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avatarkv · 11 months

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EVERY CORNER OF THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED. (2)

Synopsis ! Jake had taken you as his own after Tsu'tey's passing, leaving no one to care for you. Things had been good before your relationship with him had blurred along growing of age. You and him fought all the time; argued each other's ear off and tonight was no different-- except words have been said, severing the already damaged bond. Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. (wc: 5264)

You swung your legs over the edge, feet ghosting just above the calm lake that surrounded this part of the forest. It was a bit far from the village, but you felt more at ease knowing that you wouldn’t be found easily. This was your own place and ironically enough, a spot you and Jake had found years ago. You could see the familiar marks left from the arrows you had shot, deeply engraved in some of the trunks.

One drawing had caught your eye. From one of the trees, a bit taller than the rest; an image of you and your father. It was silly, clearly etched by the hands of a kid no older than six. The lines were harsh as the wood itself was tough, but it was there– almost mockingly. You scoffed, mindlessly grabbing a pebble and flinging it right on the center.

You have barely moved since you arrived here; detached yourself the moment you had sat near the jagged rocks. It was a habit you presumed you got from Jake. The longer you stayed, the more you succumbed to your ever-bleeding wounds– there was just something so tragic about being an eldest daughter.

You weren’t all bite, despite the constant snarl on your lips. You weren't so egotistical as to think that you couldn't possibly be wrong, but tonight, tonight you knew damn well Jake was to blame.

‘Is it because I’m not your daughter?’

Your own voice had rang through your mind. You wince in response, cringing internally. That could very well be the case– you weren't part of their family. You can’t help but think that they may have done it out of pity.

But Kiri wasn’t exactly their own either. In fact, you and Kiri weren’t at all opposites at birth.

While you came from Tsu’tey, she was from Grace; both of you from separate blood and brought together by one. However you weren’t exactly close to Eywa or have the skills she possessed. Kiri was undeniably special– spiritual and awfully attuned. Heck, she had managed to tame her own ikran simply by asking it to be her friend.

Still, there was no reason for Jake to treat you differently. You were jealous– of course you are. If he’s able to be as gentle as he is with your baby sister, why couldn’t he with you? It was a sickening thought, to think that he acts so rigid and unrelenting around you while he looked at her like she had hanged every star in the night sky. Sure Kiri was special, but you were at least his daughter too. Can’t he spare you even just a second of a loving glance?

With Kiri, he listens intently– looks at her with such tenderness as he takes in her every word. It was the same gaze he wore whenever we visited the sky-people lab; Jake would stare a bit too long at Grace, expression somewhere along the line of reminiscing. Whenever he had moments like these, his eyes would hold some sort of longing– a promise. Perhaps it was because Grace meant the world to him– literally. She taught him everything about Pandora, showed him the way of the Na’vi; gave him another shot at living.

Kiri was exactly like her mother; wise and cunning. Jake probably sees Grace in her very image.

You’d think this would be the embodiment of every father with their daughters; kind and vulnerable, but you would argue otherwise. When he looked at you, it was more of regret– grief prolonging. It was a gaze so ugly and unwanted; a weight you’re not supposed to carry.

Because you’re exactly like Tsu’tey and Jake sees him in yourself.

It was no secret that Jake was softer when it came to Tuk and Kiri. While you are relieved that it had been that way, you can never pray for them to experience the struggles you are burdened with– it tugged on your heartstrings that you would never feel the warmer side of your father; will never know how it feels to be babied nor to be held gently.

You were her daughter too so you didn’t understand. What made you any different from them that you had to pretend his love was hidden beneath his icy glares and dismissive grunts? These were emotions nonetheless– however odd or minuscule they may have been. You thought that maybe, just maybe, there’d be a crack to this exterior. Maybe if you tried harder, Jake would soften up to you too.

But that wasn’t the case because he never did. You had picked apart pieces of yourself that you thought weren’t pleasing– did better despite your age. You were young and only yearned for your father’s approval.

( “You’re not doing it right. Again.”

As you stretched your already sore arms for the nth time, ready to take aim, his hands tug on your stance– a bit harsher than intended. Light continued to glare down on your figure as you tirelessly corrected your posture again. Your ears pricked up at the sound of your sibling’s laughter, coming to you from afar. You stole a glance at them as they continued to play and enjoy themselves by the water, their childish exuberance highlighted by their splashing around in the shallow waves.

“Can’t I take a break?” You whined, dropping your stiff shoulders. Hearing them have fun made you want to jump in as well.

“I didn’t let you talk my ear off just to give up. Come on, you promised me a bullseye today, baby girl.” He said, eyebrows furrowing a bit. You look down to your feet, a bit embarrassed. You didn’t want him to not take you seriously– you fear that if you let him down now, he wouldn’t let you do anything again. “Just one hit and I’ll let you off–”

His head turns sharply towards Kiri as she calls out for Jake, asking him to join them in their game. He can't help but to let out a small chuckle as he yells back a short response of ‘in a minute.’

“Again, come on.” His hands move quickly and firmly grasp your arms, helping you back to the same position before. “I’ll be watching, promise.” With a light tap on your shoulder, he rushes off, chasing after your siblings towards the water.

The quicker you got it done, the sooner you would be able to play. You pulled on the string again and released a heavy sigh before releasing the arrow. After several tries of firing shots that missed their mark, you finally managed to hit dead center with one shot. Your eyes widen in surprise, disbelief crossing your face before you jump excitedly, “Did you see that, dad? Did you–”

Your yell was instantly drowned out by Lo'ak's hearty laugh. You couldn't help but feel deflated as you watched your father lift him up onto his shoulders while the others trailed behind them in a fit of giggles. You run towards them, bow in hand.

“You weren’t watching–” You tried to pull his hand in your direction, gesturing towards the arrow that was still firmly embedded into the red ring you had created on the trunk of the tree.

"Ah, darn, I missed it?" He said between breathy chuckles as Kiri tried to tug on his tail from behind, barely taking note of your work. "Why don't you do it again? This time I'll be sure to pay attention."

“But I want to play with you now.”

“Dad– Neteyam caught something! It’s huge, come look!” Jake slowly lowers Lo'ak from his shoulders, letting them pull him towards where Neteyam stood. The children squealed at the sight of the fish (with Kiri letting out a few disgusted gags), but Jake reveled in pride. “Yeah, Neteyam, the mighty fisherman!”

You stayed still on the shore watching them– watching him. It was so easy to lose your father’s attention despite your best efforts. You retreated back to your spot, eyes glaring at the arrow sticking out from the tree. If a single bullseye wasn’t enough to impress Jake, then you’d just have to perfect your aim. Your hits will never miss again and you’ll make him proud.)

You were clueless. If only you knew that there was no satisfying your father, you would’ve spent the days tirelessly training to play instead– to be an actual kid without having the worries of a grown adult.

You could leave. At the thought of it, your head swiveled towards the unfamiliar path that would take you away from the clan– away from everything you know. You could leave and never come back; take your father’s name and build your own person. There was this selfish thought pricking at the back of your brain that once they noticed your absence, everyone would look for you and even feel sorry for what they put you through; that Jake would be sorry to lose you.

You wonder what kind of reputation you'd leave for him when everyone realizes you had run away, never to come back. But it was unfair– your mother would be devastated. Neytiri had already gone through enough, were you worth another heartbreak? She didn’t deserve that.

Suppose you could only dream that Jake would put on an effort for a search party– for him to grow hopeless and regretful while searching for you. You could only dream that he’d run towards you, arms wide open. “You scared me, sweetheart. I thought I lost you. I’m sorry, dad’s sorry.”

But you’ve been away for hours and no one has reached out yet. They probably assumed that you only needed some time and space to clear your head, not seeing any cause for alarm. The only thing that waited for you back home was a hell of a scolding and a week’s punishment of tending the ikrans. Sighing, you decided to just head back.

Your steps are careful– silent, as you near your hut again. You expected for the worst. Neytiri could have told Jake to stay guard outside until you finally decided to come home for all you know, but you weren’t ready for another heated conversation with him just yet. So as you make your way back, you stick your neck out behind the bushes, trying to make out of the surroundings.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Jake that was waiting outside. It was Kiri. Her figure glows underneath the starry night and it was hard not to be discouraged, but you suppose it was better than having to deal with your father again.

"Kiri?" You called out in a low voice, and instantly her head snapped up. She quickly jumps to her feet upon seeing your arrival, heart racing as she rushes towards you. Without hesitation, she wraps her arms tightly around you in a hug. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to try and steady herself. “Oh great mother, thank you.”

You tentatively put your arms around her in response, hands patting the top of her head. “This isn’t the first time I ran from home,” Your voice is soft– unsure.

Feeling your hesitance, she slowly withdraws from you. “But it’s the first time sempul has said something so..” She stops herself mid-sentence, shaking her head as if to clear away her thoughts. “I worry you’d finally want to leave.”

You stared at her, feeling your insides soften. You could never get angry at Kiri, no matter the situation. You couldn’t just leave. She was your sister still and no one would ever understand you like she does. No one will ever grow you another sibling. As much as you hated yourself, you were meant to watch as she thrives.

Siblings were such a weird concept; it was hard for you to wrap your head around it. Despite the fact that you could hate them with every fibre of your being, you’d still love them unconditionally and protectively; despise them but burn down the whole universe for their safety. It made no sense to be so full of such strong, conflicting emotions all at once, but she was your sister and that was enough explanation.

“Stupid eywa-powers.” You joke as you take your index finger, lightly pressing it against her forehead. She playfully swats your hand away with a laugh, eyes crinkling.

She silently murmurs, “Not stupid” to herself, a small laugh escaping her lips.

You two slowly sat on your wicker chairs in front of the fire. The seat creaked as you made yourself comfortable. Jake was real handy with his hands back then– made all sorts of things for everyone. Wooden Toruks, comfortable hammocks, and each one a special chair. Everyone’s name was etched on the back and although it was a bit smaller now, considering it was made for when you were toddlers, no one had grown out of sitting on it.

You smiled at the memory. It was like tradition for the Sully family– a silly one, but loved nonetheless. He first made you the wicker chair and although it was rather flimsy, you argued that Neteyam should have one as well when he came around.

It was so conflicting– to be able to remember your father was mean, despite being kind, then to know him as kind, despite being mean. You fear Jake could be every word you think of but the word father.

“Remember that time when we played hide-and-seek and we all thought Lo’ak cheated by hiding back at home only to find out we left him at the forest?” Kiri spoke, eyes fixated at the flames.

You chuckled, “Yeah, even dad was in on it– told us not to tell mom that we left him.”

“Oh– and that one time they left us to Mo’at to have their little dates and came home to see grandma knocked out and her hut a mess?”

You laughed, rather loudly this time. You remembered the memory like it was yesterday– little Neteyam wrapped from head to toe in bandages as you two tried to play healers; pastes and herbs were scattered everywhere while Lo’ak was playing to his own devices happily (something about kid Lo’ak and wanting to play alone most of the time). “Lo’ak and his lisp trying to explain why he was covered in warrior paint all over his body.”

“Ki-ti told me to do it!” Kiri squeaked out in her best impression of Lo’ak, before both of you burst into smothered laughter— careful not to wake anyone up. After taking a few moments to catch your breath, the area was silent once more. There was no sound other than the crackle of the fire, its flame illuminating the darkness in the vicinity.

“I’m trying to see the situation in both perspectives,” She starts once the quietness grows unbearable. You averted your gaze, not wanting to talk it out with her.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Kiri.” You threw your head back, your eyes burning a hole into the night sky.

“I just don’t want it to explode like what happened a while ago again.”

You kiss your teeth and let out an exasperated sigh, tongue clicking as you exhale. Deep down you knew that there was no getting out of this situation, so you may as well hear what they had to say. “Fine. What’s your diagnosis, doc?”

The flap of the hut's entrance is suddenly thrown back, revealing a rather disoriented looking Lo'ak stumbling out. It's clear he had just been stirred from his slumber. “You two aren’t as quiet as you think you are.” He said, his voice low. He made his way over to Kiri and sat down beside her with an audible yawn. “What is it this time?”

“Eywa tells me of your troubles,” Kiri starts, ignoring Lo’ak. “Father isn’t at all the greatest, I know, but he’s trying– His choices aren't really the best, but it’s what he knows. If you think about it, he was just as young once and you don’t exactly become a father twice.”

“What are you saying?”

“She’s saying– cut him some slack, maybe?” Lo'ak breaks the stillness with an unexpected remark, his voice quite loud in comparison to Kiri's careful words. His comment catches you off guard and you shift your position uncomfortably on your seat.

“Brother, you really have to stop going out with Spider. You and your lingo is getting harder and harder to discern.” Kiri jabs him from the side, “What he means to say is– maybe you should try being the bigger person instead?”

You let out a deep breath through your nostrils, not enjoying the direction of the conversation. Your brow crinkles in concentration as you try to make sense of why the discussion was taking this turn. You had no desire to pick apart the problem any further and yet, here you were– perhaps Neytiri told them to talk some sense to you? To quiet down for the sake of your old man?

Already sensing your anger, Lo’ak quickly interjects again. “Listen, It’s like,” He turns to you, the grogginess in his expression fading away and being replaced by something more serious. “If dad happens to reprimand us, we save our excuses or any reason we have. The response he wants is an apology and an apology is what you’re going to say– that’s it.”

“But that’s unfair.” You let out a groan, lips turning into a deep frown. “Especially to you and Neteyam.”

Lo’ak only lets out a playful scoff, as if he’s trying to lighten the mood. “You mean, especially to Neteyam. Bro’s an automated machine– expect him to immediately take the blame.” He says, grinning. “I think dad is just.. cracking the code still? Shit, I don’t know. He had to learn to live on two different stars. It must be hard on him.”

“Doesn’t it hurt you? Trying to understand someone older?”

Lo’ak stills for a minute as heavy silence envelopes everyone. “Of course it does. It stings a lot sis– but I think, no parent deserves a resentful son when all they wanted was for me to be better.”

Then it crashes down upon you like a heavy sack filled with rocks, a realization pressing directly against your chest as you watch Lo’ak’s face, illuminated against the flicker of the flames– the lights cast an image you failed to recognize before. Your brothers weren’t exactly immune to Jake’s ways either. He was equally as tough on them.

Maybe you can try for their sake. Maybe you should take the initiative instead of waiting for your father’s open arms.

“Why don’t you join us tomorrow instead? Take your mind off things. We’re visiting the old shack with Spider,” Lo'ak's hand carefully reaches for your hair, the tips of his fingers ruffling through your braids– a gesture he picked up after Neteyam. You chuckle, suddenly slightly embarrassed.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed.

“It is,” Kiri answers for Lo’ak, giving him a pointed glare. “Tuk heard about it and is begging to come along.”

“More like blackmailed me– I’ll tell mom if you won’t let me come.” He put on a mocking impression of Tuk, sticking his tongue out in an exaggerated way. Kiri gave him another jab, causing him to hiss in response. “But it should be safe.”

Kiri rolls her eyes. “We are so getting into trouble.”

“You guys go,” You say, back resting against the chair again. “Think I should fix the situation with dad first before getting in trouble again.”

You feel Kiri’s eyes on you– gaze emitting a sense of gratitude, almost like a tangible thank you for trying. It’s funny how she’s younger than you and yet she looked out for you more than you had.

You let out a deep sigh as the three of you settled in, reveling in the quiet serenity of the woods. The soft sounds of the forest enveloped you, providing a sense of calm that was hard to miss. Slowly, it lulled you all to a familiar kind of comfort.

Breakfast was unsurprisingly silent.

You felt like the room was full of robots, their limbs jerking and movements mechanically programmed as they ate. As everyone shifted ever so slightly, it seemed almost like they were doing it robotically - stiff and slow. It was like they were walking on eggshells around you and it was hard not to roll your eyes.

It was painfully awkward– a hard watch as Jake tried hard not to make eye contact with you. Neytiri would occasionally jab him from the side and pinch the fat of his thigh. ‘Talk to her.’ – her glare would send him the message.

He lets out a sigh before visibly gulping. “Y/n.”

Your head suddenly jerks upwards from the bowl resting in your lap, startled by your father’s voice calling for you. Neytiri watches in anticipation while your heart pounded madly against your chest. Suddenly, the air fills with tension as all movement ceases. Not a single soul speaks or breathes– waiting.

“Pass the salt.” Jesus Christ.

You give him a deadpan expression, stretching your arms over to pass it to him. He carefully takes it, shaking it over his already salty meal. Neytiri could only push her hands against her face in frustration, a groan of exasperation coming from deep within. After a few minutes, she finishes up and leaves with Tuk in her arms. The rest follow suit.

“I’m off,” You finish cleaning up the table, standing up from your seat and grabbing the weapons you needed for an impromptu hunt. Without waiting for a reply, you left Jake alone on the table.

As you trekked further into the forest, you prayed to Eywa for guidance. You were careful to smear the war paint onto your cheeks and forehead– breathing labored, but focused nonetheless.

You figured, your father has been doing bad from the recent hunts– only coming home with fruits and small portions of meat, sometimes none at all. It was that kind of season where the animals were out to hide and hibernate. You didn’t know where you got the confidence that you’d be able to return with something, considering the best next best warriors could hardly do so.

You had to try regardless; you thought that perhaps it could be a way for you and Jake to open up a conversation with each other. Maybe he could soften down his glare a bit when you come home with something to eat– but as hours passed and the sun burned to noon, you were only met with disappointment.

You stopped by an unfamiliar area, leaning against a tree as you tried to catch your breath. You regret not bringing your ikran with you– just what were you thinking?

As if the great mother had noticed your desperation, a familiar sound roars from a distance. Your ears perked up as you tried to walk through the thick bushes. A lone sturmbeest, drinking by the river. You sighed in relief before hurriedly taking your bow out of your back. They mostly traveled by a herd, but today might just be your luckiest– you stretch your arms, carefully approaching the animal.

Just this once, you pleaded, be in my favor.

The journey home was dreadful. You had been carrying meat and a few bones for what seemed like hours on end, feeling the strain in your back from the task. It was a small sturmbeest– presumably female by the size, but it should be enough to provide meals for a week or so. Before you knew it, eclipse approached fast and you were eager to meet your hammock.

You couldn’t see; unable to hold any form of light as you needed both hands to carry the heavy sack, but the thought of going home with something to proudly show your father rekindled the sense of pride that was long gone; a feeling you hadn't had in a long time– burned by the countless times you’ve tried to gain even a drop of recognition.

