#and trying very hard to convey that it's fucked up and should be left behind

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 3.5)

Word Count - 5.7k His Hindsight - 1.8k  How They Met - 3.9k  

Summary - The first part is of simon’s pov during those few months and a little bit of part 3. As well as a peek at how Doc and Simon met (Ft. Soap).

Warnings/Tags - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma 

A/N - sorry i'm taking so long with part 4, i’m struggling with a little bit of writer's block and i don’t want to force it and end up with something im unhappy with — i hope you guys can forgive me 

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3   

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His Hindsight (Ghosts POV) 

Looking from afar, Ghost seemed unmoved by the fight he had with you. Maybe a little quieter but it was a façade. Never confuse quiet with calm. He was the eye of the storm, and his raging would be following closely behind. There was something smouldering in the pit of his stomach, it burned and decayed inside him. It resembled shame but it was coagulated with disdain and turned into ichor in his veins. 

He fucked up. 

He knew that. And for the life of him, he couldn’t find a good enough excuse to justify his actions. Not that he was looking for one, but he was never one to let something get to him like this. Not to the point where it followed him around like a weeping dark cloud. Never to the point where he was miserable.          

Even Price had to ask him if something was bothering him, and if was in need of a break. Time off was the last thing Ghost needed. He would then be forced to sit every roiling emotion, and what he needed to get back into the field and drown everything out. Just so he could breathe and it wouldn’t feel like barbed wire was wrapped around his lungs.  

After his years of service, Ghost had become inured to death and violence. Even before his enlistment. He’d learned quickly to respect death, and he’s been both the enforcer and the witness of it. That wasn’t to say it was something he thrived on, he was just something good at it. He was moulded for this kind of life from the very beginning. And who was he to defy fate? Of course, there was still the off occasion it got to him. When it felt cold and heavy in his chest and loomed over his shoulder like an imp. So he learned to compartmentalize it all, learned to detach. To protect his own sanity. His heart. 

He also knew he wouldn’t be able to handle your death.    

The day the convoy left that was this gnawing feeling and had asked Price if they should postpone the convey a day till the coast was clear. When Price declined he then requested to go on ahead and do it himself. Price had said that he didn’t have the clearance to allow it and he was sorry. 

No amount of worrying or experience would have prepared him for watching the explosions and then your vehicle flipping in front of him. It was the second scariest moment of his life. He had shaken his head, not believing his own eyes. He slammed on the brakes so hard that the seat belt locked and dug into his collarbone. He hardly felt it. Worse was when he watched Price pull out of the back, and when Price called to him “Doc needs medical!”. Ghost threw caution to the wind, left cover and slid to your side to assess the damages himself. His heart was beating in his ears, could feel it thundering at the base of his throat. He was used to the thrill and adrenaline of a firefight but this was something entirely different. It was something he wasn’t able to put a name to. Something foreign. Worse was when he noticed the wound on your leg. Worse was when your head dropped to your chest and you became unresponsive. He carried you in his arms the entire time, protecting your body with his. 

There was no way. There was no you were leaving him. He wasn’t going to let you.  

This exact situation was what he was trying to avoid and why he stained your reputation. When he first told HQ that you would be a liability was out of panic. They were going to transfer you to the front lines. Turn you into cannon fodder. He knew it wasn’t right the entire time. Knew that he was betraying you, but he couldn’t figure out another option. Not fast enough anyways. 

He didn’t know what else to do.  

He still didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was supposed to fix it. He wasn’t blind to the fact that you wanted nothing to do with him. He had asked Soap how you were once, and when Soap said “They’re fine, Ghost. I’ve got my eye on them, don’t worry.” Soap had talked with Simon that night you confronted him, the two of them walked the perimeter of the camp for hours before their shift ended. Simon had poured his heart out, and it was as big of a shock to himself as much as it was for Soap. In the end, Soap sided with you, confirming that Simon was in the wrong and that he’d need to find a way to fix it.  

So, he pulled every string and called in every favour he had to have his report on you removed from your file. He had it all redacted. He figured you wouldn’t appreciate him if he tried to play chess with your life once again, so he left it at that. He kept his mouth shut when it came to you, opting for observation when Price had asked Laswell to track you down and recruit you for a new assignment. Even though it killed him, and he was thoroughly against it. The only solace he was able to find was the fact that you would be right beside him the entire time. He couldn’t say if you would feel the same though. 

It took two months of Ghost and Price working day and night to find out who it was that had revealed the convoy's route to the enemy forces. Ghost was in his head nearly the entire time, his thoughts wandering back to you and your last interaction with him. Twice, Price had to remind him that he needed to be focusing on the task at hand, something that has never happened before. 

They had a couple of suspects and followed each of the around for weeks on end. Two months until the culprit, Cameron Rowe, finally slipped up and forgot to lock his safe. Ghost took the opportunity to sneak into Rowe's apartment, opened the safe and had everything he needed to know for sure that this was their guy. Files, blueprints, guns, burner phones, and a computer. He took pictures of everything and downloaded the contents of the computer before sending it all off for further inspection. He left Rowe’s apartment exactly how he found it. 

Two weeks later, they had a target on Rowe’s head. And a mission. Ghost went back by himself and surveyed Rowe for another couple of weeks, gathering a rough schedule and his regularly visited areas. Which wasn’t a whole lot, since the fellow liked the comfort of his own home. Ghost played with the idea of pulling the fire alarm of his apartment building just to get the guy moving. He also collected a list of people who he might be in cahoots with before he was called back to HQ. 

He had already gone over the mission briefing on his way back to base, albeit a little distracted. He was nervous, to say the least. After not seeing you for so long he wasn’t sure what he should expect. He didn’t need to think about what he was going to say to you, he already figured that out while he watched Rowe so basically nothing for two weeks. 

 When you downright shunned him in the meeting room he thought he was going to throw up all over his boots. He wanted to shrink back into the shadows. He wanted to give you room, give you space. When you stepped into the hall, he was a second away from turning on his heel and ducking into a room to hide. He felt like a loser and he was half expecting you not to answer him. When you did, he just about pumped his fist in the air at the victory. He had to grip the neck of his bulletproof vest to keep from reaching for you as he followed you outside. 

The sun was setting and it blanketed everything in an orange glow, and when you turned on him his breath caught in his throat. You were beautiful. Angry. And beautiful. He had to bite his tongue to keep the smile from stretching across his face. 

“Go ahead, Judas. I’ll keep it civil for the sake of the mission but I don’t want to be your friend,” the words stung more than he cared to admit out of his own stubbornness. That smile became easier to hold back. 

“I understand,” but he could be content with being on speaking terms with you. If that was all you were willing to give him he’d take it. He’d take anything you offered him and carry it around like an egg at this point. By force of habit, he scanned the area and studied each passing car and its drivers. Within seconds he already cataloged every soul, possible threat, and the exact route he would take you to safety. “I was out of line. I was mixing private affairs with work, I see that now. And I’m sorry. I was being selfish and I wasn’t taking your needs and wants into consideration,” the crumpled look on your face just before the tears spilled flashed before his eyes and he felt his heart sink, “So, if you’ll give me some grace and let me show you how good I can be,” he never wanted to see the look on your face again.   

He could feel your eyes search his, “Keep your fingers out of my business and I’ll think about it.”

Yes. Yes, of course. 

“They’re put away.” he’d take you to the moon if that was what it would take. 

“We can talk more later. I’ll come to you when I’m good and ready.” he didn’t expect you to forgive him immediately in the slightest. This conversation was already more than he anticipated. 

“For now, just stay away from me,” there was no venom in your voice, but there didn’t need to be. 

He recoiled from you, “Of, course,” his fingers chilled and the setting sun was a little less warm on his face. 

He thought you were going to leave when you turned back to him, “Thank you, for apologizing.” 

This time he couldn’t suppress the grin. Whatever has been smouldering in his stomach was reduced to a puffing smoke. It was still hot, but it didn’t share the same energy it did before.  

How They Met

The army and the medical team had assumed control over what was once a fully operating clinic but was left abandoned when the area was deemed a warzone. Fortunately enough for your team, most of the supplies, and equipment were left as if someone had merely closed up shop for the night. Unfortunately, that was months ago and those same supplies were dwindling fast. The location was prime, built on one of the main Strip leading through the city and not too far from the front lines, and that also meant safe passage was hard to come by. Carter tried asking for a restock, twice now, but both times the couriers were intercepted on their way here. We’d had to start trading with the field medics that passed through for morphine, antibiotics, and gauze. Anything they could spare.  

With your arms crossed over your chest, you anxiously tap your fingers on your forearms. Each step you took reverberated down the concrete hallway. You took another look out the double doors leading to the outside and down the street. Nothing. Not a sign of life. The convoy was supposed to be here a half hour ago, said to be transferring a man in critical condition from the front lines. And judging from the report we received an hour ago, one of them wouldn’t make it much longer without the proper equipment. The equipment they most certainly did not have on a transport truck. 

The only two other medics that were on duty were standing on the other side of the hall. They looked just as antsy as you felt, sharing a quiet hurried conversation. The tall lanky one was called “Butters”, he was the first person you befriended after your assignment. It didn’t take you long to start appreciating his dry sense of humour. The first couple of days around him were filled with stifled laughter and you giving him concerned glances, unsure if he was even allowed to say some of the stuff he did.  

The shorter one was “Carter”, he was older than dirt and you and Butters were adamant he joined during the war of 1812. He was also your superior and a good one at that. He held nothing but wisdom between those ears.  

“They should have used a chopper,” Carter sassed, vexation pulling at the corners of his mouth. The reason they didn’t use a chopper was that we didn’t have any available, and every time one was airborne anywhere near the city it was blown out of the sky. You all knew that, but Carter liked the occasional grousing so you let him have it.  

Then you heard it. The roar of a vehicle, the sound ricocheting around the empty street. You reached the set of doors just as the first truck rounded the corner. Two hummers followed closely behind.  

“What the hell are the special ops doing here?” Butters said beside you. 

“Special ops?” you asked, looking between him and the convoy. 

“Those,” he pointed at the hummers, “Are reserved for the big guns. Scary guys those ones. Don’t look them in the eyes, they’ll see it as a threat.” 

He called back down the hall and Carter appeared with the one and only gurney, 

Carter waited as you guys opened the door, “They’re doing CPR one of them. Butters and I will handle him. Butters you’re pushing. I’ll take over the compressions,” then he turned back to you, “They were joined by another team so I’ll leave the last guy to you. Make sure you order those SpecOps around good and well, yeah?” that must have been way they were delayed. 

“Yes sir,” you and Butters said in unison. 

Butters gave you a good shot in the arm, “You owe me a pack of cigarettes.” 

“What are we? Seven?” you would get him a pack either way. 

You stood waiting as the convoy approached, the back doors flinging open before the truck could come to a complete stop. Blood that was pooling on the grooves on the floor of the truck, spilled out onto the pavement. Too much blood. All of it came from the man that was lying prone. Another soldier was performing CPR on him, his pants soaked with his blood. The gurney was already at the truck, Butters and Carter pulling the man onto the white sheets. 

Your stomach churned when you learned the source of all this blood. His right leg was a mess of bone, tissue, and muscle from his just above his knee. The makeshift tourniquet made from a belt and a chem light was the only thing keep this man on the right side of life. 

Before you could spool yourself back into your body Carter was jumping into the gurney and starting compressions. He was surprisingly limber for his age. Butters was already recruiting one of the soldiers from the truck to help him haul the gurney back into the clinic. 

It was your turn now. Searching the back of the truck again for the second guy they were transferring. But there was no second patient. You pivoted to the two other vehicles, narrowing your attention to the closest one. Two men were huddled around one door. One was donned in all black, his face was cast in the shadows of his hood, and obscured by a mask. The other had on a boonie hat, his facial hair cut and shaped to perfection. Both of them were to built for pure unbridled strength and power. Both of them equally dangerous. They looked exactly how one would expect a member of the SpecOps to look.  

“Get your ass out, you silly bastard,” One of them reaches into the back, wrestling with someone. 

You quickly made your way over having determined that this was the second transfer. 

“Aye, I’m trying, Captain,” whoever was speaking was already on some sort of analgesic, his words slightly slurred and laced with delirium. 

Just as you reached the door the two standing at the door had managed to lift their injured comrade onto his feet, all his weight was being supported by them. His face was gaunt from the pain and blood loss, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open and focused. 

“I’m fine. I just need a wee nap,” despite all his bravado he was going to need more than that. Following the trail of brutality that was once his shirt, now shredded and bloodied, and lifted the lapel of his jacket to get a better look. You peek under the mess of gauze and bundled-up shirt to find a bullet wound located on his shoulder, the bleeding controlled by quick clotting powder. It was messy work, but it saved his life. 

You shook my head, “No nap for you,” and looked to the man he had called Captain, “Did it go through?” you asked referring to the bullet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring him in,” you lead them back into the clinic, holding the door open for them as they shuffled him inside. “First door on the right,” directing them from behind while you quickly step into another room to retrieve a trauma kit. You noted that it was the second to last one. 

When you returned the two that were uninjured were shoving their wounded companion onto the bed. It was a little rough, but you had a sense these guys were coming from a fight and still has adrenaline coursing through them. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Half an hour ago. Give or take.”  

“Any meds?” you asked not looking up as you opened the trauma kit and unloaded its contents.

“Shot of adrenalin.” 

You cut the rest of the shirt and jacket away. 

“Woah lassie, cannae get me dinner first?” the man flopped his head back into the bed, no longer able to keep it up himself. 

“Manners, Soap,” the Captain knocked his leg in a light-hearted reprimand.

You sprayed a generous amount of saline over the wound, washing away the clotting powder and blood to get a better look at the wound. You turned back to the kit, opening everything you would need to patch him back up, then snapped on some sterile gloves. 

Soap was a good patient, letting you work without complaints, and following directions in spite of all the drugs and pain. You had the other two men turn Soap over so you could get access to the exit wound on his back. You resituated yourself, opening more packages and switching out your gloves for new ones. Chewing on the inside of your cheek as you pulled the last few stitches. You backed away, discarding the needle and bloodied gauze in their respective bins. 

“How are you feeling?” you leaned over the bed to get a good look at your patient's face. His tired eyes dragged over your face, and a slow cheeky smile started before his eyes fell shut. His breathing settled as he drifted into sleep.   

Their Captain clicked his tongue, “He’ll be fine right?”

“Might need some fluids and blood, but yes, he’ll be fine.” 

There was a knock on the door frame, and all three of you turned at the sound. It was Butters. 

You started, “Do you need—”

“No,” he interjected. His expression told you all you needed to know, “We couldn’t get V-Fib.” 

You fell silent. Nothing you could say or do that would help at this point. There was nothing worse than losing a patient. 

Butters jerked his chin to the now resting Soap, “How’s yours?”  

You stepped to the side to allow him a view. He stepped into the room, inspecting your handiwork. He made a sound of appreciation and gave a slow nod. Trauma was your specialty, so the result was clean and precise.   

“What do you think he’ll need?” Butters asked. You rattled off your ideas and the reasoning behind them. He agreed with it all and patted your shoulder, telling you he’d relay it to Carter to see what he could scrounge up.  

