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muddyorbsblr · 1 year

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the new sorcerer supreme pt1

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration See my full list of works here!

Requested by: @rmoonstoner

Summary: After the events of Endgame, Carol Danvers gave you a device to send a signal to virtually any and every known receiver in the galaxy. After three years of silence, the device finally beeped with a response.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of Thanos; mentions of major character deaths; grief; angst; derogatory use of the word 'whore'

Beep beep beep

Your spine immediately straightened at the foreign sound echoing around your otherwise silent apartment. You knew every single alarm from every device and appliance in this apartment, and that was definitely something new.

And there was only one device in here that had alarms you'd never heard.

Beep beep beep

Immediately you rushed to the case that housed the intergalactic-caliber paging device that Carol had given you after the final battle with Thanos, the very same one where you wielded a modified version of Loki's scepter that synthesized the powers of the mind stone. Enough to give you an advantage. Enough to make sure you held your own despite being a simple human among the admittedly more formidable allies that surrounded you.

Enough that you had the mad titan on his knees when you and Wanda tag teamed the son of a bitch for ripping out your hearts and crushing them. In your case literally.

Carol said that you could use the device to send out a signal to any receiver in the entire galaxy. She also said that if you were right, and the one you were looking for was truly out there, then you should send out something that only the two of you would know. So you sent out something you two would often say when the other got too lost in their thoughts: Come back to me.

And now that very same device was beeping for the first time in three years.

With shaking hands you opened the case, gently grasping the device and lifting it out, hope once again blooming in your heart that perhaps your days would no longer be lonely. For the first time since Thor pulled you aside after the Battle in Wakanda to inform you of your lover's fate, your future felt full of promise.

That optimism was quickly extinguished once you read the message that the device received. It wasn't the words that you were expecting, not by a long shot.

Found you. You will pay for what you and your friends did to our Master. Jotun's whore.

A chill ran down your spine, quickly spreading throughout your entire body, all the way to your fingertips. You quickly set down the device back in its case, rushing to your phone to reach out to someone you knew was likely the most capable one to help you in defending yourself against your incoming adversaries.

"Y/N?" he answered after two rings. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Strange. I think I'm in trouble."

It didn't even take thirty seconds before a portal opened in the middle of your living room, and in walked Stephen Strange and Wong, looking ready to battle whoever they may encounter inside the apartment.

"There's no one here," you explained. "Not yet, anyway." You motioned toward your couch. "Why don't you two sit down and I'll explain what I've been up to the last three years that got me into this mess."

When you'd finished telling them about the device and the signal you sent out, Stephen spoke first. "Y/N, I know this will be hard to hear, but Loki's dead. He's been dead for eight years now. If he really was out there, don't you think he would've answered your page already?"

You sighed. "I know. It's probably stupid to even keep the damn thing here, basically giving those cultists of Thanos a homing beacon to latch on to. A big intergalactic red neon sign saying 'she's here!'"

"But how do you know that these are followers of the mad titan?" Wong inquired.

You took a deep breath before you spoke. "When we fought Thanos three years ago, the henchmen that I was able to put down…They all called me 'the whore of Jotunheim's King'. The less wordy ones called me 'Jotun's whore'. So while I can't be completely sure, because who knows these space alien folk might be the type to share hot goss around the galaxy and somehow that became my galactic nickname? But I can make a pretty good inference that these are followers of Thanos that somehow got overlooked by Stark's Snap."

"Y/N you have to get rid of the device. You're leading them straight to you," Strange instructed, a look of concern evident on his face.

"I can't, Stephen."

"Why not?!"

"Because if I do, that means it's over!" you snapped, tears brimming in your eyes as you said the words. "If I get rid of it, it means that I'm letting him go. I bury any hope in my heart that he's somewhere out there, and maybe it's just taking longer for my message to be received. I get rid of the device, it means that I've accepted that the rest of my life will be desolate and cold. I can't accept that, and you of all people should understand."

Strange put his head in his hand, rubbing his brows in visible frustration, but ultimately relenting. "You're right. I'm sorry. But that device is still going to lead them right to you. I can think of one possible spell that could deflect their perception of you and the device, but it's beyond either of our powers. All I can do is maybe do a spell that could give you some enhanced abilities that could help you defend yourself. Basically as if you're getting my powers. On a loan."

"That's…that's really generous of you, but I'm curious. Aren't you two supposed to be like some of the most powerful individuals this side of the universe or something?"

"Yes, that is true. But to perform the spell that Strange mentioned? This might be beyond our powers, Y/N. You will need to consult with the Sorcerer Supreme."

Wong's response had you taken aback. "But I thought that…one of you was the Sorcerer Supreme?" you asked, pointing your finger at them.

"Not anymore. About a year ago, I woke up and the augmented powers I received from being declared Sorcerer Supreme were gone. There's a new one, and whoever it is, they're not in any of the sanctums around the world. They're not in Kamar Taj, either. They're going through great lengths to stay hidden, keep their identity a secret," Strange explained. "Now, I can't tell you who it is. I'm sorry. It's beyond me. But I can at least tell you where you can start looking."

You nodded eagerly, ready to find whoever this was, and get their help beating the asses of whoever was coming for you. For giving you hope even for a sliver of a moment that maybe the love of your life could still be out there, trying to find a way back home. "I'm ready. I'll go anywhere."

"New Asgard."

Well…at least you'd be able to check in on an old friend while you were looking for this new Sorcerer Supreme. "Alright…" You looked between the two sorcerers. "Any chance you could conjure me up a portal there?"

You watched as a fond smile graced Stephen's face. "Of course. Just one more thing. Gimme your arm." You held out your arm and he clasped one hand over it, chanting a quick spell. When he released you, there was a rune marking your skin. "In case you need to defend yourself. But remember. It's just a loan."

"Lady Y/N!" Thor boomed from the New Asgard Hall that now served as his kind of 'throne room'. It was a far cry from the gilded glamour of the realm of Asgard, the home he and the rest of the citizens here had lost from invoking Ragnarok in the hopes of thwarting his bloodthirsty war freak of a sister, but you could feel the community among them.

"Hey, Thunder," you greeted as he rushed over to you, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "Place looks great." When he pulled away, you put a firm hand on his shoulder, tears brimming in your eyes as you said, "I'm sorry about Jane. I should've called, I should've been there for you."

"No, my friend. You have no such obligations to me. And I was destined to face it alone—"

"Don't say that," you croaked. "Nobody should have to face that alone. You were there for me when—" Your words caught in your mouth, refusing to be uttered. "You were there for me eight years ago. I should have been here for you. Reached out. I'm sorry."

He placed his hand over yours, giving it a quick squeeze. "I would never dare hold that against you, Lady Y/N. Nor would I dare wish to have you here and witness another losing the one they love most across the Nine Realms. You are my friend, that is true. But I am also yours. And truly all I feel is a somber relief and contentment, knowing that even now…even after all this time, my brother has someone who still loves him as fiercely as you do."

"That's…kind of why I'm here…" He furrowed his eyebrows at you. "Thor, I'm in deep shit."

"What troubles you, my friend? I can assure you what ever it may be, you will not be facing this alone." He led you over to a couch where you could sit and explain your current predicament.

And so you explained to him. About the device and about how you refused to give up hope that maybe somewhere in the vast universe, Loki was still out there. Trying to find his way back home. That you were simply giving him a pin in the map, so he didn't have to do so unguided. When you finished you could see that the blond Asgardian was on the brink of tears again before he pulled you into another embrace.

"I care not that you were unable to marry. In my heart, you are my sister. You are my family." The tears fell from your eyes at his words. "So Strange is certain that this new Sorcerer Supreme is somewhere within New Asgard?"

"He said this was the last place that he and Wong could sense their power. I just want to spend a few days, take a look around, see if I could find them. Or at least my next clue on where to look. If it's alright with you."

"It is more than alright. New Asgard would be more than happy to host you. Assist you in whatever it is you may need. We can start with your lodging." He walked over to his desk and opened the top drawer, a sentimental look crossing his features as he took out a set of keys from inside. "Come, Sister. Let me show you to your home, at least for the next few days."

You stood from the couch, confusion rife on your face as you eyed him. "Did you know that I was coming? I mean…you have a place ready, so…did you just have that lying around, or…?"

A rueful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "In truth, Lady Y/N, perhaps I was hoping that my brother was still alive, too. Trying to find his way home. That house had been allocated for you and Loki to build a home together if ever the fates were kind and brought him back to us."

You could feel your heart cracking again at Thor's words. At the knowledge that he'd been holding on just as much as you were. Sure, he didn't endanger anyone in the process from sending out an intergalactic pin on the map that how had some alien fanatics on their way to merrily destroy you and everyone you loved. No, nothing that reckless, thankfully.

He simply gave you a place to call home on the off chance that Loki did find his way back.

The two of you walked to a house not too far from Thor's place, making a tender smile break out on your face at the realization that in his optimistic vision he had in his head, he wanted to keep you as close to him as possible. The smile broke out into an amused grin as you tried to imagine the initial protest from his brother as he realized the proximity between your places.

"You would have made it such a beautiful home, Sister," the god of thunder said as he opened the door to the two-story cottage-style home, the alarm on his face evidence when he saw how, despite the sunlight on the outside, the house had been shrouded in darkness. A quick look around showed you both that there were no curtains installed; after all, nobody should be living in this house, according to what the god told you.

He was about to walk in when you held out your hand to stop him. "Let me." You showed him the rune on your arm. "I have some powers. Courtesy of Strange. On loan. But it lets me sense if there are other wielders of magic around. I just gotta figure out how Stephen does this…" You tapped your wrists together twice and pulled back an arm as if you were wielding two shields, astonished when your arms lit aglow with celestial looking shields made of pure light energy.

"That…is cool," the blond god commented, pointing at your light shields. "Do you sense anything?"

You concentrated on the presence that you initially felt when the door opened; it felt as if they were making a considerable effort to deflect anyone's attention if ever they were to come across this house. Their power. "It's faint," you answered him. "Like they're trying to muddle their presence to us somehow, make us divert our attention elsewhere." You took a breath, deciding to attempt communicating with whoever was hiding out in this house. Your house. "Hello?" you called out into the deceptively empty and quiet space.

There was no answer.

"We mean you no harm," you said loudly into the emptiness. "Perhaps…if we tell you our names, you'll come out? See that we are people of our word. We're not here to hurt you. We're friends."

There was a slight bristle in the presence, a single brush against your shoulder. As if the person inside the house was trying to communicate with you.

"Okay…my—my name is Y/N. I'm…well, I'm nothing special, really. But I work with some really extraordinary people and we collectively save the world from threats, within this planet and beyond. Mad tyrants, aliens--" Your voice choked as you said the final word, "Titans." You felt Thor's hand grasp your shoulder in support as you said it. "I-I'm here with one of those extraordinary people right now. Thor. Son of Odin. God of Thunder. King of New Asgard—"

"Actually, Sister, I'm no longer King. I bequeathed that title to Val," he corrected your introduction to the unknown presence.