You were successful in hunting a sturmbeest when no one couldn’t for the past weeks– your father would be proud and that was all the strength you needed to continue waking.

Noticing the familiar path back to the clan, a surge of adrenaline courses through your body from the thought of already nearing home. But as the horns blared from the village, you felt nothing but confusion– What could it mean and why this late? You quickened your pace towards them.

Ikrans flew in, landing at the open space as everyone gathered around. You squeezed your way in through the crowd– stomach churning as the sound of Tuk's cries became more and more clear with every step; but before you could run to your baby sister, you were harshly pulled back. You immediately recognize your father’s calloused hands, but this time his grip was harsh– unrelenting. Careful not to trip on your feet, you steadied yourself, head looking up to meet his glare.

“Where were you?”

And just like that, your thoughts come crashing down around you from the sight of your father towering your figure, leaning in slightly. You feel it in the pit of your stomach; this wasn't what you wanted to come home to, this wasn't what you were expecting.

“Sir I–”

“The kids are hurt,” Neytiri hissed, tugging him sharply away from you. “For once, hold your tongue.”

He gives you one last glance, nostrils flaring as he walks away. That was your cue to trail behind. You walked behind him, eyes cast downwards as your thoughts raced through your mind. Neytiri is quick to come and stand by your side, soft kisses pressed into the top of your head. “Are you hurt, ma’ite? Where were you?” She softly asks.

You pause, feeling the words on the tip of your tongue leave the moment you try to open your mouth to speak. For some reason, you felt embarrassed— ashamed.

“What happened?” You whispered as you neared your grandmother’s hut. You glanced back to your sibling’s shivering figures, all of them unable to look you in the eye. Neytiri didn’t answer either– didn’t know how to tell you that they had found them once again. They processed the severity of the situation still, clearly shaken up and scared.

Everyone stepped inside, Mo'at immediately gathering each of them in a warm embrace. She spoke her thanks to Eywa in a gentle murmur, kissing the top of their heads. Neytiri quickly drew Tuk into her own arms, easing her shaking body.

“Outside, now.” Jake whispers before leaving. You take one last look around at all the people in the room before finally following him, your palms beginning to sweat as your anxiety intensifies.

Once you both find yourselves in a place where there were no lingering stares or whispers, (and without Neytiri having to save your ass this time), he turns to you, anger just as fiery as before. He strides back and forth, feet heavy on the ground as he attempts to choose his words carefully.

“I–” He started to speak, but then averted his gaze, his jaw clenched tight as he tried again. “Where were you?”

You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat as you mull over the question, taking a deep breath before finally attempting to answer. “I went out on a hunt. I have–”

“Without telling anyone firsthand? With scattered avatars over the perimeter?” Jake is quick to interject, arms flailing in anger. “Just what were you thinking? You knew about them going to the old shack and you did nothing to prevent it?”

Your shoulders slump wearily, feeling extremely overwhelmed. “I only wanted to–”

“Jesus Christ, it’s always about what you want, yeah? You with wanting to be olo’eykte, you with wanting to be heard. You and your goddamn wants had us all worried!”

And as you listen to him raise his voice, you turn younger and younger– until you were that same kid trying to tug on his arms to look at your first hit; that same kid who would do anything just for a moment of his time. It was like being ten years old all over again and realizing that he was slowly slipping away. That’s where you finally decided that Jake— your father, was just capable of unloving a child.

You take a step back, feeling the frustration boiling over as well. “Well maybe if you were a better father, they wouldn’t have the need to go against you every once in a while!” You shouted with the same volume as his, “You act as if we’re some sort of troops rather than a family–”

“I do it for you– for everyone! To keep them safe! You think it’s easy?”

“Well you did a pretty good job because from what I see, they’re shaking in their boots inside grandma’s hut!” You sarcastically remarked, “Best dad of Pandora, yeah?”

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters under his breath before looking up, as if he was pleading for Eywa to lengthen his patience. He then looked at you, eyes momentarily softening. You were breathing heavily, fangs baring. It was funny, he thought. You weren’t his daughter and yet you stood in front of him now looking exactly like him.

What he didn’t understand was that it wasn't Tsu’tey’s attitude that was passed down to you– rather, it was Jake’s anger you inherited. This was all him. All his fault.

“I thought I had it good, having Toruk Makto as a father. Five year old me was the proudest, if not a bit boastful too.” You muttered, gaze not meeting his. “There’s this huge difference that draws the line between being the olo’eyktan and a father and you’re doing a real shit job at the latter.”

I miss the latter, you failed to say.

You failed to see the way his ears flattened against his head, how his shoulders dropped like he couldn’t hold the weight of the world’s pressure anymore– but you were unable to see him. No, you two didn’t see each other eye to eye. To know that you failed your child was something a parent would never want to hear. His own daughter resented him and it was a heartache beyond repair.

“You think you make parenting any easier for me?”

“Then I wish you never took me in!”

It was such a thoughtless thing to do; to utter words that you know will only harm you more than they would ever heal - but it was there, finally out of your system; a though that lingered for as long as you can remember. Why take me in? Why raise a kid you wouldn't be able to care for?

You only wished that words could be undone but neither of you knew when to bite one's tongue back.

“Yeah?” He challenged, letting out a mocking snicker. “I really wish I didn’t– is that what you want me to say? Then go ahead and leave. Find a new family, see if they won’t find you any less difficult.”

And that was the final blow– the push you needed to leave. You looked at him in disbelief, vision blurry with tears. You shoved the bag right to his chest, forgetting it momentarily amidst the shouting session you just had with your father; the one you desperately wanted to present to him. With nothing else to say, you stormed off, leaving him behind.

Oh Eywa, there is nothing else as undoing as being an eldest daughter.

believe me, i've been trying to post this since 7 am and it's already a quarter 'til 9. tumblr has got to b fucking w me bec i just ran through at least 4 problems trying to get this on my account

anyway, hellaur. i know this is a bit overdue, but i had to make adjustments because i just had to get everyone's inputs and opinions in! i absolutely LOVE everyone's ideas nd you best believe i am trying to make everything word (also bec of the fact that i am a slow writer, so pls bear w me) hopefully i'm doing the story justice! this part went through a lot of modifications bec i kept feeling unsatisfied (i still am, kinda)

also, i couldn't tag a few people! 'm so sorry, some of the names don't pop up when i type it down ;(

tags: @erm2020quinzeanos @al-lethan @violilaqrs @sparklyphantom @iwanttohitmyself @planetslove @teyamsjustsleeping @sully-stick-together @grandgreengrapes @erensbbg @queen-dk @loaklvr @theyoungeagle @ducks118 @teyyyteyyy @yeosxxx @simply-lovely78 @ellabellabus07 @thehoneymushroomhealer @saturdayrj @kingjulian0o9 @hippiezworldz @joemamalackin @random-3455 @zoetrope1997 @cl0esblogg @anxietydrogz @lokisfirstandlastwife @hiddensnow1 @lunyyx @pearlsandcoconuts @blkmystery @marsbars09 @gcldtom @luna-salem @wolflover384 @mushy-mushroom04 @whatthemonsterfuckisthis @eternalidentity @celi-xxmoon @dumb-fawkin-bitch

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bizbat · 4 months

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He Realizes He Loves You - JJK x Reader

~ Reader is implied to be under 6ft but appearance is otherwise not mentioned.

~ Reader is implied to be fem and is explicitly fem + afab in Toji's part.

~ Including: Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto, Choso Kamo, and Sukuna Ryomen (in order).

~ Feel free to request a character not included!

~ Smut included for multiple characters.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ Thank you to (@starlight5cat, @s0ph1a7, @koiromii, @totallydestiny, @local-hopeless-romanic, @dalis-raines,@ryosuku, @liargh, @llotusfeet1, @crustychoco, @cult-of-norman, @broccolihater80, @bringmethewolves, @sohstayshawol, @therealisttheillest, @midnightxsecretary, @skullzgarden, @tiatasha-01, @sardonyx005, and @dimpled-peach) for all the characters they suggested!

~ Cw: Creampie (Toji), Slight Anal (also Toji), Pet Names (also also Toji) :( Mild Groping (Choso), Slight Yandere/obsessive behavior (Geto)

He realizes he loves you.

Toji - Explicit Smut, Wc: 315

The way you're squeezing him like you don't want him to pull out, calling his name like a hymn, God he might just cum right then and there. He's losing his mind as his hips slam against your ass, his thumb in your other hole, gripping the fat of your cheek while using it as leverage to pull you pack onto him.

Fuck, have you always sounded so sweet? And have you always been this pretty? He can't remember. All he knows is that he's not sure he's ever felt this good. He knows he's not thinking straight when his hips stutter, his cock throbbing inside you, and instead of slowing down, he speeds up. If he was a bit more cognizant, he'd consider pulling out, but who is he kidding?

You're too sweet to him, he knew it from the day you met. If he was a less selfish man, he'd have walked out of your life the second he felt his pants tighten at the sound of your voice. But, he's thankful he's not less selfish. "Gonna let me cum inside ya, baby?"

But, at the end of the night, he can cum in any broad willing to spread her legs for him. The second he blows his load, he'll be heading out the door. He's done it a million times. Veni, vidi, veni. Sometimes he'll turn a one night stand to a two night stand, but he never does more than twice.

Wait, how many times has he been over to your place again? Nevermind, he's cumming now. He doesn't still his hips as the thick, creamy white substance spills out of your cute little cunt. But his brain is fried, so when your juices coat his thighs, and your fingers squeeze his forearms, all while pressing your glossy lips to his . . . How's he supposed to help himself?

"F-Fuck, love you baby."

Megumi - No Smut, Wc: 265

He's never been the type to "jolt" out of bed. He usually slowly comes to consciousness, his body acting as a natural clock. Tsumiki would always say he was the early bird of the two. It was always just his routine.

But today, for some reason, the second he wakes up he snaps up and out of bed, his back straight as an arrow. It takes a second for his brain to register why. It's you. Here you are, peacefully laying in his bed beside him, his sheets covering everything but your face. You must have fallen asleep here after you and the other first years had movie night.

His eye twitches as he considers what to do. He doesn't wanna wake you, you look like a little angel, granted, you have a bit of drool dripping out of the corner of your mouth, but an angel nonetheless! He doesn't wanna tell Gojo, lord knows he'd never let him live it down. He doesn't want the higher-ups to find out and get you in trouble.

His brain moves damn near a mile a minute as he thinks of possible solutions. If you were awake you'd probably tease him about the smoke coming out of his ears. His eyes anxiously dart across his room, as if something in there could possibly fix his problem-

Until you roll over, your arm limply draped across his lap. It's not really a problem, is it? Gojo can handle it, he thinks to himself as he slips back under the covers, letting you hold onto him as you sleep in.

Gojo - No Smut, Wc: 334

Satoru doesn't do it for praise. While the sound of his sweet girlfriend's voice thanking and complimenting him is practically music to his ears, it's not his sole motivation. He's not sure what it is.

Maybe it's the sparkle in your eyes when he gives you your favorite type of pastry, he went out of his way to visit your favorite bakery, even though it was out of his way. Or maybe it's how tightly you hold him when he brings you a new bottle of your favorite perfume, even though the manufacturer stopped selling it. Maybe it's the way you squeal his name with joy and surprise when he appears at your doorstep, a cute little kitten in his arms, a bright blue bow tied around its neck.

He's not sure. It could be all of them for all he knows. Don't get him wrong, it's more than enough to get him out of bed every day. But it might actually be the fact that you almost . . . disregard his gifts afterwards. Maybe that's not the right word, but you're so casual about everything (except the kitten ofc). The necklace he got you last month, the one with his and your initials inside of a gold heart? You wear it everyday. Never say a word about it.

The watch he dropped at least a band on, the one that has five sets of hands and tells the time in Japan and your home country? You keep that in its case next to your bed. In the entire time you've dated, he doesn't think you've ever asked him for anything material. Maybe to do the dishes or take out the trash

Maybe that's it, actually. The fact that you'd rather spend time with him. That you see him as the biggest gift of all, it plays into his ego, sure. But there's something different about the way you cherish him, versus how the world does. Regardless, the thought makes him smile, makes his heart swell.

Nanami - Mild Smut, Wc: 336

Nanami has a lot of regrets in life.

He regrets every missed opportunity, every untaken chance, every day he's taken for granted, when others have to struggle so much to get half as far. Sometimes, he worries the thing that will finally do him in is grief. He has nightmares about choking on all of his remorse, and his biggest fear is that the second he gets something good, he'll be too distracted to hold onto it. But he has no regrets about you. He can feel it, even when he was still a student. Nanami knows how special you are. He sees it in the way your soft hands hold his face every morning and every night. In the way your lips curl and your hips wiggle in a little dance when you eat your favorite food. In the way your voice always rasps a small "good morning, my love," even before your eyes have opened.

God, you're special to him. And he knows better than to let you get away without knowing that. So when he has you in his arms, naked as the day you were born, your eyes tired and your skin sticky, he lets you know. He leans down, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck, his lips just barely ghosting against your skin. He thrusts his hips gently, your soft smile and tiny moans encouraging him. He doesn't need to realize he loves you, he already knows that, but until now, right this very second, he didn't realize he was in love with you. And it hits him like a truck. He hadn't realized that your laugh is his favorite sound in the world, that he could eat your cooking until the day he dies, that you could scream at him for hours and hours, and he'd still think you had the voice of an angel.

But God, you're special. He mumbles into your collarbone, something he's always ment, but never fully grasped. "Ngh~ God, I love you."

Geto - Implied Smut, Wc: 352

You're so blessed. You have his head resting in your lap, his hair loose as your fingers card through it, his robes barely hanging onto his muscled form. He's so beautiful, you can't believe you're only getting to see him up close now. His dark eyes stare penetratingly into your soul, his soft smile making your heart feel like it's on fire.

He has invited you into his personal quarters, the familiar scent of sage, and oils wafting through the air. It wasn't uncommon for him to invite someone to his room, just to keep him warm or entertained, not that it was frequent, but it wasn't like it never happened. To say that this wasn't what you had expected upon first entering, would be an understatement.

You had introduced yourself to him, bowing at his feet as you began stating your name and how long you'd been a member, only for him to interrupt you, listing information you didn't even know he knew about you, information you didn't even know about you. You sat there on your hands and knees, mouth agape in surprise, until he placed a hand under your chin, gently closing your mouth and guiding you to your feet. You didn't think to question it, of course your lord and master knew everything about you.

He pulled you deeper into the room, going into detail about how you had caught his eye the moment you had begun worshiping him and his ideals. He explained his plan for you to lead alongside him, become his bride and second in command, only if you wanted to, of course. It was a big responsibility, hundreds of people suddenly bending to your every whim. Not to mention his two wonderful daughters.

But why would you ever say no? How could you possibly deny the prospect of being his wife- Geto-Sama's wife!? So here you are, your own robes just as loose as his as you carefully stroke his long, inky locks. You're so beautiful, he's truly blessed to have such an obedient, loving little lamb in his flock, finally, all to himself.

Choso - No Smut, Wc: 282

He's happy he has you here. Sat in his lap, the glow TV illuminating your pretty face, his hands up your shirt. The only thing that could make this better would be if his brothers were here, though, perhaps it's better if they aren't. He does appreciate the intimacy of it just being you and him.

He can't help himself from looking up at you, paying attention to the way you mindlessly chew on your lip. It makes his own lips part with desire. "Can-can you kiss me again?" He lightly squeezes your chest, his fingers tightening around the black lace bra under your shirt.

His curious, pleading eyes are too hard to ignore. He moans into your mouth, one hand groping your breast, the other gently holding your tummy. He rests his head on your shoulder when you finally pull away, a nervous smile on his face, he's still learning how to do it right, he hopes you don't mind. Actually, he knows you don't.

If anything, you love it. He can tell by the way you hold his cheeks when he does it, the way you giggle and kiss him more and more just to see it widen. He wants to do that for you. He wants to hold your cheeks and giggle when you smile and kiss you to see you do it more.

His heart erratically beats in his chest as he impulsively reaches out, turning your face and holding you still while he presses messy kisses to your lips. He doesn't stop the barrage of pecks when you ask him what he's doing. He just smiles. And that makes you smile. And that makes him smile more.

Sukuna - Implied Smut, Wc: 266

If you were to ask him about it, he'd laugh in your face. Sukana cares for no one, he does not love, he does not enjoy anyone's presence, he does not feel warmth in his chest when you kiss his cheek. Absolutely not. Never. You'd be foolish to think otherwise.

You may be his favorite concubine, who he always lets lay with him in bed after he's had his fill. Who he lets run her fingers through his hair during bathtime. Who he makes sure is seated on his lap at all times. But that does not mean he likes you. It just means he finds you tolerable. Yes, that's it.

He finds you tolerable, at most, and that's generous, even, so there you go, there's your answer. Only, you didn't even ask to begin with. You said "Good morning, my lord," and here he is, going on a rant in his head about how much he doesn't love you. Shit. He's in deep. Far too deep for anyone of his standing, and it's too late for him to pull himself out of this eternal abyss.

Curse you, wench, for having such control over him, unwittingly at that. Who do you think you are? With your adorable face, and your soft hair, and your nice smell-Wench! Mark his words, he may be steadfast in making you his bride, and disposing of any other concubines that expresses too much jealousy, and keeping his palace decorated in a way that you would find flattering, but he is not in love with you by any stretch of the imagination.

#bizbat #jjk #toji x reader #megumi x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji smut #nanami smut

1K notes · View notes

intoxicated-chan · 5 months

Text

𝐈𝐭❜𝐬 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐭!

Summary ➳ When you and the rest decide to sneak up on an Orc camp, you receive an injury. You believe you can handle it yourself but Legolas thinks otherwise.

(A/n) ➳ I AM SO SORRY! Tumblr ended up deleting the request but I remember it but not all of it so forgive me if this isn’t what you wanted. If it isn’t then don’t hesitate to shoot a message or request again!! I also learned that apparently the Fellowship traveled at night and slept during the day. I seriously did not know that until today.

Word Count ➳ 1.5k

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, description of violence, blood, death, stitching, blood loss, angst-to-fluff…

“There must be some other way.” Legolas uttered to Boromir. “You cannot believe that sending (Y/n) out to assassinate the Orcs is the best solution.”