You circled back to the two remaining soldiers, “Did you know him?” you made a weak gesture to the door, the hallway, and the now dead soldier beyond that. 

“No,” the Captain looked at you from beneath the visor of his hat, his hard eyes giving nothing away. You looked at his chest thinking a name would be stitched there. Of course, there wasn’t. Either way, he noted the quick glance because he raised a hand for you to shake, “Name’s Price.”

You took it, “Y/n.”. 

Price shot a thumb over his shoulder, “That’s Soap,” and then turned it towards the man clad in black, “And our favourite Ghost.” 

You made to shake Ghost’s hand too but when he lifted his arm you noted the hiss of pain and wince,  “You’re hurt too,” before he could answer you had his arm in your hand. The adrenaline from earlier was no longer keeping his pain at bay. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, a slight lilt to his words you didn’t pick from earlier. Despite his words, he didn’t try to pull away from your grasp, even allowing you to roll back his sleeve. A bullet grazed his forearm, taking with it a considerable layer of skin. 

“That's what the last guy said too,” You said, ushering him to the chair in the corner of the room. 

“Take a seat, Ghost,” Price said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He stepped into the hallway, “I’m going to go fill everyone in. Let them know Johnny-Boy is to live another day.” 

Ghost reluctantly plopped into the chair, placing his arm on the armrest. You turned to the trauma kit once more, kicking a rolling chair with you to sit in front of Ghost. You placed supplies on his lap in the absence of a table, and he used his good arm to make sure none of it fell. He leaned back in the chair, resting his head on the wall behind him. He wasn’t going to need stitches but that didn’t mean he was safe from potential infections. You cleaned the wound as best you could with the last bit of saline. Placing a glob of antibiotic ointment on the dressing before securing it with tape. 

“Ta-da,” you looked up at his concealed face. He kept his eyes shut for a second more before he reopened them to examine his new bandage. You took the moment to secretly admire him. You couldn't see his entire face because of the skull mask; however, you could still make out his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. They were a deep brown, framed with long dark eyelashes, and lined with black paint. He had sad eyes. Eyes that saw more than they wanted. 

“Dandy work, Doc,” He remarks, turning his attention back to you. 

You dropped your gaze, suddenly bashful, your ears heating, “Not a doctor,” you shrugged, “Maybe sometime in the future though.” 

“Maybe?” He tilted his head ever so slightly. The action was boyish and so at odds with his demeanour, it was almost comical. Yet charming at the same time. 

You nodded and rolled his sleeve back over the bandage, sending him off with a little tap on the arm, and you scoot back on the stool, allowing him some space, “I haven’t decided what I want exactly.” 

“Why’d you choose this? Come here, I mean,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a display of genuine curiosity. 

You smiled, rubbing your thumb and pointer finger together. Money. It probably wasn’t nearly as heroic as his backstory. 

He huffed out a breath but it might have been a laugh and shook his head, “A pretty little thing like you doesn’t belong in a warzone,” he lifted himself off his seat, stretching his long limbs.

“A pretty little thing like me is managing perfectly fine,” you raised your face to meet his. He was tall, and underneath all that gear you could tell there was nothing refined muscle. He probably wasn't built with aesthetics in mind though, just cruel brutality and wicked savagery meant to keep him alive in dire situations. Meant to kill.  

“We can only hope,” he adjusted his sleeve, “You keep an eye on this one, Doc,” he adds.

“Does he bite?” you asked faux curiosity dripping from your tongue before turning your attention back to Soap. He was still pale, so covered him with the thin blue blanket at the bottom of the bed. Butters or Carter would be back soon with your order from earlier as soon as they found what they could. Which was a tall order. 

“Oh, he’s absolutely feral,” he joined in on the jest, backing out of the room with that one last warning before silently disappearing into the hallway. 

You met up with Price and Ghost at the end of the day with an update. They had set up a temporary camp next door, an old office, the windows already boarded up. This time they were joined by two others. One was named Gaz and the other was Roach, both of whom were currently playing cards. Ghost was sitting at the desk next to them, a disassembled handgun in front of him. A line of bullets standing at attention on the corner of the desk. 

“How long till he’s back in commission?” Price asked, leaning back on the main administrative desk. He too seemed more at ease knowing his friend was no longer on death's doorstep. He and Ghost had come to check on Soap twice. Soap has yet to wake up from earlier, his body forcing him into a pseudo-coma so it could focus on healing him.  

“Two weeks maximum. Even then if I send him off with some pain meds he’s going to be incredibly sore,” As the words left your mouth you knew what his next question was going to be. 

“And at the minimum?” he lowered his chin, looking at you from beneath his brows, preparing for me to scold him. You can’t force them to listen to you, only make suggestions and give advice. It was frustrating because you could already tell the moment Soap woke up he was going to want to regroup and get back in the fight.  

You blew out a breath, resting your hands on your hips, “Couple days...I don’t recommend that thought. There’s a high probability that would he would reopen the wound and the complications that would follow aren’t worth it. I would give him, at the very least, a week.” 

Price turned to look at Ghost, who met his gaze in return. A silent exchange. A familiarity developed over years of operating together. Ghost nodded and started reassembling his gun. Satisfied with the response, Price reached behind the desk and pulled out his gun, pointing it to the floor and resting his finger on the side of the gun. Cards shuffled across the table as Gaz collected them and put them back in their box and tossed them to Ghost who then put them in his pack. They were moving swiftly. 

“We’ll be back in a week,” Price announced, and walked up to meet you at the entrance, “Just make sure they don’t ship him off while we’re away.” 

“I don’t really have authority here,” you admitted. You take orders, not give them. 

“Hide him away,” Price was only half-joking. Then he was barking orders to load up the truck and that they were leaving in 5 minutes. A small part of you wanted to ask them to at least rest for the night and leave at dawn. A major part of you knew that that was a ridiculous thought. 

Ghost was the last to leave the office, and you stuck a hand out catching him in the chest. You were met with solid resistance, “Keep that thing clean. Change it every day. I don’t want to see you come back here in a week and you’ve caught yourself an infection,” you gestured to his arm. 

His eyes widened ever so slightly before he gave you a curt, “Yes, ma’am.”.

Exactly 5 minutes later, they were pulling out and driving away from the clinic. They left nothing behind and it was like they were never even here. 

Well…they left Soap. 

But whatever mission they were on was evidently time-sensitive. And their detour here was already causing their Captain unease. You could also tell he was also uncertain about leaving one of his men behind.  

You went back inside the clinic, checking in on Soap one last time before doing a shift change.

Soap was still asleep when you returned for my shift the next day but looked considerably better than he did before. Colour had returned to his face, and if he was still asleep that meant his pain was causing him too much strife. His eyes slit open around noon, and as expected, he was groggy and nauseous. You dosed him up before getting him to sit up for some food and water. It was the same rations we medics were given, and when you found out he had a certain affinity for the peanut butter packets you would bring yours to him. Ghost had been organized enough to have brought in his pack before they left so you helped Soap ease into a clean shirt, excusing myself so he could change his pants.

He didn’t complain once during the whole week, he even refused analgesics on the fourth day. He may have made cheeky comments here and there but he was docile. Not at all feral like Ghost had “warned”. You read into the act though, he was showing you good behaviour so you would release him sooner. He was especially limber at the end of day seven. The camp had finally received a truck, stocked with everything that was needed, and then some. This morning and you caught Soap trying to haul stuff inside from the truck. You caught him, not once, not twice, but three times. After the third time, you gave up and let him help you replenish the shelves and rooms. 

Right now he was sitting on the edge of the bed while you checked his vitals and range of motion. You lifted his arm by the elbow, he tried suppressing the wince when you asked him to hold the position.

“What do ya say, lass? Am I meeting your standards,” you found his accent endearing. He was aware of that fact and used it to his advantage.

“It’s a good start,” you admitted. You wouldn’t be telling him but he rebounded pretty fast. If it was some creepy voodoo, or just him being stubborn you couldn’t tell. 

“Ye bet yer arse it is, I’ve got you takin’ good care of me,” he flashed you a smile before moving his arm into the next position.

You shook my head as you wrote down a note on a pad, “All your honey pouring isn’t going to get you very far with me,” you finished off your assessment and shut the notepad fixing him with an exasperated stare. 

He shrugged, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall above the door “Thought I’d give it a shot.”. 

His team was supposed to be back by today, but it was getting late now. You knew Soap had tried hailing them on the radio a couple of times but was only met with empty feedback. He stopped after the fourth attempt at contact, saying it was unsafe to try anymore. The words, it might be compromised, were left unspoken. If he was getting worried he was doing a job of not letting it be known to anyone. 

It wasn’t until a day later when Soap and you were counting stock and documenting everything, that you heard the familiar tenor of Ghost. The slam of boots echoed down the hall until Ghost and Price appeared in the doorway. 

“Look at you, all sunshine and sprinkles,” Ghost was the first to speak up, clapping Soap on the shoulder. He was kind enough to make sure it was his uninjured arm.

“Am I sweet enough for you yet?” Soap cracked back. 

“Not in the slightest,” he might have the mask on but he can’t hide the sound of his smile. Even Price had a twinkle in his eye. They were a close-knit group, that much was obvious, and seeing Soap back on his feet seemed to lift some weight off their shoulders.  

“Aye, well yer late pickin’ me up so I guess we’re even,” Soap countered. 

There was a moment of reunion before Soap followed Price back outside to meet up with the rest of the squad. Ghost lingered, nodding at the shelves, “Got your truck?” 

“Yeah,” you couldn’t help but smile, “I’m guessing you guys had something to do with that?” 

He shrugged a shoulder, “We cleaned up the streets a bit on our way out, yeah.” 

You thanked him before pointing to his arm, “How’s the arm looking?” 

He leaned his rifle on the wall and rolled his sleeve up so you could take a look, it was no longer covered with a bandage but it was healing fine. Standing this close to him you could smell the gunpowder and smoke on him, could see the new burn marks and tears in his clothing.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you listened to me,” you looked at him. 

He rolled his eyes, “I was scared you would have my head if I didn’t,” he most definitely was not scared of you but it still drew a laugh from you.    

Part 4

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A/N - i know in the first part i said that Ghost had first met Doc in a medical tent, but when i originally started writing this it was a clinic. 

Tag List 

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[thefangirlofhp]

leaning on everlasting arms [2]

(my love loves me)

Clothes, whether one liked it or not, were a diary entry; there is always a message encoded in the articles, some statement conveyed by how a person chose to present themselves. It is in the weaving and stitches. Beyond the scope of culture and history, how one chose to dress reflected their mind and what they were saying to those around them. Everything is a self-reflection, everything is an essay.

Much in the same way many other things are a message, choosing what to wear proved to be a small obstacle in Azriel’s unexpecting day.

He stares down his wardrobe and all his clothes neatly lined on the hangers, folded in the square shelves and tucked into drawers. For the first time in his life, he is at loss. An outfit is part of an identity. And now, having found an altered version of it, Azriel tries to figure out what he wants to say.

Are you dressed? Elain asks from outside.

“No,” he replies, letting his fingers trace the patterns engraved in the wardrobe as he leans against it, pursed lips and deep frown set on his face. He blinks and looks over his shoulder, remembering to call out: “Come in, it’s fine.”

Elain turns the handle of the bedroom door and practically floats inside. Azriel examines what she’s chosen to wear, while some part of his heart beams at her continued chivalrous refusal to walk into a room he’s in without permission, after all this time still. It’s part of some unnerving awareness of his reluctance to let anyone see him bare, some small part of him that’s hyperaware of his runes and how they look in the aftermath of Koschei’s removal of them. It left behind echoes of the tattoos, and some parts of his skin that are still red and healing awkwardly.

She pauses abruptly at the sight of him still in his usual daywear and levels him with a stony glare. He grins, excusing his delay with a shrug before returning his attention to his clothes. Behind him, she flops onto the bed with a small huff and thud of the mattress, the hat she had on tumbling off her head.

Elain’s chosen practical nondescript wear; a tunic tucked into a long dark skirt, covered with a leather jacket. Her hair is twisted in braids away from her face, and tumbles the rest of the way down her back.

He blinks at most of the black clothes before him. Eventually grabs a common navy blue tunic and black pants, and slides his black jacket off a hanger with about as much surety as someone trying to bake without a memorised recipe.

Elain watches him put them on, one eyebrow curiously crooked as he does.

“What?” He mutters as he tugs on his boots.

She rolls onto her side. Nothing. I thought you’d go for the leathers.

Azriel grabs his arm guards off Elain’s vanity before she can berate him for leaving them there and slides them on, with the two blue siphons on top, head ducked and avoiding her gaze as he buckles them.

He tries to explain, but finding the words means having a clear-cut understanding of why in the first place and if that were the case, he wouldn’t be here. If he had the questions lined up, then it isn't so hard solving them or asking for help in finding them. Yet when he glances at her, he finds himself surprised by the fact she knows.

Every tense muscle in him relaxes. He should have known better than to expect failing to explain himself to Elain, of all people.

Despite going for something nondescript as Elain has, it is still a statement. One the inhabitants of Windhaven gape at.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been making such statements when he needed to butter up the Illyrian Lords to ask them to break their traditions and customs for his own wife who just happens to be a witch and very much an outsider. There were already many factors against him, why did he have to grow some philosophical self-righteous pair that got him in such a twist?

Elain doesn’t seem worried, but fuck him if he isn’t downright tense and internally going grey. They stand patiently waiting outside in the biting cold air before the doors to the great hall, a sore sight for the passersby who openly gape at him, and the sight of the foreigner next to him.

He supposes there’s many a surprise loaded in this simple appearance; him, casual as they get without the entirety of his siphons and decked in unassuming clothes that is very much not in compliance with the Illyrian fashion and pointedly not in the leathers that every warrior lives and breathes in; a foreigner in the midst of the camp waiting to be granted an audience; said foreigner being his wife; foreigner being a High Fae female and to those who recognized her: Elain Archeron, the Seer, the Witch, the Kingslayer.

So the open stares are excusable.

He lets loose a sigh, crosses his arms over his chest and then drops them. He doesn't like to imagine what options he'd have if their request were to be denied; he has no problem giving Elain all seven of his siphons, but it's not the solution Elain is comfortable with. Elain leans against the pillar upholding the awning with the other he stands against, and gives him a gentle smile. One that has never been seen before in a place like this; tender and beautiful and most importantly: out in the open.

Azriel tries to return it, but something about the atmosphere, their circumstances and something in the crisp breeze makes it harder for him to do so. Freezes his facial muscles and the parts of himself that have been easygoing and relaxed for a couple of years now.

Elain looks to the closed grand doors, admiring their height and the mural etched into the wood of it. Some tale of Illyrian triumph—shocking—and victory in battle that Azriel’s lived before many times.

Sûler, Elain notes of the prominent warrior figure.

He shifts on his feet. “Not quite,” he gently corrects. “Feÿdre. But who gives a shit?”

Elain drops the hand she was tracing the carving with. I do.

He remains quiet.

The door creaks open, and he finds himself standing straight immediately, every muscle in his body tensing up as his wings get the urge to flare wide and threatening but he holds it in as the male fixes his gaze on them. A dismissive glance at Azriel before resting on Elain.