"O-Oh. Okay. So he's not King of New Asgard anymore, apparently, but he is still the God of Thunder. That's pretty cool," you rambled, causing him to chuckle beside you. "Anyway, all this to say, we're not here to hurt you. And I promise. If you show yourself? We'll do what we can to help you. I understand having to hide for either your own safety or for the safety of others, I do. But this house you're using for sanctuary…it's mine. Well, kind of. It's a long story. But the important part is, I swear to you, if you come out, we won't leave you to fend for yourself. We'll help you. As best we can."

You felt another brush across your body, this time almost feeling like a person wrapping their arms around you in a tentative embrace. And then a door opened by the dining area…to where you presumed would have been a study, if you'd actually had the chance to turn this into your home with Loki.

Shields still up, you cautiously made your way toward the now open room, Thor following close behind as he summoned Stormbreaker by his side, the battle axe quietly sliding into the home and following the god's steps. When you got close enough, you saw that the threshold to the room was aglow with green magic. A familiar green magic.

"Thor, why does this glow look like Loki's magic?" you asked, voice shaking.

"There could exist other wielders of magic that possess a level of power similar to my brother," he answered softly. "But those would be very few and far in between. If they exist at all."

As you both cautiously entered the small room, you were greeted by a space glowing with the same green energy as its threshold. You spotted a shadowed figure at the end, floating midair and radiating such a powerful aura there was no doubt in your mind that you'd found the new Sorcerer Supreme.

There was a condition to the powers you loaned from Strange. They would fade as soon as you were definitively safe from immediate danger; you then found it peculiar that the shields you had up had not yet faltered in their vibrance despite being in the presence of the very individual you'd gone to New Asgard to seek their aid.

The sorcerer set themself on their feet, standing to their full height, shoulders squared, and taking on a silhouette that you were all too familiar with.

Heart lodged in your throat, you called out softly towards them. "Loki?"

The silence was deafening as your question hung in the air, waiting for the silhouette to respond. But then they did. Hedid. The answer to the signal you sent out into the galaxy that brought you here in the first place. Come back to me.

"There you are, my darling."

Your shields dropped.

A/N: Aaaaah I've finally started on requests! Just a quick heads up that I will be working on requests alongside 'relinquish the crown' and 'man of the month', so the going will be slow, but it will be going 👍 And also yes you read the title right. "pt1". There will be a Part 2, and our reunited lovebirds will have a lot to talk about 🥲

Taglist:

Everything taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley

Loki taglist: @calumance @severuslovebot @moonlightreader649

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #muddyorbs writes #fic requests

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3rdeyeblaque · 5 months

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On Dec 15th, we venerate Elevated Ancestor & Saint Tataηka Íyotake aka Chief Sitting Bull on the 133rd anniversary of his passing 🕊 [for our Hoodoos of First Nations descent]

Sitting Bull, of the Hunkpapa Lakota, was a fierce political leader & holy man known to be a great father, husband, & friend to all. Under him, all the Lakota bands united for survival in the Northern Plains, as he spearheaded their resistance against European invasion. He was known for his legendary courage, unyielding defiance toward U.S. military power, & contemptuous of the many broken U.S. political promises.

Tatáŋka Íyotake was born to a prominent family of chiefs on the Grand River in present-day South Dakota at a place called, "Many Caches" - known for its abundant food storage pits. He was given his name, which described a buffalo bull sitting intractably on his haunches. This, he would grow live up to.

As a young man, Tatáŋka Íyotake joined two prominent groups within his community. He became a distinguished member of the Silent Eaters (a group concerned with tribal welfare) & leader of the Strong Heart Warrior Society. At 14, he joined his father & uncles on a raid against the Crow. Here, he first encountered White soldiers as the U.S. Army had mounted a broad campaign in retaliation for the Santee Rebellion in Minnesota, enchanting the Lakota had no affiliation with. That following year, in 1816, Tatáŋka Íyotake fought U.S. troops again at the Battle of Killdeer Mountain. Later, in 1865, he led a siege against the newly established Fort Rice in North Dakota. Widely respected for his bravery & insight, in 1868, Tatáŋka Íyotake became Head Chief of Lakota Nation.

By 1874, the stage for war between Sitting Bull & the US Army was set once an expedition led by General George Armstrong Custer confirmed gold had been discovered in the Dakota Territory’s the Black Hills, an area sacred to the Lakota bands. This land was decreed off-limits to white settlement by the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868. Despite this ban, prospectors began a rush to the Black Hills. Once U.S. government efforts to purchase the Black Hills failed, the Fort Laramie Treaty was dismissed. The commissioner of Indian Affairs decreed that all Lakota not settled on reservations by January 31, 1876, would be considered hostile.

Rightfully so, Sitting Bull and his people held their ground. In March, 3 lines of federal troops invaded the area. Sitting Bull summoned the Lakota and their allies, the Cheyenne, & Arapaho to his camp on Rosebud Creek in Montana Territory. There, he led them in the sundance ritual, offering prayers to Wakáŋ Táŋka (Great Spirit). Sitting Bull slashed his arms 100 times in sacrifice for his people. During this ceremony, he shared that he'd had a vision. He saw soldiers falling into the Lakota camp like grasshoppers falling from the sky.

Inspired by this vision, the Oglala Lakota leader, War Chief Crazy Horse, set out for battle with a band of 500 warriors at the Battle of the Rosebud. To celebrate this victory, the Lakota moved their camp to the valley of the Little Bighorn River. They were joined by 3,000 more Native warriors who had abandoned the reservations to follow Sitting Bull.

On June 25th, the U.S. 7th Cavalry launched their attack under George Armstrong Custer. They rushed the Indian encampment as if in fulfillment of Sitting Bull’s vision. Yet they were severely outnumbered & thus defeated. White outrage at this military catastrophe spurred thousands more cavalrymen to the area. Over the next year, they relentlessly pursued the Lakota bands.

Though many were forced into surrender, Sitting Bull remained defiant. In May 1877, he led his band to Canada, beyond the reach of the U.S. Army. When a U.S. General traveled north to audaciously offer him a pardon in exchange for settling on a reservation, Sitting Bull angrily dismissed him.

Four years later, in the wake of European invaders driving the Buffalo to near instinction, Sitting Bull found it nearly impossible to feed his people. So, he moved south to face surrender. On July 19, 1881, Sitting Bull’s young son handed his father’s rifle to the U.S. commanding officer of Fort Buford in Montana. Through this action, Sitting Bull hoped to teach his son “that he had become a friend of the Americans.” He also said, “I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle.” He asked for the right to cross back & forth into Canada whenever he wished & for a reservation of his own on the Little Missouri River near the Black Hills. Instead, he was sent to Standing Rock Reservation. His warm reception there raised Army fears about a fresh uprising. So, Sitting Bull and his people were taken further down the Missouri River to Fort Randall. They were held as prisoners of war for nearly 2 more years.

Finally, on May 10, 1883, Sitting Bull rejoined his tribe at Standing Rock. The Indian Agent in charge of the reservation was determined to deny him any special privileges. And so, Sitting Bull was forced to work in the plantation fields. Yet when a delegation of U.S. Senators came to discuss opening part of the reservation to Whitea, he spoke forcefully, though futilely, against it.

In 1885, Sitting Bull was allowed to leave the reservation to join Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He earned $50 a week for riding once around the arena. Sitting Bull also named his price for his autograph & picture. Unable to tolerate White society any longer, he stayed with the show for 4 months.

Returning to Standing Rock, Sitting Bull lived in a cabin near his birthplace on the Grand River; still rejecting the seeds of the colonialism - Christianity & giving up the traditional ways of life - as the reservation’s rules required. He did, however, send his children to a Christian school because he believed the next generation of Lakota would need the education of their oppressors to survive in the new world.

Here, he had another vision. He saw a meadowlark on a hillock beside him say,“Your own people, Lakotas, will kill you.” Nearly 5 years later, this vision would come to fruition.

In the fall of 1890, a Minŋecoŋjou Lakota named Kicking Bear came to Sitting Bull with news of the Ghost Dance, a ceremony that promised to rid the land of colonizers & restore the Indian way of life. Lakota had already adopted the ceremony at the Pine Ridge & Rosebud Reservations, and Indian Agents there had already called for troops to bring the growing movement under control.

At Standing Rock, the authorities feared Sitting Bull, still revered as a powerful spiritual leader, would join the Ghost Dancers as well. They sent 43 Lakota police officers to seize him. Before dawn on December 15th1890, the officers burst into Sitting Bull’s cabin & dragged him outside, where his followers were gathering to protect him. In the gunfight that followed, one of the Lakota police officers shot Sitting Bull in the head.

Today, Sitting Bull rests close to his birthplace near Mobridge, South Dakota. A granite shaft marks his grave.

"They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse." - Sitting Bull.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his inspirational leadership, fearless figuring spirit, power in prayer, & his deep faith in Great Spirit.

Offering suggestions: a smoking pipe with tobacco, Lakota music, bison meat served with wild potatoes & prairie turnips

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

#hoodoo #hoodoos #atr #the hoodoo calendar #ancestor veneration #elevated ancestors #Sitting bull #Lakota Nation #Plains Indians #First Nations #Hunkpapa Lakota

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

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For the 500 celebration, Pero & everlasting love!❤️

Okay, I'm cheating just a little bit. The request will be in here, it might just take a little while to get to it. Because you asked for Pero and all I could possibly write was for him and his Guerrera...and I've been dying for an excuse to share their sequel...sooooooo...

Coming Due

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader (sequel to Stop That, Right Now)

Summary: Tensions rise after last night's quarrel, and Pero must find a way to make it up to his Guerrera.

Word Count: 7.8k (I KNOW I am the architect of my own misery)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, insensitivity to the perils of women in this time period, references to violence against women but nothing described, Pero being a real big asshole for about 4 minutes, angst, oral sex (f-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), sorta safe PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), biting, an obscene amount of banter, Pero learns to be a consent king, FEELINGS.

Notes: Back by popular demand! Pero has stolen many of our hearts (and our nethers) and I couldn't wait to write more of these two. I left everyone hanging in the balance after the first drabble, and while The Debt gave us some more background I KNOW what we all actually want to see - what happens the next day?

Enjoy these allies to friends to enemies to lovers figuring their shit out!

Morning comes too quickly for Pero, barely settled in the stables for the night before the cock crows and light filters in through the wooden slats. He’s itchy, over-tired, in need of a bath and hungry from the night before.

The low sigh he breathes out, coupled with work-cracked hands rubbing over his face, brings the events of last night back into stark relief. A groan follows, this one deep and exasperated.