“She won’t be alone, Aragorn will be there with them.” Boromir replied. “The two of them will attack from above while we attack from below.” He drew his sword, walking closer to the Orc that was alone. He was swift with it, moving behind the Orc and slitting its throat. “See? Wasn’t that hard.”

You took a deep breath as you aimed your bow, you kept your focus on the leader. You could see from the corner of your eye Aragon sneaking up on the other two. You knew he was waiting on your signal and he would wait however long, but you were all on a strict time.

Another deep breath and- “Hey!” You shouted out of instinct, Legolas’s arrow went through the Orc’s head, killing him but you brought attention to yourself.

You jumped down from the tree and quickly nocked, drew, aimed, and released at one Orc that was reaching for its weapon. You swerved past another arrow, more flying past your head until you took cover over a giant rock.

Before you could nock another arrow, an Orc came from behind, grabbing your arms to throw you against the ground. You rolled when he attempted to stab you, dodging more swings until you managed to kick his sword away.

He charged at you, taking your knife that was strapped to your leg, and used it against you. You used your bow to block a couple of slashes until he fell to the ground. Instead of standing, he got onto his knees and managed to stab you in your thigh.

You let out a scream but in return, you shot an arrow through his head. Your breathing staggered as your hand wrapped around the knife and slowly pulled it out and then covered it with terrible bandaging.

“(Y/n)!” Legolas popped up a few seconds later. “I heard you scream.”

“I believed I twisted my ankle.” You covered your wound with your as best as you could, smiling through the pain.

“Let me help you.” Legolas took your hand, helping you walk to the rest of the group. Luckily, your cloak covered your bleeding wound and your dark pants were enough to hide the blood seeping out. “We just have a couple more hours before daylight.”

Like Legolas said, Aragorn finally decided that it was time to rest. “We will set out when it becomes dark.” He told you all before he started to set up his makeshift bed.

Legolas looked over your ankle, looking closely and pressing against it, looking back at you for a reaction. “It doesn’t seem to be twisted, but it may be strained. You have been jumping a lot, and might have happened when your footing was incorrect.”

You could practically feel the sweat running down your forehead. “Does it seem bad?”

Legolas smiled, his usual smile that was beaming with kindness. “No, the pain should fade later. Are you in pain or hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, thank you.” After Legolas joined Aragorn, chatting. It wasn’t long before it was just murmurs among the Fellowship. Sam and Frodo were cooking together, Gimli was most likely perched up against a tree sleeping, but you didn’t know about the rest.

You were farther into the forest, a needle and thread in your hand. You placed a thick piece of fabric in between your teeth and bit down, you used your other hand to keep the gash close together so you could stitch it.

You let out a strained cry as you attempted to stitch your wound yourself but it was difficult due to your vision blurring. You didn’t know how long you were out here, so focused on closing your wound that you didn’t hear branches breaking or leaves crunching.

“You’re hurt.” Legolas’s voice broke you out of your concentration. You could see the panic in his eyes, he kneeled by your side, taking the needle from you and moving your hand from your thigh. “And you’re doing it incorrectly. You’re hurting yourself more.”

He used his other hand to pull a container of water, and flushed out your wound. “How did you get this? And when?”

“Just a couple hours ago.”

“And you’ve been bleeding this entire time?” Legolas’s voice was filled to the brim with regret, like he was ashamed of himself. He carefully threaded the thread into your skin, making sure it wasn’t too tight or too loose.

You took out the cloth from your mouth. “Look Legolas, I’m still alive and well.” You tried to ease him. “I’ll be alright, I’m okay.”

“I should’ve known, you have been moving slower, as well as your reaction time.” He acknowledged. Once he finished stitching your wound, he poured water again to wash out the rest of the dried blood.

He helped you to your feet, throwing your arm over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. He moved at a slow pace back to camp, everyone was now asleep, save it for Aragorn who just watched you both silently.

He helped you lay down. “I’ll be fine.” You repeated yourself, it felt like the hundredth time.

Legolas shook his head. “Please, do not hide anything. You shouldn’t be silent about these kinds of things.”

As if waking up very early in the morning couldn’t be any better, Orcs have seemed to find you all. You had a feeling that they were stalking you all, waiting for the moment to attack. You used your bow instead of your sword, making sure none of the Orcs came close to the Hobbits.

An Orc charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings but not the kick to the leg, making you kneel and it felt like the stitches broke.

You screamed as you used your arrow to stab it into the Orc’s shoulder. Legolas’s arrow came from behind and slew the bastard and Merry came to your side to help you stand.

“Run into the forest!” Boromir shouted, blocking the sword coming down at him. “Go! Quickly!”

Merry helped you speed through the forest. You suddenly felt sick, like you wanted to pass out. But it wasn’t long before the Orcs gave up the chase and Merry sat you against a tree.

“They’re bleeding!” Merry alerted the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas dropped in front of you, pushing your hands away from the wound. “I need a needle and thread.” He said, more like demanded. “Or a cloth to stop the bleeding.”

Aragorn ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Legolas, he snatched it and was quick to tie it around your wound. “I’ll need some herbs, in case the wound becomes infected.” Sam shuffled through his bag. “Luckily you should be able to walk but not run.”

You swore under your breath. “It seems the Orcs are watching us at all times.” You looked up at Aragorn. “What do we do?” You asked him.

“There may be another camp nearby.” Aragorn replied. “Boromir, Legolas, we need to search.”

“Someone should stay and protect the Hobbits.”

“Gimli is here and (Y/n) still has the strength to use their bow.”

“But what if they need to retreat? What will happen then?” Legolas still pressed, wanting to remain by your side. “We cannot put the Hobbits at risk, especially the ringbearer.”

“Gimli will be here, just go with them.” You told him.

“I will not.”

Aragorn was too annoyed to even put up an argument anymore. “Let us go then.”

When they were out of sight, you pushed his shoulder slightly. “What was that?” You asked him, confused out of your mind.

“Someone must be here to protect the Hobbits-”

“I know that, it would’ve been fine. They are taking care of the camp, the Orcs won’t be nearby to bother us.” You once again tried to explain to him. “What is going on with you? Are you still feeling guilty?”

“No-”

“Doesn’t seem like that.” Your breathing hitched as you attempted to stand.

Legolas grabbed your warm to stop you. “You cannot be moving at the moment. Give yourself time to relax.”

“It’s just a small cut!”

“A cut that could’ve killed you.”

You huffed. “What is going on with you Legolas?”

“Becoming reckless is one thing but hiding a serious injury that could have killed you is another. It makes me worry, it makes me question if you have more injuries you’ve hidden.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about the wound. I didn’t think that it would mean so much for you.” You admitted.

“I worry, I worry every single day, every fight, during the night and during the daybreak. Will the morrow be the day where someone or something takes you from me?” His hand grazed over your wound. “I just want to know I’ve done everything and anything.”

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again.

“Just promise me, I do not care how small it is or how big, please do not hesitate to ask for help.”

You nodded. “I promise.”

434 notes · View notes

simpforfandom231 · 2 months

Text

Throwing shit PT1

Just y/n and Reneé throwing stuff at each other but it ends well in pt2, i promise

————————————————————————

The apartment crackled with tension, the air thick with unresolved frustration. Reneé Rapp, the renowned singer, stood facing her girlfriend, Y/N, their voices rising in a tumultuous crescendo. Y/N's accusation hung heavy in the air like a discordant note in an otherwise perfect melody.

"I can't believe you're defending him again!" Y/N's voice cut through the room, her eyes ablaze with anger.

Reneé's own frustration boiled over. "I've told you a million times, there's nothing going on between me and my guitarist!"

Y/N scoffed, disbelief etched on her face. "Oh, please! I'm not blind, Reneé. I see the way he looks at you during your performances."

Reneé shook her head, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "That's ridiculous! He's just my guitarist, nothing more."

The tension thickened, suffocating the room with its intensity. Then, in a moment of rage, Y/N grabbed a glass from the countertop and hurled it at Reneé.

The glass shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Reneé recoiled, her eyes widening in shock as she dodged the projectile.

"You're insane!" Reneé yelled, her voice trembling with anger.

Fueled by adrenaline and fury, Reneé retaliated, grabbing a nearby plate and hurling it back at Y/N with equal force. The plate crashed against the floor, scattering ceramic shrapnel across the room.

Y/N's eyes flashed with fury as she lunged forward, her voice rising to a deafening scream. "How dare you!"

Reneé matched her intensity, her own voice a fierce counterpoint. "How dare I? How dare you!"

The apartment reverberated with their heated argument, the walls practically vibrating with their conflicting emotions. Insults flew like arrows in a battlefield of words, each one striking its mark with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the chaos, Y/N finally reached her breaking point. "I'm done! I'm going to bed, and you can sleep on the couch for all I care!"

Reneé's jaw clenched, her fists still trembling with anger. "Fine! Maybe I will!"

With that final declaration, Y/N stormed off, leaving Reneé standing alone in the wreckage of their fight.

The next morning dawned with a heavy weight lingering in the air, a palpable tension that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment. Reneé awoke with a sense of dread knotting in her stomach, the events of the previous night replaying in her mind like a broken record.

As she stumbled off the sofa, her muscles aching from the restless sleep on the couch, Reneé found herself confronted once again by the aftermath of their explosive argument. Broken glass glinted on the floor, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted between them.

Y/N emerged from the bedroom, her expression still etched with resentment as she cast a cold glance in Reneé's direction. "You're still here?"

Reneé bristled at the accusation, her own anger reigniting at the sight of Y/N's dismissive demeanor. "Where else would I be?"

Y/N scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I don't know, maybe off cozying up to your precious guitarist!"

Reneé's temper flared at the implication, her fists clenching at her sides. "For the last time, there's nothing going on between me and him!"

The familiar refrain of their argument echoed through the apartment, each accusation and denial adding fuel to the fire of their conflict. Before either of them could stop it, the tension escalated once again into a full-blown shouting match.

Insults flew like arrows, each one sharper and more cutting than the last. Reneé's voice rose to a fever pitch as she hurled verbal barbs at Y/N, each word laced with venomous intent. Y/N, equally incensed, launched her own barrage of insults in return, their voices melding together in a cacophony of anger and resentment.

In a moment of blind rage, Reneé seized the nearest object—a decorative vase—and hurled it across the room with all her might. The vase shattered against the wall, sending shards of porcelain cascading to the floor in a symphony of destruction.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock at the display of aggression, her own fury reaching a boiling point. With a primal scream, she retaliated, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and launching it back at Reneé with surprising force.

The pillow collided with Reneé's chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of her sails. But instead of backing down, Reneé's resolve only strengthened, her determination to win this battle of wills burning fiercely within her.

The apartment became a battleground, each room a theater of war as Reneé and Y/N waged their verbal warfare with unrelenting ferocity. Furniture toppled, dishes shattered, and tempers flared hotter than the flames of their passion.

And yet, beneath the surface of their tumultuous conflict, a spark of something else simmered—a flicker of longing, of desire, of the love that still bound them together despite the chaos that threatened to tear them apart.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its warm golden glow through the windows, Reneé and Y/N found themselves locked in a silent standoff, their breaths heavy and labored, their eyes locked in a silent battle

Reneé and Y/N stood amidst the wreckage of their argument, a sudden knock echoed through the apartment, breaking the heavy silence like a discordant note in an otherwise somber melody. Both women turned towards the door, their expressions a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Reneé hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over the doorknob. "Who could that be?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, her frustration palpable. "Probably just the neighbors, complaining about the noise again."

With a resigned sigh, Reneé opened the door to reveal their neighbors standing in the hallway, their faces drawn into expressions of thinly veiled annoyance.

"We couldn't help but notice the, uh, passionate discussion you two were having," one of the neighbors said, their tone dripping with sarcasm. "We were just wondering if you could keep it down a bit. We're trying to watch TV, you know."

Y/N's jaw dropped in disbelief at the audacity of their neighbors. "Are you kidding me right now?"

The neighbors merely shrugged, their indifference infuriating in its arrogance. "Just a friendly request, that's all. Thank you very much."

As the neighbors retreated back into their own apartment, Reneé and Y/N exchanged incredulous glances, both equally appalled by the encounter. But before they could dwell on it any further, the reality of their situation came crashing back down upon them.

With a heavy sigh, Reneé turned back towards the apartment, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Well, I guess we should start cleaning up this mess."

Y/N nodded in agreement, her own frustration still simmering beneath the surface. As they began to pick up the pieces of their shattered argument, the tension between them remained palpable, a silent barrier that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

"It's always the same," Reneé muttered under her breath, her voice heavy with resignation.

Y/N heard the words, her own anger flaring once again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Reneé glanced up, her expression guarded. "It means that no matter how many times we fight, nothing ever seems to change."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Maybe if you understood how it felt, you'd do something about it."

Reneé bristled at the accusation, her own frustration boiling over. "Oh, and what exactly am I supposed to do?"

Before Y/N could respond, Reneé dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves rippling through the room. "I invited Evan over to have dinner with us tonight."

Y/N's mouth fell open in shock, her anger giving way to disbelief. "You did what?"

Reneé met her gaze evenly, her resolve unwavering. "You heard me. Evan's coming over, whether you like it or not."

With that final declaration, Y/N stormed off towards the bedroom, her footsteps echoing loudly against the hardwood floors. Slamming the door shut behind her, she left Reneé standing alone in the aftermath of their latest confrontation, her heart heavy with regret and uncertainty.

The day dragged on with an oppressive weight, each passing hour stretching into eternity as Y/N remained holed up in the bedroom, her anger simmering beneath the surface like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. Meanwhile, Reneé tried in vain to carry on with her day, the tension between her and Y/N hanging heavy in the air like a thick fogge

As evening approached, Reneé knew that she couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. With a heavy sigh, she approached the closed bedroom door, steeling herself for what lay beyond.

"Y/N," Reneé called out, her voice tentative. "We need to get ready for dinner."

There was no response, only the sound of silence echoing back at her like a mocking reminder of their strained relationship.

With a resigned shake of her head, Reneé pushed open the door to find Y/N sitting on the bed, her expression stony and unreadable.

Reneé tried to mask her disappointment as she crossed the room to the closet, her fingers trailing over the fabric of her dresses as she searched for the perfect outfit.

Y/N remained silent as Reneé changed into a cute dress, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the confines of the bedroom walls.

Once they were both dressed and ready, Reneé made her way to the kitchen where she had already prepared dinner, the savory aroma of her cooking filling the apartment with a tantalizing scent.

As Reneé set the table with meticulous care, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew that Evan's arrival would only serve to further exacerbate the tension between her and Y/N, but she had made a commitment and she intended to see it through.

Just as Reneé finished setting the table, there came a knock at the front door, the sound echoing through the apartment like a harbinger of impending doom.

Reneé shot Y/N a warning glance as she made her way to the door, silently urging her to behave herself in front of their guest.

Y/N rolled her eyes in response, her expression a mask of indifference as she reluctantly followed Reneé to the living room.

With a deep breath, Reneé opened the door to reveal Evan standing on the threshold, his smile charming and disarming in equal measure.

"Hey, Reneé! Thanks for inviting me over," Evan said, his eyes lingering on Reneé in a way that made Y/N's blood boil.

Reneé returned his smile, though her own unease was apparent in the tightness of her expression. "Of course, Evan. Come on in."

As Evan entered the apartment, Y/N forced herself to plaster on a fake smile, her teeth gritted in a silent display of restraint.

Reneé led Evan to the dining table, where he took his seat with a flourish, his eyes never leaving Reneé's form as she bustled about the kitchen, fetching plates and serving dishes with practiced ease.

Y/N busied herself with pouring wine, her hands trembling slightly as she struggled to maintain her composure in the face of Evan's unwavering gaze.

Throughout the meal, Evan's attention remained firmly fixed on Reneé, his compliments bordering on the excessive as he praised her cooking and commented on how good she looked in her dress.

Y/N seethed with silent rage, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms as she fought to keep her temper in check.

Reneé, for her part, seemed oblivious to the tension that hung thick in the air, her own anger towards Y/N overshadowed by her discomfort at Evan's overt flirtations.

As the evening wore on, Y/N found herself growing more and more agitated, her patience wearing thin as Evan continued to push the boundaries of propriety with his incessant touching and suggestive comments.

Finally, unable to contain her frustration any longer, Y/N rose abruptly from the table, her chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor as she stormed off towards the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her with a resounding thud.

Reneé and Evan exchanged awkward glances across the table, the silence that followed deafening in its intensity.

With a heavy sigh, Reneé pushed her plate away, her appetite ruined by the palpable tension that now filled the room.

As she met Evan's gaze, a flicker of uncertainty passed between them, both keenly aware of the rift that had formed between Reneé and Y/N—and the role that Evan had unwittingly played in widening that divide.

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jobean12-blog · 8 months

Text

Make Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Pre!outbreak Joel)

Word Count: 1,075

Summary: You're a brat and Joel acts like he doesn't like it but really...he loves it.

Author's Note: I saw the photo below and just caught fire...between the hands, fingers, forearms, open shirt, his hand in there, his face, the whole man. Dead. So here we are because I would love to rile this man up and then have him punish me for it. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the loveliest @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: flirty teasing, tension, brattiness from reader, Joel is still soft but it's super s-ex-y.

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Get dressed.”

You kneel on the bed and toy with the buttons of his flannel that’s draped over your otherwise naked body.

With one last warning glance he turns to walk into the bathroom.

“No.”

When he hears your defiant answer he swings back around and stalks toward the bed.

“Darlin’,” he growls.

“I don’t want to get dressed and I don’t want to go…”

Your voice trails off into a softer tone as your bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I want to stay home and in bed with you.”

His eyes soften slightly but his jaw clenches with the grind of his teeth. “We spent all morning in the shower. It’s time to get ready or we’ll be late.”

“Joel,” you whine, shifting closer so you can plant your hands on his chest.

Your fingers slip into the open buttons of his shirt and graze over his warm skin. You slowly work your way down to the first closed button and pop it open.

He grabs your wrist, stilling your movements.

“Don’t.”

You lift your eyes and bat your lashes, still pouting.

“Don’t give me that look darlin’.”

“But…”

“But nothin’. Get. Dressed.”

You sit back with a frustrated huff, crossing your arms and arrowing your eyes at his receding backside.

After several minutes of lazily laying on the bed you finally drag yourself up, shrugging off his flannel and shuffling to the closet.

You’re still shifting through your clothes when he walks back in.

