins to start a sharp pace & you begin to bite the duvet to try silence your screams.

His long cock hits the same G-spot that his fingers have been abusing all day & it makes you yelp as you reach back & push your hand against his pelvis, trying to stop him from going as deep but he quickly yanks your wrist away before holding it against your lower back as he leans over you, back to chest as he moves your hair out of your face to kiss your cheeks as he keeps fucking into you.

"I-innie too- too much, too big, s-slow down." You whimper as your eyes scrunch closed, trying your best to hold on as much as you can to give Jeongin the chance to orgasm. "You can do it hunny, just stop running from it n take it mkay? You're clenching so tight around me y/n, so good." You get all flustered & get butterflies in your belly at his words & you keep whining as your toes begin curling as your now forth orgasm hits you & Jeongin lets out a deep moan as he cums too after feeling how tightly you clench around him & you feel the warm liquid fill you which makes your orgasm go that extra bit further.

You both lay like this for a minute, catching your breath back before he pulls out & you let out a deep sigh. Jeongin begins to move off of you but you reach & take him by the arm & using the rest of your strength to pull him back down. "stay like this, you're like a big weighted blanket." you mumble out, eyes feeling as heavy as rocks.

Jeongin chuckles before kissing your cheek but getting off you regardless & shuffling down back to your pussy, looking at the cum dripping out along with your slick. "I'll have my dinner first then we can cuddle as long as you want, jagi, okay?" he giggles before sticking his tongue out & beginning to kitten lick your pussy again. You knew this is a long night.

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aimbutmiss · 3 months

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Mihawk was surprised when Crocodile came up to him with the idea of Cross Guild, which was surprising in itself, because it took a lot to get such reaction out of the stoic man. Mihawk's initial reaction was to assume Crocodile had finally gone mad after his fall from grace. But it didn't take him long to see the full picture. Buggy's debt and the sheer amount of men who adored him in his crew...he could be used easily and efficiently. But Mihawk didn't care about all that. He wasn't a businessman like Crocodile, he didn't care about money or power like him. But despite this, he still agreed. There were two main reasons why he did so:

1- He was bored. With Zoro and Perona gone, he was left on his own on his dreary island. (No offence to the humandrills, but they weren't exactly good company) At first he was quite happy about his situation, he did value his solidarity after all. However, that bliss didn't last very long. He quickly found his usual routine to be repetitive and dreadful, more and more as the days passed. Losing his warlord status right after triggered a fuse in his mind. He could do anything he wanted (not that the government ever got in the way of him doing as he pleased) but he realised that he didn't know what it was that he wanted. Crocodile's offer reminded him of the offhand conversations he used to have with Shanks at dirty bars, which brings us to the second point:

2- He was very intrigued by Buggy. Shanks babbled a lot after he had a bit too much to drink, more than usual at least. But he would still have some level of awareness no matter how drunk he was, never letting his guard completely down. This was not the case with Mihawk. They were close friends, something even more at some point, so Shanks felt comfortable enough to open the dam holding back his words around him. Mihawk appreciated this, not only because it was a huge show of trust, but also because of how entertaining his stories were. Stories about wars and victories, the Pirate King and Dark King Rayleigh... It was all so intriguing. But everything somehow always circled back around to one man: Buggy. Mihawk had never heard of him before, but if Shanks' words were to go by he must have been truly exceptional. Shanks used to have this lovesick look on his face whenever he talked about his old friend, sometimes even straight up sobbing in front of him. This man, who was on Gold Roger's crew and made Shanks fall head over heels in love, perplexed Mihawk. How could such a man exist, hiding his existence for so long? Oh, how he longed to meet him.

Unfortunately for Mihawk, their first meeting didn't go according to plan. Marineford was a mess. He wasn't very interested in the government's goals, he just wanted to see how far straw hat would go. That boy's potential shone so bright, it didn't surprise him one bit that red hair also saw it. What he didn't expect at all though, was to run into the Buggy from Shanks' stories, who was being used like a human shield by straw hat. So, it didn't phase Mihawk one bit when his sword cut straight through the man but he quickly put himself back together. The blue hair, the red nose, this couldn't possibly be anyone else. Mihawk had a certain image of Buggy in his mind, but that all shattered at one look at this man-baby in front of him. There was no way this was the man Shanks was praising left and right, right? Or perhaps, Shanks' stories were always tinted with rose coloured glasses and very far from the truth. How disappointing. But still, something didn't sit well in Mihawk's mind. There must have been some amount of truth to the words he heard. He wanted to see more, but unfortunately didn't have the opportunity to catch the clown again, with Shanks arriving and all. Yet here it was, two years later, Crocodile was handing him a second chance on a silver platter. He simply couldn't refuse.

And so, he agreed to playing house with Crocodile. It was obvious why the man had reached out to him instead of, literally anyone else. Mihawk was strong. He had a strong hold on the use of haki, which the other man lacked. He could easily protect them while Crocodile ran the business part of things. They would work well together, covering each other's weak points. The more obvious reason though, was the fact that Mihawk happened to be one of the very few people Crocodile got along with. That man had a habit of making enemies of everyone he came across, which was not surprising considering he wasn't very likable. But that never bothered Mihawk, he did like a challenge.

The more he got to know Buggy, the more he hated the man, which was not what he was going for at all. He tried his best to see any good traits in him, but repeatedly failed to do so. The man was like a soggy, wet mop, who cried at any chance. He was way too easy to push around, and Mihawk kept doing it because the damn clown was so annoying. His voice, his mannerisms all got on his nerves. This was it, giving up was the only choice. There was no way this clown had any redeemable quality. Shanks was just more insane than he initially thought, whatever. It was just wasted time, and he wouldn't waste any more of it.

Just as he had decided on his departure from Cross Guild and had mentally prepared himself to clash with Crocodile (which he really didn't want to do, he actually liked the man) fate decided this was not the end. All the stalking he did payed off as slowly, he started seeing the clown in a new light. It was the small things at first. The man clearly cared for his crew, and it was almost sweet. He'd always put aside time to train in acrobatics with Cabaji, and to groom Richie with Mohji. He and Alvida had tea time together, giving the woman her much needed gossip time. He was more silent with his closer confidants, he let them do the talking while he listened. He let Cabaji teach him new moves, to help him out when he struggled. He laughed at Mohji's horrible jokes. And it wasn't that boisterous clown laugh, oh no, it was much more...quiet. Yet somehow more vibrant. It was genuine. He let Alvida paint his nails, and let Richie lick his face even when it got red and irritated. He was usually known for his grand gestures as the "genius jester", but he showed his love much more subtly to his friends. It was almost refreshing to see the difference. Almost like the usual Buggy was a performance, a show. And Mihawk was finally seeing the backstage.

Then, one day, he ran into him in the library. He was in his colourful pyjamas, hair tied into a bun and no clown makeup to cover his face. No makeup. One look into his sea green eyes and Mihawk finally started to understand what Shanks must have been thinking. This man was beautiful. And he was holding one of his favourite books.

"D-do you want me to leave? Because I totally can! I'll be out of here in a jiffy-"

"No need. You may stay."

Mihawk didn't know what came over him, but he walked over to the other man. "I quite enjoyed that one. Which chapter are you on?"

And just like that, their unofficial book club started. Buggy was a lot more clever than he let on. Mihawk quite enjoyed listening to his opinions about the books they read. One day, it stopped just being books. They'd talk about anything and everything. Mihawk hated to admit it, but this was exactly what he was missing on Kuraigana: companionship. He felt comfortable with Buggy, and it felt way too easy to fall into a routine with him. Buggy was knowledgeable on a lot of things. He knew chemistry and physics, spending a lot of time in his workshop working on his bombs. He was also a stellar navigator. Clearly his apprenticeship under Roger hadn't been for nothing like it seemed. And when he spoke of old tales, he wouldn't smile like Shanks did. His eyes were carrying sadness and sorrow Mihawk couldn't comprehend. How fascinating, that the same experiences can bring completely different emotions to different people.

When he wanted to try to see Buggy more from red hair's perspective, his goal wasn't falling in love. But that's exactly what happened. It happened all too quickly. He got back into his farming and cooking hobby, because now he felt he had a reason to settle down on Karai Bari. A lot of his cooking ended up on Buggy's plate. Unintentionally, at first, but it made the clown so happy that Mihawk didn't have it in himself to stop. If anything, he started to spend a lot more time in the kitchen. And the escalation of their relationship wasn't one sided, Buggy had also started feeling more comfortable around him. (Which definitely didn't make Mihawk fill with warmth) He started asking things of him like "Can you brush my hair?" "Can you watch me perform this trick?" and Mihawk found that he was losing his ability to say no at an alarming rate. He was falling for the man. He took that revelation with grace, he wasn't the type to deny his feelings, unlike a certain someone. (Crocodile's denial of his feelings for Buggy is a whole other story that was happening consecutively to all this) And as he watched Buggy polish Yoru with careful hands and focused eyes, he found it all too easy to understand Shanks. No wonder this man had an army of men following him, willing to do anything he said. Buggy the Clown was dangerous, and he just added Mihawk's name to his long list of victims.

Mihawk's mouth curved upwards as he took the shiny sword from a smiling Buggy. He found that just this once, he didn't mind being a victim at all.

#is this my longest post??? maybe #im so normal #i got possessed i think #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #cross guild #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy pirates #buggy x mihawk #bughawk #I JUST CHECKED THIS IS 1.7K WORDS WHAT #my writing

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kayadrake123 · 1 month

Text

Love

Tim Drake x Reader long Headcannons

Hey guys! Hope you’re all good. I haven’t posted for a while and I thought it would be nice to make a come back with a long head cannon about you and Tim’s relationship. Here you go! I will be posting more stuff soon!

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

Contrary to belief, Tim is actually a very affectionate person

And he has different ways of showing it depending on who you are

With his siblings he always makes sure to ask them about their interests and to get frequent updates on their lives

He doesn’t mind them talking his ear off, even though he pretends he does with them by groaning and rolling his eyes

Might get them a gift here and there

For example whenever he sees a book Jason may be interested in, he sneaks it into his apartment later that night with a note that says ‘hopefully this will make you leave me alone for a while’

He’s just kidding of course

With his friends he does pretty much the same thing, but he makes sure to add in a lot of reassuring hugs with them

Now with you his lover, he’s the softest he has ever been.