Pero’s mother told him that God only gave him a mouth so ravenous because he put both feet in it so often. Which, of course, he did once again. He could blame it on many things - the poor quality of his dinner, aches from the road, the raucousness of the tavern - but all would be a lie. It was the shock of your dress, baring those soft swaths of skin he’d contemplated many nights, hand itching to fist his cock. It was your smile, teasing and knowing all in one. It was the touch you left on the inside of his wrist that he swears he can still feel. Everything swirled together in a mess of light and noise and hammering heartbeats and instead of succumbing Pero fought like the idiot his mother hoped she didn’t raise.

Rolling up from the hay, swatting stray straws from his armor, he begins saddling up his horse. On any other day he would saddle yours too, save the fact that she faltered on the way into town and the farrier deemed her front left hoof too injured to travel. You’d sold her to him, a few quiet moments spent with the mare who carried you for many miles alongside Pero. Now down one steed with a job hastening you to the next town, your travel arrangements would be all the more troublesome.

“Idiota,” Pero grumbles to himself as he pulls the straps snug, checking the saddle bags for supplies. Once he opened his mouth he knew he’d made a grave mistake. And the more you fed him vitriol, the more he spat back. You brought out the best and worst in him, but always forgave and moved on. There was never bad blood between you.

The door to the stable snaps open, your frame silhouetted by the morning sun at your back. If Pero entertained any delusions that you might have forgotten last night, they’re dashed away when you stride in fully armored, not a word spoken. No forgiveness either, the dark scowl on your face slashing across his own like a thief’s dagger.

“Good morning, hermana,” Pero says gruffly, making the final check of his tack. You pick up your own supplies, slinging them over your shoulder now that you have no horse to bear them.

“Let’s begin, the day is already warm and I wish to be at our destination before nightfall,” you say curtly, turning on your heel to exit the stables.

“Hermana, give me your supplies, Caballo can carry them,” he offers, reaching a hand to graze over your tack. You dart away, always so much faster than him, and stalk out. Pero sighs, curling his fingers back into his empty palm.

It’s worse than he imagined. Not only was your desire for him revealed, but he’d crushed it beneath his boot.

Pero sways on top of Caballo, watching you stomp along beside him. He tried to convince you to ride, let him walk for a time. Then he snarked that you’d be better off riding together, which you scoffed at. It would not be the first time you’d shared a saddle, though with all the anger simmering below the surface you might set him ablaze if you sat so close.

Pero lets himself drift to the few times you’d let down your guard enough to settle on Caballo with him. When your mare needed to play pack mule, or when you were recovering from a poisoned arrow. Pero had hauled you up in front of him, settling you between his thighs, arms caging you in. Protests quickly quieted; those few rides were mostly spent in silence. You were stiff to start until exhaustion overtook you, melting into Pero’s broad chest. One he believed you settled he would rest his hands on the saddle pommel, forearms criss-crossing your thighs, and relax into the warmth of a body pressed flush to his. When you were weak with recovery from the poison, Pero even took to wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you upright, even when you weakly refused his help.

And now you were being exactly the stubborn mare you’d left behind, trudging through half-wet mud and dirt rather than riding with him. It would boil his blood, your refusal, if the shame of the reason why didn’t snuff it out.

Your foot comes down on a deceptively slippery spot, and with a yelp and a thud you’re splayed in the mud, supplies in a heap and fire in your eyes. Pero sighs, bringing Caballo to a stop and swinging down from the saddle. Already up on your knees, you pull your tack out of the muck with some unladylike curses seeding the earth.

“This is ridiculous, give me your things if you will still refuse to ride with me. You are slowing us down with your stubbornness,” Pero growls, coming down to a knee by your side. You snort, blocking him with your shoulder. A brief peek of the fateful dress you stuffed into your pack pangs in Pero’s chest.

“I can manage quite well without you, Tovar,” you spit back. Pero rolls his eyes. You only ever call him by his family name when you’re exceptionally upset.

“You can manage shit, stop being a mule and get on the horse,” he huffs, one hand easily yanking your saddle supplies out of your slippery grip. You make a noise of heated indignation, coming nose to nose with Pero as you both kneel in the mud.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand being near me, with all your talk,” you taunt, a scowl across your face but challenge in your eyes. A frustrated rasp wraps around Pero’s words.

“I did not mean what I said…” he tries to apologize, but this is a fight you’ve clearly been preparing for.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to call me a whore, is that it? You think women are only meant to be quiet little wives or holes to fuck?” Pero’s fists ball at his side, words clattering against his teeth but none coming out. You were wrong, and right, and infuriating, and beautiful in the cool morning light.

“I’m sorry…” he tries again, but clearly he let this sit too long. You’re too pent-up, sneering into his face as he fights to stay calm.

“Spare me your morality, Tovar. I have lived in the world long enough to know what men think of me, and I do not care. I will eat what I want, say what I want, fuck when I want, and the devil can watch in glee. I don’t need you,” you hiss, moving to stand from the filth in the path. The tightening in Pero’s pants at the glint in your eye when you enunciated fuck makes him bolder than he can control.

“That is not what I saw last night,” he practically purrs, mocking your own grimace. The tables turn sharply; your eyes widen at his impropriety, teeth bared as you swing your fist to land a blow on his face. He catches your wrist, unbalancing and toppling you backwards on your ass. Before you can scramble up for a repeat attack, Pero wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and drags you towards him, sliding your hips up his thighs until your core is pressed tight against his growing cock.

Fuck, you’re hot and soft and silent for once, the shock of his boldness stilling your tongue. He keeps a vice-like grip on your hips but chances a roll of his own against them.

“Is this not what you wanted, guerrera? When you took off the armor and sat before me, did you not want me to claim your cunt?” He digs his fingers into your flesh, another retort ready on his lips but more inclined to kiss you first. Weeks of simmering tension finally coming to a head, he folds over to taste the mouth so full of fire for him.

“Don’t you dare, Pero,” you roar, legs kicking out to find purchase to flee. Pero grimaces, trapping one leg under his armpit and pulling tight to his body. The other he catches under his ass, pinning it between his calf and thigh. You swipe muddy hands at him, but he’s just out of reach with the way your spine is bridged up his body.

“Tranquila,” he tries to soothe, to show his true intent, but you’re a rabid fox in a trap now. Your hips buck wildly, mixing searing hot pleasure with adrenaline as he tries to calm you. The situation is slipping away from him, turning uglier as he speaks over your anger.

“Mierda, guerrera, listen to me, amor de dios…” Pero curses, but your hand finally finds its way to your boot, a sharp little gutting knife now shining in your palm.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” you rasp, making a wide arc with the blade. It almost skims his cheek, snapping his head back just in time, but the fact that you’d raise steel against him boils his arousal into anger. He releases your legs, one hand in the center of your chest slamming you to the ground, the other pinning your arm above your head.

“Qué coño, hermana?” Pero pants, and when he can see your face through the haze of his outburst he realizes he’s made a mistake. An enormous one. Your face is ripped wide with a grimace, teeth gritted and shining with spittle. Your eyes are wild, but tears gather along your lashes.

This is worse. Multitudes worse than being an ass in a tavern.

“Mierda, hermana, perdóname,” Pero murmurs, backing off to sit on his heels. He keeps his hands in his lap, turned upward while taking in shaking breaths. He’s never put a hand on a woman, not one that wasn’t asked for, and in a second he’s terrified you. A man who easily pinned you, roughed you up, teased you and did not let you go when you shouted - that was a man never to be trusted. Bile rose in Pero’s throat that he for a moment was that man.

You stumble to your feet, covered in mud and disheveled. Pero follows, extending a hand when your balance falters. Righting yourself immediately, you point the blade at him, standing as far away as you can manage. He retracts his gesture, letting it hang limply at his side.

“Don’t you dare,” you croak out, and Pero can see the tremor in your arm. Easily blamed on adrenaline, but he knows better.

Thundering hooves interrupt the stalemate as Pero unsheaths his sword, your bow quickly in hand and nocking at the ready as a small crew of horses curve the corner. A familiar face rides at the front.

Pero lowers his sword, flinching at what he knows will come.

“Hail William!” you shout over the din, in a voice remarkably stronger than before. Pero sneaks a glance. You’re offering a crooked smile, hip popped out and a lazy wave to the blond Irishman as he pulls the company to a stop. How many times had you done this before? Had to put on a brave face when you’re anything but okay?

William hails you from atop his horse, bright smile plastered on his face.

“I was sure you’d beat us to town,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at the sorry state of your armor.

“Unfortunately we’re down a steed, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” you ask, stepping closer and away from Pero. He stands listlessly behind you, wiping mud from his hands as you converse with William.

“Of course, we can ride in together, enjoy a meal before the job tomorrow,” he agrees, motioning to another man to pull out a horse.

After some redistribution of supplies, you’re sitting on your own black steed, riding beside William as he asks how your travels have been. Pero trails a length behind, head tilted down and listening carefully. You describe the perils of the road, the few coins you’d gathered, events in neighboring towns. Nothing of last night, or the moments just before their arrival.

Pero chews on his sour tongue, the scene replaying in his head. The tension coming to a head, his challenge meant to spur on something more. He wanted you sprawled below him, laughing at the mess in your hair and on your skin, as his mouth roamed your face. He would have wiped his hands before sliding them into your pants, teasing your slick folds before testing how hot and wet your cunt was. He desired to know what your face looked like shattering with pleasure, and what would spill from your lips as he brought you to your peak before sheathing himself inside.

But he didn’t temper the anger with lust. Instead he put hands on you that were unwanted. Of course they were, ever since he spoke rashly in the tavern. Why would you want his brutish touch, his rough hands and rougher manners? A glance back up at you and William conversing amicably only settles loathing deeper in his stomach.

The drip of water is a welcome change after the ruckus that followed you all day. From the rowdiness of the tavern, to the poor sleep you got in the noisy room, to the thundering of hooves as William and his men escorted you into town, you’d been surrounded by sound.

Well, save for the short period of tense quiet you experienced on the trail.

If William suspected anything he kept it to himself, which you appreciated. Your heart was still thundering in your ears, hands shaking and breath coming out in soundless sobs when his company broke your stalemate. Pero had been silent since, a shadow slipping along behind you. You then turned your attention to his sunny companion, letting adrenaline slowly seep from your bones like tree sap.

Lifting the rough cloth from your bath basin, you lather it with one of your precious soaps and begin scrubbing filth from your skin. Too angry to bathe last night, coupled with the altercation, left you woefully soiled. Every pass darkens the water, but rebirths you clean and renewed.

The forced cheerfulness continued through your entrance to the inn, the purchasing of rooms (Pero grunted and tossed coins on the counter), and supper in the common area. Breaking bread with William was an unexpected pleasure you gained from Pero’s friendship, and the moments you got to share with the garrulous blond were bright spots in the tedium of most days.

Your hand slows on your calf, eyes unfocusing. To say you have a friendship with Pero might be a stretch. A begrudging connection at first, yes. A growing fondness, no doubt. But now…you didn’t have words to describe what your feelings towards Pero were.