“You’re still not dressed,” he says.

“I can’t find anything I want to wear,” you explain, looking over your bare shoulder with innocent eyes.

You turn back around, purposefully bending over as you continue to pretend to search for a dress.

His large hand lands on your ass cheek, the sting making you moan out his name and when his arm wraps around your waist to pull you up and against his hard body your lips lift into a triumphant smile.

“Behave,” he murmurs, his breath just a whisper along the shell of your ear.

“Make me,” you counter, turning in his arms to face him.

“Fuck,” he rumbles. “You’re such a brat.”

You circle your arms around his neck and curl your fingers into his hair.

“It’s your fault,” you purr. “You won’t give me what I want.”

He presses his full lips together and his eyes darken. “I always give you what you want darlin’.”

You release one hand at his neck and slide it down his chest, slipping your finger into the waistband of his pants. With ease you pop open the button and pull down the zipper.

His eyes close for a second, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks when he inhales with a gasp of your name.

“If we’re late I’m never goin’ to hear the end of it,” he groans. “Now be a good girl and put some clothes on.”

Your hand closes around him with a light squeeze.

“Just give me what I want Joel.”

With another muttered curse he pulls free of your grasp, leveling you with a pained look. “Get. Dressed. You’ve got five minutes.”

He holds up his hand, his long and thick fingers splayed out.

You let out a longing sigh. “Don’t tease me with those.”

His expression transforms into a smirk as the corner of his mouth lifts and his eyebrows raise.

“Tease you?” he chuckles as he starts to walk away. “See you in five darlin’ and don’t make me come get you.”

“Don’t tempt me with threats,” you say back with a stomp of your foot.

You decide on a dress and throw it on then put on your jewelry and grab your shoes.

When you walk out of the bedroom and into the living room he’s leaning against the wall by the door.

His brown eyes slide down your body appreciatively. “You look perfect. Now, let’s go.”

With a sweet smile you saunter over, your heels dangling from your fingers.

“One sec. Just have to put my shoes on.”

You place your hand on his chest to steady yourself and bend down to start and slide the shoe onto your foot but he stops you and gently pushes you back toward the couch.

“Sit,” he commands.

He kneels and takes your foot in his hands then carefully slips on your shoe before starting to buckle it.

“These things are so damn small,” he mutters as he fights with the tiny clasp at your ankle.

“That’s just because your hands are so big,” you giggle.

He looks up at you with amusement dancing in his eyes. “Just how you like it.”

You hum in agreement and wiggle your toes.

He finally gets your shoes on then stands and holds his hand out for you.

With his palm at your lower back he leads you toward the door but as you reach to open it he pins you against it, pressing the hardness in his pants to your lower back.

Without a word he teasingly smooths his hand along your thigh and when he reaches the hem of your dress he lifts it until it’s above your hip.

The cool air hits your skin and his hand glides between your legs.

“I knew it,” he murmurs as his fingers continue to move at a torturously slow pace, tracing your bare skin where your panties should be.

“Isn’t it time to go?” you ask sweetly, feigning innocence as you try to wiggle free of his hold.

“Mm I don’t think so,” he croons, “you’re not going anywhere darlin’.”

When the calloused pad of his finger finds its mark you arch your back and whine out his name.

“Were you going to spend the whole party soaked like this…with nothin’ on under here?” he rumbles in your ear.

“Not if you just…”

Your sassy answer gets cut off when he grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your head to silence you with a kiss. It’s deep and rough even as his fingers are teasingly soft between your thighs.

You moan into his mouth and grab his wrist, sliding his hand lower until it stops at the base of your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat as he trails his lips along your jaw and tightens his grip.

“I’m goin’ to fuck the brat right outta you darlin’. You’ll be lucky if you can walk straight when we leave this house.”

@hiddles-rose @pedritosdarling @littleseasiren @lorilane33 @kmc1989 @lizette50

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pre!outbreak joel miller #pre!outbreak joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #pre!outbreak joel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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wmarximoff · 1 year

Text

𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because Wanda is unlucky enough to understands as much as you do about the responsibility of those with great power — and the losses that come with it.

warnings (18+): smut, angst, handjob, gender neutral reader has a penis, major character death. MINORS DNI.

pairing: emo!Wanda x spider!gn!reader

word count: 4k

masterlist|

(please, don't flag the work)

༺ᱬ༻

There was something gratifying you could point to in the idea that, propelling yourself into the air, climbing in that arachnid-like acrobatics with your own body to the zephyrs of frigid wind in furrows at that high enraptured speed, the world around you could well be so tiny and contained that it would even be deprived of external evils and annoyances when seen from above.

And you always watched it from above, from above, from the corners, in swaying webs, flight towards the urban labyrinth of a city marked by its own life, in a majestic and vigorous existence – a giant that shines even when the dusk of night falls, warm even in the face of a shroud of icy snow in the middle of that October winter.

Admittedly, the cosmopolitanly avant-garde structures that made up the metropolis of New York were sprawling, treacherous, and indeed even fragile, but the charm of the Big Apple was passed right over everyone else's heads, on the surface, when you didn't peer deep into the alley violence in that capitalist machine that encompassed you as much as it did any other New York passer-by.

Your distinguishing factor, however, your peculiarity, was that for many of those people you were a protector, a masked safeguard of their integrity in the face of the everyday hostility that the system so poorly failed to sustain. You were responsible for protecting the helpless, the underprivileged, the underserved, the mainstay of the marginalized and the forgotten. You were, in accordance with your moral duties, the friend of the neighborhood.

Swinging from one building to the next was part of the job at that point. Aerial locomotion became more practical and utilitarian when dealing with moving from one point to another between the skyscrapers that rose to the dark immensity of the night, like arrows shot to the top of the borough of Queens, where a kind of human spider like you moved upwards, climbing and shooting webs, leaving behind trampled footprints in the accumulated snow on the corners of the parapets and on the lightning rod antennas.

You propelling yourself into the dark sky, your muscle cords contracting, pumping blood, gusts of icy air sliding through the fabric of your dark mask, inflating the white eight-legged spider etching emblazoned on your torso. Feeling fucking alive.

In front of panes of glass, pale lights and hums, there was the frenzy of a city that never sleeps – in an intense rustling buzz, active and dynamic amid the white snow and the thousands of lighted lamps, with people carrying briefcases, with suits and ties and sheltered in heavy clothes, with children and with animals, alone or in packs, cars mottled on the white streets, advertisements flashing everywhere. Conversations meandering through the most disparate topics possible to parrot about, a veritable array of options.

Life was happening right below you, as you swung in a black and white suit over the tops of pylons and tall buildings, beads of icy sweat pouring down the length of your back, delirious ecstasy pulsing through your veins added to your warm, radioactive blood.

But, away from the noise of the night's bustle, your web swings that night were heading towards a final stop on an otherwise quiet round – a small apartment complex with thin walls, raised in stone and red brick and in poor plumbing, rather weather-beaten, with a rent worthy of the salary of a pizza delivery person (and part-time barista) like you in Northwest Queens. A place where you've resided since you found yourself being on your own, a little over a year ago, because you weren't exactly the lucky kind of kid.

However, no longer so far from the popular residence, huddled in an arachnid position right on top of the snowy tiles of a corner market, behind the acrylic lenses in the shape of tears, both your eyes compressed their lids in a comically expression, confused in a furrow of brows, since out of the glass of that window situated on the eighth floor were beams of a white lamp luminescence – and, as far as you held a knowledge in your memory, you had left your dwelling still by the end of that partially sunny afternoon, therefore, never having even turned on the lamps that day.

“Shit,” beneath the fabric of the mask you held your frigid breath, sharpening your senses into a state of alert.

It only took a single jump propelled by your lower limbs and an accurate web shot ejected from the shooter attached to your right wrist, aimed right at the edge of the building's terrace, for you to maneuver cautiously in the air, between the light poles, like an elusive feline to then crawling up the emergency stairs outside your living room window, peering in for a glimpse of who the intruder might be that would have crept into your residence while you were away, merging with the shadows that shrouded that cold night.

But the ice in your lungs soon softened into puddles of itself, and at what lay there, laid out for your view from within those four withered walls that encompassed the narrow cubicle you called home. Your heart pumped in liquid explosion inside your ribcage that spread to the pit of your stomach, taking everything in its path in a dizzying hot drag. And that's why a tiny silly smile allowed itself to be enjoyed by the commission of your lips, against the thin fabric of your mask – it was just a natural act for you, to smile foolishly at the splendorous vision of Wanda Maximoff.

The far view alone was enough for you to find yourself smiling and truly content at your core – Wanda lying on your own bed, between thick blankets and poorly stacked piles of pillows, so oblivious to the fact that she was being watched; the pale expanses of her ring-lined fingers so subtly being nibbled on by her teeth, her nails varnished by a black nail polish chipped at the tips, one opalescent knee crossed over the other next to her chest, her dark miniskirt exposing her firm thighs in a way just as appealing to your desiring gaze.

And you loved the fact that her brown hair modulated coffee-colored tones when arranged in the dead of night, only in the pale light of a lamp placed near the right end of the bed – how even though it seemed so dark in the confines of that room, Wanda glowed in her own light sweeping a strand of profuse chestnut hair behind the shell of her right ear, her ringlet gleaming silver, her gaze so intent on the little television set in front of her.

How her irises seemed to adhere to traces of a mossy hue so bleak out of the sun, yet almost bordering on the innocence of someone who was only enjoying a television program displayed on the squalid screen of the small television set that was placed in front of the opposite wall to the bed, just above a small second-hand wooden table.

Over her torso she wore an old dark sweatshirt of yours, made of thick, warm material, bought at a Hot Topic store a few years ago, when you were still in your high school years. And Wanda was beautiful – the owner of a casual beauty, a simple natural and simple neatness, the kind in which there is no effort to pretend to be pretty. A beauty that begins and ends with itself, just because she was beautiful. The most beautiful sight anyone's eyes could be graced with. The kind that made you feel lucky, lucky to have her for yourself.

But it was then that the cold came to haunt you in a gust of stiff wind, the frozen hand of winter tracing the vertebrae of your spine in a chilling contact on your epidermis, which gelled the blood flowing in your veins and turned your bones to ice. Only then did you realize the reality where you were hanging on the snowy emergency stairs outside your apartment, away from the warm weather and away from Wanda.

And so, with your gloved right hand, you managed to lift the window and head your way into the small room, stepping on the floorboards inside with your left foot.

“Hey little witch, are you breaking and entering now? And here I thought you were one of the good guys...”

“Y/n!” Wanda got pleased immediately and, from the bed, she turned with her chin towards your voice that came from the window, a smile emerging in the outline of those pink lips she had, then getting up to receive you properly.

“It's cold outside, get in quick! You're going to catch a cold!”

And her southeastern European accent, still bathed by the Adriatic Sea, made itself present in her low-toned speech, hardening the enunciation of that soft voice. That's why you smiled – the tone of Wanda's voice always warmed your loving chest.

“Fine, fine, I'm fine,” you muttered in an enthusiastic tone, bringing your left hand behind you down on the windowpane that prevented any more gusts of icy wind from piercing the blister of heat that had become infatuated through the walls of that small room.

“I'm in one piece, see? Healthy as a,” you smiled to yourself, “Well, as a spider.”

And a chaste smile flickered back between Wanda's lips, a hint of skin being scrunched across the bridge of her nose in an adorable way, “You're such a goof, web-head.”

So it was that the young woman came walking towards you, warm, smiling, with open arms to welcome you into her affections.

And you took her for yourself, pulling Wanda's body close to yours, whereupon clever fingers dressed in silver rings hooked on the seam cut of your mask right in the middle of your neck, slowly then hoisting it so that in front of the Wanda's gaze revealed the skin of your chin, and then the pulp of your lips; the jadish irises aimed at your mouth and, morosely, the young woman bent down to take a kiss from you herself.

You held her, groping your fingers around her waist, when it was that, in a dizzying, crimson electric shock, soaked in a jubilation of fiery delight, your lips touched in a prudish, measured way. It was a kiss of a simple nature, yet lingering on her lips and imbued with impetuous feelings – the need joined to longing, the happiness of a jovial and healthy love. Something in you just yearned to return to her arms every day, as if your soul fit hers like a jigsaw puzzle by your lips united in a single tune.

“Hi,” you lisped in the tiniest tone against her mouth.

“Hey, детка,” was Wanda's reply, who still had the hem of your mask pressed between her rings, before she hoisted her forearms up to her chin and completely removed the piece of cloth that covered your face expression as smiling as hers.

“I really love your eyes, Y/n.”

“I can say the same for you, my little witch.”

After a little simpler caress of love exchanged, more kisses and hugs and little oaths of longing, you two separated then in reluctance so that you would undress your cold spider suit, choosing to wear more casual clothes and comfortable on your body – a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of snug, vaguely baggy sweatpants. And while you were doing that, Wanda, sitting right on the edge of your bed, watched you in front of the tiny closet door nearby, where a small door opened onto a narrow, dark room with clothes hanging on hangers and a small yellow light dripping from the ceiling.

“I was looking over your crime board earlier, before you arrived, and...” as she talked, her chin was supplanted by the elbow resting on the right knee of her crossed legs.

“Mmm?”

Wanda looked at you for half a second, her face creasing in curiosity, “Who's Wilson Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” your voice was somewhat muffled by the dark shirt you were halfway pulling on over your head.

“He's one of the crime bosses around here, he's involved in some pretty serious shit around town,” at last, you tucked the shirt over your torso.

“And I've been on his tail for a few months now, but I need to get on with my work if I'm going to gather enough evidence to expose him to the public legally. It's going to be difficult since he has pretty much the entire political underworld in the palm of his hand and other stuff too, of course, but... but I think I'm getting somewhere with this, yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “That sounds… kinda dangerous, Y/n,” Wanda sniffed with her nose to the side, speaking more to herself than to you per se.

“Maybe if you talked to Clint or Nat they could help you with that. Steve too, even. I know they are all willing to help you if you ask. Steve… you know, he’d really like you to take a chance and be on the team for a while. He thinks you'd make a good Avenger.”

"Yeah, I don't know about that, Wands," you muttered back, raising your right eyebrow at the idea.

“I don't think it's in the Avengers' niche to worry about that kind of thing, you know? I mean, you guys kind of exist to deal with out-of-the-galaxy threats and crazed AIs and evil government organizations and all that shit, don't you? And, well, Fisk is a pretty big fish in his own way, that's true... but he's just a stupid old bald guy who blackmails the local politicians and has created a criminal empire out of bribery and corruption – which is not it's very different from the billionaires we know out there. The difference is that Fisk is not a threat on a global scale.”

At the not-so-indirect burn to Stark Industries that couldn't be ignored, Wanda couldn't help but giggle infinitesimally under her breath, an act that elicited a goofy little smile from you, swaying your shoulders into your baggy blouse.

“Well,” she smiled a little too, in a kind of assent to your words, “You're not wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you turned your head toward her, as your right foot tucked into the seam of thick gray cotton sweatpants.

“Plus, I have this certain, umm, responsibility to the people of this town, I guess. It was a promise I made after all, I... I'm here for them, both to keep all that crazy shit from spilling over on them, and just to look out for them when no one else does. That's my job around here, my function. It's just what I do. I'm not a super spy, or a super soldier, a genius billionaire or a giant green strong guy, Wands. I’m, I’m only...”

“The friendly neighborhood web-head?”

At your roll of eyes, Wanda smirked, like a small rabbit with moderately larger front teeth than the rest.

“That's just mean, witchy. I really prefer Spidey, you know? Spidey.”

“Spidey,” the young enchantress reiterated to you, “Well, anything sounds better than the Witch anyway. That's so fucking pejorative, like, burn the witch or something, what the fuck. I’m not a fucking witch.”

“You aren’t?”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes out of their sockets comically.

“The Witch, huh…” you looked at her, almost laughing when you did, “People really aren't good at coming up with superhero names, are they? Because this one is really bad. Really bad.”

“No,” Wanda chuckled in agreement, shaking her head, “They're not, not at all. And I’m not a superhero.”

“I see,” you droned, “And what are you then?”

For a second, Wanda looked at you, “A unlucky person who has made a lot of bad choices in her life.”

The television, which was flashing some old episode of a sitcom that made up Wanda's favorite series collection, was the only thing that filled the room with any kind of light or sound some time later, since, after stuffing yourself with the chicken paprikash that your beloved had prepared for you and then packed and stored in your fridge, the two of you snuggled in each other's arms, away from the cold and the chill, under a thatched hut with thick blankets on your bed during that bitter winter night.

But it was when you turned in search of a comfortable position to lean back against the pillows and your left elbow brushed Wanda's right, that you two looked at each other curiously as if only then had you realized how close you encompassed each other – two dark gazes in the middle of the room lit only by the artificial lighting of a meaningless program, together, alone.

And you craved the comforting body heat that Wanda radiated when as close to her as you were – the scent of red that wafted from her silky ebony hair and her smooth, pale skin. You felt, however, a gaze peering into you from the line of your jaw and cheekbones, and looking back, Wanda was staring at you with a voluptuous fixation on the darkened green corners of her irises. She looked at you like she could completely consume you, like something about her was going to swallow you up and eat you down, digest you to the bones.

And then, from beneath the cocoon of blankets, a subtle touch spread across your left crotch, still above the thick material of your sweatpants. Your gaze sailed from the heap of blankets placed in the region of your lap to the emerald gaze, so dimmed, of the young woman sitting next to your left elbow.

“Wanda...”

“Mm?” she hummed back, as innocent as could be, as if her fingers weren't so close to groping an area of your body that was already beginning to throb with signs of life.

“Wanda,” you lisped softly, again, so needy, pupils popping and blood bristling through your veins, “What are you…?”

“I missed you, детка,” her fingers dipped deeper and deeper into your crotch, her eyes still screwed into your field of vision as she did so, “I missed you so, so much… I get so lonely in my room in the compound, you know? And all I can think about in those moments is you... how much I miss you.”

She locked her upper teeth against the flesh of her lower lip, stifling a lusty, immoral smile when she realized something – already petrified in a flash of desire, beneath the fabric of your pants, was your semi-erection, a noticeable bulge that made Wanda's mouth throb with desire.

"And I bet you miss me too, don't you?"

“Of course I do,” you huffed out a breath of warm air, “Fuck Wanda, every goddamn night… every goddamn night I miss you.”