“Only you,” he allows.

“Now, hang on—“

“The lords will see the Kingslayer alone or they will not see her at all.”

See, times like this, Azriel is at a crossroads of what to do. Of what to be in the wake of his remodeling and new temperament—the answer was easy, prior to learning he can be good, somewhat, in the metaphorical sense of not conforming to the behavior of his people of intimidation and violence and a show of strength. If Azriel had been here in this situation before, they wouldn’t have been waiting for quarter of an hour outside while the lords decide to grant them an audience or not. He wouldn’t have even given them the option to consider. He’d have snatched the siphons he needed right before their eyes and watched them wither away under the rage of not being able to do a single thing in objection.

But this was Elain, and behaving how he thinks Elain would like him to behave provides some answers he can blindly trust in the cases where he is not sure exactly of what he wants.

So he meets her eyes, watches her give him a single nod before following the male inside and leave him out here to the elements and the unmerciful blight of his thoughts.

He folds his hands behind his back as he reclines once again against the thick pillar. Sometimes he hates how he is to her in this relationship—too trusting, easygoing and reassured. His brothers would never have let this happen, by merit of their mate instincts. Cassian let Nesta walk into a hall filled to the rim with Illyrian lords and warriors, alone and unarmed, who most likely would definitely want to kill her, or worse? That would be the fucking day.

His brothers would smack his head for this. He can practically hear Rhys’s voice in his head berating him for being too lenient with Elain’s safety.

It’s not about trusting her, his brother would say. It’s about not trusting every single bastard in there. It’s about being the worse threat to keep them in line. Sure I trust Feyre to be in there, but I wouldn’t give any of those fucks the benefit of the doubt for the chance to put her in a situation like that in the first place. You're supposed to look after her and stop her from getting into these situations.

And Elain is a face to kill over, Cassian would warn, as if Azriel didn’t know.

Azriel blinks at his shoes. Looks up to see a female walking past on the road with a basket hitched on her hip. She pauses to stare at him for a moment, and he feels himself deflate into his skin a little. It’s been a subconscious reflex in him to appear smaller than he is around the females of his race, his subconscious finding it the only appropriate response to the decorum beat into them from infancy about being in front of a male. He’d never liked it when he and his mother had to cower before his father who took pride in flaring his wings and throwing back his shoulders to dwarf them, and he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else being so small before him.

Maybe Elain. He likes it when he’s so large in comparison to her, when she looks up with those wide eyes of her that he’s not entirely sure her mother didn’t steal right off a doe, and she’s somehow comforted by his presence.

He looks away from the female before someone would notice her openly staring and bash her head in for the brazen behaviour. He focuses instead on the female he’s sent into the den of vipers, the female dearest to his heart than all others.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust her. Azriel trusts her to make her case, to appeal to the Illyrians better than he can, to get herself out of any trouble and to even avoid it in the first place. Elain has the uncanny habit of getting everything she wants from whoever she needed it from; he’d never forget the sound the Cauldron made in her presence when he'd gone blindly to rescue her from Hybern's camp. It’s one that haunts his dreams. How could the Cauldron purr around her, practically swoon for her?

He supposes what stings is the fact Elain does not need him. And he has no instinctive urges to blame being unreasonable on—besides, Elain never let those slide. So he stands there, unneeded, waiting for her.

Still, the silver lining: wanted.

It’s a thing worth being smug over, is it not?

That Elain Archeron who needed no-one, looked at all the people in Prythian and decided: yes, the tall, too-quiet Illyrian who’s never not felt awkward in his own burned skin who has an unexplained interest in puzzles and musical plays. I want that one.

Take that, he smirks. Prettiest girl in Prythian wants me.

His head snaps up when the doors open and Elain comes back out. His heart leaps into his throat as he cannot help the one over he runs of her, and deflates when he finds nothing amiss.

“Well?”

She bobs her head. A disbelieving smile splits his mouth with a numb laugh.

“What—why?”

She rubs her elbow and glances behind her to the hall that once more closes. There’s something I must do first.

“What?”

They asked me to spend the night in the mountain—apparently females spend their time there? You never mentioned it.

“It’s part of their livelihood,” he replies. “Something routine in every unmarried female’s life; the place is restricted against males. They’re educated there.”

Elain tilts her head. Educated about what?

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. Whatever females need to know. They’re guided by the elderly females, most of whom are widows or spinsters. Illyrian’s version of priestesses.”

Elain follows him as they step down the stairs. I didn’t know females had a sanctuary.

“It’s…I know we’ve vilified them, but their way of life is intricate and complex. It has its ups and downs.”

Elain reaches out and shocks him by threading their fingers together as she clasps his hand in hers.

He meets her eyes.

I’m going to stay there for the night, and you can’t come with me. Would you like to go home?

His face relaxes. Oh, if only she realized, she herself is home. “No, I’ll wait.”

Her face brightens. Thank you.

“Did they ask anything else of you?”

No.

“Would you tell me all about it?”

Elain’s eyes flicker to the road. I…Your father was in attendance.

“I know,” he replies easily.

I felt strange. I couldn’t decide between contempt and self-loathing.

“Now what do you have to do with that mess?” He tuts gently.

Her eyes snap sharply to him. After all he did to you and Meridia, I stood there making my case to him and his lords about being allowed siphons. Like I—it did not feel good pleading from the man who tortured my husband.

“It was a long time ago.”

Elain’s hand seizes around his. Worst part is that he was the most civil and reasonable of them all. He came to my aid, and even pushed for me to be seen as one of them. He’s the one who suggested I spend time here.

“Oldest trick in the book,” Azriel breathes, his breath still shaking. “He wants them to be in your good graces because they are not in mine. And powerful as you are? It’s the one language they understand. I wouldn’t be surprised if he called you his own daughter.”

It sickens me to be affiliated with him. He’s nothing next to Orion.

“Ah, sweetheart, you’re going to need to compromise. You have to make peace with that.”

She tightens her grip on him. I don’t want to compromise when it comes to you.

Someday Azriel is going to figure out exactly the details of this spell she’s enchanted him with, because he stops in the street, turns to her and drops her hand in order to take her face in his hands and smile widely at her like a simpleton. But right now he is not concerned, only that he in turn loves her back.

Her lashes flutter as he cups her face, and can only stare at her sickeningly like a fool in Windhaven, in the camp that beat him into the male he was before Elain came along and blew everything apart. “I know. I don’t mind.”

Someday he's going to figure it all out, and he supposes the Made locket he keeps hanging from his neck has some say in the matter. All he wants to do is be in Windhaven, which is not a fucking thought he’s ever had in his life before. The sun comes down as he loiters about, unsettling the inhabitants of the camp with his supposedly unneeded presence. Rhys tries to lure him away by means of temptation of dinner at their place, but it’s no good. Azriel thinks the point of every meal is the dessert at the end, and desserts have become tasteless if Elain is not involved in some manner; in their making, their consumption, their purchase. He likes checking out every bakery on the continent when she’s busy and bringing back samples of new pastries that they can then try together. So far introducing her to the concept of using peanut-butter has only yielded dishes he keeps getting yelled at by Cassian for eating.

“Azriel.”

He raises his head up from where he’d been resting it against his knees and looks up at whoever’s dared to come disturb him and his muscles lock up without him realizing.

And there he was, successfully distracting himself from their situation by thinking of Elain’s dessert.

He’s not going to bother to move, or stand up. That would be giving his sire more respect than he deserves. Azriel levels him with a steady stare, squinting against the faelights glowing in his vision.

“It’s not seemly, your being out here.”

Talking would mean something Azriel doesn’t.

His sire stares him down, his arms crossed over his chest with a strangely guarded expression on his face.

“Your wife is a lovely female.”

When Azriel blinks, he finds himself face to face with his father whom he holds against the floor by his neck that’s pulsating and contracting beneath his tight chocking grasp. Wings violently jerk beneath the male, helplessly slamming against the dirt while his sire tries to release his neck from Azriel’s hold.

“Now we’re not going to do that,” Azriel softly instructs, further digging his knee into Aetós’ abdomen while his other hand holds his right wrist out and in place. His sire relents slowly, staring up at him quietly with labored breath.

Though Azriel is currently outnumbered in terms of siphons, it doesn’t really matter. Aetós realizes that very well. Being one of the rare warriors who require three siphons had elevated his father in the ranks of Illyria, put him in a leadership position that no-one takes likely. And still, with two siphons out of seven, Azriel can do far worse damage to the male he holds beneath him.

It was a lie when he dismissed Elain’s concerns for him by merit of the outdated instance they are now too old to remember. Azriel has somehow gotten over his scars, or learned how to deal with them, but he has not forgiven, nor has he forgotten, the violations and atrocities his own mother suffered.

Meridia might be over it—he doesn’t know. They aren’t in the habit of speaking of his father much in the same way they don’t talk about the beneficial properties of goat shit.

“I know why you made them send Elain there. I know why you’re getting in her good graces.”

“I very much doubt that,” Aetós manages to say.

“Enlighten me.”

“For you.”

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Azriel threatens. “Give me a fucking reason, I beg you.”

Aetós’s face sharpens, his eyes smirking as they look up into Azriel’s. “After all this time, you still need a reason?”

His hand spasms around his neck, and instantly his shadows are losing their shit in his head stopping him from doing something rash. Azriel grits his teeth, hard enough they’d break, before releasing the male and getting off him.

They stand, Aetós breathing hard as he fixes the collar of his leathers, and Azriel levels him with a stare that would have curdled dairy in a moment.

“I did not intend to antagonize you,” Aetós holds up his hands. “But you make it impossible. Anything said to you is an offense.

“What do you want?”

“I have a long-term scheme at play here, but short-term intentions? I saw you out here alone and realized you’re waiting on your wife. You’re aware it’ll take till dawn, at least?”

“What’s it to you?”

Aetós fixes him with a careful stare. “Let me invite you to my keep. We’ll talk there.”

Azriel doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

It’s idiotically rude to refuse a lord’s invitation into his home, but Azriel has a numbered amount of flying fucks in the air that he can keep an eye on, and he’s none to spare for this male.

“I realize this is part of your personal revelation,” he jerks his chin at him. “But there’s no need to wait out here the entire night. Elain is in safe hands. Arguably in one of the safest places in Illyria.”

“Out of reach of rapists like you—I agree.”

Aetós stares blankly at him.

Azriel wonders how many buttons he can push before this escalates into something Aetós is not prepared for—how far can he toy with his sire’s volatile pride?

“I thought we would be reasonable males, and converse as such.”

Azriel pushes his shoulders back, his voice impassively cold. “What do you want from Elain?”

His father’s face softens. “What do I want with a witch? Trust me, the day I need a witch is the day I am unworthy of these siphons. Yet I need the trust of yours she holds. The ear she whispers into. I don’t need the witch, I need my son’s wife.”

“Good luck with that,” he stiffly smiles. “She hates you more than I do.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily count on that,” Aetós softly smiles. “She was relieved today by my assistance and support. I’d say she was grateful, even.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t seem the type to forget a favor.”

“She’s not indebted to you because you’ve betrayed your principles.”

Aetós scoffs. “As if giving a golden witch a number of siphons for her to break would mean anything.”

Azriel stills.

See, he realizes that his father knows he’s in the possession of something Azriel might need—blasted siphons and favors aside; Aetós was not here to let them know they somehow owed him for coming to Elain’s side and pleading her case. He is here to bargain.

And Azriel, heart sinking and skin clammy, realizes he cannot bargain with Elain’s life.

So, quietly, his shoulders drop as his wings fold in and his voice softens. “What do you want?”

(won’t you lay me down?)

“Hey, look who finally showed their face!”

“Hey, Cass,” Azriel claps his brother’s shoulder and bumps into the quick hug that the sitting Cassian pulls him in. Elain’s kissing her sister’s cheeks, clasping Feyre’s hands in her own with a beam on her face. Azriel nods to Amren, while clapping Rhys’s upheld hand and giving his shoulder a thump.

“Long time,” Rhys remarks, craning his neck up at him while Azriel finds a seat. Nesta has pulled Elain into the vacant spot between her and Feyre on the couch, leaving him with the armchair across from Amren.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he clears his throat, meeting Elain’s gaze. “A little busy.”

“What have you two been up to?” Feyre nudges her sister’s side. “I hope it’s not another fountain.”

“Personally I loved the last one,” Cassian interjects, one ankle crossed over a knee as he tilts back in his seat with his hands folded behind his head. “We’re excited for solstice at ours this year because of it. Not to give anything away Feyre, but your birthday is going to be fucking out of this world, if I get to say so.”

“You don’t,” Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not supposed to say anything about her birthday. You’re not meant to even remind her of it.”

“It’s only to raise their hopes up.”

“I can’t have them attending with high expectations only to fall short on the first holiday we decide to host, Cassian.”

“But it—“

“No!”

“I told you,” Azriel loves being the person who pipes in unhelpfully with that particular sentence. It serves people right for not listening to him. “He’s not meant to keep a secret, or be involved in the planning. He’s just not built that way.”

Nesta’s pained face gives him the rush of validation he is addicted to.

No fountains in the making, Elain cuts in before Cassian’s feelings can be wounded and require optimal care that none of them have the state of mind to provide. Although Azriel is working on a secret project he won’t let me see.

Eyes turn to him.

“It’s for your birthday, happy?” he deadpans, and Elain’s eyes light up.

Very much!

“You have too much time on your hands,” Rhys remarks, his chin resting in his palm.

“We can’t all be romantic by throwing money at our mates,” Cassian sighs. Nesta turns to him with a tortured expression that makes Azriel burst out laughing. It is well known that Cassian, to put it kindly, doesn’t know how to gift. He is neck-to-neck with Mor for the title on that, but so far nothing he’s done can rival the absolute atrocities that Morrigan commits in the name of gift-giving. It’s only that Cassian is full of big emotions most of the times, and doesn’t know how to adequately translate them beyond bear-hugs and booming voices, but bless his trying heart he still valiantly tries. Azriel maybe has received three thoughtful gifts from him that have hit the mark in his entire lifetime, and as far as he can assume, Nesta’s only gotten two.  

Azriel doesn’t like to brag—he fucking loves to, but it’s not a good look to do so constantly—but his last gift to Cassian moved the male to tears. A checkbook. Of hugs. That Cassian can cash in from him when he wants to, without question, for as long as he wants. So far he’s used up two, and Azriel’s never seen him be so mindful of a commodity to spend.

“I like the shower of expensive gifts,” Feyre shrugs with a smile. “I’ve grown used to them. Whatever I don’t need, I can give off and it saves me a load of trouble.”

“You regift my gifts?” Rhys’s jaw loosens.

“Ah—no—no?”

“Speaking of, Elain I need to talk to you after this.”

“Hey—Hey!” Rhys shouts, pointing a sharp finger at Nesta. “No-one can ask Elain what to get, remember?”

Nesta’s face scrunches up in a scowl. “Oh fuck off, you sour pus, I wasn’t going to!”

She, one-hundred percent, was about to.

“Elain, you’re oath-bound,” Rhys reminds the Seer.