Anger had morphed into spite by the morning, your dreams fitful and heart tight at his swift rejection. Never mind the flare of foolishness you tamped down repeatedly at trying to be a lady for him, all softness and femininity enticing him to your desires. If he had reciprocated, touched your hand and called you one of those foreign names that lick heat under your skin, you would have taken him to your bed.

Instead you were not only humiliated once, but twice when he put his hands on you in the mud and debris. Fear had laid heavy in your chest, but it warred with thick lust when he rutted against you. If he had only spoken his desires, maybe dragged his gorgeously curved nose along your neck and whispered to you, you would have forgiven him, leaned into any caress he bestowed.

That dream was dashed now, replaced with the pig-headed desires of cruel men. You’d had to unsex yourself many times on your travels, hide your shape from slithering eyes and keep a hand on a knife in seedy taverns. But you never feared Pero. You respected him, wheedled him, annoyed him and on those few occasions endeared yourself to him. Until you felt the strength he used against you, Pero had been one of the few good men you called yourself lucky to know. That list is even shorter now.

Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you empty out a sigh that releases tension in your shoulders. It was to be expected. All men want only one thing from a woman, and will take it in any way they deem fit.

Stepping out of the bath, you dry yourself and stand by the fire, letting the flickering warmth relax you further. The fury finally lifts from you like morning dew, and come sunrise you will share words with Pero.

As you dress for the night, a loose shirt over leggings and wool socks, a knock rattles your door. Much too late for a messenger, or the tavern owner. Might be trouble, might be William wishing you a pleasant evening. A small blade in your hand for the second time today, you stalk to the door.

“Who calls?” you ask, and are met with shuffles.

“Pero, hermana,” comes the low rough voice on the other side.

All thought flies out of your mind. Pero. You didn’t expect him to seek you out, not after the distance he put between you on the ride, at supper while you laughed with William, in the stables where he bolted at your presence. Sheathing the knife, your hand hovers over the door handle.

Why leave for tomorrow what you can do today, you think dryly before opening it a crack.

“It is well past the social hour, Pero, can it wait until morning?” you husk at your once-constant companion. He’s discarded his armor, clad in boots and breeches and a rough-looking gray tunic. His hair is lightly damp and skin lacks the grime you associate with him. One expansive hand rubs the back of his neck, his scowl deepening.

“It cannot,” is his short answer, so with a sigh you open the door and usher him in.

He fills the small room with his broad shoulders and dour mood, waiting for you to close the door and face him before speaking.

“I have committed an offense against you, and I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he says lowly, and you realize his mood is not dark, but regretful. His hands hang limply at his sides, occasionally balling into fists like he’s preparing for a blow. It wouldn’t be unfounded after the last day.

“What am I to forgive, Pero? The desires of men? Your quick temper? My foolishness? I only have so much grace,” you reply, moving about your room to continue preparing for bed. His eyes press along your shoulders, the back of your head, as you busy yourself in his presence.

“I hoped you would forgive my behavior. Last night and on the road,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Chancing a glance, he does look remorseful. You’re sure he is. But you’ve already made your decision.

“I have forgiveness in me,” you begin, and Pero’s shoulders lift briefly, his brow raising as you speak. “What I do not have is trust, or understanding. I thought…well, it does not matter. I know what must be done.” With even strides you cross to open the door, noise from the tavern below bursting into the solemn room. “I free you from your debt, Pero Tovar. You have fulfilled it tenfold, and for that you have my gratitude and appreciation. I would like us to part as friends, and allies should we ever cross again…”

Pero’s hand snatches the handle, and in a moment he’s so close he could brush his nose with your own. You swallow a gasp, trying to keep your face calm as he crowds you.

“No,” he rasps, rough and desperate. His eyes flicker with fire as they bore into yours. “Hermosa, please do not do this. I will suffer any punishment you see fit, but please do not send me away.”

Silence reigns, caught between the soft crackle of the room and the harsh merriment of the patrons downstairs. You have never seen Pero like this, wild-eyed and desperate. It lets words slip from your lips unbidden.

“That’s not what you call me,” you whisper. Pero’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Hermosa. You call me hermana. You told me it means companion. What…what did you just call me?” Tongue thick and lungs heavy, you barely register Pero’s hand coming to cup the back of your head. His eyes soften, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Beautiful. It is one of the many names I hoped to call you one day. Bonita, mi vida, amor…”

“I know that one.”

Time passes in fits and starts as you hang in the balance with Pero.

“You said, last night -”

“Many stupid things.”

“And the trail -”

“I meant that to go very differently. I regret ever putting my hands on you.”

“And now?”

You hold your breath, the heat of his palm spreading over your skin.

“I would very much like to put my hands anywhere you will allow.”

Heat blooms in more places, and a small smile plays across your face.

“And your mouth?” you tease, but Pero is already leaning in so close his breath kisses you first.

“Here,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, cautious, like you might bolt at just the feeling. His hand cradles your head as he parts from you briefly, then follows with a bolder one, firmer and fuller. A swipe of his tongue against your lower lip spreads goosebumps down your back, and a thin moan slips out.

Suddenly your back is up against the door as Pero slams it shut, nosing your jaw with a scratch of teeth.

“I want those pretty noises only for me, hermosa,” he growls into your ear, and a moment of clarity pulls giggles from your belly.

“Is that what started all of this, Pero? You were jealous?” you scold, and he huffs against your skin. “I wore that dress only for you, you idiot,” you rib as his hands come around your waist. When he pulls back his lips are flushed and shiny, eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“They did not deserve to see you. Not without knowing you the way I do,” he says, and the honesty in his tone delivers a pang of sentimentality to your heart. You cup his scruffy cheeks in your hands, thumb tracing the termination of the scar on his cheek.

“A gentleman at heart, but maybe not in execution,” you say, eliciting an eyeroll.

“Must I be scolded at every step?” he sighs, pulling you away from the door and not so subtly towards your bed.

“When your big mouth stops getting you in trouble, I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you hum thoughtfully. Pero stops at your bedside, hands wandering from your hips to squeeze your ass.

“I have other uses of it that may get me in trouble. If you desire,” he purrs into your ear. Fingers skimming along his waist make his stomach clench, and before you can ask he grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion.

His chest is littered with scars, but glows golden in the firelight. Your fingers slide up his softer stomach, dance along his ribs and settle on the powerful planes of his back. He shudders once under your touch as you lean forward and press a kiss to his chest.

“Let me undress you,” he pleads, hand already sliding up the back of your shirt and spreading wide over your skin. Your hum is permission enough, shirt joining his on the floor. The room is pleasantly warm, but your nipples peak at his rapt attention.

“Mierda, hermosa, you are a dream,” he says, voice reverent as he sits back on the bed, face turned up to you. “You have been with a man before?” he asks, a brief concern passing over his features. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, slipping your thumbs under your leggings and dragging them down.

“You won’t sully my reputation, Pero.” Standing in front of him, his eyes wide and hungry but hands still soft, power thrums in your core.

“I am more concerned about wrecking your cunt,” he teases, and you’re about to throw another quip back when he unlaces his breeches and slides them down to discard. His cock juts thickly between his legs, flushed and leaking shiny precum from the tip. The concern is not unfounded; how the hell does he sit on a horse with that in his pants? He palms it briefly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the fat head slick with his arousal.

“I will not be giving this to you until you are begging for it, hermosa,” he says smugly, and you snap back to his face with embarrassment. You should be the one making him dumb with need.

“Then what do you suppose we do? I am nowhere near close to begging.” The shift of your hip and curve of your smile pulls control back briefly. Pero lets you have it, eyebrow raised, but when his hands slide up the outside of your thighs your resolve shakes.

“I would like to make you wet and aching to start,” he says thoughtfully, tracing your bellybutton with one thick finger. “Then I will open you up with my fingers until you are trembling from pleasure.” His smile widens when your knees buckle briefly, but you try to stay aloof.

“All men make such grand promises,” you begin, but with a tug Pero pulls you onto his lap, spinning you until you’re on your back in the bed with his head between your legs.

“All women have such little faith,” he mimics back, one hand pressed on your stomach while the other wraps around your thigh. His breath skims your curls, and your mouth slows to a stop when he drags his aquiline nose along the delicate skin below your navel.

“I would like you to cum here first,” he says, and before you can retort he buries his face in your cunt and licks a long stroke through your throbbing folds.

It’s…okay. Pero laps at you like he’s trying to lick up your arousal, but doesn’t quite tease the places you need him. It’s not unpleasant, but won’t make you cum in the way he seems to think it will. You tilt your hips down to drive him closer to where you want, but even when he slicks his tongue over your clit it’s too soft and not nearly enough. Burying your fingers in his curling locks, you urge him to look at you. His eyes are dark and mischievous, lips flushed red and shiny.

“Are you going to cum on my tongue, hermosa?” he rumbles, skating his hand up to cup the underside of your breast. His thumb brushing over your nipple unfocuses you, but you snap back when he dips his head to pass his tongue along another uneventful path.

“Not with what you’re doing right now,” you huff out, a crooked smile gracing your face when his darkens with a scowl.

“I have made many women cum just like this,” he grumbles, and his surliness shakes your chest with restrained laughter. Pero’s eyes light on your jiggling breasts as you slip a hand down to his mouth, brushing his soft lower lip with your thumb. His attention shifts to where you slide your fingers into your folds, parting them to reveal where you need him most. A few practiced strokes have your thighs tightening around his head.

“More, here,” you gasp, his grumbling only half heard as he bats your hand away.

“Next you will be telling me how to fuck you,” he sasses, but drops his mouth down and flicks his tongue over your clit. “Like this?” he asks almost begrudgingly, but he does slow and wait for your reply.

“A little harder, Pero,” you reply, and his hands tighten on your flesh. An idea skitters across your mind. “Did you like that? Hearing me moan your name?” You can only see his mop of curls as he breathes in your scent, nose gently nuzzling your mound.

“I only want to hear you scream it,” he challenges before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, fast hard passes that make you choke on your words.

“Oh fuck, Pero, yes, there, that’s…fuck, yes,” you gasp, Pero’s throaty chuckle vibrating in your core. The worry that he’ll stop pangs your chest, but he keeps up his relentless ministrations. The wet noises coming from between your legs make your skin hot and itchy, your thighs beginning to lock up as your orgasm approaches.

“Pero, please,” you whine, the sound foreign but nothing stronger surfaces. He pauses briefly, panting into your cunt.

“What do you need hermosa? Say it and it’s yours,” he grunts, and before you can answer he starts laving his tongue in undulating passes. It’s all you can do to hold on and squeeze out what you’re trying to ask for.

“Fingers,” you finally beg, reduced to a shaking mess as your orgasm mounts and your cunt aches to be filled. Pero’s head tilts, eyes flashing up at you. Seeing him buried in your cunt, mustache tickling along your sensitive lips, drives another wave of arousal to your already thrumming core.