He didn’t even think it was possible for him to be down this bad, I mean he’s been in other relationships but NOTHING will ever compare to the love he feels for you

He finds himself being vulnerable without even wanting to because you just have this effect on him where he instantly melts and feels safe in your presence

He has many love languages, but his main three are definitely physical touch, quality time and acts of service

He wants to be near you all the time

You radiate warmth and beauty and he finds himself being pulled towards you, that’s how you met in the first place

He loves hugging you

The feeling of your arms wrapped around him as he clings to you brings him immense happiness

A hug from you can heal anything and everything

He has a habit of crossing your body parts when you sit next to each other, with or without people around

What I mean by this is that you’d be sitting next to him in a booth at a restaurant and Tim would make sure to cross your forearms together on the table where your hand is resting and hold your hand

He drapes one of your legs over his when you’re sitting next to each other on a couch

Neck kisses.

He loves the way you squirm when he kisses you there and the beautiful smile that spreads across your gorgeous lips

He loves when you kiss him on random places of his body, such as his back when he’s facing away from you or his arm when it’s positioned above your head

He loves when you drag the tips of your nails across his arm or his back, he falls asleep to that all the time, especially on the hard nights

He loves giving you massages, anywhere at anytime

Whenever you guys go on walks he likes to link your pinkies together because he thinks it’s so wholesome and gentle - you’re both very independent but still want to be close to each other even if it’s the slightest touch

Always opens the car door for you. ALWAYS

He actually gets upset if you don’t let him do it

He will hold your bag for you DO NOT EVEN TRY TO FIGHT HIM ON THIS

Loves that when you do your nails (if you get your nails done) you ask him what colour you should get

Loves it even more when you listen to him and choose the colour he chose

Your feet are sore after walking in heels the whole night? He will pick you up bridal style and carry you. No questions asked.

At galas when he can see you’re getting hot, he’ll grab a fan that he stored in his suit jacket and wordlessly fan you

He loves laying his head in your lap and when you stroke his hair

Loves when you give him kisses on the tip of his nose

When you first bit him he was like ???? What are they doing ???

But he got used to it and understands that you get a cuteness overload that makes you bite those you love

If you’re also a vigilante he always wants to be your partner on missions and patrol

Hates when you get hurt like he actually cries I’m not kidding

Not in front of his siblings (unless you’re dying or the injury is very severe) but later when you get home after confirming you are in fact okay

Once you got shot in the knee when he was all the way across town from you on patrol

He dropped everything he was going to see you and make sure you’re okay (bailed on a lead he’s been following for 6 months)

When you told him you were okay he nodded but you knew he didn’t believe you

The truth is Tim heard your scream over the comms and how in pain you sounded - he also knew you were still in so much fucking pain because your body was tense and with every movement he could see you forcing yourself to not cry out in pain

Hates to see you upset when he gets hurt and will spend the next few days, weeks if he has to, reassuring you that he is okay

He worships you.

In and out of the bedroom

He takes his time with you, kissing up your legs, your stomach, your chest and then he captures your lips in the most desperate and passionate kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting more of him

He loves the feeling of your body against his, skin-to-skin

He always picks positions where he can feel your body against his

He also likes cuddling skin-to-skin

He thinks you are the most beautiful and amazing human he has ever met and he feels so privileged and lucky to have you as his lover

He loves being loved by you and he loves loving you

You help him with a lot of things such as his anxiety, anger and his overcompensating

Tim wasn’t ever really good at letting people love him, with his parents not being very affectionate and loving with him when he was younger

He’s always been the one who loves and doesn’t get that love back

But you, you changed that

You let him know everyday that you love him and that you genuinely care about him and want to be with him 24/7

You’re his best friend and his soulmate and he will love you till his last breath and even beyond the grave

#tim drake x reader #tim drake #batfam x reader #he love you #batman #dc x reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Grays Part II }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school.

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable.

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back.

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides.

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle.

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt.

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash.

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands.

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness.

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there.

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath.

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips.

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while.

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage.

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie friday #queue

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ttulipwritezz · 2 months

Text

King Of My Heart (Body And Soul)~ R. Lupin.

Chapter 1 - Stranger that I know.

Ootp! Remus Lupin x Sirius's sister!Reader

Synopsis: When James and lily died, and your brother was sent to Azkaban, Remus was the only person you have left. Until he left too. What happens when he returns after the events of Sirius's escape, only to find out you have a son? A son that's his.

WC: 817 words

Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, kiss(es), might be ooc idk, child (?), fem reader, italics are flashbacks ( idk), love (ew), [ look at series masterlist for all content warnings]

A/n: bear with me on this one, it's rather short but it's to jumpstart the series so i can write the rest of the parts. If you like this, please reblog and comment! <3

Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist, Navigation

"When did you say they were arriving again?"

Your voice echoes through the walls of the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld place. you wipe down the kitchen counters as another smaller, more meek voice replies.

"Mum we talked about this" That's your son. Regulus.

After the event of your brother passing, you wanted to honour his name. Such a beautiful name it was. No matter how cruel the people to name him were.

"I know ,I just worry, what if they get lost? maybe they couldn't find the place? what if they got caught- " Your rambling was interrupted by your son once again.

"MUM! nothing is going to happen. Besides, he's your brother. And he has lived here before. You know him." Regulus reasoned, and frankly his reasoning was logical. you were just...paranoid.

You did however, leave out the fact that what truly made you nervous was Remus.

"Well i haven't for the past 14 years, Regulus." you replied, snappy, referring to sirius. Your impatience was nearly rivaling that of your son.

"when is it arrivingggg?" a voice full of exasperation nearly whines as the screeching sound of trolly wheels comes to a halt.

An eleven year old regulus rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet as he (claimed to) patiently wait for hogwarts express to make it's way into the platform.

A thirty three year old you bent down to brush away his untamed curls, sighing as you did so.

"It will arrive soon enough, dove. Calm down."

Your voice tried to reason but little regulus's patience was waning. You had never seen a kid be so excited at the thought of going off to boarding school. But you suppose watching his older brother Harry would have embedded him with some form of excitement for the school.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t just as excited. It was your son’s first day at school. Big boy wizarding school.You were excited to see your boy go to the place you first knew as home, meet your former professors, roam the halls that you did, and make friends.

You did not, however, expect his first friend to be Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and your dearest cousin. In a way the two were cousins, they just didn’t know it yet.

That summer, when regulus came back from Hogwarts, he had a plethora of stories to tell you. His rant began with his new friends, Draco, Blaise, Pansy and Theo, and ended with his defense against the dark arts professor, Remus Lupin.

Needless to say all colour drained from your face at the mention of him. Remus Lupin…how do you even begin to describe remus lupin?

Remus is pretty.

He is pretty like the sunrise in winter, when the sky is faded out and it's warm. Thats what you think as you sit on the roof of potter manor. Chatting, with hands occupied by, what you think is, beer in plastic cups. You felt giddy, perhaps it was the alcohol in your system. Or the gentle brush of his hand on your clothed thigh. You felt…in love. Somewhere along the way your innocent schoolgirl crush had become something more. You hoped it had been so for him as well.

“Dove…”

His velvety voice catches your attention. You turn your head to him, only to see him still facing the sun. You’re sure he’s seen your movement though, as he takes it as his que to continue.

Nothing. Nothing could brace you for the words that were to follow.

“I fancy you.” Your eyes widen.He continues.

“I have for some time now… I think you fancy me too? Not to- I- uhm–”

“I do.” you find yourself speaking.

That was your first of many kisses to come.

Just then, the sound of the doorbell catches your attention.

“That must be them” your son says, in a rather ‘i told you so’ tone.

You rush to wipe your hands on the kitchen towel and head for the door.

Taking a deep breath to brace yourself for what’s probably Remus Lupin on the other side of the door, you pull it open with a creak.

Your eyes immediately find his.

And for a moment, you're fourteen again. Staring at the brown haired bloke across kings cross station, as he laughs with your brother. Mesmerized by his eyes, his nose, his lips, his scars. You knew that face all too well.

You blink and you're back at the doorway. Staring at those brown eyes, those eyes you knew...all too well.

"Remus.."

"Hi, love"

Taglist (open): @twilightlover2007 @idli-dosa

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 8 months

Note

OMG I’m so excited for this!!! Can I request Vil with the prompt rainy nights?? Can it be fluffy and romantic? Anyway I hope you have a wonderful day!! :)

Rainy Nights; Vil Schoenheit

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established romantic relationship

Content Warning; Reader cries because of a movie, death (movie)

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; I had a vision; watching old movies with Vil as the rain came down. I had a lot of fun writing this, and this is also my first solo Vil piece, so I hope I did him justice here.

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

You were rummaging around the TV console, going through the numerous DVDs and VHS tapes that were just sitting around and collecting dust. Tonight was your night for movie night, as yesterday was Vil’s, so you were weighing your options. Sure, there were streaming services, but there’s just something that hits differently with a physical copy, flaws and all. Plus it’s not like you could go out since it was raining like no tomorrow outside. So, movie night.

“Having any luck,” Vil gently called from the washroom, still doing his nightly routine.

Your eyes still scoured the various cases, trying to find the perfect one. “Not yet. Just give me a minute, m’kay?”

Vil gave you a hum as an answer, leaving you be.

Horror movie? No, he wouldn’t like that. Mystery? Too predictable… And then you found what looked like the most faded cases, colour worn away from age and a hand going back time and time again. That one.

Pulling it out, you dusted off the case, inspecting the title. Of the smudged-out words, you could make out The, some kind of smudged-out word, Blossom. It looked like a black-and-white movie, and on the front were the protagonists with their backs together, flower petals surrounding them, and a dagger above them. This, this is perfect.

Vil came out of the washroom, wearing his matching royal purple pyjamas and house robe, and glowing from the various skin products that he used. He looked curiously over your shoulder. “Hmm, The Bitter Blossom,” he mused, turning his gaze to you. “Is that your pick, Schatz?” His tone was light, a sign that he approved, and was mildly surprised at your pick.

“Mhm,” you hummed, placing the VHS tape into the VCR player. Whoever had played it last had saved you the trouble of rewinding it. “Have you watched it before?”

“Surprisingly, no. Copies of it are extremely hard to come by.” He got the sofa ready, adjusting the pillows, grabbing one of the many quilts, and a box of tissues, just in case. He noticed the look you were giving him, “I haven’t watched it, but I have heard about how it ends.”

You raised a brow, but shrugged. You pressed play and scrambled over to your spot next to Vil, getting comfy and pulling that handy quilt over the both of you — the rain had made it a little bit chilly.

The Bitter Blossom started playing. Not only was it in black-and-white, but it was also a silent film. The protagonists were two lovers who met by chance, their relationship going from cold strangers to a budding romance.