“I said piss-off!” Nesta yelps. “I was going to ask her about—about lingerie!”

Oh, and she had such great potential as a liar.

“You’re in a room with perverted males,” Feyre huffs. “They’ll only have opinions they’d gladly give you. Try something else.”  

“Fine,” Nesta seethes through clenched bared teeth. “It’s about my cycle. I’m late. Happy?”

Mm-mm.

“No you’re not,” Rhys gives her a smile that cats give their future meals. “You’re due for Middary. And I know that, because I fortified the house in preparation of that siege.”

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart,” Cassian nods. “Middary. Feyre’s—“

“Don’t push it,” Rhys says around his stiff smile. Nesta turns her sharp eyes to Azriel.

“Want to add anything?”

It’s actually Scorch the 1st, they’ve forgotten to calculate the extra day from last time, but that’s not the point.

“I’m not a creep,” he holds up his hands. “Only female’s cycle I’m concerned with is Elain’s and even that I don’t track.”

Elain’s amused eyes twinkle, and her soft liar privately uttered in his mind makes him nearly smile.

“As delightful as this discussion is, I don’t have enough time to waste on you spineless heathens,” Amren regards them all with the disgust of someone who’s discovered a dead rat in their bed.

Oh you’re leaving for Summer today? Elain perks up, her eyes glittering.

Amren nods, tightly.

Do give Varian my regards, please, and extend my apology about not being able to take him up on the invitation.

“I thought you’d drop everything to spend a vacation there,” Rhys muses, glancing at Azriel. “He certainly looks like he needs it.”

“Careful, first meeting I attend could very well be the last.”

“Don’t scare him off,” Feyre waves frantically at her mate.

Elain glances at him. We didn’t have the time.

“With every sentence you utter, I get more anxious to find out what you two have going on,” Feyre folds her fingers together. “You’ve been off the radar for months, what’s going on?”

Cassian gasps. “You’re pregnant.”

Sometimes, just sometimes, Azriel wishes his brother doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve or isn’t comfortable around them enough to blurt whatever crosses his mind before thinking it through. It’s a privilege of being around people who love you unconditionally, to not have to think twice about what you say without consequences, but sometimes Azriel wishes that—he breathes in.

Elain is quick to laugh it off. Oh no. No, I’ve just been preoccupied with Day.

“Heard Lucien plucked the courage,” Rhys directs the conversation quickly. “Helion’s planning an official coronation—we’re invited, by the way.”

And seamless as that, the meeting takes place. They breeze through the conversation, the geopolitical situation, the local politics as they usually do. Azriel’s well aware of it all, because Rhys has instructed the twins to keep reporting to him even though he’s not the spymaster anymore, which must have piqued his brother’s interest that he’s finally here.

“..It keeps attracting creatures,” Rhys tells them, mainly Elain. “The nature of the spell you used, I suspect. Cassian put one in the Prison the other day.”

“Took a chunk of me with it,” the male stretches out his right forearm which had taken a good few months to mend the muscles shredded apart in it and then rehabilitate it to optimal use.  

Elain’s eyes drift to the windows. I suppose I can renew it if there’s a fear of it breaking. Or add more.

“Can it be broken?” Rhys asks curiously.

Elain’s brows furrow. Not by Koschei. It’s the one condition of the spell. The more conditions you place, the more loopholes you provide to be exploited. It’s how I managed to manipulate Vassa’s curse; Koschei used too many.

“But it can be broken by anyone else?”

It’ll need a superior degree of skill and strength, Elain answers frankly. I don’t imagine there’s much, besides it seals Koschei’s effect and location from anyone who looks for him. So I wouldn’t worry.

“But creatures are being attracted to your magic, petal,” Cassian reminds her. “What if one breaks it?”

“Why don’t we save ourselves the headache and just kill him?” Feyre suggests.

“He’s Deathless, darling—“

“Only because he has hidden his Death somewhere, hasn’t he?” She looks around her. “So we find it. Kill him and be done with it.”

“You’re not ready for that power shift,” Amren pipes up, her words sharp despite the soft intonations. “As much of a plight he is on fae, killing him would lead to a fatal unbalance in the world.”

Elain bobs her head in agreement. It’s why I wasn’t pressed at the time to find it.

“But,” Amren adds, leveling her voice. “Keeping him contained is just as dangerous.”

“Why?” Nesta asks.

“Magic contained is a magic unrefined,” Amren answers, taking a generous sip from her goblet. “And unrefined magic is chaos, because it hasn’t been formed. Think of all his powers, locked in a pocket of space that can never contain it. It is not meant to.”

Elain’s eyes drift to him, her wondering words private in his head. You store matter in space, don’t you?

He makes sure nothing on his face changes. He blinks once back at her, and her brows jump a little at the confirmation.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, either, but think of the years we’ve lived in the wake of his capture. Something has felt…strange, hasn’t it?”

Rhys pauses while Feyre’s brows shoot up her forehead. “I was just discussing this with Rhys the other day! Especially around Calanmai and Starfall. Every year is stranger than the one before it.”

Amren focuses on her. “The magic is unbalanced. Of course it would.”

“So you want to convince me that having Koschei running up and about in the world is actually good?” Cassian demands.

“I said no such thing,” Amren snaps. “You worked that out with your pea brain. It’s not a matter of morals—”

“You know what I mean,” Cassian stammers. “I’m supposed to agree that Koschei shouldn’t be locked up?”

It’s a matter of principles, Cassian, Elain patiently explains. Objectively speaking, Koschei is part of the world. Isolating him from it has affected it. But his agenda is the problem.

The Lord of Bloodshed stands up. “Seems you all fucking forgot when he was about to level all of Prythian,” he seethes. “I won’t sit here and listen that somehow stopping him wasn’t the—“

“Sit down,” Nesta murmurs as she reaches for his hand. “That’s not what they’re saying.”

We’re not our powers, Cassian. Elain gently says. Koschei chose to use them for ill. That was against the interest of this world—and ours—so we put a stop to it. But what he has is essential still.

“I think you’re worried we’re on the cusp of suggesting negotiating with him somehow,” Rhys realizes. “It’s not possible. Someone like him cannot be reasoned with.”

“What, then?” Cassian asks.

What then, indeed.

Rhys meets each their eyes, and finally Azriel’s. “We kill him. Hope his powers end in the hands of someone reasonable.”

“Do we have any idea who?” Feyre asks. “Some requirements that would allow us to narrow it down?”

“It’s unpredictable,” Amren says. “And whoever it ends up in might just as well kill them or corrupt them. Sometimes a power of this magnitude feels almost sentient-like.”

Like Elain’s, Azriel muses. By the way her eyes meet his, she seems to note that as well. It had placed them under the assumption that Elain was possessed by Hypatia’s spirit. In a way, Azriel supposes it’s accurate in the metaphorical sense if one takes a different angle to look at it.

“Is it possible to control who it ends up in?”

“No, but we can anticipate it. If it will settle in anyone, it’ll be someone of strong enough mettle for it.”

“I say let’s go for it,” Feyre proposes. “Find Koschei’s Death, while trying to locate whoever it could pass on to. Two birds with one stone. Either-way we’re going to have to kill him.”

She looks around her. “What do you think?”

Amren bobs her head. Rhys voices his agreement.

“Nesta? Cassian?”

His brother breathes in deeply. “No.”

Nesta thinks it over. “I’m in, as far as I can see.”

“Which leaves us with Mor, and you two,” Rhys glances at the remaining members. “I vote on Mor’s behalf, and she wouldn’t go through with this, so No. Elain?”

And Elain--sweet, sweet horrified Elain quietly whispers: No.

A chill settles over the room. Everyone pauses and gapes but she’s not looking at anyone but him.

No, Elain repeats, her eyes shimmering. I vote no.

His face softens, and some part of him might have wept—because he’ll never get used to the way she sees through everything; masks, time, his own self. He should have known, it is practically impossible to fly undetected by her.

He takes in a deep breath, the final vote, eyes drifting to him. “I say do it.”

Elain’s face crumbles.

Rhys warily watches Elain, so does Feyre.

“So, you’ll notify the spies to start hunting?” Amren stands up.

“I’ll do it,” Azriel silences them all. Surprise coats Rhys’s face.

“What is up with you two?” Feyre frowns. “We’ve been trying to get you back to work for ages and now out of the blue you pop up—“

Azriel stands. “I wouldn’t trust this with the spies. I’m your best shot.”

Elain, too, shoots to her feet. Tell them, she demands.

“Tell us what?” Amren sharply notes.

She whirls towards them, and he reaches for her hand—maybe to pause her, maybe to reassure (her or him, he is not sure) or calm her down.

It’s Azriel. We kill Koschei, Azriel takes his place.

(can’t utter farewell)

The night is quiet, long and full of unspoken words.

Elain doesn’t bother closing her eyes or pretending to be asleep. Azriel doesn’t either, keeps staring up at the ceiling while the chilly wind billows into the room like a wave. His chest rises and falls, the sound of his breathing all-too-loud in the quiet amongst the orchestra of elements and leaves outside. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots.

Why? Elain asks.

He breathes in something deeper, exhaling it slowly and shifting his body on the mattress. “It needs to be done.”

No it doesn’t.

“You heard Amren.”

So what if everyone’s powers are a little unbalanced? Who cares?

Azriel folds his arm behind his head. “You don’t mean that.”

Elain inches closer. Why not?

His lashes flutter as he heaves a sigh. “Elain, don’t beat around the bush. You know why.”

I don’t. Why you would risk everything you’ve built, your life as you know it, your own control over yourself for the balance of magic.

“That doesn’t sound reasonable to you?”

Her tone sobers, softens sadly as she reaches for his hand. Why would you risk this?

“And you wouldn’t?”

No, she answers honestly. Fuck the world. They won’t have you, take you from me, for their benefit.

“Everyone’s benefit, Elain.”

I thought you cherished us dearer than anything.

“I do. Why else—“

The rest of the words abruptly halt in his throat, but it’s too late. He lets out a laugh that’s not too amused, but he is always impressed with the way Elain drags answers out of him. She’d have made a brilliant interrogator.  

“Well. There.”

Say it.

He turns on his side, head cushioned on his bent arm, and finds her wide eyes. “For you, all-right?”

Tell me.

“It’s come to my attention that it’s an answer,” he reaches for Elain’s right arm, and smooths his thumb over the grey skin Koschei had marked with his grasp before she contained him. “You mentioned once it feels numb when you practice, didn’t you?”

She nods.

“Whatever Koschei has, it’s what balanced with your powers.”

But the plight on the witches has existed before we locked him.

“He’s been imprisoned for eons, Elain.”

And somehow locking him up for good has escalated the problem?

“It’d explain the load problem you mentioned,” he traces his fingers over her skin. “This gives me confidence, the nothingness formed in the wake of the pair of you combined. It’d give us the abyss you need, and perhaps I could end up balancing the load sufficiently.”

Her eyes flicker between his. The baby.

He nods. “What happened with it makes me almost sure this would work. And Koschei wasn’t after me for nothing. He wanted to pass on. I’m positive it’ll work.”

And if it doesn’t?

“Please don’t think of all the ways it could go wrong,” he whispers. “It’s the one thing keeping me sane.”

But how will you find control? What if—What if it overwhelms you? You nearly went mad when he released you from your runes.

“We’ll just need a new set of runes.”

No! she cries out and truly, it’s the last thing he wants. To be imprisoned within the confines of another set of runes he still hasn’t recovered from, to be once more a vessel or a weapon of immense power, to lose autonomy over his own self and lose trust in his state of mind.

Azriel no. Please don’t.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he says simply. “I don’t mind.”

I do.

“I’ll still be here, you know,” he reassures. “Just, at peace knowing you’re not going to drop dead on me any second.”

I can’t believe you’d do that for me.

“Who else, Elain?” he reaches for her jaw, threads his fingers through her hair. “Who else have I promised mind, body and soul to? The world may not honor our vows, but I’ve taken them as oaths.”

I don’t want you to do that.

“But it’s my job. I’ve vowed to keep you safe. You shouldn’t expect this from anyone but me; I am your husband, afterall.”

Her eyes glisten. He leans in, tracing her features with a scarred finger, and somehow feels like this is heaven on earth, and nothing else.

______

Tags: @tswaney17 @julesherondalex @mis-lil-red @gorl-power @thesirenwashere  @stars-falling @trying-to-read @dreamerforever-5  @hail-doodles @eloeloeheheh @i-am-lost-in-my-world @abraxos-is-toothless  @queen-of-glass @elrielllll @negativenesta @b00kworm @harmonyindark245 @ducksmurf135   @empress-ofbloodshed-writing @sleeping-and-books @thewayshedreamed @agem10 @superspiritfestival @maybekindasortaace @maastrash @courtofjurdan @ireallyshouldsleeprn @gracie-rosee @bookstaninthesoul @elriel4life @fawnandshadows @123moiaussi @impossiblescissorspeachpaper​

#leaning on everlasting arms #part 2 because i have no chill and am on break so enjoy #elriel #elriel fic #Azriel #elain archeron #your voice in autumn #companion

[contentment-of-cats]

Ba'kif: Chronicle of the Ice Bear

For @admiral-arelami by request and with delight. I love me some Ice Bear.

~

When he was Labaki, standing on the cusp of captain and major, he went to Lamiov and had the hardest discussion of his life. He had a new baby daughter, a little blue moonfruit in a fleece cuddler. His wives were many, and his 'Kifies' at oldest were ensigns.

"I do not wish to marry again, or to father children I might have to leave behind." Colonel was next, and unless one fucked up horribly, field rank was after that. "I never want them to see the back of me, and know that I had the choice between family and Ascendancy."

Stybla'ba'kifodo was Blood-Born going nine generations back, honored and honorable, he committed young to the Ascendancy and joined the Marines right out of secondary. Lamiov tried to assure him that whatever happened should he don the white uniform, his wives and babes would be cared for.

Labaki pursed his lips and blinked hard. "But not by me, Patriarch. Not as I promised. If I must break my word to them, let it be with the least pain for them all going forward."

No warm lover next to him in bed, no nest of wives and children sleeping around him safe and warm. No hand on a rounded belly, feeling the life moving within. No sweet-smelling bundle of baby in the crook of his arm, no little one on his knee, no young adult who knew everything rolling eyes at hopelessly old ticsi. No skinned knees, no milestones to celebrate, no star days with cake and delight at toys. Despite his yearning, he would be a piss-poor example of honor and duty if he shirked, but he'd be a father who left if he upheld his duty to the Ascendancy.

Lamiov sighed. "The Universal Analysis Group would take you in a heartbeat. Labaki, it's not all or nothing, nor as binary as you see it."

Lamiov was an optimist, and Labaki loved that about him. However, after rising through the ranks of the army, Labaki had very little optimism left.

"I know my duty, cousin. The Ascendancy needs people in those white uniforms who live their vows, not just give lip service to them."

Lamikav sensed his mood when he came back home, and all his wives gave him a wide berth. He burgled Lataem from her cradle and stole out to the garden with her travel bag. Tae was a 'surprise' baby, the next youngest of his child-herd was starting the sciences junior academy this year, and soon little Tae would be the only one at home. The little moonfruit was fat and round as a baby should be, her deep blue flecked with pink and purple across her cheeks. Her mother, Mir, was a former sky-walker and merit adoptive, and some of her mother's serene demeanor was present in Tae.