“Of course, hermosa,” he rumbles, and one thick digit slides into your soaking channel as you moan long and muffled behind your hands. Buried to the knuckle, he strokes his finger along your velvet walls and with a press to a spot you struggle to reach inside yourself, you’re cumming hard and burying your cries in the crook of your elbow.

“Mierda, bebita, you’re so fucking tight. Never made a woman cum that hard before,” Pero admits, still softly stroking inside you and pressing open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your hip. When you finally get enough air back in your lungs you hum in response.

“I suspect your technique has needed improvement. Every woman should cum that hard when you do it right,” you snark back, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“How am I to know if a woman acts like it is the best fuck of their life? Did I not do as you asked?” he growls with a surly downturn of his mouth. You slide your calves off his shoulders so he can lift to his knees, still palming your cunt with his clever fingers.

“That you did. But I’m sure you’ve paid for many of your conquests - the performance is half of the coin, is it not?” you ask, adding another eyeroll to your collection. “And then there’s all of you, of course.” Trailing off, you see the implication land on Pero’s face. He sits up on his knees, free hand coming to stroke along your hip. His mouth opens, then closes as he grits his teeth, brow heavy before he speaks.

“I do not wish to ever scare you again. If I do…if I make you feel that you cannot refuse…know that I will always stop if you tell me so. The debt is only mine, and I will repay it in any way you see fit.” Regret paints his face, rough fingers dancing nervously on your hips. Reaching down you stroke his fingers with your own.

“I’ve released you, Pero, you are no longer in my debt,” you say quietly, the nicks and scars telling stories under your fingertips. With caution you observe curiously, Pero slides your fingers together, lacing them with his own. He leans over your body, pressing your clasped hands by your head.

“I do not wish to be free of it. It is the only debt I have ever desired.” Emotion wells in your throat.

“Kiss me, Pero.”

His mouth descends to yours and this time it is hungry, sharp nips of teeth soothed by softer brushes of lips. He laps thickly at the seam of your lips and you part for him, his tongue coated with your flavor. It fills your mouth, stroking against your own as you explore just as liberally. Groans and puffs of air pepper your skin, and with mounting need Pero’s fingers stroke through your folds again, gathering wetness before he presses two inside of you. You break the kiss with a gasp, back arching as he pumps them deep, his mouth now set to worrying at your jawline.

“Fuck, bebita, this cunt is perfect. Look at how well you take me,” he groans, the obscene slick noises of him slipping them out making your face hot with embarrassment. “I want to be buried deep in this perfect hole. Can I fuck you, hermosa? Are you ready for my cock?”

“I…” Your voice fails when he pulls back to capture your gaze. The hesitation blooms understanding on Pero’s.

“I will not finish inside you, or be careless with my seed. And if it hurts, I will stop until you feel nothing but pleasure again.”

You believe him, even after all that has come between you the last few days. It’s too vulnerable, needing the shield of your clashing swords and quick words to protect the softness you feel for him.

“If you continue to take direction as well as you did, bedding you may at least be tolerable,” you sass, nerves making your voice shake briefly. Concern takes a harsh turn to lasciviousness, and with a rough chuckle Pero flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips to press against the hot velvety length of his cock.

“If you continue to goad me, I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth silent,” he grits out with little threat, the thick head of his cock slipping along your folds, brushing your clit as he grinds his hips.

“If you are still awake after I fuck you, I’ll be impressed,” you shoot back as Pero’s grip tighten. A few low curses bleed from his lips as he presses the tip of his cock just at your entrance, barely breaching you. Another fear grips you, your hand flying back to Pero’s thigh. He stills.

“Hermosa?” he questions, strained.

“Slowly. Please. Just to start,” you ask, and the gentle request is met with Pero’s firm body folding over you, one arm banding your waist, the other planted in the mattress.

“Like this?” he whispers, mouth to your ear as he presses just the head inside. The shallow stretch drops your mouth open, a sigh letting you know Pero is equally compromised.

He thrusts smoothly, sinking into your cunt inch by inch before backing away. The precision and control is more than you expect from the brutish warrior, his breaths measured as he slides in a little deeper each time. Your body opens for him, pressing back when your need outmatches his pace. Adjusting, he rolls his hips just a few more times before he’s seated deep and full inside you.

“Pero, fuck, move,” you gasp inelegantly, grinding harder but he remains still around you.

“First, I want you to be so close to cumming you are begging for it.” You bark out a laugh.

“I don’t beg, Pero,” you rasp, but when he rolls his hips impossibly deeper his name devolves into a low, desperate moan.

“Not with your mouth. But your pussy is begging for me to make you cum again, and this time I want to feel you squeeze around my cock.”

The pace he sets is torturous, slow slides out before firmer strokes back into your molten heat. Head hanging low as you gasp through his methodical fucking, all you can focus on is his hand pressed into the folds of bedding below. Blunt, work-worn fingers, dirt always under the nails. The pattern of veins. The light dusting of hair creeping up his forearms. Arms you wish to hold you close, if you could ever allow your pride to accept it.

“Bebita, you are better than anything I could have dreamed,” Pero gasps into your spine, the soft slap of skin on skin harmonizing with your combined panting. “Can I…I would like to…do…” he tries to say, every attempt defeated by another aching moan he cannot resist.

“Yes, Pero, do it,” you encourage, backing up against his thrusts. He shouts like you’ve punched him in the gut, leaning back so cool air dries the sweat that gathered between you.

“Fuck, hermosa, this cunt is made for my cock. Fuck yourself on me, show me how much you like it inside you,” Pero growls, hands wrapped around your hips as you slam against him. The choked out moans and curses make you turn to look.

He is pure lust, head tilted up to the ceiling and veins standing out along the thick column of his throat. The clench of his stomach, arms flexed with effort but hands still soft on you, all paint him like a god of dark and deadly sin on the candlelit canvas of your quarters. Your hips slow, rolling back on him as his gaze falls to your face. Eyes dark and ravenous, he looms over you while his hands roam your skin.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and those powerful welcoming arms pull you up from your hands and knees to hold your back flush to his chest, legs framing his thighs. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, breath caught in your throat as he palms one of your breasts and splays his other hand over your belly.

“Is this good?” he asks, to which you nod vigorously. “Good,” he adds right before his hips snap into you and your world goes white with a starburst.

The intensity of fucking Pero increases tenfold as he keeps you tight to his body, thrusting up into a place that rips throaty cries from your chest. You register the slide of teeth along your jaw, nipping at your ear, before he sinks them into the meat of your shoulder, just hard enough to bloom pain and pleasure in equal doses. It’s sure to leave bruises, rings of his teeth on your skin, but the ecstasy is worth the mark. He suckles over the offending marks each time before picking a new spot, some overlapping with a hiss that he quickly corrects. He's frantic, plunging into you, chasing the high you keep delaying for a few moments more.

“Hermosa, you feel divine like this, but I want to see you this time,” Pero finally gasps, and with dizzying speed you’re on your back in the bedding, his hips slotted between your thighs once more. He pauses above you, hands posted by your sides. The urge to take him in hand wins out, and a few slow strokes of his cock makes his legs shake with need. You’re no better; you’ve edged yourself for too long, and release is just beyond your fingertips. If you could concentrate on cumming you could tip into ecstasy, but Pero’s awe-struck face above you fills your lungs.

“I do not want to be apart from you. Not now, not in this lifetime, not even if you hate me. I am bound to you, by forces greater than I would ever challenge.” He lowers to his elbows, urging your arms around his neck as he brings your foreheads together. The rough-soft touch of his fingers on your cheek makes you realize a few tears have slipped out, now lost beneath his caress.

“Then I will never release you, Pero Tovar. You will never do enough to be free of me.” At this Pero slides back into your cunt with a long exhale, curling into your heat as his mouth interrupts your speech over and over again. “Every time you think you’ll be free…you’ll go do something stupid…that makes me extend your debt…you will never be without me…I promise.” He seals the deal with a kiss, deep and breathtaking, his face crashing into yours with a whimper.

“I will never be without you,” he pants as he begins rolling his hips again, engulfing you with heat and protection and words you have never found reason to utter to any living soul. You want to say them now.

“I will never be without you,” is what you settle on instead.

Pero chases your orgasm with a single-minded intent, slipping his fingers between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at his new favorite part of you. A few hard, quick passes have you cumming around his cock, the force of it close to pushing him out if he didn’t fight to stay inside. Once your whole body isn’t locked around him, he chases his own release with a handful of overwhelming thrusts before pulling his cock out to spill on your stomach, painting you both with his cum as he shoots and dribbles it liberally.

The silence that blankets you after leadens your tongue. Sweat-slicked and sticky, covered in each other’s essences, you briefly wonder how much of what Pero said should be attributed to lust-drunk confessions to be forgotten in the morning. The question is answered swiftly; he leans over you to wipe his cum off your skin with his wadded-up shirt, the tired lines around his eyes deepening as his body slows. Once a semblance of tidy, he flops on his side and wraps you in his arms, guiding your head to his chest so he can tuck his nose into the crown of your head. Slowing heartbeats pull at your eyelids, but before you can drift off he whispers to you:

“All of it, I promise.”

A smile curls your lips.

“Then I will take it all.”

His meaty chuckle slips you into unconsciousness.

The stock around his neck is beginning to tighten Pero’s shoulders, flexing his hands to force more blood into them. The unnatural weight of the heavy wood circling his neck and wrists pulls his spine into an uncomfortable curve. The chain bolting him to the wall is too short to sit properly, another means of punishment. It’s almost bearable if the mouthy guard wasn’t making so much noise.

“...surprised you came so quietly, a man of your size and stature. Thought you would bloody your face before we took you alive.” Pero rolls his eyes at the burly man, leaning back to rest against the cool stone wall behind him.

“I have spilled enough blood to know when it’s not necessary,” he grunts, one ear on the guard, the other on some ruckus making its way towards him. He tries to hide the quirk of a smile.

“Yet you still struck down the city official? God blessed you with strength but no sense,” the guard laughs, quaffing ale just out of reach. The noise is closer, whistling arrows and steel on steel. The guard takes little notice. Pity for him.

“You will thank us when your livestock stop mysteriously dying,” Pero says, sliding on his short lead to look down the narrow hallway. Light flickers closer, shadows playing on the wall. One tall, lithe and powerful, stopping to let arrows fly. The other smaller, swinging a sword with practiced ease and ferocity. It looms larger as its owner approaches. “Besides, God blessed me with something even greater than sense.”

“I fail to see what graces follow you into this place,” the guard mocks, but the noise finally rouses him from his station. Pero’s smile widens as the guard moves to stand in the entrance, his hand on his sword hilt.

“An old friend, who has been steadfast for many years,” Pero says nonchalantly, the scuff of boots hailing his salvation. “And a guerrera who would only allow me to die with her permission.”

The guard stiffens and falls, revealing your battle stance in the damp darkness of the dungeon. Pero’s heart soars at the blood splattered on your armor, the shining song of your blade, and the triumphant smile on your face as you saunter up to him.