But why had Vil grabbed the tissues? The movie was almost over, it couldn’t possibly—

But then the antagonist, a jealous ex of one of the main protagonists, stabbed the love interest in the back with a dagger. The movie ended with the protagonist hugging their love interest, flower blossoms falling down around them.

“Do not let the bitter blossom of hatred and vengeance bloom in your heart or mind, my love. Do not let it ruin the happiness which we fleetingly had.” The words flashed on the screen before the movie ended with the screen fading into black.

That, that was why Vil had grabbed the tissues. Wait, were you crying? That would explain why Vil was gently dabbing away the stray tears as they rolled down your face.

“A lovely film, love,” he whispered, “I should have warned you about the ending—”

You stopped him by grabbing softly at his hand, bringing it up to cup your face. “No, it’s alright. It was a beautiful movie,” you hiccuped, leaning into his touch.

Vil caressed calming strokes on your cheek, the slow movements helping you focus on him. He placed a kiss on your forehead, a gentle hum escaping as the kiss lingered. “Oh potato,” your old nickname from when the two of you were still just only acquaintances, “what am I going to do with you?”

You grabbed a tissue and loudly blew your nose, “Cuddles?”

Vil sighed softly, but put his arm around you, resting his head against yours and placing a kiss to your temple. “Alright,” he hummed and continued humming a gentle tune until you were falling asleep. While he would prefer sleeping in bed, he supposed he could stand to cuddle with you on the sofa as the rain eased up outside.

~~~~~~~

Schatz; German for treasure, a common term of endearment

Tags; @azulashengrottospiano [I've seen the Vil brain rot and gushing], @eynnwwyjth, @xxoomiii

#dove does events #follower event #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x gn reader #also i decided to go with a VHS tape since i wanted them to watch an old OLD movie; plus i miss my VCR player #soft vil content to heal the soul #he also cried a bit but was very subtle in wiping away the lone tear #hopefully i wrote vil with some justice as I'm still trying to characterize him right #potato; said with love #sofia!#i also think this is the longest one as of yet ; just checked and yup! it is #that might change though as i write the others #thought about having reader call vil their 'schnucki' [sweetie-pie] but decided against it #but it does live rent free in my head #i wonder how many people read through all of my tags; cuz i do hide some gems in there as little easter eggs of sorts

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diet-comet-soda · 2 years

Text

I don't think anyone will be surprised when I say this, but there's a fundamental problem with western "adult" animation and that really sucks. To summarize the obvious: nearly every animated show not "made for kids" is limited to one very specific ~type~ of show (you know the one). And sure, some people like this style of show, but the potential left untapped is infuriating.

What I want from adult animation is shows like The Owl House, but taken further, without the limitations that networks put these shows through to make them "suitable for younger audiences". I don't even think they need to necessarily be completely inappropriate for younger viewers, they just need to prioritize their adult audience more and not get bogged down by "think of the children!!" rhetoric.

Animation targetted at older audiences doesn't all have to be like Family Guy. Even the more well-liked adult shows such as Harley Quinn don't stray nearly far enough off the established model to really meet the potential of the medium. Sometimes I want a sincere story without bathroom humour or gratuitous gore or hypersexualization. Sometimes I want to watch something that doesn't even really have "adult" content, but that's still designed for older audiences first and foremost, instead of held in a creative chokehold by brands like Disney to make sure it's colourful and light-hearted enough for little Timmy.

Maybe what I want would more accurately be called "Young Adult" or "Teen" animation, but I feel like those labels would undervalue these shows to the average viewer, similalry to how "YA" vs. "Adult" novels are treated. Just look at what Infinity Train was able to do when it was allowed to go places "kids'" shows usually aren't allowed to! Look at the beta concepts and imagine what The Owl House could have been if it wasn't on Disney Channel!

Of course, I love what we got with toh and how far they've taken this story, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But there are admittedly a lot of weird moments and character/lore inconsistencies in the show, especially in season 1, where you can really feel Disney's enforced quota of "haha silly cartoon hijinks" messing with things. And I try to ignore them, but I often look at that one Bat Queen concept art and I get this sense of longing for a world where these shows can exist without having to toe the line of conforming to being "kids" shows.

Really my main point is that no one is hitting this specific niche like serialized non-"adult" cartoons are. But these types of shows have no stable space carved out for them in western media. The only place where they can even exist is on kids television networks, where their content is heavily policed and limited. And being trapped on these networks causes the general public to often lump them in with every other cartoon, dismissing them all as "for kids", no matter how different the story-telling style and intended audiences are. And if any of these networks one day decide that serialized cartoons no longer fit their brand, then we lose like half of the shows we have, out of an already measly selection.

Western animation has so much diverse potential, and yet all we get is the same genre of shows with that horribly bland and low-budget artstyle that makes everything just looks like Family Guy. Why does it have to be this way?

#Toh #The owl house #Infinity train #Animation #amphibia #gravity falls #king's tide

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vyl3tpwny · 10 months

Note

why it ourple

ok.

i'm going to tell you the story of how purple became my favourite colour. and then, where the name vylet pony came from.

———————————————————

ch.1 the mace windu incident

once upon a time. I really liked star wars. i kind of still like star wars i guess. but when i was a kid, i REALLY liked star wars.

in my room, i had a mace windu poster.

i still can't find the exact poster. it looked something like this

mace windu was my fav star wars character for an inconceivably long time. with that, i also became fascinated with his purple lightsaber. nobody else had a purple lightsaber. i loved it. staring at that poster constantly made me really like the colour purple. ever since the poster started exerting its technicolour pressures and whimsies upon me, i became fixated on the colour purple. forever.

"hai!~ im mace windu and i loveee Videos!" - mace windu, star wars episode iii: revenge of the sith

———————————————————

ch. 2 the viny scratch era

fast forward like 7 years. i am in the my little pony fandom now. i am 13 years old. i really like vinyl scratch. she is pictured here:

my first online presence in the mlp community was as a vinyl scratch / dj pon3 roleplay account. for a good year, people called me vinyl and "vy".

however when it came time to start releasing music in the fandom, i couldn't go by vinyl scratch at the time. this name was already being used by the artist who currently goes by Scraton!

this is still one of my favourite songs by them:

youtube

anyway. i actually held a really insane, irrational grudge against scraton for being named "vinyl scratch" as a music artist before me. i got past that after a while, because i had to stop being 13 first. i stopped being 13 and eventually fell in love with their music and we became friends later after!

but it's 2013 and i can't be vinyl scratch anymore. people already called me "vy" because of being a vinyl scratch persona.

so.

———————————————————

ch. 3 it's vylet time-wait is that can opener? CANNI?

it started on december 28, 2012. i posted to my then-instagram account this image:

you may recognize this as my oc canni. here's their reworked look in the 2022 album (10 years later) can opener's notebook: fish whisperer (illustrated by @astroeden):

can opener's original name was "ultra vylet". their colour scheme was originally intended to be the inverse of vinyl scratch's, as a sort of strange protest to not being able to be vinyl scratch. i was like ok. well if i cant be vinyl scratch, i am going to make a character that swaps the main colours. within a few months of "ultra vylet" existing, i discarded the design in favour of a completely different one:

this would be the only time vylet consistently had purple in her design until 2018 or so.. lol.

then. on april 15, 2013, i posted this to my instagram:

i had essentially combined three things:

The fact the people called me "vy'

The fact that my favourite colour is purple (violet)

The fact that I wanted to be vinyl scratch (dj pon3) before

———————————————————

ch. 4 vylet pony ≠ vinyl scratch

that is to say, i never really put a lot of thought into "vylet pony" as a name. i just made it when i was 14 and now i am going to be 25 soon. will i keep vylet pony as a name forever? not sure. do i take great pride in its insanely snarky origin? absolutely.

after i had decided firmly on "vylet pony" as a name — after dropping the "3" from it — i made a new instagram account. the very first thing i posted to it was this:

illustrated by my friend, shade.

now that looks slightly vylet-like, design-wise, oc-wise. oh. but now she is grey and black? ok.

she stopped being purple from 2013-2018.

here is how her design progressed through the years:

the first one is by my then-partner sara. this is when vylet's cutiemark was still an upside down music note, reflected from "ultra vylet" / can opener's original design. i'll show how it became a puzzle piece next.

the second one is by shade

the third one is by chibadeer

the fourth one is by astroeden

———————————————————

ch. 5 the puzzle piece

to this day, i still cannot find the fanart in question. but over instagram, someone asked to draw fanart of my pony. in doing so, they misconstrued the shape of the upside down music note as a puzzle piece, like this:

i've been looking forever for the original fanart/fanartist that made this mistake. because ever since that art, i just stuck with it anyway. i like puzzles and puzzle games. i'm also a puzzling and enigmatic person. and the puzzle piece can go into so many different things. all sorts of problem solving is like a puzzle. music fits neatly into that category in my opinion. so because of its intrigue and ability to mean so many different things, i just went with it. i never looked back.

———————————————————

ch. 6 that is the history of the colour purple and vylet pony character design

i hope this answers the question "why it ourple"!

#vyop #my little pony #mlp

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happyhauntt · 11 days

Text

fight or flight — poe dameron.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: you and poe have never seen eye-to-eye. most days, you wonder if you ever will.

─── pairing: poe dameron x solo!reader.

─── warnings: reader is gender neutral, reader is han & leia's child, no use of y/n. lots of snarky banter. this was supposed to be flirty fluff but it turned into an angstfest so, yeah, sorry for that. finn eavesdrops and chewie is sassy bastard.

─── word count: 1.6k.

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”

Poe ducks his head and quickly manages to conceal the wince creeping onto his features just in time, but crouched in the cockpit beside him, Rey still feels his shoulders go stiff. She presses a hand to her mouth in a weak attempt to stifle her laugh, but she’s not quite successful as Poe shoots her a glare.

She doesn’t blame him, really. You are… Well, sort of scary when you’re angry.

There’s more than just a spark of your mother’s fire in you, that’s for sure.

Glancing over her shoulder, she finds you standing in the doorway, regarding the pair of them with a ruthless glare so sharp it might leave a mark.

Rey is suddenly pretty sure that Poe didn’t talk to you like he said he would.

“I go for a nap because I haven’t slept properly in two days after you—” The finger you jab in Poe’s direction might as well be a knife, the way he flinches, “— get us stranded in First Order territory after leading us on a wild goose chase, knock out the comms and the navigation with your, frankly batshit, behaviour which I have spent hours trying to fix, and then I left you with one simple instruction.”

Which… Alright, not all of that is strictly fair, Rey thinks, because at least half of the chaos of the past few days can be attributed to sheer bad luck, and another third can be blamed on decisions made under pressure whose outcomes boiled down to bad or worse.

It’s not really Poe’s fault. Not anymore than the rest of them, at least.

But Rey knows how you feel about this ship. The Falcon is your inheritance, the only real home you have left in the world. It’s all that is left of your father.