Tae made a soft grunting noise and pushed at his chest with an impatient fist once freed from her swaddle.

"I know for a fact you have been fed. You are playing me for a sucker." Unimpressed, his child gave him a look that conveyed an insubordinate 'so what?' and pushed on his chest again. "Fine, fine. You'll make me get up in the middle of the night to burp you when you're so gorged you can't move, then you'll puke all over your Tati."

Labaki took out a nursing pack, broke open the heating element and allowed it to come to the proper temperature.

"I spoke to Cousin Mio. He's trying to convince me to go to the UAG. Part of me wants to, since it means I could stay and watch you grow up." Offering the nursing pack to his daughter, he settled in with her in the crook of his arm. "But that means not standing against things that ought to perish. Patronage, self-dealing, corruption, duplicity. But that doesn't mean anything to you right now. All you want is to be warm, drink milk, and be told you are the most beautiful baby to ever exist."

Her Majesty ignored the flattery and he had to break the latch to slow her down.

"I do not want to leave, but my promotion makes it likely that I will see that white uniform in the next ten to twelve years. You won't be grown by then."

-

Five years later, after the Siege of Bogo Rai, Major Labaki became Colonel Labaki. His family welcomed him home, new honor chains bright on his chest, and a long medical leave to let him heal the rest of the way. His first grandchild, Kiwu'lai'torus, was a fat little moonfruit in a cuddler and Tae was a curly-haired cyclone in the garden, always ready to claim his knee and the only one still of age to do so.

"Baba!"

He could still toss her in the air, only a little unsteady as he caught her on the way down. They could talk over the secure comms, but not see each other. The Chaos disrupted comms signals unexpectedly, and the only true secure method was by using courier ships.

"Some men came to see me after I took some tests at school and a nice lady."

It was unworthy of him not to want his own children to become sky-walkers. He knew that. "What did they want to see you about?"

"I don't know, but I didn't like them. They were all slippery and slimy when they talked. They went away."

Labaki looked at Mir, her lips thin and fists clenched in her robe. "They-?"

Mir shook her head, lashes wet. "They test all children starting at age five up to age seven on entry to primary. It was a decision of the Syndicure and the Admiralty. No exemptions for anyone."

Labaki held Tae close, his heart hammering in his chest. Only command bridge officers and flag rank were supposed to know about sky-walkers, but he had married one. He saw the bodies of two of them carried off the Saber after Bogo Rai.

"But I'm not going." Tae stomped a foot that didn't touch the ground. "The lady said I was too stubborn for induction."

Mir smiled, but it was strained, and Labaki knew the signs of a dazzle headache. He picked up Tae and slung her over one hip, then slid an arm around Mir. "Tae, Mir, come and have a lie-down with me. I'm tired from my trip."

"Will you read to us, Tati?"

"Of course."

It was not until many years later that he understood what 'induction' really meant.

~

The day came.

Ba'kif sent a prayer of thanks to his ancestors that Tae had been accepted to the Academy of Sciences on Sposia and would leave before his ceremony. By now she knew what the white uniform meant. Once he left, his family would mourn as if for his death. Even if he should die in the line of duty, he would have a memorial on Naproar.

"I don't want to go." Tae's arms held to his middle and her tears soaked his shirt. "Can't I stay until it's time for you to go?"

Ba'kif's tears fell on her head. "No, love. I'm sorry. You need to start your life, not cry over mine. When it's time for me to retire, you'll be a grown woman. I hope you'll remember me."

He'd likely end up on Sposia, but not anywhere near the academy. The UAG facilities were the most highly secured in the Ascendancy, much to the irritation of the Syndicure, the Nine, the Forty, and the CEDF.

"I will always remember you. Why do you have to go?"

His heart broke inside his chest. Yai, his oldest, was weeks away from having her first child. His wives would be treated as widows, his children as orphans.

"Because before you or any of your brothers and sisters were born, I made a promise to protect the people of the Ascendancy. When I become a general, after my ceremony, I must protect them all as I would protect you." His voice didn't break, and he could be proud of that. "I hoped that this wouldn't come until you were ready to fly on your own. Please, just remember that I am so proud of you, and love you still so much."

Mir pilots the shuttle that will take Tae and Lamiov to Sposia. When the ramp went down, he bid them farewell, and watched as the ramp went up again, and the shuttle lifted into atmosphere. He said his farewells at the homestead, where the mourning lamps were lit once he left the boundary stones. The Admiralty shuttle waited for him at the CEDF post in the secure section of the spaceport.

~

When he was Supreme General, he got a taste of what it was like to raise young ones again. Only this time the young ones had a Taharim education and were additionally too smart for their own good. He took them aboard his vessel and managed to persuade Ja'fosk to give him a free hand with both Ensign Ziara and Ensign Thrawn. Ziara stuffed Thrawn through a four-year education in three years, and essentially took him everywhere she went like a child with a favored plushie. Wags joked that the boy was the Irizi Blood-Daughter's first command, and that he had a fine future ahead of him as a trophy husband once the Mitth let him go.

After dealing with both of them at the academy, Ba'kif knew that Ziara didn't dare to let Thrawn out of eyeshot. He and Ja'fosk were quick to learn that lesson, and set to making sure that both young officers were crosstrained on every station aboard the Ferocious.

In time both moved on to their own commands, but where Ziara rose high Thrawn stuck at senior captain. Dy'lothe, also known as the Late Admiral Dy'lothe for his habit of getting there when the battle was over, stopped Thrawn's promotion to commodore with Ers'ikaro. Both men openly flaunted their connections with the Syndicure and their allegedly former families - the Clarr and the Dasklo. Both men voted to exile Thrawn, along with Af'arilk, agaainst Ar'alani and Ja'fosk.

Thrawn agreed to the intel insertion from his world of exile, and he'd be picked up in three years. But no humans came to that world for five. Thrawn could rightly believe that he's been abandoned and Ba'kif had broken his word. Indeed, Ar'alani confirmed that for him in a visit to Sposia after his return to being Labaki and elevation to Patriarch.

~

The Syndicure passed down the sentence.

Ar'alani, Ba'kif, and Thrawn would be executed at dawn. Their heads would fall under the sword. The Syndicure under Thurfian and the Admiralty under Dy'lothe had been unanimous. Now they could only wait in their cells as the hours ticked toward dawn. Ba'kif sent farewells to his family that he hoped they'd received. It was unheard of to depose a sitting Patriarch, Indeed, it was tantamount to a declaration of war, but he'd named Tae as his successor and Thurfian would kiss Dhav'uul dealing with her.

The ground shook hard and Ba'kif frowned.

That was not an icequake.

He could hear nothing from his cell, but some hours later the ground shook twice more in quick succession and the lights went out. The north glacier reservoir had been shored up ten years ago to handle excess melt. If it had breached, he wouldn't have to worry about losing his head or even drowning - the water was so cold he'd die of shock.

The door to his cell handcranked open, and a squad of guards gestured him out. One moved to put shackles on him only to be shoved back by the sergeant. He moved slowly - the questioning had been hard on him at the age he was now. He could see two more squads ahead of them, Thrawn on a stretcher and Ar'alani in a four-hand carry. Thrawn opened his eyes, smiled, and closed them again.Ba'kif vowed to peel the skin from Thurfian, Dy'lothe, and all their little brown-nosers, then roll them in salt and stake them alive over ice-roach nests.

They exited the Mitth compound into a dark so thick that Ba'kif could have spread it on toast. If memory served, they were heading toward the commercial spaceport and customs instead of the Admiralty or government center port. He was with Ar'alani and Thrawn in one transport. The guards answered no questions, only drove, through they passed over a medikit when Ba'kif asked for one. Ar'alani and Thrawn were in rough shape.

The headlights of the vehicle picked out something that made him blink.

"That's a Gozanti."

"It's one of theirs," the driver spat. "They interdicted the whole system along with the Stybla fleet. She didn't bother to open communications, but cratered the Syndicure as soon as she was in orbit. Then she did the same to the Admiralty and the Mitth reservoir - drained the whole thing into the agriculture caverns."

Thrawn was smiling and Ar'alani rolling her eyes. "Thrawn. She didn't even open negotiations first."

"You don't even know it was her, Ara."

"Shoot first and ask later. I know who it is."

"Captain Little Dragon of the Chimaera." Pyron'di. "And Commodore Old Lion." Pel'laeon.

Ba'kif shut his eyes and breathed out a long sigh of relief. "I shouldn't have worried, Thrawn. I knew they'd come boiling out after you like a nest of firewasps."

They stopped near the boarding ramp, but Ba'kif was almost bowled off his feet by Tae.

Who yelled at him. Shook him. Cried and hugged him. Yelled at him again. "Sesi's so mad at you!"

Medical crews surrounded each of them as the Gozanti lifted off, escorted by a dozen TIE-D fighters for the quick flight to the Chimaera. Ba'kif didn't fight being laid down in the medsled. He was old, tired, and hoped meanly that the Syndicure had been in session when Pyrondi cratered it.

Once they locked onto the Chimaera's docking ring, the captain came to see them. "We'll be taking the prisoners off first."

"Prisoners?" Thrawn lifted his head and Ar'alani pushed it back down to the pillow.

"Mm. The Nine have been deposed. Thurfian, Zistalmu, the Clarr, Dasklo, and Obbic patriarchs, speakers, and syndics prime have been turned over to-" Tae coughed and looked amused. "Old Lion and Little Dragon." He might have some explaining to do concerning Il'yana, but Ba'kif wasn't too worried. "Tati, the UAG is foaming at the mouth to get hands on those ships not to mention that bac'tah..."

Ba'kif closed his eyes, pain medications easing his injuries, the medics already starting work.

#5 for 5000 #admiral-arelami #ba'kif #thrawn #ar'alani

[longeyelashedtragedy]

For the ask game: 3, 19, 29, 30?

3. i am most proud of "visited upon the sons." i think the quality of all my writing was questionable this year, but this fic did exactly what i wanted it to do, and it was so fun to write, once i got in the headspace, that i still miss it. it was also fun getting to write a whole "making of" post about it.

wait guys i hit post too soon LOL watch this space

19. let's see, i already said pepling and frank+daddy A...i would like to write the gross jamie x franko x christine threesome, i won't lie! i'd also love to explore more of Frank Sr's motivations for how he feels about harry 👀

29. i can't choose favorites of anything! i do love:

-But here he is kissing Rob in Rob’s car with the steering wheel on the wrong side and it doesn’t feel anything but right.  from "the prerogative to have a little fun"

-You will remember Granit Xhaka’s last night in this office, on this desk, glowing like something more than human, as much as he’d insist he was no more than a man.  Glowing like an angel—the kinds from the Bible, the ones so beautiful and terrible, the kinds whom God trusts to convey His messages.

You’d always thought of Granit as your beautiful beast, but in the end you were wrong.  You met him as a beast.  He left you as an angel.

Only a supernatural force could move on from this, and you, Mikel Arteta, with the name everyone but Granit mispronounces, are exceptional, but you are human too.  You had an angel in your office, and now there’s a darkness around the edges of the room that the overhead lights can’t dream of illuminating. from "how to stay there"

and of course--everyone knows i'll say this!!--

-

And now he’s alone.  Or is he? 

There’s a ghost somewhere in the ripped pieces on the floor, and there’s a ghost in bed with Mason.

And the ghost has a name—he’s never known before, and he’s wondered for decades now. It has the same name as the one on the Wall of Fame at Stamford Bridge.  It has the same name as the one there, ripped and thrown to the bedroom floor.  It has the same name as Dad, as it happens.  And it’s here, thinking his thoughts.  Holding his Mason tight like it loves him. from "visited upon the sons"

but also from there i like--well i like the whole fic but i also enjoy--

Mason saying “I love you, daddy,” like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

He thinks of the West Ham jersey crumpled in the bedroom.  God, why?  Why has he kept it?  Why does he talk about the bad times out in public, so openly it seems to go against some kind of survival instinct? 

Dad’s never mentioned it.  Never said son we should talk about all that. Never even said why the fuck do you bring that old shit up?  Crying for some cake again Frankie, ain't you?  Never, nothing, like he’d never told the stories, like he’d opened his mouth and no sound had come out.

He gropes behind him with the hand that’s not down the back of Mason’s joggers, finds the neck of the rosé bottle.  There’s still some left. He drinks right out of the bottle. 

“Don’t get drunk, daddy,” Mason giggles.  “You’re my manager.”

Mason, Mason, Mason.  Don’t get drunk, daddy.  You’re his manager.  Even though Jamie got drunk, Jamie and Dad and Uncle Harry and—Jamie and—

He presses his forehead to Mason’s and then kisses him and tastes his moans, sweet like wine against his lips.

30. the biggest surprise while writing actually came from writing "visited upon the sons!" i don't really follow many gender or sexuality expectations but also sort of don't advertise this in the real world--i just live my life--and i came away from writing this realizing how much i truly hate and not just hate--resent!--heteronormative societal expectations being put on me. in most of 2023 i was putting in the hard work trying to feel comfortable around "normal" people and a lot of this involved me being a part of conversations with very very typical "cishet" opinions like 'can men and women truly be FRIENDS' and 'i hate waxing and it's expensive but i gotta do it for my boyfriend!' all of which left me very "bitch, you live like this?" i realized when writing frank's memories that the extent to which he is so tired of Lads always bringing up The Ladies is very much a reflection of something i felt strongly about that i didn't even realize. and genuinely, i think realizing this helped me feel so much more comfortable in my own skin? so thank you, Fucked Up Franko <3 viva la lampardverse!

#protect-daniel-james #answered #ao3 wrapped #!! #it's the LIKE it loves him #oh i love that so much!

[elwenyere]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Thank you Chel and @adiduck for the asks!!! I am going to do this in the order that I wrote the fics, because my secret favorite children often earned that status for very different reasons (some of them by being little pests, honestly XD).

Three Little Words (MCU, Stony, M, 11.k)

“First of all,” Tony said, “and I need everyone to hear this on multiple levels: how dare you?”

-------

In the branching timeline, Thor has to restart Tony's heart, and Steve hears that Bucky is alive. Some things go differently, and some things stay the same. For starters, Steve and Tony are still terrible at saying those three little words.

This was a very early fic for me, and the first one I wrote where I really felt like I could hear the characters - like they were starting to boss me around. It also has one of my favorites of my many melodramatic finishes.

Longing (MCU, Sambucky, M, 11.8k)

"Hours later, when everything was well and truly fucked, Bucky would recognize the exact moment when he should have benched himself. It had happened in the dazed split-second between Sam flashing him a smile as he swan-dived out of the plane and Bucky almost leaping right after him, his parachute lying forgotten on the floor."

-------

Or, when Sam gets caught in a memory machine, Bucky goes in after him.

This fic ate my soul. I don't think I have eve gotten quite so deeply consumed in the process of writing a fic, and I feel happy to have gotten pretty close to the very hard thing I wanted to try to achieve.