“It looks like you have gotten yourself into a mess, Pero,” you tease, folding your arms and cocking your hip to regard your shackled companion. He sighs deeply, but cannot remove the grin from his face.

“I had thought you both to be better fighters. I expected you an hour ago.” Your eyes flash with faux offense he knows he’ll pay for later. He’ll enjoy his penance though.

“Oh I see, so when William and I fight through half a garrison to free you, our thanks is a complaint. Next time we will let you sit in your shame through the night,” you hiss, but pack precious black powder into the keyhole of the stock lock. A quick flame, a shouted “Mierda!” from Pero at the small ignition, and the stock unhinges from his neck. He rubs his wrists and neck ruefully as you drop his weapons at his side.

“Pero,” you breathe, for a moment softening before him. He takes your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his grateful mouth.

“Mi guerrera,” he whispers in the still moment you steal, “Mi vida.”

“I recommend we save the celebration for when we’re on horseback!” William shouts down the hall, driving you and Pero upright. He shoulders his sword, palming his ax for a violent escape.

“I will thank you properly for the rescue when we are safe and out of earshot,” Pero murmurs in your ear. You smile knowingly up at him.

“I’ll add it to your debt,” you whisper back, “You will never be without me.” It’s the closest you have ever come to saying you loved him. He presses your foreheads together.

“You will never be without me,” he repeats, a truer declaration something he will save for tonight.

END

Next: Teamwork

#lj's 500 follower celebration #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar and his guerrera #prolix fics

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azrisweek · 1 year

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Azris Week 2023 || Prompts and Rules

We are so excited to announce the prompts for the event! Blurbs and suggestions have been included with each prompt to help spark creativity, but don't feel like you have to follow them—they are just ideas.

An Azris Week Playlist to help inspire you :)

Remember: Azris Week will run from June 4th until June 10th 🖤

Day 1: Prologues & Prequels

Azriel and Eris have a history stretching back over 500 years prior to the beginning of ACOTAR. With such a vast expanse of time largely unaccounted for, one does wonder what these boys got up to... The five times Eris caught Azriel spying and the one time he didn't? Maybe you want to dive into tragic backstories? The first war before the wall? (their courts were allied after all.) Your sandbox is five-hundred years large.

Day 2: Favorite Tropes

Enemies to lovers? Definitely. Only one bed? Potentially. With the wonderful world of tropes at your fingertips, let your imagination run wild.

Day 3: Conceal/Reveal

Eris the politician, Azriel the spymaster—two jobs which demand the use of deception, espionage, and a persona; two males with trust issues the size of Texas. What do they conceal? What do they reveal? This is a broad theme, take it as literally or figuratively as you'd like.

Day 4: Free Day

This is your bingo card free space, take advantage.

Day 5: Alternate Universe

Are they in rival boy bands? Street Racers? Professors? Are they dragon-shifters? Merfolk? Pirates? Is the year 1123? 1887? 3005? Is there a crossover with another book/movie/game/show etc that's been itching to escape you? Now is the time to exorcise it.

Day 6: NSFW

Does this one really need an explanation? Just let your mind take a deep dive into the gutter and you'll land within the prompt parameters. Inappropriate use of flames and/or shadows ✓ Monsterf*ing ✓ Anything filthy (as long as it's appropriately tagged) goes.

Day 7: Epilogues

What happens 5, 10, 100 years after they say the words or do the deed? What does their happily ever after look like? What does the future hold in store for them? Prythian's hottest pair of High Lords? Another generation of Vanserras? World domination? A running tally of chess games? Have fun with it!

1) Be respectful. We're here to celebrate Azris and appreciate the creations made in their honor. This is a positive, inclusive space which won't stand for bashing of any kind.

2) Please direct any event-related questions to this account, not to the mods individually.

3) Tag us and use #azrisweek2023 when posting here or on instagram so that we can reblog/repost. If you are posting a work to AO3, add it to the event collection here.

4) Creations of all kinds are welcome and encouraged! Fics, fanart, mood boards, headcanons, incorrect quotes, edits, playlists, etc. We will not be promoting AI generated/altered images.

5) A caveat to the previous rule. This event values maintaining the integrity of characters as they are canonically portrayed and won't tolerate characters being warped to fit heteronormative roles. We reserve the right to use our discretion and not engage with content, regardless of how it is tagged, if said content perpetuates harmful stereotypes.

#azrisweek2023 #azris #azris supremacy #eris x azriel #azriel x eris #azriel #eris vanserra #azriel shadowsinger #eris acotar #azriel acotar #pro eris #pro azriel #acotar fandom #azris fanfiction

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ikeromantic · 11 months

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Congratulations for reaching a huge milestone! For your 1K Follower Celebration, can I ask for Kicho and Jewel and 😘? Thank you and I love your work too!💖

I don't know much about Kicho. He's been the villain in a few routes but he seems pretty interesting. Looking forward to his EN route release for sure. So, Kicho and a Jewel! Approx. 500 words.

Kicho felt a sharp, familiar anger rise up in his chest. A sourness flooded the back of his throat as he watched Nobunaga walk down the main thoroughfare in Azuchi. So confident. Always. His arrogance had no bounds.

Well, he was about to receive his comeuppance. Soon enough, his power would be shattered. His fortress destroyed. His allies scattered. His -

“Hey, yer crackin’ the railing.”

Kicho turned to see Motonari’s garnet gaze fixed on him with glee. He released his grip on the wood, ignoring the splinters that fell away as he did. “Are the preparations in place?”

Motonari laughed, a low, rough sound. “They are. Just waiting fer you to give the go ahead. Or maybe I’ll start the party myself.”

There was no need to respond. Kicho gave him a cold glare and walked away. He hid his face beneath a sun hat, and stalked down to the dock. Away from the distractions aboard the ship. He’d lost sight of Nobunaga now and had no idea where the Oda lord was headed. Not that it mattered. He didn’t need to know where Nobunaga was right now, only where he would be.

His thoughts turned inward as he walked through the market streets, full of foreign goods and items brought from various regions. It was a friendly sort of chaos, the kind he could lose himself in. Kicho barely noticed the people or the goods he passed by. Only as objects to avoid.

A flash of color caught his eye, and a woman’s face as she came into view. It felt sudden, as if she breathed into existence in a blink. He paused in surprise. And when he did, she looked up from the hair pins on display and met his gaze.

Her lips curled up in a smile, as if he were the person she was waiting to see. "Hi!"

Kicho felt his own mouth begin to respond, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a wash of good feeling. He caught it, pushed it down hard. Then gave her a cold, distant glare and turned away.

Just as he turned the next corner, he looked back. She was still at the same shop. Her face in profile was elegant. Just as beautiful at a distance as she’d been close up. Though from here he could not see her smile.

She was a gem, he thought. A jewel misplaced in the rough setting of the Azuchi market. And he wanted her. The realization surprised him. He began to turn back toward her, for what he could not say. Only . . .

A familiar figure approached the woman. Dark hair gleaming in the afternoon light. Carnelian eyes staring at the girl with a possessive gaze. His hand settled on her shoulder, tugging her against his side.

“Nobunaga.” Kicho’s fists clenched. His jaw ground so tight it hurt. He turned and strode away. She was a distraction. Unimportant. Though, if such a jewel fell from Oda's clutches . . .

Her smile haunted his dreams that night and her eyes followed him in the following days.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen kichou #kichou #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff #kicho #ikesen kicho

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katareyoudrilling · 3 months

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Congrats on your follower milestone!! 🎈🥳

Could I ask you for a 📖? I love a good non-fiction read and I can get nerdy about any topic, so I'm up for whatever!

And for an ask for me (which is such a generous way to celebrate and I dig it!): how about a 😈?

One more thing: your revival of ask culture has been the most fun to watch and I so appreciate the example you're setting for the rest of us. Much love, friend. 💜

Hi Megan! Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot ❤️

Book recs! Yay! Here are a few of my favorite non-fiction books:

Romantic Outlaws by Charlotte Gordon is a double biography of Mary Shelley and her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft. It alternates chapters between the two women and reads like a novel. I couldn't put it down.

A Woman of No Importance by Sonia Purnell tells the story of Virginia Hall, an American woman who joined the British Special Operations Executive and became the first Allied woman deployed behind enemy lines in WW2. It is an absolutely incredible story!

Come As You Are by Emily Nagoski I truly believe this book should be required reading for anyone with a vulva and probably those without one too

The Road Back to You by Ian Morgan Cron This is my favorite book to recommend to people who are curious about the Enneagram (or those who I think should be curious, which is everyone 35ish+)

I could go on lol. I'd love to hear some of your recs!

500 Followers Celebration

#answered ask #500 followers celebration #year of asks

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aztecbrujeria · 1 year

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Birds of Paradise: WW2 Pilot Toji x F!Nurse

I am so excited to share this piece with everyone for @hisgoodpuppy first collab celebrating their 500 followers! You can find the wonderful collab and writers for the In Time Collab here! Congrats my dear and hope you enjoy!!!

Side note: I'm sorry this took so long alot has happened since then but I offer my first chapter in this series!!!!

Here is a playlist I made to inspire while I write this series.

**Special thanks to @izzycrow1 on TwT for my Toji Commission! They are open for Comms so please feel free to DM! Please do not repost!**

Summary: Its the time when the world as we know it was plunged into conflict fighting for freedoms of countries that were allies. Here on the front lines of the North African desert you are embroiled in the art of battlefield nursing and helping with the most harrowing of jobs. Far away from your Californian coast thrust upon the distant lands you come across a soldier who isn't quiet like you expected. Is it here that you let yourself follow your heart or will the Americana past time keep you two apart.

@tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi

WC Chapter 1: 5.1k

TW: Pilot Toji, F! Latina Nurse, subtle tones of racism, Time and place of WW2, War, themes of blood/gore, Helplessness, Mental Health, Violence, Death,

“An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle. But it will never break.”

- Ancient Chinese Proverb

Northern Africa 1941

The sound of the roaring plane sliced through the sky as it twisted and turned, attempting to shake off its tail from the enemy. Suddenly, the cockpit was hit by a piercing ricochet of bullets, triggering the alarms to cry out.

The pilot's voice shouted through the airwaves, "SHIT!! MAYDAY, MAYDAY! FUSHIGURO!?"

In response, command screamed over the airwaves in response.

"I'M GOING DOWN THE DIRTY KRAUTS ARE ON MY RIGHT!"

Desperately, the pilot cranked the steering, spinning and diving to evade the enemy's fire. However, he suddenly realized that a bullet had pierced straight through his shoulder. With a fierce determination, he used the strength of ten men to pull the steering with his uninjured arm, flying straight up before turning around to begin his descent towards the German's plane.

As he steered his plane with one hand, he urgently cried out, "MAYDAY, MAYDAY! I'M IN THE MOROCCAN DESERT FIND ME!! I'M TAKING THIS PLANE OUT!"