The bright, lively hand, with thin fingers wrapped in rings and well-cut black nails, couldn't help but travel through the dazzling skin of your abdomen, exposed by the lifting of your long-sleeved blouse, starting from the south, from your navel, into your hips, into the hem of your pants. Wanda captured your thick member and gave your shaft an alluring squeeze – her face then hidden in the contour of your neck, in the joint of your shoulder, to nibble, there, a piece of skin.

“Uh-f-fuck, Wanda...” you squirmed out of your nostrils like steam released from your bruised lungs, in a hoarse wail, somewhat drunk with the acute excitement present in your system.

Wanda smiled against your skin, her thumb lethargic caressing the strained head of your cock inside your pants and, in performed innocence, she placed a chaste kiss on the bone at the tip of your jaw.

“Just enjoy it, malышка,” was whispered in her low voice right next to your ear, in an accent hard and robust, but so dizzying when it came out of the crack of Wanda's lips, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

And again, followed this time by a shameless tone of voice, leaking the red color from her pores, Wanda pressed the plump shaft between her slender fingers, causing a softness on your part. Following your moan, she placed a warm kiss behind your left ear.

“Allow me to make you feel good, Y/n.”

Wanda's right hand began its harassed, pleasurable work, up and down the length of your nervous member, raised to the intimate of your burning thighs – and you, wrapped in an embarrassed tremor, were exasperated as Wanda kissed your corner of the half-open mouth and the fluttering earlobe, threading your fingers through her brown locks as if it were a need between your hands, just in search of something to support yourself during that very intimate moment, shared by a couple of lovers as young and needy as you two were.

“Y/n,” she called against your cheekbone, “I… I'm sorry, but I want you inside. Now."

“Fine,” was your airy reply, “Fine.”

And without delay, Wanda passed her thighs over your knees, linking the folds of her elbows to your neck, then sitting on your lap so that a pink and expert tongue could slide inside your mouth as the damp, warm walls from her cunt slid around your erection. And then, one hefty, powerful touch, palms wide open and pressed to the flesh of her ass beneath her skirt, you screeched out of the outline of Wanda's lips a savory moan that squirmed from the very core of your lungs to pulsate against her lips during the carnal act of penetration.

“Бля, детка… тобі так добре, Y/n…” she gasped against the shell of your ear in a drawling semi-moan, “Y/n…”

"Do you like it?" was your question against her skin, to which, girding your cock with her velvety walls, Wanda nodded, bobbing her head up and down.

“I love it,” and, drunk on a wave of scarlet ledice, Wanda smiled, “I love you.”

You fell silent for a measly second, in fact barely realizing what had happened. Television still featured some sitcom that no longer mattered to you or even her, who was most attracted to the thing between you two – not being as close as you were in that primitive, carnal or even lewd way; skin with skin, flesh with flesh. Raw, visceral, passionate. It was cold outside, but your chest had never felt as warm as it did during that moment. She loved you. She loved you.

“You love me?”

Pulling her face away from your neck, Wanda looked at you with bright eyes from under thick, heavy lashes. She looked at you like no one else but her ever had before.

“I love you, детка,” was a whisper, a promise, “I love you, Y/n.”

When she started to go down everything became hazy, pulsing, hot, red. Wanda was moving up and down your body and you felt her backs arch convulsively, still continuing, creeping towards her cervix, rubbing her from the inside with the head of your cock.

And she rode you with such firmness, moaning and crying out, doing the penetration herself while your eyes converged in a single vision; Wanda moving up and down, over and over, seeking with her hips, until you both came in a delirium of dizzying pleasure; you pouring yourself inside her walls, into her flesh, and her thighs pale, wet, at the meeting with your hips. When she sighed wearily against the hollow of your neck, you smiled into a lock of her hair.

“I love you, little witch.”

It was perfect, you and her. So perfect that you pledged your love two or three more times that night, loving each other in the flesh, in the core, in the heart. Making you cling to the luck of having that miserable moment reserved for you and her, wanting to multiply it, make it last as long as possible.

It was as if, about a month or two after the event, already at the end of that winter suffered on a late December afternoon, Natasha Romanoff had not found herself leaving the corridors of the compound, walking stiff towards Wanda’s room, the soles of her boots full of soot and snow.

As if, among the strands of that short fire-colored hair, the residue of shards of sparkling glass did not shimmer after a painful fall – as if the Black Widow's lower lip were not found bloody and swollen after an arduous fight, as if she had not left a child to fight alone until it was too late for her interposition to mean anything decisive. As if Natasha hadn't been advised by Captain America to let Wanda, still as young, as damaged as she was, digest what happened, still so recent in the popular imagination, on her own.

“She's going to need some time, Nat,” pleaded Steve in a disgustingly grim tone, when they, he and she, were still sharing the elevator space just after returning from the big city with blood on their hands.

“Give Wanda a break, she's been through a lot. She doesn't need it right now. She’s… she’s just a kid. An unfortunate kid.”

But Natasha walked into Wanda's room in that snowy early evening, the emissary of news so atrocious that it had just left the streets, with blood and glass and corpses everywhere, a body count so tragic it could have had more, much lower if you hadn't intervened. Of course, you. But you weren't the one there to tell Wanda what the result of that fight with Wilson Fisk that Christmas Eve night had been. Natasha was the figure standing there, clutching the remains of your mask between the fingers of her right hand. It felt so pointless. As pointless as telling a young girl her lover was dead could be. Your mask felt meaningless.

“Wanda, I…I…”

But Wanda was nowhere to be found in her spacious bed after the Black Widow entered the room filled with posters on the walls and ceiling, stuffed animals arranged next to the pillows and the books piled orderly on the shelves. That was a young person's room, Natasha thought. Wanda was young. The television bolted to the wall adjacent to the window followed the live narration that portrayed a hideous explosion in Hell's Kitchen, where the fire department was still in the process of fully assessing the high and enigmatic number of lives claimed that night.

Wanda was in the bathroom, after all, when Natasha walked over — sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, threading her fingers through her long hair, scratching the scalp as she squinted at her burning eyes where tears were streaming from; sadness that marked her cheeks. She looked as small and as young as could be. And then it was that Natasha remembered. She realized, indeed, what had happened.

Carrying your spidery mask with her, Natasha remembered that both you and Wanda were really just a pair of unfortunate children, as she herself had once been too – children who carried greater responsibilities than you could even handle, with a maturity as mechanical and precocious as what the world demanded of you two. Children like her. Unlucky children.

“What… what– what am I going to do Nat…?” Wanda sobbed, still not lifting her eyes to the open crack in the door, where the older woman was standing, still bloody, still injured, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

And Natasha wanted to answer her. She wanted to, she opened her bruised lips to do so and then utter that speech she had already had in mind since she had held your body in her arms, still tucked inside that spider suit, in the snow and in the dark. But she immediately contained herself, refraining herself even before doing so, because that was when she saw it – prepared eyes spotted beside Wanda's so small and curved body a plastic rod with two lines marked in a baby pink color.

“Wanda… is... is that…?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, “I don’t know, I don’t know…”

A pregnancy test of the kind one can buy at any local pharmacy, and the result was positive. And your mask was in her hands because you were gone. She was supposed to give it to Wanda as a reminder of your memory, but Wanda would have more to remember you by than a simple torn and bloody piece of cloth. She was pregnant after all. And you – you were dead. You were nothing but an unlucky dead bastard.

“I… I don't know,” Natasha's fingers tightened on the damn tattered fabric, “I'm so sorry, Wanda. I don't know… I don’t know.”

Wanda's tears, wide and warm, dripped between her bare feet on the pale bathroom floor tile. She had never felt so unlucky as she did at that moment.

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: mentions of weapons

↳ song: self esteem—the offspring

masterlist!

• Daryl Dixon was a strange man

• Not to say that was a bad thing. No, not at all. You suppossed all that time living in the sticks and shooting a crossbow as a kid had turned out in his favor

• He was an asset to the team that you all had formed through hell and back, and anyone would be an idiot to say otherwise

• But sometimes he made you want to rip your hair out

• "Daryl!" Your loud yell broke the peaceful silence that had fallen over everyone in cell block c, fists clenching anxiously as you stared at your table filled with your items

• From a few tables over, you ignored Carol as she rolled her eyes with a smile, already knowing the two of you were about to get into some pointless argument just for the sake of it

• This was a regular occurrence by now

• A head full of brown hair poked out from inside a cell at your call, a grumpy expression following suit

• "The hell you want?" Daryl grumbled right back at you. His expression told you he had better things to do than talk to you right now. But then again, he always looked that way when interacting with you, and vise versa

• All you offered in response was an annoyed raise of your eyebrows, gesturing to your table. Daryl's eyes followed your hand only to land on the supposed problem

• A groan made its way past his lips as he saw his own weapons mingling amongst your own—arrows laying on top of your knifes and magazines shouldered in next to your clips. He knew you didn't like it when things got all mixed up, but jeez if you weren't an ass about it sometimes

• "Jesus kid, you got OCD or somethin?" He marched over and swiped his arrows off the table, glaring all the while at you without any malice

• "That's not how OCD works." You narrowed your eyes into suspicious slits. "And I just like things to be prepared for when something happens, that's all. Your ass will thank me when my quick thinking saves you from a walker one day."

• "You're such a tight-ass about your shit sometimes." Daryl said in his usual gravelly tone. "I don't see how Rick puts up with you."

• "Well, he puts up with you, so I can't be that much of a strain in comparison." You blew a raspberry at him in response, something that almost made the corners of his lips tilt up at the childish nature

• "Alright ladies. That's enough arguing from the both of you; we all agree you're both pretty." Carol teased from behind the both of you, smiling good heartedly as each of you scoffed in turn

• "Whatever woman." Was all Daryl said before shuffling off, doing his best to hide the smile that poked through

• You just turned back to your organizing, only perking up when Carol went to speak again

• "At this point you two should just start dating." She smiled

• "Shut up Carol." You flushed, burying your head in your hands as she laughed

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solar-eclipsed · 1 year

Text

Ekubo saw Reigen’s miscellaneous binders and went oh okay!! He wasn’t even going to out Reigen. Reigen was just a stupid scared little idiot.

[ID: A four panel Mob Psycho 100 comic that reads left to right, top to bottom. The comic is split into two images. It’s colored with a sort of crayon like style, while the linework is more digital looking, but the opacity is turned down for each stroke. All the writing in the comic is handwritten. There’s a signature reading, “solar-eclipsed,” in the bottom right corner.

In the first panel, there’s a red bar with white text in the top right corner. It reads, “Alternate Universe : Before separation arc.” The framed drawing of two red flowers is in the background, and there’s a wall corner. Reigen, with his classic grey suit and pink tie, is right beside the wall corner leaning forward, with an open hand not yet placed onto the wall corner. That hand’s arm, which is his left arm, is bent up, with his hand above his elbow, and that arm is hidden behind the wall corner. He looks panicked, and likely having just ran into the Spirits & Such office. His other arm is bent up as well, but it’s in front of him in a fist. Reigen yells in two speech bubbles that are connected with a jagged line. The first speech bubble reads, “MOB! QUICK- I need you to exorcize Ekubo IMMEDIATELY,” the words “Mob” and “immediately” are larger than the rest, and immediately is underlined. The second speech bubble continues, “He’s gonna out me and my secret where-“ and he cuts himself off for the next panel.

In the second panel, Reigen’s leaning more towards the wall corner now, and his hand is placed onto that wall corner. He’s now pointing his right hand’s finger up, and wagging it up and down as he panics, trying to come up with a cover up for his secret. His head is leaning down, but his eyes are looking up away from Mob. Reigen is sweating. Reigen shakily says, with an equally wiggly looking speech bubble, “Where. I. Uh. Uhm. Hmm. Over how-“

Then, in the third panel, it cuts to Mob in his gakuran. He’s leaning over the table, most likely placing tea down, but it’s cut out of the frame. The TV, the cabinet that the TV is on, and the bookshelf that’s in the consultation office is seen in the background. Mob is looking up at Reigen. There are two speech bubbles. The first one reads, “That you don’t have any powers?” which Mob follows with, “I already knew shishou.”

The comic cuts back to Reigen in the final frame. He’s leaning forward, suit wrinkling, body and right arm limp, and he’s gone slightly pale. His left hand slides down the wall corner slightly. Reigen is shocked and left speechless. Ekubo, otherwise known as Dimple, has come into frame, and he is laughing through his teeth, but still, he’s laughing very hard. His laughter is shown in a faint speech bubble that stretches to the right so far that it goes behind Reigen. There’s some text placed along with an arrow that’s pointing at Reigen. It reads, “was trying to avoid outing himself as trans.” End ID]

[Text only transcript: AU : Before separation arc. “MOB! QUICK-! I need you to exorcize Ekubo IMMEDIATELY-“ “He’s going to out and my secret where-“ “Where. I. Uhm. Hmm. Over how-“ “That you don’t have any powers?” “I already knew shishou.” “Kh-hehhEHAHehAH-“ Was trying to avoid outing himself as trans. /End transcript]

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call-sign-shark · 9 months

Text

Perfect Lines || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: There are no secrets between Arthur Shelby and his wife. Except what he hides in his sketchbook now that he has started drawing again. One question remains: what is he drawing?

Words: 2.3k

TW: One quick allusion to smut but otherwise it's tooth-rotting fluff.

Notes: This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe (an Arthur Shelby x you story), but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone.

✞ Written for @runnning-outof-time 's 3.5k celebration with the following prompts: "You are not listening to me" // "You're beautiful like that"

Of everything you shared together, Arthur’s sketchbook was something he never showed you despite being married and indescribably enamored with you. Each time you tried to look over his shoulder in a desperate attempt to see what he was drawing, Arthur closed the sketchbook and usually called you a "nosey little angel" when it happened.

A faint “Bloody Hell” fell from his thin lips, as soft as a whisper lost in the summer wind, when the lead of his pencil broke amidst a tedious shading work. Arthur blew on the sheet of paper to clear it from the lead crumbles, before stretching one of his long arms to hold the sketchbook in front of his face and get a better view of the overall result. His piercing blue eyes wandered on each line he had drawn, analyzing them with a little frown that made his eyes squint and crowfeet appear. Carefully, he tilted the sketchbook on one side first, then on the other, in a serious attempt to understand what didn’t work, “Nah, that ain’t good enough” He grunted, chewing his pencil nervously before closing the sketchbook and getting up from the sofa to drag his lanky frame outside. Shortly after getting released from prison, Arthur and you decided to move to the forest side and live in the magnificent house you spotted one day when you were taking a walk in nature. Even if he had grown accustomed to Small Heath and its pungent smell, he knew that it wasn’t the case for you. There was something utterly melancholic in the way you looked at the vast and green lands of Arrow House, or the way your thin fingers gently stroked the silhouette of the mountains depicted in Polly’s latest favorite painting. Each of these small details convinced Arthur to buy this house, that stood proudly at the woods’ fringe and nearby an enchanting stream, because what could be more important than your happiness? Nothing.

Keeping his sketchbook under one arm, Arthur walked through the forest for a very short while with the peaceful rustle of the wind shaking the trees’ thick foliage as his sole companion. As he walked, the corner of his lips curled into a small satisfied grin: never in his life he would have thought he would feel that peaceful. In fact, Arthur Shelby had everything he always dreamed of: a beautiful house lost in nature to call his home and the most magnificent angel by his side to call his wife. The world could fall apart he wouldn’t mind as long as you were here, with him. To hell with the gangster’s life and with the family business, he thought. To hell with the paradise Linda had promised him: Why would he want to go to heaven when he could just fall asleep with you all snuggled up in his loving arms? Heaven was you, not someplace up in the skies. With his free hand, Arthur moved a few branches from the way and finally arrived in an enchanting glade in the midst of which a small lake was embellishing the landscape. A little less than one hour ago, you told him you wanted to take a swim there to refresh yourself after one whole morning of gardening, but Arthur grew impatient with waiting: he already missed you with all his soul. In truth, not having you next to him could soon turn into torture — so was the fierce and dependent nature of his love for you. A love deemed obsessive and unhealthy by some others, but which definitely suited both of you. Once he reached the lake, Arthur sat on a flat stone at its very edge, his steel-blue iris scanning the area until they fell on your dainty frame. But as soon as he saw you, his eyes widened, taken aback by the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.

You were standing near the other side of the pond, bathed in the soft light of the sun. A hundred small water droplets were covering your smooth skin, like a veil made of precious diamond beads. One of them, maybe a little too heavy, was slowly running down between your small breasts, whose perky nipples had hardened due to the cold breeze caressing them. The drop ended its way in the water, which was engulfing you from your waist down, after letting a thin glistening trail along your petite body. Unaware of your husband’s presence, you sung a joyful nursery rhyme about a wolf in the forest all the while braiding your long white hair in one single braid. Arthur’s chest tightened with an almost excruciating surge of desire at such a blessed view. At first, he wanted to call you but no sound came out of his mouth. Despite two years of being together, you still managed to make him feel like a flustered schoolboy. Rather than disrupting your peaceful moment, Arthur quickly opened the sketchbook he was carrying with him, took the pencil out of it, and started to draw again. Guided by a sudden burst of creativity, he let the pencil’s lead wander from here and there on the paper, taking quick but numerous glances at you as he did. It had been months since he had started trying to translate your divine pulchritude on paper but each attempt had been a miserable failure. The result never satisfied him enough to show it to you. Fortunately today, surrounded by nature and stealing one lonely and intimate moment, this drawing would be the good one.

Vaguely unsettled by the feeling of being watched, you stopped singing and turned around to sweep your surroundings with your eyes. It didn’t take long for you to notice your husband, sitting near the shore with his sleeves rolled up, a couple of his shirt’s buttons undone to make it looser, and his suspenders hanging from his waist. You tilted your head to the side at how focused he seemed to be, not raising his eyes from his sketchbook anymore. A faint and enamored smile curled the corners of your plump lips at the adorable facial expression that was adorning him. Alongside the awe Arthur’s beauty stirred in you, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was drawing. In fact, while there was no secret between you, he always refused to show you his art. Even the smallest sneak peek was prohibited for some undisclosed reasons — and even untold, you knew that these reasons revolved around his insecurities. Without wasting more time, you took a dive in the cold water and swam to the opposite shore. Once you reached it, you carefully resurfaced until the water reached your nose bridge, and grabbed his ankle with your cold and wet fingers.