You were protective of it even before he died, and since—

Rey clears her throat. “I’m just gonna… go check on Finn.”

Poe’s expression reeks of betrayal as Rey scoots past you to go and find Finn, who’s loitering in the main hold with Chewbacca, but she’s not about to hang around and get caught in the crossfire between the two of you.

She doesn’t have a death wish.

Finn looks just suspicious enough, when she locates him, that she doesn’t even bother scolding him for eavesdropping. She’s about to do the same, after all.

“He told me he checked it was alright before we started reconfiguring the navicomputer.” Rey folds her arms across her chest, frowning in the direction of the cockpit. Your voice is still rattling down the corridor towards them.

Finn clicks his tongue. “Evidently not.”

In the cockpit, Poe pushes himself to stand, resting a hand on the back of the captain’s chair. Your voice is hard as duracrete as you take a step towards him, crowding the small space with so much of your frustration that it feels difficult to breathe.

Poe wonders if the sensors are on the blink, and someone popped an airlock somewhere, because the air feels a little thin. You jab in the chest with your finger, and all he does is blink, suddenly lightheaded.

“I gave you one instruction. I said, the nav systems are rebooting, I’m going grab some shuteye, don’t touch anything. And what do you do?”

“The console was beeping!”

“I don’t care if a damn mynock got in here and started eating it, I said don’t touch it.”

“But it’s alright for Rey to touch it?” He’s being petty, he knows that, but an angry flush has started creeping up your neck, and he wants to know what you look like with your cheeks coloured that delightful shade of pink.

“Rey didn’t break it!” A ragged breath tears from your throat, and you rake a hand roughly through your hair. “She knows what she’s doing. I trust her.”

“And you don’t trust me, is that it?” Something like sadness swirls low in his gut as he waits for your response. It hurts him to ask, even though he’s wearing his bravado like a mask, even though he likes pushing all your buttons because when your eyes flash like that, it’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane or falling in zero gravity.

You’re not friends, he knows that. Not since the day you met, and you pressed a blaster up against his neck in the cargo hold of your old ship and he’d grinned down at you as if getting his life threatened was his favourite pastime.

He’d been trying to steal it. You’re still not sure what happened, exactly, except that there were Stormtroopers firing at your ship — which, honestly, was held together by little more than string and sheer stubbornness at that point — and your mother’s favourite flyboy watching you with a bizarre hope in his eyes, and you’d just… hated him, in that moment.

Hated him for crashing into your life and dragging you, kicking and screaming, back to the life you’d fled. Hated your mother for her good heart and your father for running away. Hated the whole damn galaxy for not killing you when it had the chance.

Poe had wanted you to take him to D’Qar, but you’d spent too long leaving things behind to go back now, so you’d dropped him at the nearest safe outpost and prayed you’d never see him again.

Clearly, the universe had other plans.

It’s been years since that first encounter, but neither of you have warmed to one another since then. There’s very little point, you think. He’s unbearable, always needling at you, picking at all of your defences as if he has a right to know you.

It doesn’t matter. In the end, everyone leaves, one way or another.

You just wish he’d hurry up and do it, already.

You’re not friends, but you’re something more and something less, and the way your lower lip twitches at his question feels like a punch to the gut.

“Why should I?” You blink at him, and a moment later you realise how close you’ve grown, almost chest-to-chest with this man who drives you mad. With a rough swallow, you force yourself to take a step back.

He doesn’t move. Hardly dares to breathe, with his mouth curled into that little half-smirk he knows you hate, because it hurts that you don’t trust him, but it would hurt more if you knew it.

“Why shouldn’t you?”

A scoff. “Well, for starters, I don’t think you’ve ever had a plan that didn’t blow up in your face.”

The familiar howl of Finn’s laughter rolls down the corridor, quickly cut off by a quiet thump and a low, pained groan.

Poe blinks at you. “Excuse me?”

“And you don’t take proper care of the Falcon!” The controls and all their exposed wires serve to prove your point.

Turning on your heel, you march out into the corridor, abandoning him in the cockpit. He stares at your retreating form, unable to kick his brain back into gear for a few seconds, but a moment later he’s striding after you.

“I take care of the Falcon!”

A huff of laughter bubbles out of you, entirely lacking in humour. “Lightspeed skipping.”

“That was one time!” His voice squeaks out of him much higher than he’d like, and as they emerge into the main hold, he clears his throat. “And the Falcon was fine.”

You come to a stop so suddenly that he can almost hear your shoes screeching on the floor. “It was twice, and just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. That seems like a lesson you should’ve learned by now, but no, you keep pushing it!”

Reckless and stubborn, headstrong and utterly selfless. Not for the first time, you regret being dragged back into this mess. Your life hadn’t exactly been peaceful before — you are your father’s child, after all — but it wasn’t this.

How many more heroes will you watch die before all of this is over?

How much of it can you take?

You watch one of those heroes stare at you, now, and it feels like you’ve swallowed a handful of broken glass.

Behind you, sitting at the dejarik table and making absolutely no attempt to disguise his eavesdropping, Finn leans close to Rey. “You’d never guess they were married, huh?”

He’s whispering, but it’s not exactly quiet.

As if you’re suddenly possessed by the same entity, you and Poe whirl around, mouths agape. “We are not married.”

An uncomfortable heat curls around your spine at the thought of it. Married to Poe Dameron? You cannot imagine anything worse.

Chewie, seated opposite Finn and Rey, makes an exasperated sound. Rey can’t help but snort.

You narrow your eyes at your father’s oldest friend, resting your hands on your hips. “‘Could’ve fooled me?’ Chewie, what are you talking about?”

As your wrath settles upon a new victim, Poe takes the opportunity to slip out of sight, with every intention of hiding in the Engineering Bay on the opposite end of the ship until the danger has passed.

Marching quickly down the corridor, Poe drags a hand over his unbearably warm face and feels like something beneath his ribcage is itching to crawl out. He thinks it might be his heart.

Married to you. Yeah. He can’t think of anything worse, either.

#star wars #poe dameron #star wars fanfic #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #* chapter update.

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meowsequence · 1 month

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The paradox of white chest plate is solved!

Warning: 1) Heavy spoilers 2) Lots of text 3) My point of view may change later

Let's recap some "Fake Ending" and "Continue Game" events:

Elster enters the Gates and goes through red desert. Red is the colour of bio-resonance and Ariane's wrath and suffering, or, in other words - Hell. Loops are also part of Hell.

She sees many corpses which are not (!) results of "Leave" ending - these don't look like they died with inner peace, they are far from Penrose-512 and, most importantly, they are still in Hell. These Elsters just never found the Ship or didn't dare to come closer. Remember Ariane's "come closer" call?

This time Elster finally made it to the ship! But then she got injured by invisible strike. Invisible means bio-resonance and there is only one bio-resonant in Hell - it's very creator Ariane. She didn't forgive Elster. Red part of Ariane feels betrayed and who can blame her?

Despite feeling Ariane's wrath, which hurts in many ways, Elster keep going. She puts her hand on the ship and awful noise stops. She climes up Penrose-512 and tries to open the hatch. "Ghost in the Shell" reference shows that Elster does not care of her body, she didn't forgive herself neither. And she fails. Again. And she falls down dying. Again.

She's actually dead, just look at her eye at main menu! The tragic story of Penrose-512 repeated.

We chose to continue and we see memories of Elster and Ariane being happy (interesting detail - back window is blue here)

We coming back to Elster's dead body and see how Ariane's figure appears next to it. Then we see how Ariane's face blends into bandaged version. I guess we can read it as Aline taking over Ariane or it is Ariane's other side kicks in as she looks at poor Elster? The side that is tired of suffering and wants it all to end - the White (sorry, white won't be visible) colour side, aka what's left of original Ariane. (Is it a proof that there are 2 long-haired Arianes in the line-up, so either one of them Aline or Ariane has 2 sides?) And then…

Elster's last memories are taken out of Red Hell (and therefore - out of loop) into White (snowing) Limbo. Just same way it was transferred from dead Elster on Penrose-512 to Hell in the beginning of the game.

Elster opens her eyes and climbing back. She does not use the hatch. Instead she appears in Ariane's room on the same place where original Elster-512 died. She has another dreadful injury now - her heart was brutally ripped out. That is the scary price for another try. It is hard to admit, but love was the reason of Elster's failures. And now she's desperate enough: she gave a promise and she'll do anything. We see exposed blue bones, blue is Elster's colour. And Ariane accepts Elster's hart as a sacrifice and… forgives her?

Finally, we are approaching the chest plate paradox that is announced in the title! But first, couple words about our sponsor… Do you like brain rot? Have you ever been going to bed and saying "man, I wish I had something to think about again and again instead of healthy sleep"? Try Signalis! Providing broken harts and sleepless nights from 2022! And if you are an artist, you are cursed for additional 50%! Okay-okay, now serious XD

Remember that we are still in White Limbo, outside loops of Red Hell. Another Elster's body we find by the cryo-pod is not a result of other in-Hell endings! It shows us WHERE and HOW we should have died! Arm/armour - is a sign of Ariane's forgiveness. We cover red chest plate and arm markings (the colour of Ariane's wrath) in white and blue - colours of Ariane and Elster. And that will protect us. Now she's ready to jump back to Hell. Now Red side of Ariane can't stop her anymore! What she's gonna do about it, huh? Except… hm… driving Adler mad and wake up Falke? >_>

#signalis #spoilers #ariane yeong #lstr 512 #signalis elster

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hotchnerobsessed · 1 year

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For Your Eyes Only

Fem!Reader x Hotch | You surprise Aaron with boudoir photos and a new lingerie set for Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: 🤭+🥵 Tons of fluff (because Vday with Aaron would be nothing short of the cutest thing ever!!) Smut [soft smut, thigh riding, fem!receiving oral, hand job, fingering, unprotected sex (please be safe everyone!!) and lots of fluffy aftercare 🥺]

Word Count: 10,012

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Although this started as a stand-alone story, as I was writing it I couldn’t help but envision the same characters and scenarios that I previously wrote about in His Favourite Pair (PT1) / (PT2). [ie. the blush pink lingerie set, the fact that ‘tulip’ was their safe word, her calling him ‘my love’, and him being a big reason for her boost in confidence]. If you so choose to believe that this is a continuation of those stories, I would not be opposed to that 😉

**********

Late in the afternoon on a Saturday, you and Aaron were walking hand in hand across the tile floor of the mall. With Jack at his Aunt’s for the weekend, you two had decided you wanted to get out of the house for a bit. You hadn’t come here with anything specific in mind, you were okay simply spending time wandering around, just being together.

As countless storefronts passed by, few caught your attention. It wasn’t until the sign for your favourite lingerie shop was in sight that you felt the excitement to browse the racks. With a slight tug on his arm, you spoke through an excited smile, “Ooo, I want to look around in here!”

Looking down at you, he couldn’t help the smile that creased the corners of his eyes; the joy on your face made his heart melt. “Okay,” he nodded, “I’ll wait for you.”

With an exaggerated pout making it’s home on your face, you asked playfully, “you’re not going to come in with me? I just need a new bra.” You laughed softly, “you saw the one I was wearing last week, it’s seen better days.”