The pilot quickly checked his parachute and blew open the cockpit lid as he pulled the release, throwing himself from the plane. Freefalling towards the earth, he watched with satisfaction as his plane smashed into the enemies plane, taking it out. Finally, he pulled the cord to his chute and gently descended to the ground.

As he landed in the Moroccan desert, the pilot could see planes in the distance approaching the endless golden ochre dunes.

*****

As you huddled in the medic tent, bracing against the relentless desert winds, your focus was fixed on the injured soldier lying before you.

“Doc! I need you, NOW!”

You shouted urgently, beckoning the bloodied physician over to help staunch the bleeding.With sweat pouring down your face, you wiped it away with the back of your arm and took a deep breath, determined to save this soldier’s life.

Just as you reached for the dwindling supplies of hemostats, a clatter echoed in the distance. Turning to investigate, you saw one of the new nurses standing frozen, staring at the blood on her hands.

“I c-can’t…What am I…”

She stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Without hesitation, you marched over to her and slapped her across the face.

“Not here, not now,” you barked, your voice firm and commanding.

“We need you. Get yourself together.”

The nurse looked at you, her curls falling into her eyes as she spoke in a trembling voice, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her steady.

“Yes, you can,” you said firmly. “We’re all scared, but we have a job to do. We can’t give up now.”

“I know you’re scared, I know this is so much…death, but they need you. I need you, okay?”

Her eyes filled with understanding and determination.

“Good, now pick up the tray and put the tools into the boiling pot to sterilize.” She nodded and went about her task, “When you get them in, head over and switch with triage, I need them back here to help with surgery.”

She stopped turning white, “I need the strength.” You simply stated, knowing you were about to help a man lose his leg, “We only have so much morphine, please hurry.” She quickly turned to find the triage nurse.

As you tried to catch your breath and take a moment to collect yourself, you were jolted by the sound of shouting coming from the cot at your right.

“Bangō! Kare wa dokoda, Megumi!...Watashi no musuko wa dokodesu ka!” the man shouted, his deep voice booming with each word.

You couldn’t understand him, but the desperation in his voice was palpable. You quickly made your way over to him hoping to calm him down and figure out what was wrong.

But before you could even utter a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the ground, holding a small knife to your throat. Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to keep your composure.

From behind the surgery screen, a nurse started screaming, “HEY! GET OFF HER!” But you knew you had to handle this delicately.

“He’s Shell Shocked!” You called out, trying to soothe the man. “Let me talk him down.”

With the knife pressed against your throat, you carefully slid your hand up to place it over his, hoping to calm him and defuse the situation. You could feel the edge of the blade pressing into your skin, but you refused to let fear take over. You had a job to do, and you were determined to see it through.

“You are injured, sir. Let me help you,” you felt the blade prick your flesh.

Inhaling with a hiss, you pleaded, “Sir, please, let me help you.”

You grabbed his wrist and watched as his emerald eyes, swirling with bloodlust and confusion, became clear with the understanding that you were no threat. The blade lifted from your throat, and you cupped his cheek, distracting him enough for the nurse behind him to shove a needle into his arm to put him out.

“That should get him back under so we can move him back to the cot,” the nurse said as another, less injured, soldier helped her move his large frame to let him sleep. Sitting up, you looked at him until a bloodcurdling scream echoed above the other groans and screams from the hoard of patients..

You didn't have time to check on him, nor did you have time to breathe. You were summoned to cut off the leg of a man who wouldn't make it. You grabbed the hand of the other nurse and both of you headed towards the surgery partition, swallowing hard and pushing your own chaotic mind aside to continue with your duties.

*****

Finally, the patient’s screaming stopped, and they passed out from the pain.

“It's always better when they pass out,” you thought to yourself, feeling both relieved and guilty at the same time.

Sitting in the middle of the medic tent, you let out an exhausted sigh, the sounds of moans and whimpers filling the air. The distant sounds of shells and bullets, with roars from planes, made it difficult to think clearly. Your hands, stained with the blood of your patients, rested upon the soiled uniform you wore.

The limits of devastation had been reached for the day, and you shut off your emotions, running only on instinct.

“Hey, why don’t you head to quarters, I’ll take first rounds,” your comrade suggested, touching your shoulder to bring you back to reality. “Yeah, thanks, I need…”

You struggled to find the words, feeling drained and overwhelmed. You stumbled out of the medic tent and walked until you were far enough to scream, letting the winds of the desert carry your heartbreak away.

You didn’t know when you had gotten to your quarters or when you made it to the showers. The water turned cold, but you could care less, watching the blood from the day wash down the drain. Your thick waves curtained your face, and your eyes brimmed with hot tears from the utter annihilation of war.

Weeping silently, you let the horrors rack your body so you could stifle it for another day. The guilt, the pain, and the sorrow all ate away at you, but you knew you had to keep going.

Wearing a clean linen dress with a handwoven pattern from your abuela adorning the edges, you left your wavy tresses down to dry as the jade pendant from your parents hung on a leather strap around your neck. Despite bone exhaustion calling you to bed, you couldn't resist one final check on your comrade at the medic tent.

You grabbed a few charts, checked the notes, fixed a few dressings, and placed new cool compresses atop a soldier's forehead.

“You never take a break, do you?” Your comrade teased as you bent over to clean up a bedpan.

“Hey, I’m serious, go to bed. We’ll see you once you get some rest.” With a roll of your eyes and a lopsided grin, you handed the bedpan over and replied, “Fine, alright, alright, I’m going. Let me just check on our shell-shocked soldier, okay?” Your comrade sighed, nodding towards the cot at the end of the row, “Then off to bed, that’s an order.”

You winked at them and headed towards the soldier. Picking up his chart, you read the notes while fiddling with your pendant.

Suddenly, the soldier began to stir and called out the name “Megumi” in a pained voice, his face contorting with fear. You sat down next to him, placing a cool compress on his forehead while watching him with deep concern as his face contorted with fear; or was it something else like sorrow.

As you placed the cool cloth on his forehead, you finally took a moment to really look at the soldier from earlier. He had a strong jawline and a sleek nose, with thick raven lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His dark olive skin and faded scar above his lips caught your attention, and you noticed his midnight hair could use a trim. He was breathtaking.

As you looked at the soldier, he reminded you of a forbidden love from childhood. You were transported back to the moment when your father caught you kissing Mr. Itadori’s son Jin.

Your father had yelled, "¡¿QUE ESTAS HACIENDO!? You aren't allowed to do that! What if you got in trouble from La Senora?! What is your mother going to say?"

But now, as you thought back on that memory, a small smile spread across your face. It was a funny memory, one that you hadn't thought about in years. The soldier's features brought back memories of Jin, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia.

Your hand moved on its own, and you found yourself tracing the scar on the soldier’s lips. You admired his cupid’s bow, but a soft breeze rustling his gear at the top of the cot diverted your attention.

When the soldier’s lips frowned and whispered “Megumi,” you stilled, hoping not to disturb him. You carefully slipped out a stack of letters from his pack and found a picture of a small boy and a breathtaking woman in a kimono on top of the worn letters stained with blood.

Your fingers traced the small smile of the baby being held by its mother. You smiled, hoping they knew their husband and father lay safe for the time being. Upon studying the photo’s details, you saw clear, stylistic handwritten letters that read “Megumi” with strange symbols next to it on the back. Your heart lifted for just a moment, seeing the corners of the photo so worn with the fading smiles.

As you looked back at the soldier, you found his verdant eyes staring back into your own October eyes.

“Nanishiteruno?”

As his large, calloused hand gripped your wrist, you felt his fingers entirely encapsulate it with strong digits that bore worn ink upon his knuckles that read “M-E-G-S”.

You looked back at him with pleading eyes, “I-I’m sorry. I was looking for a way to help you.”

His eyes swirled, glowing against the pale lights of the lanterns as he registered your accented English.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to touch things that aren’t yours?” Inhaling a quick breath, his thick baritone voice washed over you, causing your flesh to become raised, striking a deep chord within you.

“Y-yes, I’m sorry señor, you kept calling out a name…I just wanted to ease your mind.”

As he took in your thick midnight waves, tucked behind your ear, the way the low light played off your rich caramel skin made his breath hitch. He was mesmerized by your raven eyelashes, drawing his gaze towards your endless chocolate irises.

He saw kindness and deep sadness mixing together, drawing him in like a siren’s song. The way your natural rouge dusted your cheeks and matched your full pouting lips made his body begin to hum.

He watched as your hand reached up and grasped the jade pendant hanging from your neck, and his eyes widened seeing the small nick upon your throat still red.

Without thinking, he reached out and touched you as you backed up slightly, “Did I do that?” His voice was raw, filled with regret and sorrow, and he dropped his hand back down before he sat up and hissed in pain.

You quickly reached forward to help him sit up and steadied him, causing the flutter of his letters and photo to drop to the floor below. He looked down and saw the worn memory staring back at him.

“Did you read anything good?” You clicked your tongue with concern as he hunched over, and his groan of pain became louder.

“No, I didn’t even open them, besides I only saw the picture. You have a beautiful family.” As you looked at the man, you saw a small, quiet smile flash across his features before he cursed under his breath, wincing.

“Eso es, es suficiente, you need to let me look at your wound and clean it up.”

Toji snaps a look at you, "I'm fine."

You roll your eyes and, with a thicker Spanish accent, say, "You pinche men, I will not talk back. Now, open your shirt, and let's get you cleaned up. I am a nurse, after all."

Toji smirks and chuckles at you, delighted that you are strong and know how to make your point known.

"Fine, you win," as he feels your hand placed gently on his broad back, helping him sit farther on the edge of the cot. When you let go, he can still feel the warmth of your hand on his back.

As you stand and pull your long tresses to the side, deftly braiding them to keep them out of your face, Toji can't help but feel a flutter in the pit of his stomach. You're unlike any woman he's ever seen before.

He studies the line of your nose, the curve of your cheekbones, and the furrow in your brow that speaks to your concern. But what really captures his attention is the texture of your skin, which glimmers in the light of the tent like magic. It's like the finest silk, with a deep bronze tone that sets you apart from everyone else in the room.

Toji can't help but admire you, drinking in the sight of your exotic features and the way you move with a natural grace. He knows he shouldn't stare, but he can't help it. There's just something about you that draws him in, something he can't quite put his finger on.

For a moment, it makes him miss the love he lost so long ago, and he frowns before he feels your fingers undo the buttons to his filthy uniform. You feel your face begin to heat up from the blush that flashed upon your cheeks before you quickly shake it off.

Finally opening his uniform, you see the cuts and bruises caked in dried sand and blood, and your eyes fill with sadness at the bullet hole. You click your tongue, upset that he had to wait this long before getting cleaned up. Internally toiling like you had let him suffer, you start mumbling in Spanish, admonishing yourself for not helping sooner. Toji sees the flare of anger in your eyes before they are overcome with compassion. In so many years, he has never been compelled toward another woman, yet here you are, pulling him into your kindness.