“FOOKIN’ HELL!” Arthur cried, his gruff voice so loud that a whole family of birds swarmed from one tree and flew away in terror. Then, he looked at you and grunted, slowly resting one of his hands on his chest where he could feel his heart racing, “Ah. Very funny, love,” He said when he saw you chuckling, “I almost got a heart attack, eh.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you were that easy to kill, Arthur Shelby.” You retorted with a bratty pout, before hauling yourself thanks to a rock until the water reached your hips. Once you did that, you simply crossed your arms on the flat surface of the rock and rested your chin on your folded arms, looking at the tall gangster with a little smirk flattering your full lips.

“I ain’t easy to kill, love. In fact, I was more scared for me drawing than for myself. But,” He left his sentence hanging, looking carefully at his work to make sure water hadn’t splashed on it and erased some parts, “Everything’s fine.” Arthur closed the sketchbook and put it next to him — the temptation to grab it and look at its content was strong, but you managed to resist out of respect for your man’s privacy, even if you’ve been wanting to know what he was drawing for months. After all, he told you he used to be quite good at art so it made you even more curious. Arthur quickly took off his shoes, and moved his body until he sat at the very edge of the lake with his feet in the cold water “It’s fookin’ freezing. How can ye swim in this, angel? Ye gonna catch som’thin.”

“Come on Arthur, it ain’t even that cold.” You laughed, extending one of your arms to softly stroke his thigh. The sensation of your icy fingers sent goosebumps all over his skin despite the thin fabric of his trousers keeping you from having a direct contact with his flesh. Arthur’s gaze fell upon you again, and he drowned in your holy features. “I was wondering… “ You started, biting the juicy flesh of your lower lip as you searched for the right words, “like, I know you’re kinda reluctant when it comes to showing me your art but I really want to see what you’re drawing.” Your fingers traced circles on his thigh — He shivered with desire, “Now, I’m not really good at drawing so there’s no reason for you to be scared of judgment or anything. It’s just that… I’m curious. Yeah that’s it. I wonder what inspires you and what kind of muses you have. I’d really love to know more about your artistic side. What do you think?” You raised your gaze towards Arthur but he didn’t answer. In truth, the gangster was busy observing you with great attention, obliterating everything else. Even your lovely voice.

Your wet hair slicked back.

Your big eyes shining with a child-like gleam.

Your juicy lips, as sweet as fruits ready to be ripped…

Arthur’s artistic senses definitely loved what they saw: not his wife whom he loved to death, but a mischievous and sumptuous nymph. You came from the wild, and it was something no one could tear away from you. Ancient streams were coursing through your veins, pulsing at the rhythm of the mountains’ mystic drums that were making your heartbeat. Moreover, he was sure that your hair was made of the highest peaks’ permanent snow and your skin with the purest frost. The corner of Arthur’s lips twitched, making his mustache briefly move: he was physically and emotionally overwhelmed by your charm. To the extent he had to look away from your eyes, in which he could find fragments from the sky.

“Arthur?” You called him.

“You look beautiful like that.” He stated, the gravel of his voice highlighted by a surprising peaceful tone. His fingers gently reached for yours — that were still resting on his thigh. Blood rushed to your cheeks at the sudden and unexpected compliment. It was not something unusual though. Quite the contrary, Arthur was everything but cheap when it came to praising you, but his spontaneity and the genuine fascination in his eyes made you swoon, “You were not listening to me, right?” You replied, bating your Bambi lashes.

“I wasn’t listenin’, angel.” He admitted, his lips stretching into a soft smile. You could not help but reply to his honesty with a chuckle before slightly splashing him with water to avenge you, “Hey!“ he exclaimed.

“Now you gonna come swim with me if you want to be forgiven for this terrible insult! Not listening to me! I can’t believe it.” You exclaimed, pretending to be outraged.

“Nah, got me clothes on, love.” He straight off replied, trying to find an excuse to avoid the freezing water — only his ankles were soaked and he was already shivering.

“You see the thing with clothes…” You started, getting out of the water all naked, and forcing Arthur — whose jaw could have dropped at the sight of your naked body — to stand up too, “the thing with clothes, Arthur Shelby…” You let your words hanging only to raise yourself on your tiptoes and graze his earlobe with your lips, “is that you can take them off." You punctuated your sentence by unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the ground, thus revealing his toned chest sprinkled with hundreds of constellations made of freckles, "Right now."

“Alright, alright…” He grunted, unable to resist your adorable pout — and let’s be honest, the way your palms wandered on him, stripping him from his clothes and grazing his length, had been enough to motivate him. Arthur’s strong hand grabbed you by the back of your neck, the cold metal of his rings sending a shiver of excitement down your spine, and he gently forced you to kiss him. The press of his mouth, eager and hungry, was deepened by his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing with yours, “I’ll swim with ya but..” Another wet stroke — you moaned in his mouth as his body crashed against yours, not minding its wet and cold sensations, “You’d better find a way to warm me up, hmm.”

“Not before you tell me what you’re drawing.” You retorted, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck to lay myriad of kisses here. Arthur slightly threw his head back to give you better access to his throat and groaned.

“You. I’m drawing you. Always.” He finally confessed.

"What? Are-- Are you serious? Me? Why?" You suddenly said, pulling your face away from his neck to look at him with your eyes wide open and an endearing surprised expression on your juvenile face.

"Because you've got perfect lines." He whispered, his fingers lingering over you. In truth, you had been the reason behind him picking up his old passion after years of using his hands for nothing else but to destroy. So, for this life and all the others to come, his muse was and would always be you.

"Yeah, some fookin' perfect lines."

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @shelbydelrey @peakyltd @peakyswritings @brummiereader

#Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur shelby x reader #Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x you #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #Arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders #Peaky blinder fanfic #Heaven Shelby #Arthur shelby imagine #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x oc #Paul Anderson #arthur shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #Peaky blinders x you #Arthur Shelby Fluff #arthur shelby fanfiction

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1e1e1e · 2 months

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king undying.

"This gothic, loosely game-inspired (fear and hunger / bloodborne / ffxiv / elden ring) character template can be used to track your muses in depth as they each get their own individual slides. This template can also be multi-purpose, as in the other slides could be used to track lore, instead of additional characters." - from the shop.

the text on the upper right & left-hand corners is actually lyrics from "brutus" by the buttress! nice little fun fact. then can also be changed, by the way, to any lyrics, quotes, or text of your choosing -- but it must be done manually, otherwise, you risk deleting several images. so please if you want to change it, find the bottom of the text with your arrow keys and manually delete it.

additionally, you can duplicate the pages as many times as you want. please just start by drag-copying the empty space from the page above and then drag to the page below (or your target page), copy, and then paste wherever you want.

editing and modifications are welcome once you purchase the template.

all elements are created by me. If you take inspiration from this document, please credit me as the source of your inspiration.

don't claim this as your own.

please like, or reblog this post if you use my template!

how to use

click underlined "undying"

download the template via my ko-fi

follow the instructions left on the note attached

once you receive access to the template, go to file → make a copy

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dragonagecompanions · 9 months

Note

Dragon Age: Inquisition. Companions react to romanced companion and Inquisitor's child getting hit on in front of them. (ex. Dorian and Inquisitor's adopted child, Sera and Inquisitor's adopted child, Cullen and Inquisitor's child, etc.)

Cassandra:

She is torn between the protective rush of a mother whose child needs a shield and sword to protect them from the world, and the romantic rush of young love playing out before them. Her beloved's gently guiding hand lets the second instinct win the day, but there is no question that her child's admirer is met with the image of the Lady Seeker and Herald of Andraste in the distance watching their every move.

It is a very honorable exchange.

Solas: As he does not love the inquisitor enough to contemplate a family, he is not gifted the benefits of protecting one.

Blackwall: Thom Rainier was a feckless and faithless young man, and Blackwall has no intentions of his child being exposed to anything like that. The proverbial papa bear, such exchanges are cut short by a firm hand and a conversation on just what exactly this vagabond (no matter their birth or station) thinks they are about.

It will take the work of someone serious in their intent to get past those shields, but he will respect a sincere effort.

Dorian: The victim and recipient of some early flirting attempts of his own once upon a time, Magister Pavus constrains himself to simply listening around the corner with his amatus-- both to cringe together at the early attempts at young love and to keep their very precious child from any true harm. His attitude is jovial, their whispered remembrances of the first steps their own love in Skyhold took a loving memory between them.

And in the hand kept behind his back no one else will ever see the corrosive fire kept in check, in case this suitor takes even a step out of line towards the heir of House Pavus and the child he had never even dared hope for.

Iron Bull: Like Dorian he knows his way around some awkward flirting, and is generally content to let young people figure things out for themselves as long as they are safe and boundaries are respected.

It's the Chargers this young upstart needs to be afraid of.

Sera: Ha, knob wants to make kissy faces at her little love, they've got arrows and pies and all kind of shite coming their way! No it doesn't matter that if they hadn't flirted on their own she wouldn't have her herald, thats not the point! Arrows! Pies! No one talking to her child!

Thankfully both child and wife know Sera well enough to lure the argument away, and so by the time Red Jenny turns on the admirer both they and the object of their affection have scattered. This means words, 'quisitor.

Cullen: Maker's breathe, no. Assemble the armies of Skyhold, his child will not be pursuing a romance until they are forty!

Josephine: Before the day is over she knows their lineage, their parentage, how they take their tea and the worst secrets in their family for four generations.

Let them have their moment, if that moment is respectful and honorable. If not, divine or otherwise Leliana will have a situation to handle.

Mod Fereldone

#dragon age inquisition #romance #dorian pavus #the iron bull #blackwall #cullen rutherford #josephine montilyet #child of inquisitor

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

Note

" Even if the world will or might hate you, I will not as you are my love, so please let me carry your burdens as well as you carry mine we are equal in this marriage "

But with Rook, Jack, Ruggie, Riddle and Azul

Proposal (2) | Crewel Daughter Reader x Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Rook Hunt

Probably a lawsuit

Or maybe a family reunion

Whatever it is he’s been ostracized and called weird

Something he often gets in passing but this time it just hurts

For someone so eccentric he’s not exactly open with everyone

Let alone computing his frustration in the normal way

So he’s uncharacteristically is angry

Firing intensely at multiple targets

He hardly notices your there until he sees a black and white feathered arrow break through his

“Mon amour? Désolé, I didn’t notice you were there.”

“You? The famous hunter: Rook Hunt, unable to notice me?”

“Well mon amour, you are ethereal.”

He gives his smile but your unconvinced

Firmly removing the bow and arrow from his hand

You push past his hanging locks to hold his face to look at you

Pulling him in to touch your forehead with his while you maintain eye-contact

You recite your vow to him rubbing your manicured thumbs over his cheeks

When you finished he dove into kiss you with you reciprocating

Pulling you against his muscular chest

Letting him run his hands all over your body as you both made out

Eventually, you feel the weight being lifted from you pocket

“Awww you were going to propose?”

“So were you.”

You both pull away to reveal the ring you each brought for one another

Crewel’s not as averse to this then he originally thought

All he’s ever uttered about you has been praise

And he’s well aware of the hunter’s habit of avenging your character at any opportunity

Violent or otherwise

“The bloodhound is a better choice, though I’m curious how well he’ll fare in the future.”

Jack Howl

He probably didn’t get the position he wanted most on a team

He’s usually so sure of himself

Only to find he’s been benched

But its not because of his skill

Its the coach

Took one look at you, hearts in his eyes, and a look of disdain for Jack

From then on he’s been trying to sooth his rising anger

He didn’t want to resort to violence, you deserved better

Andit’dbeobviousanyway

“(Y/n) can we talk…?”

He’s not one to sit on something when his mate is willing to listen

“I just hate how he insists upon something so baseless.”

“Oh Jack…”

You say what you say before giving him a kiss on the corner of his lips

Getting on your knee, he’s transcended the pettiness of the coach

It also helps that the coach went missing

Crewel thinks it's okay but he still wishes he ‘wasn’t such a brute’

“It must be the muscles…darling please consider there’s more to look for than extrinsic value. I doubt there’s much really happening upstairs.”

Ruggie Bucci

Probably a failed promotion

Maybe for him taking left over food or they found out he has ‘laugh with me’

He just wants to be able to provide

And not have to rely on your finances

He just wants to be there for you

“I just want see where I can support you, you know?”

“Well there is something you can do for me…”

Getting on your knee and proposing to him has him erupting in a blush

He’s between being angry he didn’t do it first and just beside himself with pride

He’s landed the love of his life and all without using his unique power

He might just burn down an office building for celebration

Crewel isn’t happy but when is he ever

He thinks Ruggie is too much of henchman to be married to you

“You had to pick the smallest one in the litter? Does he know how to be more than a lackey?”

Riddle Rosehearts

He’s rejected on a major scale

Similar to his overblot incident

He just goes too far in his willingness for rules

Maybe not as far but to others it feels like it

And right now it feels like everyone’s turned their backs on him

He’s riding in the early morning so he can clear his mind hiseyes before the day starts

You come to the rescue riding your own midnight stallion as you ride up beside him

“Well Roses, how are you feeling?”

He doesn’t fully release his inner thoughts only tightening his hold on the reigns

“You don’t have to tell me anything but I need you to listen.”

Having your horse bow while you present the crimson ring

He blushes and the nearby forestry alights with flames

Confident he doesn’t step down from his decision

“Off with your heads! For the crime of hostile peer pressure!”

There’s got to be a rule for that ifnothe’llmakeone

Crewel thinks he’s too much of a stick in the mud

“Isn’t he far too straight-edged? Don’t you think this will hinder your lifestyle, darling? Is he really worth it?”

Azul Ashengrotto

One of his budding locations has some major problems on the opening month

That further is worsened by the competitive restaurant across the street

Who somehow were able to orchestrate a threat made of what looked like blood on their fish tank

But it called Azul out specifically

And while it was cleaned and the rest of the service went smoothly it really shook his self esteem

Leaving you to pick him up

He treats his room like his pot

Refusing to leave but willing to let you poke your face into

“I have to wonder, (Y/n), am I in over my head? Am I really not cut-out for this? Do I even deserve this!? Do I even deserve you?!”

You cup his head and kiss his beauty mark and then his nose

“Well of course you do, I accepted didn’t I?”

He chuckles and you gleam

“Its also why I asked to put that ring on your finger.”

He looks up at you in confusion

“Huh? Ring?”

“Yes. Ring.”

You hold up his hand with a pearl diamond crusted ring

“Wh-wha-huh–I–ah-ohmygosh!”

“Just say yes darling!”

“Yes yes!”

With a pep in his step he happily let Floyd & Jade pick the events for the bachelor party in exchange for a small favor

The competitor wasn’t a problem after that

Crewel wants to despise him but he respects the hustle

“Anyone who can gain control of an entire school like he has…I guess is worthy enough. But then again a school run by that crow must be breadcrumbs for that sleaze.”

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syn4k · 3 months

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BREAKING NEWS: The queer-themed superhero Arrow Ace has been out on a justice-fuelled rampage this Valentine's Day Morning, sniping villains from above and appearing randomly to whack people who are being rude to the happily single on the day of love.

This is the first appearance that the Arrow Ace has made since October of last year, and we now go to our field reporter Devon, who has managed to get an interview with the enigmatic hero.

Devon: Thank you Gary! I'm here on the corner of 12th and 7th street in downtown Placeville and next to me is the Arrow Ace, who has graciously agreed to be interviewed. AA: Hello. Devon: Sir, many of our newer viewers want to know who you are and what you do. Do you have an answer for them? AA: Yes. Hi. I'm the Arrow Ace, but you can just call me Ace. I was the sharpest shooter in my archery class in college and later decided to make a pun regarding my identity and thus, the hero personality was born. Devon: So do you have any supernatural abilities or are you just really good with a bow? AA: None whatsoever. I'm just a normal guy 99% of the time. Devon: [short pause to listen through her earpiece] Ah. Yes. A question from the studio. Viewers, Ace is most likely referring to the pun his alias makes when talking about his identity. AA: Yes. I am indeed an aromantic asexual, commonly shortened to aro/ace. Devon: Could you perhaps elaborate on that for those watching who might not know what that means! AA: Of course! A person who is aromantic experiences little, decreased, or no romantic attraction to other people. This may manifest as them not getting crushes, not wanting to participate in dating, or being adverse to romantic activities in general. A person who is asexual experiences little, decreased, or no sexual attraction towards other people. They might not want to participate in sexual activities and may be uncomfortable when the topic is brought up in real life or in media. Devon: I see! Thank you for explaining. Does this have anything to do with your backstory? AA: Yes. I originally took up the mask because as a young man, although I didn't have a word for what I was yet, I was often excluded in school both intentionally and not for not having an interest in dating people. In high school, someone who heard I wasn't interested in sex but also hadn't tried it out yet assaulted me to try and "convince" me otherwise. Ever since, I've been trying my best to be a beacon of light for those going through similar or worse ever since to let them know that there's nothing wrong with them and that you can be happy without those types of relationships. Devon: I see! Is there any reason why you're out and about on Valentine's day specifically? AA: I get asked a lot when seen alone in public if I'm single on this holiday. Most of the time, when I answer with yes, the response is something like "oh you poor soul! May you find love soon!" While the person undoubtedly means well, it still annoys me, so I've decided today to be the guy every aro or ace person wishes they had during that conversation.

[B-roll footage filmed on someone's phone of two person having a conversation. The first person asks "So, got any plans this evening?" The second person uncomfortably replies, "No, not really." The first person responds with "Oh, no! Well, better luck next year. Maybe you'll find someone," promptly cut off mid sentence by the Arrow Ace running up behind them and pwhacking them over the head with a paper towel tube. "You're not less whole or less of a person for not having a romantic or sexual partner," he says to the first person, pointing the tube at them. "That is your business and your business alone. I love you. Have a good day." The two people having the conversation stare after him, perplexed, as he runs off out of view of the camera. The video cuts back to Devon and AA.]

Devon: One last question: how do you know if the person in those discussions is aro or ace? AA: I don't, and I never put them on the spot for it. However, whether you experience attraction to others or not, it's never fun to be judged based on the circumstances you may be in at the moment. Devon: A bit of wisdom for us all. Well, sir, it appears that my time is up, but I appreciate you coming to answer these questions. AA: Of course. And, to all who participate, Happy Valentine's day! The shops always have discounts on chocolate the day after. Go treat yourself if you have the means. You deserve it. Devon: This has been Devon of Lucky 7 News. Back to you, Gary!