Citation Needed (MCU, Stony, M, 30.5k) cowritten with @festiveferret

Historian Tony Stark has one year to get his book about WWII weapons technology under contract before he goes up for Full Professor at Stanley College. There's only one chapter left to finish, which is supposed to explain Peggy Carter's involvement with something called "Project Rebirth," but there are two problems: his trail of evidence goes cold every time he encounters references to an enigmatic soldier named Steven Rogers, and his stress levels shoot through the roof every time he runs into the endlessly frustrating new hire in Fine Arts, Dr. Grant.

This is the most extensively world-buildy AU I've ever written (including hilarious lines from Ferret and jokes from me that are punishingly niche...), and I also just had an absolute blast co-writing it: maybe the most fun I've had writing.

Good Soldiers (Star Wars, Codywan, M, 7.2k)

“Have I ever commended you on the vast array of sentiments you manage to convey with your ‘sirs’?” Obi-Wan asked wryly. “Someday I will persuade you to drop the appearance of formality - at least when you’re telling me I’m full of shit.”

“You’re welcome to keep believing that, sir,” Cody allowed. “Everyone needs something to look forward to.”

The rest of Obi-Wan’s smile faded, his expression growing thoughtful.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I suppose they do.”

-----

Or, 5 Times Cody and Obi-Wan Followed Orders + 1 Time They Followed Each Other

My first Codywan fic and probably the fic that sits most wonderfully at the intersection of "I wrote this because its demon spirit possessed me" and "I had fun writing this." XD I started watching TCW, read some spectacular fic, and then speed-ran through this in fit of intense self-indulgence.

Recollection (Star Wars, Codywan, E, WIP 17.4k)

CC-2224 had been compromised.

That had been the assessment delivered by Lieutenant Piett, the Imperial officer who met the returning Purge Troopers in the landing bay, and CC-2224 had accepted the new parameters and applied them to his current situation. He had been compromised in the field, and that was why his heart rate was tachycardic, his vision was blurred, and he was currently being dragged down the hall by the armpits, his wrists cuffed behind his back so that every step wrenched against his shoulders.

------

Or, Eternal Sunshine of the Reconditioned Mind

It's often the case that my current fic is one of my favorite fics, but I think this karker will likely stay on the list, both because I have been really grabbed (throttled, frankly) by the premise and because I am trying so many things that scare the shit out of me (including my first smut scene...those other "Ms" are totally unearned, y'all, and when I post the final chapter of this I may expire due the mortifying ordeal of being perceived).

Thank you again to Chel and Adi for the asks!!!

#writer asks #ask meme #my fics #thank you chel!!! #thank you adi!!!

[pigcatapult]

A kind person whose social justice vocabulary is outdated or inadequate for the concepts they’re trying to communicate is a better person than anyone who’d rip them down as a bigot for not keeping up with the euphemism treadmill. Morality is measured by how you treat people, not how well you’ve memorized a continuously evolving set of shibboleths.

#social justice #big shoutout to grandpas in YouTube tutorial videos pointing out the historical sexism in their hobby #and trying very hard to convey that it's fucked up and should be left behind #but that it's also important to be aware of that history and its impact #without knowing any activist jargon whatsoever

[todoshotoroki]

𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉, 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎

Warnings: smut, cockwarming, edging, smudge of angst, mentions of Bakugou, f reader x jealous Todoroki.〤 Minors DNI Word count: 2.4k

   It wasn't fair. This wasn't at all fair, and it wasn't your fault either. At least you didn't think you did anything wrong. You didn't expect for your usually soft-spoken, gentle boyfriend to be so upset with you the second you walked into your dorm. He was unusually quiet, more so than normal. When you had sat down next to him on the bed, you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder with a concerned frown. “Sho? Are you alright?” His eyes were covered from his bangs, the hand you placed on his shoulder coming up to gently scoop them out of his eyes, only then did he look up at you.

   “No. Not really” He admitted coldly, his eyebrows furrowing as his hand found its place on your calf, his warm fingers slowly trailing down to grip your ankle. To be honest, you should have seen it coming when he yanked your leg, pulling you over into his lap. To say the sudden position flustered you was a bit of an understatement, but you were still concerned about your boyfriends sour expression. And you had yet to get an explanation. “What's wrong? Tell me?”

   You squirmed to get more comfortable in his lap, your hands now settled on his shoulders. Shoto sighed, as if in disappointment, and his own fingers curled around your waist, gently but firmly grasping your hips. “How do you not know, darling?” His voice was quiet, but stern as one hot, one cold hand slowly drifted downwards, slipping under your skirt and tracing the line of your lace panties.

   As much as you tried to focus on what you could have done to emit such a reaction from your boyfriend, it was clear to you now that his intentions were not so innocent. “After all, it’s all your fault.” He admitted, though his eyes weren't looking at you as he leaned up against the pillows on the bed. He was watching as his hand drifted to the front of your skirt, flipping it up over your hips. A small, content sigh fell past his lips and his eyebrows furrowed as he got a good look at the cute lace adorning your skin. You were just so pretty.

   “Let me” His whispered, his fingers already curling to pull your panties to the side. Todoroki couldn't help but bite the inside of his cheek to conceal the groan bubbling in his chest at the sight of your bare cunt leaving a wet spot on his sweatpants.

   You let out a shaky breath, gripping his shoulders tighter as the hands on your hips began to rock your waist against his. You released a quiet moan as you felt the pressure of his hard cock through his pants, leaning forward, you rested your chin against his shoulder. “What did I do? Sho-” His name leaving your mouth ended in a moan as you ground your hips into his, desperately seeking more friction. 

   Too bad his hands tightened around your waist to pause your movements, as if you had suddenly reminded him of how angry he was supposed to be at you.

   “I should punish you” He responded, completely ignoring your question. You almost weren't sure if he had heard you correctly, but the fingernails digging into your waist said otherwise. Well, you definitely heard him, and his uncharacteristically demanding tone set every part of your body ablaze.  Before you were given the time to respond, he flipped you around in his lap, cherishing the small ‘oomph-’ that left your lips in the process. 

   “P-punish me?”

   Luckily, now that you were not facing him, he could give the faintest hint of a smile behind his smirking.

   “Don't be afraid honey, I could never be mean to you” Although his tone was laced with kindness and warmth, underlying his voice was a condescending double standard, one that sent a shiver up your spine as he pulled your back flush against his chest. “Up” His hot breath fanned across the back of your neck, making the rest of your body rise with goosebumps.

   You lifted your hips, and he tauntingly pulled your panties down your legs, teasingly tracing them across your skin to bring them back up. “Good girl” You could hear the smile in his voice as he purred, making your cheeks redder then they already were. He set his hands back down on your hips. “Oh. though, you haven't been very good today I suppose” 

   You squirmed in his lap, frowning at the reminder that there's something you did to deserve this. Even more now, did you want to find out. You had never seen Shoto like this before, so teasing. He was always such a giver when it came to sexual activities. “I’m sorry Sho, whatever I did I'm sorry” Your voice was already running out of breath. How pathetic.

   “Oh? And what exactly did you do, Y/n? Do you even know?” As you shifted your hips once more, Todoroki's hand slipped between the two of you, his fingers tightly gripping his sweatpants and boxers and pulling them down enough for his hard cock to slap between your plush thighs. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his naked skin against your own, even if both of you were still technically still clothed. “I don't.. Please, tell me” You asked quietly.

   Todoroki hummed, his fingers unbuttoning the shirt of your school uniform expertly as he pondered his response. “No. Figure it out yourself” He demanded, pulling your shirt down your sides and tossing it across the room. You frowned, biting your tongue as your face creased thoughtfully, distractedly. 

   You could barely even remember what you did today, with how his warm hand inched closer to your clit like that. 

   “This isn’t fair” You protested, gripping onto the arm he had circled around your waist to keep your backside flush with his chest. You leaned your head onto his shoulder, getting the perfect view of his jawline. “I think it's fair” He responded, his fingers reaching between the two of you, gripping onto his cock to align the tip with your clit. 

   You could feel the tip of Shoto’s hard cock pulsing against your clit, and the way you instinctively ground your hips against his made the rest of his cock wet with your juices. Your boyfriend could act tough all he wanted, but the way his eyes were fixated on the sight between you and the small gasp that left his lips were telltale signs of how much he was truly enjoying his time teasing you. 

   Apparently you had been caught staring, because you were met with heterochromia eyes and flushed cheeks looking right back at you. The teasing smile that graced his lips made you want to get on your knees thank whatever god put you in this position. “Enjoying yourself?” He whispered, tilting his head forward to press his lips against yours, pulling away just enough to give you room to respond. “Yes” You admitted quietly, pressing your lips to his.

   His lips were so soft, and his tongue grazed your bottom lip. As soon as you opened your mouth to give him entry, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours with a suddenly serious, stern, cold glare. “You shouldn't be” The arm he tightened around your waist lifted your hips, suddenly aligning his cock and swiftly piercing himself into you. Both of you let out a gasp of ecstasy, Todoroki’s hands tightening on your hips. 

   “A-Ah, Sho- Shoto- ohh” Your eyelids fluttered shut, and your nails dug into the milky skin of his thighs beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself. Only he could make you feel so lightheaded and cloudy so quickly. His hot panting on the back of your neck caused a ripple to shudder through your body, your back slightly arching off his chest. He was quick to ground you, pulling you back against him before you could move. “No, stay, baby” He demanded softly against the crook of your neck. 

   Your insides felt like something Shoto Todoroki would never be able to experience with anybody but you. Nobody could light a flame inside his stomach like you did, you provided a warmth that he never had growing up, and one he would never find with his friends, despite how he appreciated them. They still weren't you. 

   “M-move Shoto, please” You quiet begs were met with nothing but silence. You pressed your back further into his chest, tilting your head to nuzzle at his jawline. Delicately placing kisses wherever you see fit. Todoroki had his eyes closed, but the labored breaths and the redness of his cheeks were enough to convey his emotions. “Please, please, fuck me already Sho”

   Finally, he provided a response. “Fucking is a reward, and you haven't been good” 

   You fucked up. Whatever you did, it was a fuck up.

   You could do no harm in Shoto Todoroki’s eyes, your classmates claimed you could run away with the league of villains and he would still be waiting on his knees for you to come back with open arms. 

   But he had never used this as a punishment, nor had fucking ever been a reward before. He was always soft when making love with you. 

   Your kisses slowly ceased, releasing shaky, uneven breaths against the underside of his jaw. That, mixed with the warmness of being nestled deep inside of your cunt, was almost enough for him to cum if he basked in it long enough. Though, he knew he’d be able to hold off. After all, he still couldn't get the picture of you with him out of his goddamn head. 

   “T-Todo, but I want you to..” Your words trailed off with a needy whine as your lover placed warm kisses along your cheek, then one more on your lips.

   “Tell me what you did wrong, then you can apologize for it” 

   Fuck. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of something to jog your memory. Then, your eyes landed on the orange notebook sitting on your desk. 

   Bakugou. He was jealous of your study session with Katsuki Bakugou. 

   “You.. mean, Bakugou-”

   “Bakugou?” Todoroki’s voice was laced with stone cold venom. His fingernails creased crescent shaped marks into your skin, causing you to grit your teeth and look up at him with wide eyes. “Don't you mean your precious friend Kacchan?” He practically growled in your ear, and you could feel the heat of his left hand rising as it pressed into your hip, your body freezing cold on the other side from his tight grip. 

   Oh. You DID call Bakugou by his childhood nickname. 

   You opened your mouth to reply and explain yourself, tell him that you did that to mock the nickname, but your voice was at a loss and suddenly failing you. You didn't need to speak though, because Shoto quickly filled the quietness by growling into your ear once more. “Your lucky I don't bend you over the bed and really punish you, since you want to be such a brat” 

   He meant it, you could hear it in the coldness of his voice.

   He leaned back, shoving you to sit upright in his lap and lying down on his back against the plush comforter. His hands gripped the base of your hips, and you leaned forward, gripping Todoroki’s pale, soft thighs for support. “Don't you have anything to say? Don't you want to apologize to me?” 

   His words fell on deaf ears as he finally, finally fucking rolled his hips into yours with a long, meaningful thrust. “Oh-oh fuck- just like that Sho” You leaned your head back, giving into a beautiful arch as Todoroki groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him.

   “Oh? Mmph- You mean like this?”

   He gave another hard, sensual thrust that kissed your cervix, making your legs feel like jello on each side of his hips. It was magical, the way his cock brushed against the walls of your insides with each savored stroke.

   “Turn around baby, look at me”  You scrambled to do as you were told, to make sure you were good for him. You adjusted yourself in his lap, sinking back down onto his cock as he propped both his knees up behind you for leverage. He had unbuttoned his shirt at some point, giving you access to his toned chest underneath your fingertips.

   Slowly, you began to grind your hips into his, relishing in the surprised facial expression that flew across his face at the sudden movement. “Shoo, I want you, so bad” Your eyes were watery as you pleaded with him, your desperate cunt needily sucking his cock into your plush walls. Though his tightening hold refrained anymore of your movements.

   “Say it Y/n” His tone was desperate, and his eyes were quick to portray how much he actually needed your reassurance. “Tell me your sorry. That he can't love you like I do” His eyes were half-lidded, glossy as they stared up at you. 

   Your heart sliced in half at making Todoroki feel even comparable to your explosive classmate, and you leaned forward to hover over him. As if it was instinct, his hands rested along the curve of your ass, one reaching down to brush his fingertips across your clit, ghosting over the spot where his cock was currently impaling you. “Never, never Sho, he’ll never even be able to compete, I swear.” You admitted, peppering needy kisses along his jawline. 

   “I'm sorry Shoto, I'm so sorry I made you feel that way baby” You could tell he was soaking up every word, his eyes fluttering open to look up at you every time you finished your sentence, watching you in hopes that you'd only speak more. “I love you so much, so much Sho” You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes glimmering as your lips ghosted over his. “Please forgive me Shoto, he can’t love me, can’t fuck me like you can, just please”

   “Yeah, he can't” Hearing you beg for his forgiveness must have been his breaking point, because his hips lifted up off the bed just enough to move himself inside of you, a small moan falling past his swollen lips. “I love you baby” He responded, his arms coming up to circle around your waist, in the process giving him the best angle to pull his cock out, only to thrust it back into your hot mess.

   Just when you thought your night had finally begun, Todoroki had to pause just one more time, and whisper one more dirty little command in your ear.

   “Oh, and I may be fucking you now” His words were slightly muffled as his teeth nibbled along your bottom lip.    

 “But don't you dare think about cumming tonight”   

𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒:  “𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹”

𝑂𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ♡

© all copy rights reserved, do not claim, copy, or repost

#todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shōto #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki smut #sub shoto todoroki #shoto fluff #shoto torodoki #bnha shoto #todoroki x you #mha todoroki #todoroki fluff #todoroki x reader smut #todoroki smut #smut #sho #shoto #shototodoroki #shoto todoroki #fanfic #fanfiction #todoroki fanfic #todoroki fanfiction #shoto todoroki fanfic #shoto todoroki fanfiction

[wonderfilworld]

Ardor

Remus Lupin x fem reader 

a/n: this is for a request: “Could you do a Remus lupin x reader with a decent age gap with a light, embarrassed daddy or sir kink and thigh riding?” I didn’t really specify a decent age gap or anything, just that Remus is older than you but you’re out of Hogwarts and in The Order together!

word count: 2k

warnings/contains: NSFW!! smut: daddy kink, thigh riding; cursing; kissing. if there’s anything else let me know!