Assessing the bruises and wounds, turning to the empty tub by bedside, "I'm going to grab some antiseptic and more bandages. We need to clean these wounds, and you need stitches on your left shoulder. You've been shot clean through, and you're lucky that's all on the outside. You might have a small fever later." Toji moves, and he gasps from the shooting pain that runs from his injured shoulder to his ribs.

Hearing his gasp of pain you catch him hugging his right set of ribs, "I think those are broken. We're going to need to wrap those too." You sigh in annoyance of your oversight of his care.

Smiling, Toji watches the way you turn and head towards the supplies. He can’t help but chuckle as he sees you muttering under your breath at yourself.

The sway of your hips makes your dress swish with your movements, showing your muscular calves down to your dainty feet in a pair of the most colorful sandals he's ever seen. More and more, he wants to touch you and get to know you.

Toji runs his fingers through his hair and scrubs down his face, saying to himself, "Get yourself together... She's helping you."

When you returned to Toji with fresh supplies, your eyes were drawn to the sight of him standing up from where he had been seated. You hadn't quite realized just how tall he was until this moment; he towered over you with ease, his muscular arm moving to his side to steady himself as he slipped off his destroyed uniform.

As he shed the damaged garment, you caught sight of something that made your heart skip a beat: a colorful display of ink that covered his skin in intricate patterns. The design ran across his broad shoulders and down the expanse of his back, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

You couldn't help but stare in wonder at the sight, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of the tattoo with fascination. It was clear that this was no ordinary design; it spoke of a rich cultural heritage and a dedication to tradition that you found deeply compelling.

For a moment, you forgot about the task at hand, lost in the beauty of the ink and the man who wore it. It was only when he caught you staring that you snapped back to reality, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Toji smirked at you, clearly amused by your reaction. "Are there more scratches, nurse?" he asked, his tone teasing.

You shook your head, trying to push aside the distracting thoughts about Toji's ink. "I've seen worse, siéntate por favor," you said, motioning for him to sit down so you could tend to his injuries.

As you moved closer to him, he couldn't resist making a comment. "I can see you enjoying this. Are you a sadist?" he joked, though his laughter quickly turned to a grimace of pain.

You smiled slightly at his discomfort, grateful for the distraction from your own racing thoughts. "Not a sadist, just doing my job," you replied, setting down the tray of supplies and stepping between his long legs.

You tapped his thigh, urging him to open his legs a little wider so you could more easily access his upper body. As you reached for a clean apron to tie around your waist, you felt his gaze on you, and you couldn't help but feel self-conscious.

Trying to remain professional, you focused on your work, doing your best to ignore the way his eyes lingered on your silhouette.

It wasn't until later, when you were alone with your thoughts, that you allowed yourself to wonder what he might have been thinking, and whether his interest in you went beyond a mere physical attraction.

Toji's gaze followed your every movement as you tended to his wounds with expert care. He couldn't help but feel drawn to you, admiring the way you handled the task with such precision and gentleness. As your scarred hands reached into the hot water for a clean cloth, he couldn't help but wonder what had caused those marks. He found himself mesmerized by the flecks of gold in your eyes, as if he was looking into the depths of the sun itself.

He winced at the pain of your first touch, but soon relaxed as you washed away the filth from his face. The sound of your humming filled the tent, calming his nerves and making him feel strangely at ease. He couldn't help but wonder what else you were capable of, and what it would be like to have you as his own personal medic.

As you began to work your way down his torso, he felt his body temperature rise, but it wasn't from a fever. He couldn't resist the urge to grab onto your hips, using them to steady himself as you tended to his wounds. He knew it was inappropriate, but he couldn't help himself. He felt a surge of desire course through him, making him ache for you in ways he had never experienced before.

When you hesitated at his touch, he felt a pang of disappointment. He didn't want to scare you away, but he couldn't deny the feelings that were stirring within him. He quickly apologized and promised to behave, but he knew that the desire he felt for you would never go away.

You were close enough you could see the striations of the veins under his beautiful skin as you washed what you could away. You could feel his heart begin to race as you got closer to him as you bent down to look at the opening of the bullet wound.

“I’m sorry for what you are about to feel. We’re low on pain medication, I’m so sorry.” You turned and reached for the alcohol before you looked back to see his hesitant eyes.

“Remember, don’t move your hands, okay breathe.”

His eyes widened and his fingers began to bruise you as he screamed profanities in Japanese, feeling the alcohol clean the area before you wiped away any debris out of the wound.

Grabbing a syringe of water flushing out the wound, feeling his digits splay out farther in your hips and grab onto you tighter. You had to stop yourself from moving your legs close together and felt the waves from your haphazard braid fall into your eyes.

Taking a deep breath you waited for him to release you. When he relaxed his hands dropped to his knees as you stood and reached for the thread and needle for the stitches that had been bathing in iodine.

You gave him one more look, “Again, I’m so sorry but we’re low on pain killers and I can’t get any until our next supply run. I’m so sorry, I’ll try and be quick.”

Before he could register why you were apologizing he felt the first puncture of the needle and pull of thread as you knotted the thread and moved on to the next one. He started his cursing under his breath again at each puncture of the needle and the knotting of the stitch. He could feel his skin pulling taught and knew you had a steady hand while knotting the fine thread. Toji didn’t know how long you had been there working on the opening when you had clipped the final stitch and turned to your cotton ball to swap some alcohol and ointment upon the closed wound. Toji could feel his body become heavy from the stress and could feel the deep aches and pains from his minor injuries begin to rack his body.

Eyeing his stitches you grabbed fresh bandages and set to placing them on the wound. Your fingertips skimmed the goosebumps that raised across his chest as you looked up and blew the stray curl from your eyes and smiled trying to lessen your own awkwardness. You thought the blush upon his cheeks was handsome and couldn’t help but quickly look away; you knew that he would tease you if he caught you staring. Clearing your mind to begin wrapping his chest, you noticed him slightly shaking, “Shit! He’s going into shock.”

“Hey, troublemaker, you can’t pass out on me now. I need to wrap your chest then you can lay down, okay? If you need to hold onto something you can hold onto me while I finish.” Quickly Toji reached out and once again held onto your hips, fingertips gripping tightly, you felt the butterflies in your stomach explode into your chest. Brushing off the butterflies so you could begin wrapping his chest, you couldn’t help but see the perspiration on his skin. “Chingados, He’s getting a fever.” You made quick work of wrapping up his ribs and pinning the last of the bandage. His head fell forward resting against your shoulder, you knew he had passed out, looking around you called your comrade to come and help lay him down.

Your fellow nurse helped you settle him and you sat finishing up the cleaning process and tucked him in. Moving to your chair you place the compress on his brow and sit watching the way he breathes and the sheen of sweat that was appearing on his brow. The doctor finally came over to check your work and also gave the order for an emergency shot of antibiotics for his fever. When you felt the exhaustion from the many hours of being awake and didn’t want to leave his side, he began to cry in his sleep whispering “Megumi”. Reaching out you took his hand and wiped his brow. It wasn’t long before you rested your head upon your arms on the cot, “Just need a quick nap.”

*****

Toji remembered the way you smelled like jasmine, honeysuckle, and firewood before he succumbed to slumber and a fever. He kept watching the mistakes he made as a father and the death of his wife replay behind his eyelids. He would come in and out of consciousness, but a small delicate hand was always there to wipe his brow and calm him down. He heard the smoothing lullaby of an ancient language fill his thoughts, slowly replacing the nightmares with loving memories of smiles and laughter. Toji felt safe for the first time in a long time as he finally awoke to the clearing image of the medic tent and the sounds of moans and cries on a hot day.

His mouth was parched, it felt like he had licked the dunes themselves, his lower body felt heavy. Groaning he sat up slowly, head slightly swimming, before he looked down to his lap to find you sleeping. He smiled watching the way the escaped waves from your braid blew out of your face when you breathed, the way your lips parted with a soft moan, and the vice grip on a wet cloth in one hand while your other hand laid upon his thigh. He wasn’t sure what the feeling was in his chest, but he did know that he couldn’t control himself from reaching out to brush your hair behind your ear. “Funny you look like Yosei.” Another nurse came by making Toji snap his hand back.

“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry she refused to leave. You had a tough couple of nights there. She wanted to make sure that you weren’t alone; since you are like her in a way ya know.” Toji looked at the blond nurse with a slight sunburn on her nose and cheeks, “What do you mean, like her?”

He watched the nurse blush, “You know…different.” Toji could feel something like rage begin to boil and was about to make that blonde nurse cry when he felt you stir awake. “Mamá!” His eyes widened and he felt your panic as you shot up in your seat and looked around, he knew that look he knew he gave it too, he watched your glazed eyes finally snap to reality.

You sat and realized you had woken from a nightmare when you saw the look of shock on your comrades face and his eyes full of concern. You cleared your throat and fixed your hair, “I, umm, sorry about that. H-How are you feeling, I better get you some water.” He watched you stand, noticing you hadn’t changed your dress in a few days, and smiled as you pulled on your earlobe while you were nervous.

When you turned towards him with a fresh cup of water the blonde nurse decided to clear her throat, “You should really go get some rest in your barracks.” You nodded and smiled at her saying thank you.

Watching her lift her brow at you and satisfied with your answer she continued on her rounds. Muttering under your breath a string of curses you turned back to the soldier, “Okay, I better get going, also I need a name for your chart sir. You’ve been out long enough and I know you speak english now.” Toji finished his water and held the cup in his hands meeting your eyes, noticing they were the color of gold, “Your eyes change colors.”

Blushing at his observation, you cleared your throat, “Y-yes, but that’s for another time. Name flyboy.” You couldn’t contain the bright megawatt smile when you heard him laugh for the first time. It sounded like magic dripping from his tongue catching you in an undertow of wonder, “2nd lieutenant, Toji Fushiguro, Pilot; ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Toji bowed his head in respect, a habit from his culture, you blushed while feeling the goofy smile you had stayed upon your features.

“Umm, lo siento señor, d-do I bow back?” Toji began to chuckle, moving to brace his ribs, “O-Only if you want to.” He groaned with a small amount of pain before he felt your small hands on his, checking his bandaging, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I should leave you alone.”

He relaxed as you stood smiling, your thick waves in the messy braid hung off your shoulders as you bowed, “Encantado.” Toji liked the way your Spanish rolled off your tongue.

Standing you grabbed his chart, “Well, I better go, we’ll be in to check on you periodically and the Doc will want to do a more thorough examination to determine how long you’re with us before you ship back out to your regiment.”

He watched you turn and head back to the nurses station, smiling as he watched you tripped over the colorful sandals upon your small feet. He had never been more intrigued by you and also felt like something was missing when you left.

#husbando #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #spotify #fanfic #mdni #jjk #toji smut #toji x reader #toji x you #WW2 Pilot Toji x F!Nurse #Pilot Toji AU Series

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