Thank you, Devon. I have received reports that a new development is unfolding in southeast Placeville- the Nefarious Anglerfish's cat-fish army is leaping up from the docks to attack unsuspecting couples on their walks. I've been told that the Arrow Ace is on his way to get involved. We'll be right back after these advertisements.

#ray's tag #writing #keys' writing #valentine's day #aro #ace #aromantic #asexual #aroace #since i can't provide a video today have this short bit of writing instead!#happy valentines day to all who observe :]#valentines day #sa mention

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brandyllyn · 2 years

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Sinners

Pero Tovar x f!reader

Summary: "I do not understand you, Pero Tovar. Or this… whatever this is. But I will not give something that cannot be returned." Words: 8.4k

My Masterlist

Rated: Explicit Warnings: pining. talk of adultery (no one actually commits it). a lot of reference to vaguely Catholic religion on reader’s part. smut.

This one is @pedropascalsx ‘s fault. She attacked me without warning. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.

He was too handsome, that was your first thought.

Well, not your first. When he had arrived in town he had looked like one of the roving monsters from the tales of your childhood - teeth flashing from behind a scraggly mess of a beard. You had quickly stepped out of his line of sight; peering from around the corner of a crofter’s cottage as he rode by, his companion’s horse trailing just behind him. They were obviously only passing through, likely stopping for supplies before moving on.

But they hadn’t.

Instead they had taken up residence on the south end of the village, a lop-sided building that had stood empty since the elderly couple who lived there had passed, their son long lost to war.

The man had stalked the town for nearly a week, speaking with locals and buying supplies. Stores were low this late in the winter but summer was just around the corner and with the promise of new crops the villagers were more than willing to sell the last of the foods that had seen them through the cold months. You had avoided him the entire time, his angry visage and large frame enough to send you quickly in the opposite direction.

How quickly you had proven shallow.

When he walked through the village a sennight later, on his way to the smithy, freshly shaven and his hair cut into neat curls at the base of his neck, your heart had skipped a beat. His lips were full, and the chin you had assumed weak was instead perfectly framed by a strong jaw. Even the scar over his eye only highlighted the angular jut of his cheekbones.

He was beautiful.

And married.

Who else could the woman be who had arrived with him? Who shared his home in the one room cottage? They were not related - her features reflected far-distant lands - and she treated him with a familiarity borne only from shared experience.

She was a lucky woman.

The Holy texts only mentioned coveting of thy neighbor’s wife, yet surely coveting her husband was equally damnable in the eyes of the Lord. But you couldn’t seem to help drifting by the forge a few times during the next week. Nor could you resist letting your eyes settle on the muscles of his back as they strained under the weight of the hammer he was lifting with trained precision.

Envy was a sin. But surely it could not be a sin to look?

You did not ask, you knew what the answer was.

And yet…

And yet you found yourself altering your route to the forest, eyes darting to the smithy in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. In the bracken woods your fingers moved without conscious thought, your mind elsewhere as you imagined what it might be like to share the small cottage with him. And at night, you bit your teeth into the meaty part of your palm to muffle the your own fingers and thoughts of him were drawing from you.

It was a sin, you knew that. But then again, you’d always known you were a sinner.

Pero Tovar had spent his life in battle. He knew the whistle of an arrow as it passed his ear and the precise noise a knife made as it parted flesh. He could identify the craftsmanship of a blade whether it was from the Far East or the wilds below the sands of the Sahara. He knew the moment to strike, and more importantly when to hold his own counsel - when to fight and when to run.

And he knew when he was being watched.

The woman made no attempt to hide it, darting glances at him from behind long eyelashes. At first he’d bristled at the attention, waiting for the sneering comments or sharp gestures that were sure to follow. But they never came. Day after day he saw her, more and more often, once even caught her staring at him from afar with her lips slightly parted, her basket of herbs loose in her grip.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with one hand he’d nearly called out to her, scolded her for her inhospitality and rudeness. But her gaze had fallen to his bare arms, her lips parting even further and he’d flexed for her almost unconsciously. Even from meters away he could see her sudden swallow, nearly hear her gasp as she quickly turned her back on him and all but ran into the woods.

Humming thoughtfully, Pero traded his large working mallet for one of the smaller hammers, ignoring the sparks that flew as he repaired the tines on a pitchfork. He had assumed the local healer was only wary of him - many in the village gave him a wide berth and he did not blame them. But he knew that look in a woman’s eye - could clock the rise and fall of a bosom as easily as he could the footfall of an assassin.

She wanted him.

After that he began to work shirtless more often, using only the leather aprons for cover, making a point of stretching and reaching whenever he caught the movement of her in the corner of his vision. He did not acknowledge her staring - she would likely faint and he was enjoying the attention too much to see it come to an end.

It was nice, to be wanted, even knowing that he was still not worthy of her. Nor was he free to pursue her. Lin Mae had his presence as protection from the villagers. And while it seemed unlikely they would turn on her, he had promised William when they left that he would protect the man’s love with his life if needed. The least he could do was give her the protection of his name.

It hadn’t seemed like such a large ask, when it was made. But now his fingers itched to reach for another. To draw someone else into his arms. He did not deserve her, had no chance with her, but was it not the penance of those damned to dream of what they could not have?

The first day he changed his schedule he missed her entirely. The second he found himself arriving at the smithy just as she appeared around the far corner. It took him four tries, in fact, to time his short journey so that they rounded a corner at the same time, nearly running into one another.

"Oh!" she let out a short yelp and stumbled backwards and he reached a hand out to steady her under one elbow.

"Pardon," he tried not to think of how smooth her skin felt.

They walked to the smithy in silence, the light scent of honeysuckle drifting up from her hair. It stayed in his nose the rest of the day, teasing his senses and making his blood thump loudly in his ears.

The next day he did not scare her, in fact he was nearly certain she had timed her arrival as well, falling into step beside him without a word. They did not touch, not even a brush of her arm against his. And at the forge he left her without so much as a goodbye - ignoring the urge to look back and see if she watched after him. If her eyes traced over him the way his hands longed to trace over her. To wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and-

No, those thoughts were for the nights. Laying on his pallet near the fire, one hand stacked behind his head and the other around his cock. In the darkness he could pretend he was another man - one free to court her and touch her. To find out what his name might sound like when it fell from her lips on a sigh of pure pleasure. A man she might choose.

He was doing it on purpose.

At first you had thought he was confronting you. Lying in wait for you to leave your home so he could scold you for your licentious behavior. But he hadn’t said a word

Nor did he say one the next day when you met in the small clearing between your cottages, walking side by side until you parted ways behind the smithy. On the third day you didn’t even need to go to the woods, it was a day for brewing and drying. But you went anyway, walking near to the silent man and gathering kindling before making your way back.

It was impossible that no one would notice.

No one said anything to you, not directly. You were the best healer for leagues in any direction and they would turn a blind eye to any multitude of transgressions before dismissing you. But you did see the Master Smith giving him what looked like a stern lecture one day, both men’s eyes following you as you fetched water from the stream.

The next day he was not there and you sighed as you skirted the edge of the smithy, sighing louder when he was not there. It had been a short fantasy, and not an unproblematic one. You would do well to remember that he was spoken for - and that anything beyond mere companionship was not fated.

But then he spoke to you. Catching up with you one morning as though he had never missed a day.

"Morrow to you."

"Morrow," you mumbled, trying not to stumble. His voice was gravelly and deep, exactly as you had expected it to be.

"The Master Smith says you have a salve for burns," he continued. "I do not believe it is serious but-"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to him and scanning what of him you could see with a trained eye. "Show me."

Sighing, he pushed one sleeve up, revealing blistered red flesh high on his forearm. You held back a gasp, reaching out with one hand to grip above his elbow. "This will scar," you told him with a frown. His lips twitched and you realized suddenly that he was covered in them. Thick and thin, burns and cuts.

"I would hate to add another," he said dryly.

Biting back your own smile you prodded lightly at the edge of the burn, listening to the quick hiss of his breath. "It will need to be covered, come with me."

You didn’t wait to see if he followed, your cottage was not far and he was welcome to make the decision for himself. But a moment later you heard him fall into step beside you. He even held your own door open, only ducking inside once you had and leaving it slightly ajar so that any passers-by would be able to see what was happening. A courtesy you had not expected.

"Sit," you ordered, pointing at a low stool. He did not argue, sinking onto it and resting his arm on your table. You gathered your supplies quickly, a jar and a stack of clean bandages.

"When did this happen?" you asked as you set the items near him, slowly rolling the edge of his sleeve past the wound.

"Two days ago, I was… distracted."

You didn’t ask why, spooning a generous amount from the jar and gently spreading it on the burn. When you returned with a second you saw his nostrils flare, one eyebrow rising.

"Is that… honey?"

"It is an old cure," you shrugged, carefully covering the edges, "and one that has long stood the test of time." Picking up the bandages you motioned for him to hold his arm from the table. "Besides, it might help to make your disposition a bit sweeter."

Sweet Jesu had you really just said that?

A snort left him and he turned to more fully face you, eyes meeting yours. "I’m not certain you have enough for that."

"I shall have to save it for myself," you demurred, tucking the edge of the bandage under and patting it softly.

"Are you so bitter?"

"Not bitter," you laughed softly, once again gathering your supplies. "Only…"

This man was a stranger to you. And while you might like the look of his face and admire his fine thighs, he was not your confidante.

"Not bitter," you said again, more firmly this time. Wiping your hands you felt the small tug of the cloth against your finger and raised it to your lips without thinking, sucking the small bit of honey from your flesh. "Is there-"

His eyes were locked on your lips, on the hand still hovering near them. When had it gotten warm in your cottage? When had he stood up? Gotten so close? You had to lean back to look into his eyes, his chest was practically touching yours, a soft growl rumbling from deep within him. You felt an answering purr rise in your own - something soft in your reacting to his nearness.

Then he shook his head suddenly and stepped away. "Apologies, I did not mean to overstep."

Could he hear your heartbeat? You could. And the way he was looking at you…

"It is no matter," you waved a hand uselessly in the air. "We were finished unless there is something else I can help you with?"

"What is my debt?"

You waved a hand again, "For this? It is nothing."

"It is not nothing," he insisted. "Do not sell yourself so cheaply."

"I do not sell myself at all," you pointed out, carefully stepping away to place the honey back on its shelf. "People help me when they can, if you really must insist there is wood behind the house that could stand being chopped and brought in."

He nodded and strode out the door and you let out a breath. That had been far too close for comfort. If he hadn’t stepped away… would you have? You liked to think he would but the smell of salt and smoke that clung to his clothes made your head spin.

A loud noise cut through the air and you frowned, following his path outside and crossing your arms when you saw him.

"I didn’t mean now."

He shrugged and set up another log, swinging the ax high over his head and bringing it down with a solid thunk. "It is a task that needs doing, no?"

"It is," you waited for him to bring the ax down again before continuing, "but I certainly had no expectation you would do it right after being treated."

"It does not interfere," he pointed out.

"I will not treat it again," you scolded softly.

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth and you noticed he had a dimple on his right cheek. Why did he have to be so handsome?

"Perhaps if I find some honey you will be sweeter to me."

I am far too sweet for you already, you thought with a sigh, turning your head before he could see how flustered he made you.

Ignoring the fact that you had been headed to the forest before being sidetracked, you pulled your largest kettles into the clearing beside your home and began to set fires beneath them. The sound of chopping wood kept you company as you set the fine sticks of wood carefully under them and grabbed your bucket. You were halfway back from the stream when he caught you, taking the pail with a scolding murmur and taking two back with him. While he fetched the water you carefully minced herbs, dropping them into the water and striking stone to steel to create a fire beneath.

You spent the remainder of the morning tending the pots, carefully judging the smells, consistency, and colors of each. Illness always came with the spring, people being in too much of a hurry to enjoy the weather to take proper precautions, and you wanted to be ready.

At midday you tried to stop Pero, offering him a hunk of bread and cheese and pointing out the amount of wood he had chopped far exceeded to small amount of care you had given him. He’d grunted at that, taking the proffered food and shoving it in his mouth. Then he had pulled his shirt off and gone back to work, leaving you agape and trying not to stare.

He was too handsome for his own good.

It wasn’t fair of him and he knew it. But then again, what mattered was who won the war, not how honorably they fought.

He knew he was tempting her to sin with a married man. And he would feel worse about that if he was in fact married. But he wasn’t - and the way her breath hitched in her throat every time he stretched and moved made his lungs near burst with pride.

Swiping a hand across his chest he shook his head, feeling droplets of sweat spray from the hanging ends of his too-long hair. He’d been working in the sun for her for hours now, chopping what had to be a half cord of wood and stacking it neatly both inside and outside the cottage. No matter what he did she seemed to be nearby, finding tasks that kept him in her line of sight.

Could he tempt her down to the stream? There was a small, shallow pool there - barely as high as his waist. But if he could get her in it… no, she still was as fresh and clean as she had been this morning - keeping to the shade even as he sweat in the sun. Well, he always had a backup plan.

"You have another pail?"

Her head jerked up and she tilted her head to the side without seeming to think about it. He took the proffered object, heading to the river and bringing it the entire way back before dumping it over his head.

"Ah, that is better," he said, shaking his hair out.

She was staring again. Hands clenching and unclenching around the small paring knife. He took a careful step closer to her, watching the ways her eyes tracked his movements and her chest rose and fell in rapid breathing.

"Is there more I can do?"

A confused noise left her and he bit back a smile, moving closer until she tilted her head up to look at him.

"I see how you watch me." Her head shook in a frantic denial and he stopped her with a finger under her chin.

"I do not," she tried but he raised one eyebrow and she quickly silenced. A long moment stretched between them and her shoulders dropped. "I should not."

"No?" he asked, tilting his head. "And do you think I do not also watch you?"

Her lips parted and he took advantage, ducking his head and pressing his own to them. A soft noise left her and he swallowed it, gathering her into his arms and deepening the kiss. She made no protest, her hands clutching at his shoulders and her lips parting even further for him when he dipped his tongue inside.

Without thinking about it he backed her up until he had her pressed to the stones of her cottage, reaching down and hitching one of her thighs around his waist. She fit him perfectly, the hard planes of his body sinking instantly into the soft curves of hers.

"We can’t," she whispered.

"We must," he countered.

She tasted of herbs, rosemary she had chewed that morning and bits of things that clung to her skin after her day’s work. His hands gripped at her hips, her thigh, the dip of her waist and the curve of her ass. He couldn’t get enough of her.

But when she shoved at his shoulders he stepped away. He had never taken a woman unwillingly. Convinced, wheedled, paid - even once long ago had quite nearly begged - but never forced.

"You are married," she bit out, one hand pressing to her chest.

"An inconvenience," he told her truthfully. "We are together only in the eyes of man, not God."

Her eyebrows drew together, "What does that even mean?"

How could he explain and still keep his oath to William? He was treading a fine line already. "It means I have never lain with her. Nor do I plan to."

"I don’t understand," she shook her head and when he went to step closer she held her hand between them. "I do not understand you, Pero Tovar. Or this… whatever this is. But I will not give something that cannot be returned."

"And if it were?"

She closed her eyes, hand wavering, and he took his opportunity. Were this a battlefield he would have sliced her tendons at the knee and downed her from one heartbeat to the next. Instead, he pulled her into his arms again, dipping his head and nibbling at the soft column of her throat.

"Do you want me?"

"It is a sin," she sighed, but tilted her head to give him more access.

"Lying is a sin," he pointed out, scraping his teeth along the flesh she offered. "Do you?"

"I shouldn’t."

"Do you?"

Someone called her name and Pero swore, stepping away from her quickly and jerking his shirt from the ground. He would not see her shamed in the eyes of the village.

"We are not finished," he told her solemnly.

That man was a menace.

He continued to meet you on your walks into the woods - and even on the days you varied your routine he managed to find you at some point. Falling into step beside you and brushing your shoulder with his. Twice, when no one was around, he tried to tug you into shadowed corners. The glint in his eye giving away what he wanted.

You were only flesh.

Flesh that was weak where he was concerned. Arms wrapping fiercely around his neck even as you cursed yourself for it. You went willingly, allowing him a few stolen kisses before breaking away. He always asked the same question, "Do you want me?" and you always avoided it.

You dreaded to think what might happen if he knew it for certainty.

Even now, settled in his lap beneath the span of a large oak tree, his lips repeated the words into the tendons of your neck. But he said it as a statement, his hand slipping under your skirt and palming the skin of your thighs in rough strokes.

"You want me."

"It doesn’t matter what I want," you told him for perhaps the hundredth time.

He bit you and you yelped, pushing hard on his shoulders and glaring. He was glaring right back, his lower lip protruding in an uncharacteristic pout. You ignored it, climbing to your feet and swatting his hands away when he tried to pull you back down.

"You have to stop this."

"I do not wish to," he grumbled, leaning back on one hand and looking up at you from lowered lids. He looked positively pagan, sprawled among the early spring flowers like some sort of god.

"The weather is changing and with it the markets will begin again. I will find someone else."

He moved so fast you didn’t even see him, a blur of motion and he was in front of you, grasping your arms in a strong grip. "You are mine."

"I am not," you gritted out, trying to shrug him off to no avail. "What can you offer me except heartbreak?"

"I would offer you everything," he said quietly, ducking his head to force you to meet his eyes. They were earnest, soft and brown and it took all of your will not to sway to him.

"Everything but your hand."

"Even that," he cracked a small smile. "I have two."

"That’s not funny," you growled, finally moving away.

"I found it a small amusement," he huffed.

"Tovar…"

"Pero," he corrected.

"Tovar," you said more forcefully. "The spring festival is at the next full moon. I intend to make my intention known that I seek a husband."

A snarl curled his lips and you took an unconscious step back. One hand clenched at his side as though he might find a weapon there. "You will not."

"I will," you corrected. "And you should gather peonies for your wife."

"Peonies? I do not understand"

"You don’t… I suppose maybe it is not your custom." You bent and picked up your basket, "During the festival, couples will exchange the flowers - to show their love. At nightfall, all of the unmarried townsfolk will take to the woods hoping to find their own." A thought came over you and you waved a hand, trying not to look flustered, "Many return together."

He hummed thoughtfully, holding a hand out to you to help you step over a large tree root. "And I should gather these flowers for my love, yes?"