As his eyes scanned the storefront, row after row of lacy material clear as day, he finally looked back at you. You’d been together for a little over 2 years now, and he’d seen you in your underwear before. Hell, he’d seen you in much less than that. He’d only hesitated because he didn’t want to intrude on your personal time, if you wanted to do this yourself. But he couldn’t deny how good it felt knowing you were comfortable having him accompany you while you picked something out.

“You’ve got a point there,” he laughed, knowing it was definitely on its last legs, “I can come in if you’d like me to.”

Without a word, the excited giggle that escaped your lips made it clear you were happy with his answer. With your hand still gripping his, you pulled him towards the store, and only let go of his hand once you began flipping through the racks.

Even though you weren’t there for anything special, you couldn’t help but have a look through everything any time you were there. As your fingers trailed along the different fabrics, everything from the flowery lace to the irresistibly smooth silk, you couldn’t help but look up at Aaron every so often. Although he was doing his best to hide it, he looked like a kid in a candy store.

You took note of the way he lingered in front of one item in particular. As your eyes lifted from the rack you were looking through, you saw him hesitate, feet planted firmly in place as he slowly reached out to feel the material. A gorgeous royal blue set, elegant in how minimal the pattern was, hung on the rack beautifully. The thin lace trim along the edges was accentuated by a simple bow between the cups.

He wondered what the bold colour might look like on you. He laughed internally as he thought to himself, “she would look stunning in anything.” As his thumb ran across the soft material, he couldn’t help but imagine it sliding smoothly beneath his palms while you were wearing it. For a split second, his mind slipped even farther into the fantasy, daydreaming about pulling you into his lap, lingerie still in tact, your bodies impossibly close.

He cleared his throat, a sad attempt at ignoring the thoughts that now consumed his mind. Blinking a few times, trying to refocus on reality, he pulled his eyes away from the material. In no time, he was glancing over at you, and he was immediately aware that he’d been caught. The cheeky smile that was plastered across your face made heat rush to his cheeks, before you gleefully looked away.

Unwilling to be apart from you any longer, he made his way through the aisles until he was standing right next to you, his hand slipping effortlessly around your waist. With a slight squeeze of your hip, he asked, “any luck finding something?”

Holding your hand up, you showed him the two you’d found. The same style you always went for, one a simple black, and the other a gorgeous light purple.

“Yep! I think I’m good to go now..” you paused, looking up at him before hinting at the set he’d had his sights on, “unless there’s something you’d like me to add?”

His pupils dilated, he couldn’t deny the urge he felt to say yes. But he knew you didn’t need it. You already had a variety of different styles and colours, which you’d proudly worn for him in the past, every single one of which he loved. Besides, it was you he was attracted to, not some flimsy fabric. Laughing lightly, he shook his head, “no, it’s okay. You get what you need.”

Raising your eyebrows at him, you gave him a second to change his mind, but he didn’t budge. “Okay..”

As you made your way to the register, Aaron was glued to your side, hand still resting on your hip, and you could feel the tension beginning to build. Though you weren’t going home with a new outfit to show off, you were still going home with him, his mind now full of all kinds of wonderful ideas, and you were prepared for whatever was to come.

The second your card was back in your purse, and the cashier was sliding your bag across the counter, he was reaching for your hand. He swiftly made his way out of the store, pulling you along behind him. You couldn’t help but laugh at how urgent his movements were, “Aaron,” you laughed, “slow down, I have short legs remember?��

He was quick to reduce his strides, “sorry, sorry..” he apologized, “I just..” he cleared his throat, “I can’t wait to get you home.” He said those last words as he looked down at you, red hot desire burning in his eyes. Your lips parted as you breathed out heavy, and he couldn’t help but smile at the affect his words had on you.

As you reached the vehicle, you were both quick to climb into your seats, and before you knew it he was whipping out of the parking lot and racing home. The entire drive, he had his arm stretched out, his hand grasping the inside of your thigh, only inches away from where your body was now aching.

If simply seeing that set hanging on the rack had him this wound up, you knew you had to have it.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

After the passion of that night, you’d found it difficult to push the memory of him running his thumb along the material out of your mind. As that tiny moment played over and over, you tried harder each time to ignore the urge you felt to rush back to the store and buy it.

Until an idea finally hit you; you were going to get boudoir photos taken in that set, just for him.

You’d always envied girls who were confident enough to take boudoir photos. The intimacy of sharing your body with someone else had always been something you struggled with, even if it was only to be photographed. But now, knowing Aaron, your sweet, loving, gentle Aaron, was going to be on the receiving end of them, made a thrill run down your spine.

You made a point of stopping at the mall on your way home from work the next day. Walking into the store, you made a bee-line straight for the spot you’d seen it hanging a few days earlier and flipped through until you found your size. Making a quick trip to the change rooms just to be sure, you couldn’t help the excitement that consumed you over how well it fit; it was almost like Aaron had just known it would be perfect for you.

In no time at all, you were back in your vehicle and checking your emails. You’d spent the entire evening before searching for the photographer who’s style you liked best. After settling on one you felt drawn towards, you’d emailed her and was now anxiously awaiting a response. As you refreshed your emails, you were sad to see your inbox free of any new messages, but you knew you needed to be patient. After all, it hadn’t even been 24 hours.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before you heard back from the photographer, and you felt nothing but pure joy as you read through the email. As you took in all the information about what would be included in the session, as well as pricing and final product options, made it all feel so real. In a matter of days, you had a date set, and now all you could do was wait.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The few weeks between picking a date, and the day finally arriving, were excruciating; you could hardly contain your excitement. And although it was a surprise you knew he was going to love, you hated that you felt like you were keeping something from Aaron. But the day was finally here, and the butterflies in your stomach were alive and well, in the best way possible.

You’d been informed that there was a limit of 5 outfit changes per session. Not one to miss out on the opportunity for variety in your outfits, you packed your bag for the day with 4 sets you already owned that you knew Aaron loved, along with the stunning new one.

As you arrived at the studio, you were in complete awe of just how gorgeous her set up was. The large space was home to three tall windows letting in a breathtaking amount of natural light. A sheer tapestry hung on the main wall, adding a colourful pattern as the backdrop for the set.

The bed was centered on the wall, but angled slightly to add some dimension, with space between the bed frame and the wall so the photographer could capture every angle. Along the back wall was a classy velvet couch, paired with a full length mirror. And to top it all off, there was a gorgeous patterned rug in the middle of the room that you would find out was perfect for showing off that arch in your back flawlessly.

You got along with your photographer immediately, having built a bit of rapport throughout your emails, the two of you really clicked in person. She’d asked ahead of time if there were certain poses you were for or against, as well as certain parts of your body you might want to accentuate or shy away from.

You were honest, making it known that as much as you were more than excited for the confidence boost this was going to bring you, you were doing this for him. It had been a long road to loving the body you were in, and you knew a lot of the progress you’d made was because of Aaron and his constant affirmations and encouragement, and you wanted to focus on that.

You knew how much he loved your hips, his hands seeming to find their way there in almost any circumstance, whether innocent or not. You knew your breasts needed to be a main focus, with the amount of love and care he constantly showered them with. And lastly, he was always drawn to your thighs, with either a gentle hand on your leg, or how frequently he commented on how right it felt when he was buried between them.

The shoot went incredibly well; you felt sexy, and confident, and you quite honestly didn’t want it to end. With every preview you saw of the photos in between poses, you couldn’t contain the joy you felt. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that you’d be here right now, you would have laughed. Instead, here you were, thrilled that you were giving yourself the chance to express yourself in such an intimate and empowering way.

When the session was over, you sat down with her as the photos all popped up one by one on her computer, and you began the selection process. With so many to choose from, you had to narrow it down to a total of 31 photos (typically to allow for 6 of each outfit, and 1 on the intro page), all of which would be printed in a photo album, one with a sleek black cover where you would have the phrase “for your eyes only” embossed in the center.

The last thing you did before finishing the selection of photos to be included was making one specific request; when the photo album was being designed and printed, you wanted the photos in that new royal blue set to be on the final pages. You wanted those photos to be the very last ones he saw.

As time passed, you found yourself more and more impatient as you waited for your photo album to be complete. It was the end of January when you’d received an email update from your photographer letting you know that it was ready. Picking it up from the studio, you two looked through it just to make sure it was what you wanted, and you couldn’t ignore the excitement that welled in your chest. It was perfect, and you could only imagine how Aaron would react once he had it within his grasp. You thanked her profusely for everything, and left feeling lighter than air.

On the drive home, you tried to come up with a plan for how you were going to give it to him, and that’s when you realized you were only a little over two weeks way from Valentine’s Day. Though it hadn’t been your original intention, and waiting the extra 17 days might just prove to be more difficult than you’d imagined, you decided you were going to wait.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

When February 14th finally rolled around, those same butterflies you’d felt on the day of the photoshoot were back. You two had decided on a romantic walk through the Moongate Garden, and a nice dinner out, before returning home to spend the rest of the evening in. You couldn’t wait to give Aaron his gift, and you eagerly anticipated what was surely to follow.

You’d picked this specific dress for a reason; it was an almost identical match to the colour of the new lingerie set you were wearing underneath. The way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places made your confidence grow, with the v-neck accentuating your breasts flawlessly, and the long sleeves giving it a light and airy feel. Turning around and looking over your shoulder in the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at how well it followed the curve of your hips; Aaron was going to have a field day.

You slipped into your heels before exiting the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, patiently waiting for you to finish getting resdy. As his eyes lifted and connected with yours, his jaw visibly dropped, as he blinked a couple times. Taking in the sight of you in front of him, he stood and immediately made his way towards you, “you’re absolutely stunning, sweetheart.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks as you reached your hands out to him, “thank you, Aaron. You don’t look too shabby yourself,” you admitted, gently grabbing hold of his tie.

He smiled down at you, before you tugged lightly on his tie, pulling his lips to yours and kissing him tenderly. His hands finding their way to your hips like they always did, he pulled you closer to him, and sighed contentedly against your lips. He broke away from the kiss so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear, “let’s get going, before I change my mind and decide to keep you home all night..”