Masterlist   To be added to my taglist

You thumbed through the book in your hands, trying to calm your mind as it was late and you needed to get some sleep. The day was a long one; The Order meeting had run into the early morning hours.

The kids had returned to school, and you were missing the constant chatter that went on in Sirius’ home. You were thankful he allowed you to stay with him; especially with everything going on, you didn’t feel like being alone in your tiny apartment, and you know Sirius appreciates the extra company. Remus also stays within these walls - right down the hall, actually - and the thought of the brunette makes you groan as you throw an arm over your eyes. 

Remus was just a little bit older than you, but he was so handsome, how could you not be infatuated with him? You saw how he looked at you, how he would eye you almost hungrily some days, and it frustrates you that he’s never acted on it.

You sit up; you’re not falling asleep anytime soon, so you decide to tidy your room a bit to help you tire. Clothes are thrown haphazardly on your desk, so you pick them up one by one and store them in their rightful places. 

You hear a soft knock at your door, and you don’t think twice before you quietly call out a come in. You don’t remember that the only articles of clothing you’re wearing are a t-shirt that slides down one shoulder and a pair of panties being covered by the hem of your shirt. 

“Hey, I -” Only when you hear Remus’ sentence stop prematurely do you remember your attire. Your eyes widen and your back is to him, and you don’t know if it’s better to be facing him or not. 

You make up your mind quickly though, as you turn around, hands still clutching one of your sweaters you were in the middle of putting away. 

“R-Remus,” you stutter, eyes still wide as you realize that he hasn’t looked away; hasn’t backed himself out of your room even after taking in your half-naked body.

He seems to snap out of his trance then, shaking his head profusely as he speaks. “Sorry, I just heard you up and wanted to check on you.”

You nod once before speaking, “I’m okay, just not tired.”

He hums, fumbling a book in his large hands, one you’re sure he was in the middle of reading when he heard your footsteps across your room. 

He’s still in his day clothes; worn jeans and a button-up shirt that’s rolled up his sleeves. You want to make a move - it’s the perfect time - he’s looking along the expanse of your body and you can feel heat creeping its way up your neck and face. You shift back and forth on your feet as you pick at the sweater in your arms. 

Remus must mistake your nervousness for uncomfortableness because he quickly rushes out, “I’m sorry, I’ll just go.” 

“No!” You say, and you internally cringe at how desperate you sound. “No, no, it’s fine.” 

Remus gives another nod of understanding and says, “You wanna talk?”

You signal your head yes, pulling out your desk chair and indicating for him to sit. 

He turns to shut your door, and you try to calm yourself, trying to convey to your body he’s only doing that so your conversation doesn’t wake Sirius. He makes his way to the chair and sits, placing the novel he brought on top of your desk. 

Your back is against your desk so you place your hands there and lift your body until you’re perched on the edge, the hem of your shirt riding dangerously high on your thighs. Under normal circumstances, you would be more modest, but right now you couldn’t think straight and with the way Remus is eyeing the newly exposed skin, you can’t be bothered to care. 

With newfound confidence, you decide to lean back, placing your hands behind you to prop yourself up. The movement causes the shirt to completely uncover your panties, and you’re thanking past you for wearing decent ones. Your shirt is fairly thin, and you’re acutely aware of your nipples rubbing against the fabric. You know that if Remus were to look he could see them through the cotton, but his eyes are trained on another piece of cotton covering a far more intimate part of you. 

You see him gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes find yours. You keep your face neutral; chest heaving as you look at him. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks, and you want to scoff - you know what I’m doing, Remus - is what you want to say, but instead, you paint a look of confusion over your features as you reply.

“What d’you mean?” 

He lets out an actual scoff at that, edges of his lips curling into a smirk. “If you want something, just ask.” 

You deflate at that, you don’t know exactly what to ask for. Well, you do, but there’s no way you could get your mouth to articulate the words. 

Remus’ hand finds your ankle, and his thumb runs along the outside of it as he waits for your answer. His touch makes goosebumps rise along your skin, and if he can make you feel dizzy just by rubbing your ankle, what the hell are you going to do when he gives you what you want?

You move the leg he has a hold of further out as you spread your legs and give him a view of where you really want him to put his hands.

Remus sucks in a breath, your legs are open - for him - and it’s probably one of the prettiest sights he’s ever seen. 

“I want this,” is all you say, and it’s quiet after that; you can hear your breaths mingling as Remus decides what to do next. 

He contemplates his answer; he’s captivated by you and knows you possess similar feelings towards him, but he’s been hesitant to act on it. He doesn’t want to subject you to his monthly routines, doesn’t want you to feel as though you should be his caretaker. No, you deserve someone your own speed, someone you wouldn’t have to worry about every full moon, someone who can take care of you, not the other way around. 

You get tired of waiting for his response, it’s obvious you both want this - he would have left by now if he didn’t. So, you reach down for his hand that still has a firm grasp on your ankle and you bring it up between your legs, placing it directly on your clothed cunt as you lift your hips up into it. The breathtaking friction catches you by surprise, a moan hitching in your throat as your hips thrust against his open palm once more. 

Also catching you by surprise is the groan that Remus lets out, the sight of you taking matters into your own hands and using him for your own pleasure makes him hot, makes his mouth water and his pants tighten. He can feel the way your clit pulses against his palm as he presses against it, feels the way the hardened nub drags up his fingers as you buck your hips again. 

“Fuck,” he whines - whines - as your hips continue to pull up and down his hand. He doesn’t know what he wants to do first, wants to pull your panties aside and see the slick drip out of your center, wants to lean forward and put his tongue there, tasting you and licking up to suck on your clit because he just knows it would drive you crazy. Your breathy moans are loud in the quiet of the room but he doesn’t care, he wants to hear more of them. 

He pulls his hand away, and you mewl at the loss of contact. Remus can see the wet spot on your panties, can feel it on his hand where it soaked through the fabric. 

“Come sit,” he says, patting his thighs. 

You waste no time hopping off the desk and straddling his thighs. You rest your hands on his shoulders, and his make a home on your hips. 

He continues your rutting against him; watches your face as you discover how hard your previous actions made him. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, your mouth ajar as pants leave your lips every time you feel Remus’ cock slide against your cunt. You grind down harder, chasing the feeling that’s building in your core. 

You feel one of Remus’ hands slide up your back and onto your neck, and you lunge forward as you feel him push your lips toward his. It’s a messy kiss, not very coordinated at all - it’s hard to focus when he starts to move with you, matching your thrusts eagerly. 

Remus rests his forehead against yours as he speaks again. “Can you do somethin’ for me, baby?” 

You bob your head before he even finishes the question, of course, you’d do anything for him. 

“Can you call me daddy, sweetheart?” 

Your hips stutter; it’s not something you ever would have done otherwise, something you’ve never really thought of before, and you whimper as you give a hesitant nod of your head. 

Remus senses your hesitation, stops the grinding of your hips as he talks. “Here,” he begins, lifting your hips up and shifting you so that you’re now straddling one of his thighs. “Rub on this,” he tells you, and when he bounces his legs your mouth drops and you gasp loudly as his hard thigh makes contact with your aching clit. 

“Think you could cum from this?” His question is a whisper in your ear as you rest your head on his shoulder, hips picking up speed as you ride his thigh. 

Your hesitation to obey his request goes out the window - the way the fabric of your panties is catching your clit, his muscular thigh tensing with the exertion of moving your body against him, feels better than anything you could do to yourself.

“Yes, daddy,” you sob. “Feels so good.” 

He groans, cock twitching at the name falling from your lips. It sounds so sinful coming from someone as innocent as you, and Remus thinks that he could definitely cum from this. 

“Yeah? Doing so good.” He plants a kiss in your hair, you barely feel it, the only sensation you can feel is the drag of your cunt against him. Your hips are moving so fast now, you’re so close and Remus can tell; your moans have grown louder and you’re dragging your cunt against the fabric of his thigh so violently the chair he’s sitting in is starting to rock with your bodies. 

“I think I- oh, daddy,” your clit is throbbing, core quivering around nothing as you roll your hips against Remus’ thigh; It’s beginning to feel overwhelming, and your legs are burning with exhaustion. “I can’t,” you sob.

Remus shushes you, plants a firm kiss to your head before his grip on your hips tightens and he pulls and pushes you against him hard and fast, and you cry out again. “Let it go, baby. Cum for daddy.”

And you do, the feeling in your core exploding and washing over you, simulating actual waves that roll from your cunt and travel throughout all your limbs.

“Daddy,” you mewl, body writhing as you ride out your high. 

“I know, I know,” Remus coos, one hand moving up to cup the back of your head, the other drawing pretty patterns on your back as you sluggishly continue to drag your hips over his thigh, basking in the remnants of the orgasm that still lingers in your core. 

And when your hips stop, he plants kisses along any skin he can find until you lift your head and place your lips on his. 

You kiss him deeply, and you both moan at the feeling because something’s changed between the two of you, the atmosphere doesn’t feel the same as before. You almost pull back and ask what happens next, because there is no way the two of you can go back to normal after that. 

However, just then, once you’re finally still and your mind isn’t flooded with arousal as it was before, can you feel the hard length of Remus’ cock nudging your thigh. 

You lean your head back, still close enough to feel his lips brush against yours, and your hand travels to his cock and squeezes it as you speak.

“Need some help with that?”

taglist: @hufflepuffsfordraco​ @juulico @crazypantlady  (if your username is marked out check your privacy settings!) 

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#remus lupin #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin one shot #Harry Potter #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #marauders #marauders smut #marauders era fic #marauders imagine #harry potter fanfiction #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fic #remus lupin aesthetic #remus lupin imagines #marauders imagines

[221bshrlocked]

As Sweet As Honey, As Tempting As Death

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Fem!Reader

Words: 18524 (holy fuck this really got out of hand)

Warning: Angst to Smut to Angst to Sort of Fluff. Biblical verses that may or may not be used in a blasphemous context. Incorrect use of a rosary. Dub/Non-con elements due to sex pollen so proceed with caution but just know that both characters have been pining after each other and that the issue is resolved in the end. Some form of voyeurism. Penetrative, Unprotected Sex. Dirty/Sweet Talk. Spanking. Hair-Pulling. Oral (female and male receiving). Creampie. Slight Choking Kink. Fluid Exchange Kink because Tovar is filthy. Overstimulation. Squirting.

Summary: During the two years with William’s company, Tovar has been nothing but hostile towards you, constantly remarking about your religious lifestyle and how ‘unskilled’ you are during battle. But when you get hurt trying to save him, Tovar reevaluates his antagonistic behavior towards you and shows you some kindness. Thoughts of him apologizing are set aside, however, when he finally accepts that he will never have a chance with you upon hearing your prayers. Things take a turn for the worse when he realizes that the knife you were stabbed with was laced with an aphrodisiac and that there is a chance you might die if it isn’t worked out of your system properly. Does he ignore your cries for him and potentially leave you to your death or does he aid you and live with the knowledge that you will hate him forever once you come to your senses?

A/N: This is born out of some sick part of me that finds it really hot and intense when one character is sexually frustrated and horny but is bound by their religious beliefs. I would say I don’t know what about this really specific “trope” that gets me going but I would be lying. I’m straight up projecting my own thoughts on this fic and I do apologize if this offends anyone’s beliefs. Hell, it offends my own beliefs but- like, there is no going back. Please let me know how I am doing in the comments. Thank you and enjoy. This is not beta’d and I apologize for any mistakes you find. I just really wanted to post this fic so I’ll go back in later to correct them.

With each passing day, the roughness became a little hurtful, a little more unbearable. But with each insult and passing grumble, you had to remind yourself that life wasn’t fair to everyone, and certainly not to him. It has been almost two years since you’ve joined William’s company and you would have brought it up to him had you been assured that a certain Spaniard wouldn’t bite your head off at the sentimentality. A deep sigh escaped your lips before you could control it and you shut your eyes in an attempt to drown out the deep, sarcastic chuckle emanating from the man behind you. 

“Already tired princesa? Should we stop for the night to allow your highness to rest?” Tovar murmured something beneath his breath and you were sure he was only continuing with his insults in his mother tongue so William wouldn’t warn him again. You, on the other hand, had to bite your lip to refrain from pouting at the snarky comment. The last thing you wished was for Tovar to see your hurt. Not that he would care.

You kicked your horse to slow down and turned the other way just as Tovar passed you, ignoring the way he looked at you as you fell in step with another mercenary, one who’s only been with your group for a month. You smiled at him and nodded when he asked you how you were doing, politely excusing yourself as you looked down at the small book falling apart at your touch. Your eyes scanned the small pages of the Bible, and you prayed for guidance when you sensed a pair of angry eyes throwing imaginary daggers at you from ahead. 

As the sun set deeper into the sky, you helped William set up camp and ignored the teasing remarks Tovar continued to throw your way. The Irishman noticed how hard you were trying to ignore his old friend while also working on the tent and he instantly came to your aid and whispered a joke to you, not shying away from looking at his friend when your laughter rang through the forest. William watched as Tovar narrowed his eyes at him before cursing the two of you as he left to keep watch for the night. When everything was as it should be, you walked around with water and ensured that everyone was hydrated. You were standing with the newest member of the company, Thomas, asking him if he needed anything before you turned in for the night. He shook his head but held onto the wineskin, reluctantly turning towards Tovar before meeting your eyes.

“Would you prefer it if I bring it to him?”

“Thank you Thomas but that won’t be necessary. I’ll take it to him.” You held out your hand and waited patiently for the young man to give it to you, smiling at him and moving to walk past him when he held out his hand and grabbed your arm.

“Why do you not meet him with similar hostility?” You hadn’t expected for him to ask you such a question, and you know very well that Tovar could most certainly hear you when a few leaves broke underneath his feet as he tried to subtly move closer. 

“For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” You tilted your head to the side and smiled at Thomas before patting his shoulder. “Good night Thomas. Make sure you get enough rest.” You didn’t wait for an answer, turning away and heading towards the tree bark where Tovar was standing. You prayed that he would accept the drink and not create any problems but as soon as you looked up and saw the way he was looking down at you, you knew it wouldn’t be so simple. It never was with him.

“Good evening Tovar, would you like some w-” You aren’t able to finish your question because Tovar instantly cut you off with a growled order, spitting down to prevent you from coming closer to him. 

“¡Váyase!” It’s not the first time Tovar yells at you to leave him alone, and you’re sure it won’t be the last, but you swallow whatever you wish to tell him as you nod and leave the wineskin at the roots of the tree. You step away from him without once meeting his eyes and Tovar is sure you won’t say anything else so he looks down at the water you left him only to find you turning around and meeting his gaze head-on.

“Buenas noches.” You offer a smile that Tovar knows is forced and conveys no warmth or affection and he clenches his jaw when he sees you return to sit next to William near the fire. He watches the two of you interact for another moment before he turns around and stabs the tree with his knife. 