You nodded, swallowing past a knot of emotion. "I will not tell you this has not been… fun. But it is over now. It must be."

Humming again he guided you back to the path. "And you are certain that this is what you wish? You will find your husband during the festival?"

A small laugh escaped you and you shook your head. "I intend only to find the flowers, to make it known I wish to find someone."

"So there is no one else?" The answer fell from his lips with a more plaintive tone than he seemed to want, frowning to himself after he finished.

"How could there be?" You brushed past him, swinging your basket, "I already spend half my day in confession because of you."

A low growl caught in his throat and he grabbed you, pulling you back to his body and once again taking your lips. You let him, conscious that your time with him was drawing to a close. And besides, you were already going to have to confess that morning’s indiscretion - what was one more?

The setting sun bathed the village in warm glowing light, making the women look ethereal as they danced around the large pole in the village square - but Pero’s eyes sought only one. By his side, Lin Mae smiled and spoke with one of the local farmer’s wives - comparing the soil and harvest months. She had notes in that strange writing of hers, ideas for things she and William might grow when he returned from his journey.

"Does my husband grow bored of me so quickly?"

Pero blinked and glanced down at her, raising an eyebrow and scowling. She smiled in return, tucking a piece of jet black air behind her ear. "It is strange, the gossip, and how many women of the village want me to know your eyes have strayed."

"They should mind their own business," he grunted, finally spying who he wanted through the crowd. Her eyes shone in the firelight, the orange glow making the simple white shift she wore seem to come alive around her as she danced with several other women.

"They think they are protecting me," Lin Mae shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. "They were properly disgusted at your behavior."

He grunted again, not bothering to give her words. The woman who held all of his attention was braiding flowers into another’s hair - fingers working quickly.

"I don’t suppose I could make you pretend that you are not pining for her this eve, could I?"

"Small chance," he said truthfully, sipping his drink and never taking his eyes off of her.

"They are getting ready for their ceremony," Lin Mae said, shifting her stance slightly. "Perhaps I am growing too tired to stay out."

Frowning, Pero glanced down at the former Commander of the Crane Troop. "Are you well?"

"Perhaps my husband should take me home, so we may both retire for the evening. That way, if he disappeared into the woods later no one would note it."

He finally turned his full attention to her, "You are a brilliant woman, much smarter than your husband."

She winked and he held an arm out, studiously avoiding looking back at the revelers as he led her away from the fires. They returned the shouted greetings from a few people and he held the door to their shared quarters for her when they arrived.

"Is there anything-"

"Go, Pero Tovar," Lin Mae smiled, settling by the fire and patting a hand over her stomach. "I will be fine for the evening."

He did not need to be told twice, going out the back door and circling around the forest to watch the festival. An old man stood by the fire, hands held high in the air and saying something he couldn’t hear. Near him, two groups of men and women giggled and chatted amongst themselves. Blushing and elbowing as they looked towards the other group.

The man’s hands came down and the women sprinted into the forest, although Pero noticed many did not seem to be in a particular hurry. He slipped into the forest behind them easily, padding on soft feet and slinking through the trees like a wraith. He found his quarry easily, her lilting laugh all he needed to zero in on her. With casual competence he brought down two men who sought to follow her, leaving them in slumped piles to be found in the morning. Soon she had outpaced the other maidens, either through swiftness of foot or perhaps their own desire to be caught. It didn’t matter to Pero.

Moonlight bathed the glen in pale light and he slowed to a careful stop. He had arrived before her and he did not pause before plucking several of the prizes before ducking behind the old oak tree and watching for her. It was not long before she entered, laughing to herself and throwing her head back to stare at the moon before dropping to her knees. The beautiful petals of the flowers were almost black in the silvery light, her hands cupping them as though they were the most precious thing. But that could not be right, because she was there and there could be nothing more precious.

He watched as she carefully picked three of the blossoms, cradling them tightly before rising to her feet and turning back to the forest. Back towards him. He could no more have plucked the moon from the sky than he could have stopped himself from reaching out. Catching her wrist in one hand, pulling her back to his chest and dropping his other to press low on her stomach. She gasped in shock and he nuzzled his face into her neck, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth.

"Careful, one might think you wished to be caught."

The tenseness flowed from her and her body melted back against him. He groaned with it, crossing his arm over her chest and feeling the petals in her fingers crush under their combined grip. Slowly, he released his own hand, letting the flowers he had gathered fall and mix with hers.

"I have done what you said, I have gathered these for my love."

"Pero…"

His body lurched at the sound of his name on her lips. Sucking a bruising kiss to her neck he tried to turn her, growling when she resisted. Instead he let her wrist go to grip her chin, jerking her face towards him and thrusting his tongue past her lips. He met no resistance there, the soft give and take of her mouth and the low moan in her throat enough to set his blood thrumming through his veins. Her fingertips gripped his forearms and he tightened his hold.

"Lay with me," he groaned, dragging his lips across her cheek, dipping his tongue behind her ear. "Let me make you mine."

A shudder wracked her frame and he paused, this time meeting no hesitancy when he spun her to face him. "What is it?

"You will always belong to another," she whispered quietly, pain tinging her voice. With the greatest care he cupped her jaw in one of his palms, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek.

"I belong to no one," he told her, willing her to look into his eyes. "Except perhaps to you."

Another shaky breath and her eyes squeezed closed. "Tovar-"

"Pero," he corrected quickly, pressing his lips to the lip of her nose. "If you are to hold my heart you must call me by my given name."

"How can you say these things?" she chided softly.

He should tell her, should have from the start. Tell her that in the eye of the Lord he was free, that the only sin between them was lust. But she would not believe him. Hell, he wouldn’t believe him. Not here, not like this. Not knowing the things a man might say to have a woman in his arms.

"All I can ask is that you trust me," he whispered. Stooping down he plucked one of the round flowers into his hands, holding it out to her in his cupped palm. He waited, holding his breath until she took it with shaking fingers.

"And when we are damned?"

"Then we will burn together."

This time when their mouths met he felt no hesitancy, her arms coming up and fingers threading through the hairs on the back of his neck. He shuddered in her embrace, pulling her close and falling to his knees on the soft mossy ground. His hands shoved at the cloth of her skirt, pushing it upwards as she sank into his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. The moon behind her cast her in a soft, silvery aura and he paused to admire her beauty.

With careful fingers he slipped the sleeves of her dress from her shoulders, watching them fall until the shift caught in the crook of her elbows and on the swells of her breast. From her position above him it was an easy thing to lean forward and catch it with his teeth, pulling downwards and exposing her soft flesh inch by inch. He heard the hitch in her breath when her pebbled nipples were bared to the cool night air. And he felt the way her body trembled when he curled his tongue around the hardened nub and sucked it deep into his mouth.

His name fell like a prayer between them and even if he were what she thought he was - there was no world in which this was a sin. No world in which holding the trembling figure in his arms was anything less than worship.

"Pero," she cried again, her hips rocking in his lap and his control snapped. He reached between their bodies, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers.

"You know the herbs?" he asked, breathless and frantic.

She nodded, hands working between them as well. Groaning he shoved her fingers to the side, lining his cock up and sinking the head of himself into her. "You will tell me if it is too much?"

"Pero please," she begged and he lost himself, plunging forward until he was seated fully inside her. Her heat made him go cross-eyed, and the small cry that broke from her lips made him cup her face in his hands in worry.

"Are you-?"

She lunged towards him, pressing him back down to the moss. They tumbled for a moment, legs tangling, her hips rocking into his. A deep curse left his lips and he steadied her with hands on her waist, looking up in awe as she rose to her knees over him, one hand pressed firmly to his chest and the other his waist.

"Fuck," he snarled, unable to take his eyes off of her. The white of her shift shone ethereal in the moonlight. This could not be a sin, for surely she was an angel sent down to redeem him. Her muscles bore down and he cursed again. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she had been sent to damn him.

"Pero," she sighed, reaching for one of his hands and tangling their fingers together. "Please."

This he could do for her. Slip his hand beneath her skirt and find where they joined, rub his fingers in wide circles through her slick until she threw her head back and came around his cock. It was all he needed to follow, clutching her skin so hard he knew he’d leave bruises before hauling her down and into his arms.

Confession was going to be interesting this week.

Measuring the pennyroyal carefully, you added it to the other ingredients of the tea you were making. You had made it many times in the past for other women - but only once for yourself.

Then again, last night had been only the second time you’d ever lain with a man. The look in Pero’s eyes told you it was well on its way to also being the third and perhaps fourth before you were interrupted by a small group of giggling girls, barely old enough to participate in the festival, bursting into the clearing and exclaiming at the sight of the flowers. It had been almost gentlemanly, the way he had tried to shield you from their notice. But all it took was standing up for your clothes to be set to rights - he had to fix both his shirt and the fall of his trousers.

Plenty of time for you to escape and join them.

It had been a mistake. A massive, soul-damning mistake. Adulteresses did not get to go to heaven. There was literally a whole commandment devoted to it - right between killing and stealing. That’s how important it was.

You’d be saying Hail Mary’s until you were old and gray to atone for this.

Sighing you wrapped your hands around your mug, taking the first sip and opening your front door to let in the morning air. The sight that met you froze you in your tracks however. Pero and his wife were arguing. Shame overcame you and you turned away before they could see you - but you couldn’t help but overhear their voices carrying.

"I am not fragile, Tovar, and will not have you treat me as such."

"I know as well as any man that you are as tough as forged iron." A strange way to talk to his wife, but then again he had been telling you for weeks theirs was a strange marriage.

"Then get out of my way."

"I will not have you harm the babe!"

The world stopped and you gasped, watching the mug tumble from your fingers, the dark liquid spilling across the dirt. Your head jerked up and Pero met your eyes.

Of course that’s why he asked if you knew how to not conceive.

"Cariño…" his soft voice floated across the field and you stooped down quickly to pick up your mug. You would need to rebrew it - be sure you had taken enough. You were absolutely not going to have that man’s child.

Your pot had just started boiling when he stepped through your doorway. "It is not what you think."

"What I think?" Your voice had an edge of hysteria and you fought to keep calm. "What I think is that you left your pregnant wife at home to seduce me last night. Am I wrong?"

"I told you I have never lain with her."

You blinked, jerking backwards. The world seemed to come to a standstill. After a moment a strangled laugh left you. "Your wife sinned with another - so you sought to do the same?"

"It is not a sin," he growled, coming around your worktable in long strides. "This - you… it is not."

Saints above he was kissing you again, and as angry as you were your body betrayed you immediately. Sinking into his warmth and burying your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. With an ease that left you breathless he lifted you onto your table, shoving your skirts to your waist. The hard ridges of his body pressed between your thighs and you gasped.

"It is not a sin, cariño. To want an angel?" His hips rolled and you arched into his chest. "To take a piece of heaven for myself?"

"It is one of the first," you corrected him, gasping for breath and speaking the words directly into his mouth. "Is it not why Lucifer fell?"

"Fuck Lucifer," he growled in return, clutching your body closer. "He wanted power. I want only you."

Why, why did he have to say things like that? "Pero…"

"Say it again," he groaned, fingers working the fall of his trousers. "Say it while I am inside you."

You should protest. You absolutely should not be letting him swive you after everything else that you now knew. But he fit you so perfectly, and looked at you with such wonder in his eyes you couldn’t help it.

"Pero."

The words that left him were in a language you didn’t understand. Falling from his lips like a psalm and for just that moment you let yourself believe him.

And when he slipped into your cottage that night, wrapping you in his arms and pressing your hand over his heart - you let yourself imagine a world where he was yours.

Pero’s shoulder brushed hers as they walked through the village. He wanted to wrap an arm around her waist, hold her close against the morning chill - but he knew that was impossible.

It had been amusing, at first, sneaking away into the forest. Going to her cottage in the middle of the night and having his way with her. And she with him. Once she was in his arms she showed a remarkable imagination and flexibility that often left him breathless in the aftermath.

But the secrecy was quickly growing old. He wanted to kiss her. Her eyes were bright and her skirts whipped around her legs as they walked into the wind, reminding him of how they felt wrapped around him only hours ago.

A leaf caught in her hair and he reached up with a smile, plucking it from the strands and touching it to the tip of her nose with a playful tap. She grinned in return and he felt his heart swell in his chest.

"It is shameful how they carry on."

Pero froze, his jaw tightening. For a moment he hoped she hadn’t heard.

"He’s a foreigner, probably an infidel, but she should know better."

Oh she’d definitely heard, her eyes widening as she took a step away from him.

"Cariño," he said softly, willing her to look at him. The leaf dropped from his fingers and he reached for her. But she was shaking her head frantically, her hands gripping her basket so hard he worried she would snap it.

"There always was something unnatural about her."

Pero’s vision went red and he turned, ready to confront the two gossiping women. Or kill them. He wasn’t sure which. They balked at the look on his face and he took a threatening step their direction before a hand on his elbow stopped him. Scowling, he looked down at her.

"They do not know what they say," he told her, trying to keep his voice level.

"They know exactly what they say," she corrected quietly, "and none of it is untrue."

The truth lay thick in Pero’s throat, the chance to say it long passed. William was not supposed to have been gone this long. Should have only been a fortnight behind them. Instead it had been nearly two months and Pero was beginning to grow worried something had happened to his friend.

"They question your honor."

"I know what I am," she said softly. "I know what I chose when I chose you."

Something lodged in the back of Pero’s throat. He had fought for everything, every chance he’d ever had. Even William and he had ended up together only by chance, joining the same merchant trip to the East. He had trained harder than anyone else, stolen what couldn’t be achieved, and paid coin for another’s favors. But no one had ever chosen him for him.

"Cariño," he took a step towards her and she stepped away.

"Not out here, I don’t want to give them more to talk about."

"Let them talk," he grunted, pulling her into his arms and tilting her face up to his with one finger. "I choose you as well."

"A second choice," she whispered and Pero’s blood thrummed through his veins.

"First," he corrected. "First and always."

"How can I be? You’re-"

He cut her off with a kiss, not caring who saw. Not caring the way it would look to others. She was his and he would claim her for all to see it. And he could not hear her say that word again, could not hear her denial of what he felt.

"Trust me," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. "That is all I can ask."

"With everything," she murmured back. Her spine was straight when she stepped out of his arms, ignoring the hushed mutterings that followed her as she left to the forest and he turned to the smithy. He contemplated scaring the women within an inch of their lives, his size and face more than enough, but it would only cause more problems.

The days were growing warmer and soon enough Pero had sweated through his shirt, tossing it to the side and covering himself only with his leather apron as he worked the metal. A few rings of his armor melted down, the most precious thing he had, now being reworked into a far different purpose.

"You can’t even pretend to make friends can you?"

Pero froze, closing his eyes a moment before turning.

"Tu hijo de puta."

William held his hands up, brows drawing together. "What did I do?"

"A couple of weeks, you said." Pero carefully set his finer tools down, reaching for one of his larger hammers as he approached his friend. "No time at all."

"Things were more complicated than-"

William dodged Pero’s casual swing, but dove straight into the man’s fist.

"That is for taking so long," Pero grunted, setting the tool to the side and shaking out his fingers. "Your head is as hard as ever."

Rubbing his cheek, William blinked at him. "Has Lin Mae been that difficult?"

"It is not…" Pero sighed, picking up his shirt. "Come, I will tell you on the way."

You took a different path through the forest than usual. You didn’t want Pero following you, although you knew he could easily track you if he wanted to. You need time to think, to come to terms with what you were doing.

It had been too much to hope, that no one would notice. It was a miracle that you had avoided the gossip as long as you had. And there would be no denying it, not after that kiss.

Your fingers touched your bottom lip for a moment and you sighed. Pero was a passionate man, and yet you had never seen him touch his wife the way he touched you. It heartened you, although it shouldn’t, that maybe he did feel more for you than he did her.

"Ave, María, grátia plena," you said quietly, stooping to pluck an herb. "Dóminus tecum."

No harm in getting in a few prayers before confession - you were bound to be given another dozen at a minimum for what had happened today.

At your cottage you set about preserving your stores. The rainy season would cause many things to rot if you did not dry them carefully now, hanging them from the rafters in bundles. You hummed as you worked, trying to ignore the events of the morning. There was nothing that could be done about it now.

A knock jerked you out of your thoughts and you glanced towards the window to check the time. It was early afternoon, and you were not expecting anyone. Certainly not the sight that greeted you when you opened the door.

"Pero?"

The man was standing there, arms overflowing with peonies of every color. He must have taken the entire field’s worth.

"Cariño," he said softly. "Quiéreme."

You gasped, covering your mouth with one hand. "What?"

"Love me," he repeated, offering the cascading bundle of flowers in his arm to you. There were so many that some fell to the ground as he moved, littering around your feet.

"I do," you smiled, a small wane thing. "You know I do."

"Marry me." You gasped and he dropped the blooms finally, not seeming to care as he crushed them and gathered you close. "Marry me, today. As soon as we are able."

"But you’re-"

"Do not say it," he growled, dipping his head and kissing you. "I will not hear you say it again. William."

William?

A cough interrupted your thought and you glanced over Pero’s shoulder to see a blonde man with his arm around Pero’s wife.

"I believe this is my fault," he said, nuzzling his nose into the woman’s hair and you noticed a bruise forming around one of his eyes. "This lovely woman is not Tovar’s wife, she is mine."

"What?" The word left you on a whisper, your mind unable to comprehend.

"I am not wed." Pero said it this time, tilting your head back so you looked into his eyes. "I never have been."

"Why did you-"

"Me again," the blonde called out. "Pero promised to look after her for me. This wasn’t exactly what I thought would happen but…" The woman at his side elbowed him and he gave you a sheepish smile.

"You are not married?"

"No."

"Then we…?"

"Have not sinned."

A giggle bubbled out of you and you smiled up at him. "I believe we have sinned many times."

His answering smile was dazzling. "A small thing, and one that can be absolved when you are my wife."

"Your wife?"

"Now," he punctuated the word with a kiss. "As soon as we can find the damned priest."

"Your friend is injured," you pointed out.

"No more than he deserves," Pero griped.

"And the banns have not been read."

"I do not care if another seeks your hand, you are mine." He suddenly looked unsure. "Unless you do not want-"

You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him close. "I have two hands, Pero Tovar, and neither are claimed."

"I will take them both," he told you solemnly. "And make you mine."

"As you are mine."

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#pero tovar #great wall fanfiction #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero x reader #pero x you

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