An excited chill ran through your body and straight to your core, as you tried your best to play it off like you weren’t affected by his words, “always such a tease..” You spoke as your placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, before letting go of his tie and making your way towards the door.

He eagerly followed, and before you knew it you were walking hand in hand through the stunning garden, just as the sun was setting. The warm orange glow from the sky made everything breathtaking; if you’d asked him, he would have said that included you.

A couple hours later, you were making your way back to your vehicle after enjoying a fantastic dinner at one of your favourite spots. Once you were both settled in your seats, you thanked him for the wonderful evening.

“I should be thanking you,” his voice was soft as he spoke, “you’ve been putting up with me for nearly three years now,” he teased, “I can promise you, I’m the lucky one.”

Although you knew he was teasing in that moment, you also knew there was always that hint of feeling unworthy of love that lingered in the back of his mind. Like at any moment the other shoe would drop and you would leave him, too. But you were quick to put his mind at ease, “Hey.. We’re in this together, remember?” He nodded gently. “I love you, Aaron.”

After that exchange, you knew you couldn’t have picked a more perfect night to give him his gift. You wanted him to know how much you cared for him, how much you trusted him, and how much you desired him. Surely giving him a photo album full of intimate photos, just for him, would do the trick.

He leaned over the centre console of the vehicle and kissed your lips tenderly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Your eyes smiled back at him, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

Before pulling out of the parking lot, he was reaching into his jacket pocket in search of something. As his hand came into view, you saw him grasping a tiny silver box with a simple red ribbon holding it shut. He was silent as he handed it to you, and you reached out to pick it up gently. You looked up at him and he smiled softly in return, “open it.”

Sliding the ribbon off the side, you pulled back the top of the box and a smile graced your lips as you took in the sight of the gorgeous necklace in your hand. He knew you so damn well. Gold jewelry, minimalistic in style, with the dainty outline of a tulip, your favourite flower, pressed into the metal.

You looked up at him, the love you had for him clear as day in your eyes, “Aaron.. it’s perfect.”

A bashful smile lit up his face, “yeah? You like it?”

Nodding your head, you leaned forward and kissed him gently, “I love it.” You smiled at each other as you placed one last peck against his lips, “thank you.”

There was no hiding the smile on his face, “you’re welcome. I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart fluttered, “I love you, too.” Excitement settled deep in your chest as you spoke once more, “and I have something for you, but it’s at home.” Nodding in response, he put the vehicle in reverse and was soon pulling out of the parking lot.

On the drive home, you’d pulled the necklace out of the box and fastened it in place. Pulling down the visor in front of you, you looked in the mirror and admired how perfect it looked hanging around your neck. With a quick glance to the side, he smiled, clearly agreeing.

Once home, he held your hand as he lead you up the front walkway and through the door. Flipping the lock, he turned to face you and you wordlessly stepped together, connecting your lips immediately. It wasn’t long before he was leading you towards the couch, not wanting to be without you on top of him any longer.

As he turned his back to the couch, getting ready to fall back and pull you into his lap, you paused. Pulling your lips away from his, you looked him in the eyes as you rested your palms against his chest and playfully pushed him backwards. Once his back was flush against the couch, and you were standing in front of him, you slowly leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “wait here.”

He exhaled hard as he watched you walk away. You glanced over your shoulder, teasingly making sure he was still sitting there, and he had to pull his eyes away from the way your hips swayed effortlessly in that dress to meet your line of sight. A cheeky smile spread like wildfire across his face when he realized he’d been caught.

Digging to the back of the closet where you’d hidden the photo album, you grabbed hold of it and swiftly made your way back out to the living room. He could tell you were holding something behind your back, and he raised an eyebrow at you in question.

Sitting on the couch next to him, the album still hidden, you did your best to explain what your intentions were, and how much it meant to you, before simply handing it over. “So.. this is something I’ve always wanted to do..” you trailed off, and he listened intently, an encouraging smile on his face, “but it took a long time for me to get to the point where I was comfortable and confident enough to do it.”

Although he wasn’t sure exactly what you were talking about just yet, he continued to listen, reaching out and placing an encouraging hand on your knee. “So, as much as this is a gift for you, it’s also a thank you. For helping me grow into my skin, and for loving me the way you do. You say you’re the lucky one, but it’s not lost on me how thankful I am to have you either.” The way his face lit up at your words made your heart swell.

Bringing his hand up to the side of your face, he leaned close and kissed your forehead gently, “I love you so much, my sweet girl.”

The soft smile on your face soon transformed into a giddy one, and the butterflies in your stomach made themselves known once again. “Okay..” you breathed out, “this is for you..”

Your whole body shook excitedly as you brought it out from behind your back, his eyes following your hands intently as you placed it in his lap. As he read the four words written on the front in gold script, “for your eyes only”, he ran his fingers across the letters as he slowly looked up at you.

Repeating his sentiment from earlier, you simply said, “open it,” as a soft smile pulled at the corner of your lips.

Glancing back down at the album in his hands, he pulled open the cover and was greeted with a stunning close up of you from the shoulders up, but it was still clear what you were wearing. Your eyes were closed and your head was tilted to the side slightly, with one hand grasping one of the straps and pulling it off your shoulder. A simple handwritten note underneath read:

“For Aaron: my joy, my heart, my world.”

Blinking a few times, he looked back up at you and you could see the realization on his face. The love he had for you was radiating from the smile that crinkled his eyes, before he pulled his gaze away from you, focusing back on the pages in front of him. The nerves that had settled deep in the pit of your stomach slowly dissipated once he flipped the page and let out an airy breath.

The spread on the first two pages was a collage of which outfits were to come, all close up shots of the details of each set; all of them except the royal blue one that is. As his eyes trailed across the page, if it wasn’t already clear they were photos of you, there was no denying it now, as he immediately recognized the different pieces you’d worn for him in the past. Reaching his hand out, he gently trailed his fingertips along the page, taking in each photo, one after the other.

The first photo was of a flawless white set, floral lace covering the surface and adding small pops of colour throughout. It was the first set you’d ever worn for him, on your first anniversary.

The second photo was of a sexy red set, tiny hearts scattered across it, the sheer material making your nipples visible. You’d worn it for Valentine’s Day the year before.

The third photo was of a gorgeous blush pink set, and one of his favourites, the lace making you look absolutely divine. This set was always a go-to for both of you, especially after a certain instance when you’d snuck the panties into his suitcase.

The fourth and final photo was of a stunning burgundy set, one that had added straps across the top of both of your breasts, accentuation their curves. He’d bought this one for you as a Christmas gift your second year together.

You watched his face intently as he took it all in; the way his lips parted slightly, and his eyes lingered on each photo, made pride well in your chest. He finally looked back up at you, and you could see the desire beginning to burn behind the love and care in his eyes. Leaning towards you, he reached his hand up to capture the back of your neck, before pulling your lips to his passionately.

Almost unable to contain yourself, you leaned into it and cupped his face with both of your hands, as your tongues danced with each other momentarily. You finally pulled back, both of you near breathless, and you rested your forehead against his.

“Fuck, I love you..” he whispered.

You let out an airy laugh, “I love you, too..” You kissed his lips once more before stating, “keep looking..”

There was no hiding the eagerness in his eyes now, but he pushed it aside for the time being, knowing both of you wanted him to finish looking through the entire album. Little did he know, he was in for quite the surprise, and you couldn’t wait.

As he flipped through the pages, image after image of you showing yourself off for him seared themselves into his mind. One particular photo he hesitated on was one of you kneeling in front of the mirror. Facing the camera, with your back to the mirror, it gave him the perfect view of all of you. The way your hair fell to the side when you tilted your head, with your fingers in your hair. The way your thighs looked, spread ever so slightly, inviting him in. And the way your ass rested gently on your heels, looking all too perfect for his hands to grasp.

After that one, he needed to take a second to gather himself. There were still a few pages to go, and he was already turned on beyond belief. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, before breathing deep and looking up at you. “You are so gorgeous, my girl. I can’t believe I get you all to myself.”

You blinked slowly a couple times, the way his dominant and possessive side flickered in his tone made heat pool between your legs. You leaned forward to kiss his lips tenderly, “I’m yours. All yours.”

Your words made it next to impossible for him to continue, wanting nothing more than to toss the album aside and start undressing you right then and there. But he didn’t. With his jaw clenched, he turned back to the album in front of him, before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

Finally turning the page once more, there they were, the stunning photos of you in that royal blue set scattered the pages in full colour. With your eyes locked on him, you felt your body exhale at the way his jaw dropped, and his eyes widened, “is this.. that’s the same..” He was having a hard time articulating the emotions running through his mind. It was the same set he’d been dreaming of for months, he knew it.

Lifting his head, he eagerly looked at you in search of reassurance of what he knew was true. You nodded enthusiastically, and before you could speak, his lips were crashing into yours again. Giggling through the kiss, you reluctantly pulled away and confessed, “I went back the next day.. I couldn’t resist.”

His eyes scanned your face longingly; he was in complete disbelief over the fact that the amount of love he felt for you was able fit inside his chest at once. He didn’t know what he’d done in his life to deserve to have you by his side, but here you were, and you were his entire world.

At a complete loss for words, he simply turned his focus back to the photos in his hands. It was the way your breasts fit perfectly inside the cups, and the way the cheeky cut of the underwear made your ass look divine. He couldn’t stop staring. He was slow to turn the page, as more photos filled his mind, doing nothing but making him fall even deeper in love with you.

You’d done all of this for him. He could hardly believe it. You two had been intimate together countless times before, so seeing you like this was nothing new. And yet somehow, this was completely different. This was more permanent, he’d have it forever. It was something he would be able to turn to when you weren’t there. It would be a reminder of the love you had for him. Not to mention the fact that you’d gone to the effort of putting yourself out there in a way you never thought you could before, just to prove to him that he was worthy of love. Maybe he was doing something right after all.

The last two pages had a single photo on each, both taking up the entire page. The first was one of you in the middle of the floor on that gorgeous rug, with your knees bent and toes pointed, your back arching off the floor, and your hair shining flawlessly in the light. The second was a shot of you in the centre of the bed, lying on your stomach, arms stretched above your head with your ass in the air slightly, your hair the perfect amount of tousled as it fell to the side.

With another deep breath out, he closed the back cover of the album and carefully set it on the coffee table in front of him. Looking over at you, he spoke breathlessly, “come here..” In no time at all, he was reaching out to you, hands finding their way to your hips as he pulled you into his lap, finally. Kissing you passionately, a soft giggle of yours made him smile against your lips, before you both wrapped your arms around each other and held on tight.

You whispered against his neck, “so.. do you like it?”

Pulling back from your embrace slightly, his arms still around your waist and your hands now on his shoulders, he confessed, “do I..” he trailed off, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, “sweetheart.. I love it. And I love you.” With one hand now resting on the side of your face, he ran his thumb across your cheek lovingly. “It’s an incredibly generous gift. You did all of that, for me?” he breathed out hot, “I just.. I have no words.. I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough.”

As you listened to his words, your heart swelled, and you couldn’t help the flustered smile that made its home on your face. Leaning forward, you kissed him once more before looking him in the eyes and admitting cheekily, “well.. I can think of a few things..”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, as he smiled wide at your implication, before connecting his lips to yours once more. With both of his hands back on your hips, he pulled you even father into his lap, as your lips parted to allow his eager tongue to slip past. He kissed you deep, and slow, with your fingers carding through his hair, you tugged ever so gently, causing him to moan against your lips.

He was still urgent in his movements, still desperate to have you, but things had taken an unexpected turn. Something about the vulnerability of you putting yourself out there like that, just for him, had turned the evening on it’s axis. What you both thought was going to be a night full of hungry, rough, and heated sex, had quickly turned into what you now both understood was going to be a night of making tender, deep, and passionate love with each other.

Regardless of how things progressed, one thing was always true, and that was the care he put into making sure you were more than satisfied by the end of the evening. And tonight would be no different.

You felt his hands slowly move from your hips to slide along your thighs. Once he reached the hem of your dress, he began pushing the material back, exposing you to him. As one hand slid even farther under your dress, he applied gentle pressure with his thumb, caressing your core through the thin fabric of your underwear. The second his thumb made contact with the material, he knew exactly what you were wearing.

Halting his movements, he pulled his lips away from yours to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown wide. “You’re wearing the blue one, aren’t you?” You nodded lightly, your breathing laboured. He swallowed deep, “you’ve been wearing it all night?”

You nodded again, “oops.. did I forget to tell you that part?” you teased.

The way his eyes darkened made heat pool between your legs, “fuck sweetheart.. show me..”

He helped you up, and once you were standing in front of him, you leaned forward and gently grabbed hold of his tie. “Okay.. but you first..”

He didn’t hesitate, tugging on the knot and pulling the fabric from around his neck before tossing it aside, making you both laugh. Kneeling in front of him, you started working on his belt while he pulled his suit jacket off and undid the buttons on his shirt. In no time at all, he was stripped down to nothing but his boxers, his already hard length making itself know.

Before standing again, you leaned forward and trailed kisses across his chest, and down his stomach, before placing one final kiss against him through the fabric of his boxers. You smiled at the moan that escaped his lips as you did, causing your walls to clench around nothing.

Knowing the new lingerie would mean he’d want you to undress for him, you’d planned for it. You wanted to make it easy for yourself by picking something that not only matched the lingerie set, but was stretchy enough that it would come off easily. Once you were standing, you carefully pulled the sleeves down one at a time, slipping your arms out the top.

You effortlessly hooked your thumbs in the now crumpled material, pulling it down past your breasts, and past your waist, before finally dropping it to the floor. With the lingerie set now on full display for him, accentuated beautifully by the dainty gold necklace still hanging around your neck, he was nearly speechless once again. “You.. sweetheart, you’re..” he mumbled, “fuck, you’re so gorgeous..”

Smiling at his flustered confession, you moved forward in an attempt to rest your weight in his lap once more. As you did, he spread his legs slightly, and guided one of his knees between yours. It didn’t take long for you to figure out why he’d done what he had, as your already soaking core made contact with his thigh.

With his hands immediately finding their way to your hips, he encouraged you to begin rocking back and forth, dragging your still clothed core along the muscles in his thigh. The feeling was already so good, as you tipped your head back, your hair falling behind your shoulders, giving him a direct view of the stunning colour that clothed your body.

He gently ran his palms up your sides, before bringing them to the front of your body, cupping your breasts in his large hands. As he ran his thumbs across the material, you both knew this was exactly what he’d imagined in the store that day. You on top of him, using him to make yourself feel good, as he trailed his palms along the material; the thought made heat rush through your veins.

With your hands planted firmly on his chest, keeping yourself steady, your body got used to the familiar contact in no time, and you desperately needed more. The moan that escaped your lips told him as much, so his hands were back on your hips in an instant, gripping your soft flesh with his fingertips, and helping you move faster.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart? he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway. When you simply nodded your head in response, he prompted you again, “Yeah?”

Your heart was racing, “yes..” you admitted between deep breaths, “Aaron, it feels so good.”

With your climax quickly approaching, he could feel the tension building with how uneven your movements had become, “are you going to cum for me?” Again, you could only nod in response, your breathing getting more and more ragged by the second; the feeling was almost too much. “Good, that’s my good girl. You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he encouraged, “fuck, you look so good like this.”

Bringing your hands up to the side of his face, you pulled his lips to yours and kissed him deeply. He was quick to respond, kissing you back with just as much passion, all while his hands still had a firm grasp on your hips. As you got closer and closer to the edge, you felt the muscles in his thigh tense, and you knew he was doing it on purpose.

Separating your lips from his, you rested your forehead against his. “Ohhh..” you moaned, “Aaron, I’m close.. I’m so close..”

With a huge grin on his face, he kept a firm grasp on your hips, “yeah, that’s it, cum for me sweet girl..”

The praise that fell of his lips was all you needed, as your body crested the wave. With your body shaking, and hips stuttering, you felt relief consume your mind as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. You gently wrapped your arms around his shoulders with what little energy you had left in you, and nuzzled your head into his neck.

Your heavy breathing began to slow as he gently ran his fingers through your hair and whispered in your ear, “shhh, shhh, there you go. I love you so much, sweetheart. Yeah, just breathe.”

Once you’d caught your breath again, you laughed softly against his neck, “shit.. that was so good.”

He laughed right along with you, “yeah? You liked that, huh?” You hummed in agreement, before nuzzling your body even closer to his.

With his arms still holding you close, his palms exploring your soft skin, he trailed his fingers along the back of your bra, revelling in the way the smooth material complimented your skin so flawlessly.

It wasn’t long before your hips started moving along his thigh once again, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, “does my girl want more already?”

Sighing heavily, your body still impossibly close to his, you admitted, “yes, more, please..”

With a huge smile on his face, he encouraged you to lift your weight off his lap so you could readjust, “lay back sweetheart, let me take care of you..”

Exhaling deep at his words, you didn’t hesitate, allowing him to help you lay back, your shoulders resting on the arm of the couch. It was a tight squeeze with both of you laying on the couch, but you’d made it work so many times before that it was like second nature for both of you. The way you spread your legs wide for him, and the way he nuzzled himself between your thighs, right where he always loved to be.

Gazing down at him, eyelids still heavy under the weight of your first release, you watched as he gently ran his fingers along the outside of the fabric covering your soft lips. “You’re so wet, sweetheart, we’ve ruined these already..” he spoke through a smirk, before he leaned forward and kissed you gently through the material.

He took his time, getting you riled you up ever so slowly with soft kisses against the outside of your panties, before finally pulling the now soaking fabric to the side and eagerly attaching his lips to your body. The moan that graced your lips was music to his ears, and in no time at all, he felt the familiar tugging of your hands in his hair. Allowing your head to drop back, you did your best to relax and enjoy the pleasure he was offering. With long, firm swipes of his tongue through your folds, he took his time devouring you.

With one arm wrapped around your hip, his hand lying flat against your stomach holding you in place, he continued with the calculated motions of his tongue against your body. But it wasn’t long until the familiar feeling of him lining his fingers up with your entrance consumed your mind. And before you knew it, he was slowly guiding two fingers between your tight walls, his name blissfully falling off your lips.

With a slight curling motion, he gently ran the pads of his fingers against that spongey spot inside you, over and over and over. All the while, his tongue was still dancing effortlessly against your swollen clit.

“Oh fuck.. yeah, right there..” you could feel the smile that spread across his face at your pleas, “Aaron.. don’t stop, oh please don’t stop.”

In a matter of seconds, he felt your walls clenching around his fingers, as your grasp on his hair tightened. Slowing his movements ever so slightly, he drew your pleasure out of you as long as you would allow, until he felt your slight nudge on his head telling him that was enough.

As you desperately tried to regain your composure, your chest heaving, he trailed soft kisses along the inside of your thighs in between words of praise. “That’s my girl..” a tender kiss on the inside of your knee, “so sexy when you’re cumming for me..” another gentle kiss farther up your thigh, “so beautiful, sweetheart.”

Resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh, he slowly brought his fingers back up and gently ran them through your folds, smiling wide at the way your body shuddered at the overstimulation. As a gentle laugh escaped your lips at the feeling, you finally lifted your head and looked down at him. As your eyes met, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as he placed another gentle kiss against the inside of your thigh.

Repeating his sentiment from earlier, you reach your arms out to him and whispered, “come here..”

Without hesitation, he carefully pulled your hips farther down the couch so you’re shoulders were flat against the cushions, causing you to giggle lightly. With his body now caging you in from above, you wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, with your hands on either side of his face, pulling his lips to yours. You could taste your own release on his tongue, and it made heat rush through your veins, as you hummed against his lips.

“Aaron..” you mumbled, “I want to feel you..”

“Okay..” he mumbled just as you had, “here?” inquiring if you wanted to get more comfortable in the bedroom.

Nodding softly, you admitted, “right here. I just want you..”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, “okay.” Placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, he swiftly leaned back and removed his boxers, tossing them to the side.

Hovering over you again, he gently caressed the side of your face with one hand, while carefully lining himself up with the other. Gazing into your eyes, he asked softly, “you ready, sweetheart?” You nodded, your soft hum of agreement gripping his chest in the best way.

With that, he was gently pushing his hips closer to yours, his length stretching you inch by inch. As your lips parted, a soft sigh escaping, he dropped his head beside yours and you felt your body exhale at the way he groaned in your ear.

He started slow, pulling out of you gently before pushing back into you, and you could have sworn you’d never felt him this deep before. The way his hands instinctively found their way into your hair, the way his breath on your neck made you shiver, and the way his body rubbed blissfully against your clit, had your body tightening around him.

With your legs still around his waist, pulling him closer with every thrust, you held him tight with your arms around his shoulders, your nails trailing along his skin. “Oh Aaron, ohhhh fuck..” you were breathless again, “you’re so deep.. I love you so much..”

With another quiet moan in your ear, he trailed kisses along your neck, “I love you too, my girl..” His lips captured yours once more, and he swallowed the sounds you made as he began moving faster. With every drag of his length out of your walls, and every passionate thrust forward, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to another climax.

With one more gentle nudge of your body with his, you felt ecstasy wash over you. “Yeahhh, there you go..” he whispered against your neck, “that’s my good girl.. fuck you feel so good..” Your breathing was laboured, as your grasp on his body tightened, holding him impossibly close.

As you slowly began to catch your breath again, he trailed gentle kisses along your neck, and your jaw, before capturing your lips with his once more. And once you felt like you’d recovered enough, you spoke excitedly, “okay, now it’s my turn..” as you encouraged him to sit up.

Once he was sitting, his back against the couch, you straddled his lap, and immediately his hands were on your hips. With your panties still pulled to the side, you reached behind your back and undid the clasp on your bra. You took pleasure in watching the way his eyes were glued to your chest as you pulled the material off your body and tossed it aside.

With his hands reaching up to cup your breasts, he gently twirled your nipples between his fingers, causing your back to arch instinctually. Unable to resist any longer, you reached down between your bodies and lined him up with your core once again, before sinking down on his length.

Repeating your motions from earlier, his hands gravitated towards your hips yet again, as you began rocking back and forth. Desperately wanting to hold him close, you leaned your chest against his and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

The quicker you moved, the closer he got to the edge, and through gritted teeth he confessed, “I’m so close.. sweetheart I’m going to cum..”

With one final rock of your hips, you lifted your body off his and immediately reached down to grasp him in your hand. Resting your forehead against his, you spoke softly, “yeah? Go ahead.. cum for me my love..”

With your soft fingers wrapped around him, moving up and down sensually, it wasn’t long before his body was reaching its high. With a deep moan rumbling in his chest, his hips stuttered and you smiled at the soft grunts that escaped his lips. With his hands still grasping your hips, fingertips digging into your skin, his hips bucked instinctually a couple times as he spilled his release across his abdomen. You continued with your motions until you felt the tell-tale shiver of it being too much run through his body.

He dropped his head back against the couch, a deep sigh consuming his chest, as you leaned forward and placed tender kisses along his jaw. He took a moment to simply enjoy the bliss that clouded his mind, before kissing your lips tenderly.

Once his heart rate began to slow, and he could finally catch his breath again, he stated quietly, “you didn’t.. I’m, I’m sorry.. I couldn’t last long enough for you to have another..”

Shaking your head in response, you laughed gently, “oh, no Aaron, it’s okay..” it was your turn to place a loving kiss against his forehead, “you’ve already given me my fair share..”

He objected once again, “no, you can give me one more, I know you can..” He was quick to slide one of his hands over your thigh and between your legs. You felt heat rise in your cheeks at his persistence, so you didn��t try to stop him, as his fingers found their way along your folds yet again. The soft moan you let out at the contact only urged him on.

With your hands planted firmly on his chest again, and your eyes connected with his, you lifted your hips a little father, just as he slipped two fingers inside you. The sounds that left your lips drove him wild, as he began with those same curling motions deep within you, his thumb strategically placed on you clit.

It didn’t take much for him to get you going again, and the smile on his face made your heart flutter. “I can feel you, sweetheart.. you’re close again aren’t you?”

A soft, “mhm..” was all you could get out, as your eyelids slowly closed, giving into the pleasure.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, as he kept up with those same glorious motions between your legs. Before you knew it, you felt that same euphoria reach its peak. As your fourth orgasm of the night ripped through your body, it took everything in you not to completely collapse on top of him. Your legs shook, and your breath caught in your throat, but he didn’t stop, wanting to draw it out as long as possible.

Sliding your hands up, you gripped his shoulders tight as pleasure consumed you. When it finally reached the point of too much, you breathed out his name, “Aaron..” and he swiftly pulled his fingers out.

Collapsing into his lap, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close, sighing heavily. He laughed breathlessly against your chest, his arms circling your waist and holding you close. You both sat there for what felt like an eternity, his palms running along your back comfortingly, as you placed lazy kisses against his neck.

Breaking the silence, he whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Trailing your kisses along his jaw, you captured his lips with yours tenderly, “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

With another gentle kiss against your lips, he leaned back to look in your eyes, one hand coming up to rest on the side of your face, “let’s get cleaned up.”

You laughed softly, “okay.”

Standing from the couch, he made sure to hold your hands tight, knowing your legs would be a little unsteady in the aftermath of everything you’d just experienced. Once he was standing, he gently encouraged you to lead the way with a nod of his head. Still holding one hand in yours, he trailed close behind you as you made your way to your ensuite bathroom.

You quickly threw your hair into a messy bun, before starting the bath, checking to make sure the water was warm enough, and adding some of your favourite bubble bath. As you turned back to face him, he crouched down in front of you and slowly pulled the panties that you were still wearing down your legs, discarding them in the sink to be washed by hand later.

Grabbing a small wash cloth, he held it under the running water before kneeling in front of you once more. He gently grasped your ankles one at a time, and lifted them to rest your foot on his thigh. Each time, he guided the warm cloth up the inside of your leg, before focusing on your thigh. Finally, he very carefully ran the warmth along your folds, two, three, four times, just to make sure you were comfortable.

Placing a gentle kiss against your knee, he finally set your foot back down before standing. He used the wash cloth to clean his own thighs, before finally wiping his release off his stomach, and tossing the cloth in the sink as well.

Facing each other once again, you reached your arms out to him, and he smiled softly, pulling you into his embrace and holding you tight. He kissed the top of your head, and whispered against your hair, “thank you for the gift, sweetheart. Thank you for trusting me, and thank you for allowing me to love you.”

Looking up at him, you stood on your tiptoes and kissed his lips tenderly, wrapping your arms even tighter around him. “Anything for you, Aaron.”

With a gentle kiss to your forehead, he finally released you from his grasp, before leaning down to shut the water off. With one hand holding yours, he kept you steady while you stepped over the side of the bath and settled under the bubbles. Sliding back, you made room for him in front of you, and in no time he was lowering himself into the water facing you.

Another tight squeeze, but it was something else you’d done countless times before and was now second nature. Sliding your legs alongside each other, you both leaned back against opposite ends. With your elbow resting on the side of the bath, you leaned your head against your hand and stared at him lovingly.

The soft smile that graced your lips caused a flustered grin to spread across his face, “what are you thinking about?”

Your smile grew as you admitted, “how happy you make me.”

The love he felt for you in that moment completely took his breath away. With a sharp exhale, his eyes trailed from the messy bun top of your head, down to your lips, along your arm that was resting on the side of the bath, and finally to the gold necklace still hanging around your neck.

When he finally looked back up at you, you simply gazed into each other’s eyes as he attempted to gather his thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak, but was ultimately unable to; he found himself utterly speechless. All he wanted to do was hold you.

He carefully readjusted so his legs were on either side of your hips, and guided your feet over his thighs, pulling you close as you settled your legs around his waist. With your bodies tangled together once more, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, as one of his hands rested on your lower back, the other gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb ran back and forth across your cheek, as he placed a kiss to your forehead, then on the tip of your nose, before finally capturing your lips with his.

Pulling back slightly, he gazed into your eyes longingly and whispered, “I love you so much. I can’t imagine life without you by my side.”

Your eyes smiled back at him, and you kissed him gently before responding, “I guess that makes two of us.”

He laughed softly at your words, pulling you even closer and resting his forehead against yours.

It wasn’t long before you were both readjusting once more, so your back was leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders. As he nuzzled his head beside yours, you both stayed there for quite a while, on the verge of falling asleep, until he gently nudged you. The bubbles were long gone, and you had to admit the water was definitely starting to get cold.

Once you were both out of the bath and dried off, you followed him out to your bedroom where you slid on a pair of underwear and he pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt. In no time, he was grabbing one of those quarter zip sweaters he knew you loved so much and turning to you. “Here you go, sweetheart,” he spoke quietly as he helped you slide the soft material over your head.

In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, his heart swelled at how exquisite you looked; he couldn’t wait to curl up in bed and fall asleep with you in his arms.

The way he looked at you wasn’t lost on you, and you asked sheepishly, “what?”

He blinked slowly, nothing but love radiating from the warm smile on his face. Closing the gap between you, he gently lifted your chin so your attention was on him, as he gazed into your eyes longingly. “Oh it’s nothing really..” he teased softly, “it’s just, I love you is all..”

You felt your chest tighten, and you breathed deep as your body attempted to process the joy that consumed you. There was something about this moment, something about the love you’d just shared, and the vulnerability of the evening, that had you falling even deeper in love with him.

Standing on your tiptoes, you connected your lips with his tenderly, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. When you finally pulled away, you lingered, brushing your nose against his playfully, “I love you, too..”

You could hear the smile that spread across his face, as he let out a soft laugh, cupping your face in his hands. Placing a gentle kiss against your forehead, he spoke once more, “come on, let’s get some sleep.”

With his hand on your lower back, he lead you over to the bed before pulling back the covers for you. In no time he was shutting the lamp off and climbing in beside you, rolling onto his side and reaching his hands out to you. You didn’t hesitate, tucking your arms into your chest like you always did, and allowed his strong arms to encompass your body. As he held you tight against his chest, you nuzzled your head under his chin and tangled your feet with his.

Your eyes slowly closed, and it wasn’t long before you were drifting off to sleep. The way your body relaxed in his grasp, and the way your chest rose and fell a bit heavier than it had minutes earlier, were telltale signs that you were fast asleep.

He placed a tender kiss on the top of your head, and although you couldn’t hear him, he whispered against your hair, “I’m going to marry you one day..” before closing his eyes and succumbing to his own weariness.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Tag List: @ssamorganhotchner ; @ccristata ; @anlin2058 ; @sannunah28 ; @hotchgirlsummer ; @mesnyder ; @red-red-rogue ; @chibsytelford

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