“Mierda.” 

Your eyes seek Tovar a few more times throughout the night before you move to your tent, and you ignore William’s teasing remarks when he catches you looking longingly at the grumpy Spaniard just before entering into your shelter. 

“It is a bit ironic isn’t it?” William asks as he moves towards his own tent and he offers a supportive smile when you shrug and look at your feet shyly. 

“Things would be a lot easier if we had control over whom our hearts choose.” You nod at him before bidding him a good night and moving into the safety of your tent. You take a few deep breaths and remove your weapons from your person, setting them down beneath your blankets as you bring your Bible out of your pocket once more to recite your nightly prayers. 

You were never one to question God’s decisions but if there ever came a time when you would, it would be now. You wanted nothing more than to know why Tovar couldn’t stand the sight of you. William assured you early on that it took a while for Tovar to warm up to new mercenaries they met along the road but it was completely different with you. What started out as whispered remarks about your abilities became loud and shameless insults about, not only your lack of skills, but your way of life as well. You weren’t sure if it was you that he hated or your religion, and it didn’t come to matter anyway because in the end, he would need to deal with his maker, not with you. 

But as much as you prayed for guidance and begged for patience, it seemed that the Almighty was electing to leave you on your own when it came to dealing with the man that was Pero Tovar. And no matter how hard you asked for Him to allow your heart to close towards the Spaniard, your prayers were never answered. Instead, you were left with a gaping hole in your heart that you came to realize would only be filled if the man who hated you with every ounce of his being learned to love you. It was a humorous thought and you shook your head at the wishful thinking before turning off the candle you always kept with you.

A few hours later, you wake up heaving and sweating, hands instantly grabbing for the sword beneath the pillow when you hear someone call for you from outside the tent. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, it takes you a few moments to recognize who was standing not five feet away from you.

“It’s your watch princesa...unless you want Th-”

“I’ll- I’ll be out in a minute.” You cut him off and flinch when you hear how hoarse and broken your voice sounds. It takes Tovar a few seconds to respond and you manage to hear a quick ‘bueno’ before he’s moving away. Moving around the tent, you quickly find your coat and put it on, grabbing your weapons and the small book near your pillow before moving out of the tent. You spot Tovar sitting near the fire but elect to say nothing, walking towards one of the water basins and throwing some across your face to freshen up before moving past him to where you would keep watch. Tovar bit harshly into the bread and couldn’t hold back from following your every move, his eyes sweeping over your form and landing on your backside. He barely managed to keep his moan quiet, his mind running away with thoughts of taking you over and over again until you only remembered his name. Until you couldn’t walk without feeling him on every inch of your skin.

He shuts his eyes and tries to remember how you sounded not ten minutes ago when he came to wake you. He could vaguely hear you whimpering inside your tent and almost came in to make sure you weren’t in danger. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t even if he tried. He had no right to do so. And then you spoke so heavily and he almost lost his bearings because he now knew what you sounded like just as you woke up. And he was certain your little sighs and moans would haunt his dreams in the coming nights. 

As if you hadn’t plagued his mind enough for the past two years.

The moon was still illuminating the night sky when Tovar woke up from his slumber and he walked away from the company to try and have some privacy, afraid he would give away his heart’s desires should he remain near the fire and continue to look at you. His ears pick up a faint sound coming from the edge of the trees and he takes his sword out as he approaches the voice, only to find you kneeling down on the floor with your own weapons attached to your back. For a moment, Tovar couldn’t breathe, his eyes taking in your beauty as your eyes remained shut and your lips moved softly. It took him a few more moments to notice the tears rolling down your cheeks and his frown grew when he realized that someone must have said something to you. He sheathed his sword away and was about to announce his presence when he finally heard what it was you were saying. One look at the book in between your knees and his anger came back a hundred fold. Of course you were praying. Tovar shook his head and was about to leave when he registered the words falling from your lips.

“I am weary with my groaning, all night I make my bed swim.” Tovar hisses beneath his breath as his mind conjures up images of your hands twisting your nipples and fingering your tight cunt while he watches you bring yourself to pleasure and drench the covers with your juices. He swallows the lump in his throat when you continue to pray and call for your God. 

“I drench my couch with my tears, my eye wastes away because of grief. It grows old because of all my enemies.” You’re sniffing through broken words and Tovar hates himself for growing hard at the sight of you. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in such a way, especially during this intimate moment. Lord knows the blasphemous thoughts he has are enough to bring him to the depths of hell, but here he was, cupping himself through his breeches as you prayed your psalms and asked for guidance. There was no forgiveness for him, not now, not ever.

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help? My- my help comes from the L-Lord, who made heaven and- and, oh god, and earth. Please God, I beg for your forgiveness. The Lord is your keeper...the- the Lord is your shade at your right hand...the sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon- nor the moon by night. Christ, have mercy on me please. I do not mean to have such vile, unholy thoughts...it is not my- intention to...to act upon my dreams. Please, God...preserve my soul.” Tovar’s ears perk up at the sudden shift in your prayers and he maneuvers himself around with stealth to take a better look at you. 

And the twisted, sick part of him swears in gratitude for catching you at such an hour because he’s never seen a more beautiful sight than you in this moment, on your knees, hands clasping at your chest, eyes filled with unshed tears, and breasts heaving with neediness. 

You were magnificent. 

“Lord, I know you can hear me. Please, answer my prayers. I know...for the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep me from doing the things I want to do. Forgive me Lord for I have sinned. I have allowed Satan to make a home in my heart, I- I cannot...I am unable to fight him without your help. For-forgive me...forgive me.” Tovar’s eyes widened in surprise when he heard you, his heart threatening to escape his chest when your words finally sank into his mind. There was no mistaking the implications behind your words. You were having unholy thoughts of a man, and you were asking your God to forgive you for wanting someone. For wanting to be intimate with someone. 

But then Tovar recalled your interactions with Thomas and William, and his heart grew heavy with anger because it wasn’t him you were thinking of. It couldn’t have been him. He’d managed to drive you away, and now you were thinking of someone else worshiping you, kissing you, touching you, perhaps even laying with you and coaxing the sweetest of sounds from your lips.

“My spirit...do you not know that you are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? If anyone defiles the temple of God, God will destroy him. For the temple of God is holy, which temple you are.” With those words, Tovar leaves you and returns to the camp, unable to listen to any more of your confessions, especially when he knew they were aimed towards someone else. He recalled what you said last and swore to himself, because he would never...could never tempt you to break your own religion, your sanctity. There were countless times where he wished he could reveal to you his feelings but tonight’s prayers reminded him why he will never have you the way he wished. It was not out of fear of, what was it, God’s destruction, but out of care for your own being, your soul. He cared for you too much.

It’s hours later when the company is moving closer to the city and you focus on the road ahead of you to try and ignore the way your heart skips a beat when you hear Tovar’s soft chuckle at one of William’s stuipd jokes. It was amazing how only the Irishman managed to make him laugh and you wished you could hear it more often but it was not possible and certainly not beneficial to you. You were snapped out of your thoughts when William called for you and asked you to slow down.

“You are sure he is in the next town over?” William inquired after the bounty you were currently looking for, a man who stole one of the local lord’s shipments that arrived from the Near East and was now recruiting more thieves to keep him safe. You took out the note which your contact sent you and showed it to William, about to suggest how you should carry out this bounty when Tovar snatched the paper from your friend’s hands to read it over before throwing it haphazardly his way.

“I would love to know how you came about this information princesa? What did you give your little amigo? Gold, or perhaps it was that honey you searched for everywhere, sí? Or maybe, just maybe...it was something far sweeter than honey.” Tovar knew he shouldn’t be taunting you any further, and certainly not with implications about your sanctity. Thankfully, William snatched the wineskin from your horse and smacked Tovar in his face, growling at him something in Spanish that caused Tovar to look to the side and frown at the floor. 

“I do apologize Y/N. You were saying?”

“I- umm, there was a...my God, I am sorry. The only thing I wished to suggest was to perhaps catch them outside of town so we wouldn’t cause any serious damage to anyone’s home or business. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, you squeezed the sides of your horse so he could gallop ahead and once you thought you were far enough, you took out your prayers and flipped through the pages. 

Tovar grudgingly followed you to try and apologize for his hurtful comments when he saw you praying again. 

“Lord, how they have increased who trouble me! Many are they who rise up against me. Many are they who say of me, “There is no help for him in God.” But You, O Lord, are a shield for me, my glory and the One who lifts up my head. I cried to the Lord with my voice, and He heard me from His holy hill...I- I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around. Save me, O my God.” You turn your head around when you feel a pair of eyes watching you, shaking your head when you find Tovar and William making plans while the rest of the company follow behind. No, he didn’t care.

“Why have you not apologized to her?”

“She was praying amigo, I- I cannot distract her when she...when she is having her moment with her God.” Tovar murmures and ignores the sarcastic laugh that erupts from his friend’s mouth.

“You truly are a piece of shit work Tovar. If you care for her this much, why not tell her? Or better yet, stop acting like an imbecile and treat her with kindness. Lord knows she’s too nice with you.”

“Mind your business, sí? You know nothing of what you speak.” Tovar warns his friend with a glare before he kicks his horse and races forward past you and the other men, not caring of how he’d managed to give himself away to William. You look up from your book just in time to see him swiftly moving past you and you’re worried for a moment, turning around to gauge William’s reaction, only to find him avoiding your gaze and pretending to focus on the trail ahead. 

The company reaches the edge of town long before noon and you listen to William as he lets everyone know of the plan. When everyone is sure of their position and part, you go with William and Tovar to the innkeeper and inquire after men that could offer their aid to you since you are to travel throughout the night by yourself and have heard of stories of bandits around these parts. As you wait around for an hour or so, Tovar can’t help but glance at you nervously, a part of him trying to come up with something to tell you that wasn’t filled with venom. You catch his eyes a few times and he turns away when you smile awkwardly at him, ignoring the way William rolls his eyes and nudges him. 

“I do not think they will come.” Tovar comments to himself and you are about to reassure him when you spot the man in question heading your way along with what you assumed were his new recruits.

“Greetings friends, and what a beautiful afternoon to you, my lady.” The man doesn’t give you a chance to step away from him, leaning down and taking hold of your hand before bringing it to his lips. You force a smile and nod towards him, completely missing the way Tovar was mentally killing the disgusting thief with a thousand daggers. 

“We understand you require assistance traveling through here?” The man speaks, his eyes occasionally turning towards you and shamelessly dragging over your figure. You pretend to not notice his actions and clutch the weapon around your back more tightly. 

“We do indeed. And we are willing to pay handsomely. The only problem is, we must leave now if we are to catch our employer before he leaves for his travels.” William speaks his lies with ease and you silently pray that the other men are as dumb as they look.

“And may I ask why your schedule is hurried?” The thief’s voice is much harsher and he stares between the three of you quizzically. 

“It’s quite embarrassing if I do say so myself but,” you gulp before stepping towards Tovar, intertwining your fingers with him before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. You feel Tovar’s hold tighten around your hand but you say nothing, instead throwing your head on his shoulder and wrapping your other palm around his hand as well. “It is slightly my fault...you see, we- oh god, we were wed three weeks ago and our wedding night lasted for- l-longer than we intended. I should say longer than I intended. And we realized too late how much time we lost so- so this is why we need to leave right immediately.” It takes every ounce of control in William not to laugh at the look on his friend’s face and he maintains a neutral expression when the men in front of him glance towards each other and blush.

Tovar, on the other hand, wishes for God to strike him down this instant because you are not only holding onto his rough hands, but you kissed him without thought. It’s embarrassing how hard he is quickly becoming underneath his clothes but the way your lips touched his scruffy cheeks caused his heart to skip a beat. He tried his hardest to rid you out of his thoughts but here you were, pretending to trip over your words as you lied to the men in front of you about how much time he supposedly spent between your thighs.

“Lucky man,” Tovar hears the man whisper to him as he winks and he’s one moment away from taking out his sword and swinging it. But then you’re raising his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles and Tovar all but loses it. Against his better judgement, he turns to look at you and gulps when he finds you smiling up at him with a dangerous glint in your eyes, one that is filled with false hope and wishful promises. His nose flares when he sees you staring deeply into his brown orbs and he instantly turns away, not because he is afraid of you seeing how darkened his pupils became at your touch but because he refuses to see rejection on your expression when you finally notice how hideous he is, how disgusting the scar on his eye must appear up close. 

“Well then, in that case, lead the way, sir-?”

“Oh no sir, my name is William.” William cuts him off and turns to the two of you. 

“And I am Y/N, and this here is the love of my life, Pero Tovar.” You cheerfully respond and ignore the way Tovar clings onto your fingers. He forces a quick smile before he walks behind William, all the while trying to pretend he isn’t losing his soul to the touch of your soft skin on his. He quickly glances at you, his jaws tensing tightly when he finds you completely ignoring him and pretending to look elsewhere.

You can feel the anger shedding off of Tovar and you hope he wouldn’t completely bite your head off when you are alone again. But more importantly, you pray to God that he doesn’t feel your pulse because if he could, then he would know. He would know of everything, of your feelings towards him, of your desires, and finally, of how much you wished you had his last name. William looked towards the two of you a few times and decided to keep quiet until after this ordeal was finished. One glance at the way you refused to let go of his friend’s hands and he knew you were as much in love with Tovar as he was with you.

“Idiots.” William whispers to himself just as he reaches the edge of the forest. He motions with his hand as soon as he spots the three horses tied to the trees and you let go of Tovar’s hands to let the men know that you have arrived. Tovar clenches his fist tightly, already missing the touch of your palm against his own and how safe he felt with you at his side. He clears his throat and walks awkwardly towards the horses, pretending to check on the pouches hanging around. 

“Oh lovebirds, you should have stayed on your honeymoon.” Your smile falters as soon as the man and his friends remove their weapons and surround you. Turning around, you catch Tovar's eyes before he’s running towards you, his sword in one hand and his expression holding a thousand emotions. William whistles from behind you and you immediately hear the faint sounds of horses galloping through the woods. Unsheathing your daggers from their holsters, you plant your feet to the ground and dare one of the men to come forward. 

By the time the rest of the company arrives, you’ve already killed two of the men and are finding it difficult by the moment to fight the one in front of you. There were more of them than there were of you, something you hadn’t anticipated when you accepted this bounty. You’re trying your hardest not to get distracted but it has been a while since you’ve seen Tovar fight and as much as you hate to admit it, he looks absolutely breathtaking, with his eyes full of rage and his lips glistening from sweat and from how hard he’s biting them. 

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not w-want. He makes me lie down in green- green...GOD, green pastures. He leads me besides the still waters. He- he...William watch out- he restores my soul, he leads me in the paths of righteousness. For His name’s sake.” You’re reciting your prayers to ground yourself, swearing when you throw one of your daggers towards one of the men about to attack William from behind. You’re still trying to hold off one of the larger thieves from killing you when you spot the main bounty treading towards Tovar with a large dagger of his own. 

“No, Tovar!” You’re not thinking clearly as you manage to slit your attacker’s throat before running towards Tovar in time to catch the sharp edge of the weapon into your shoulder. Falling back onto the ground, you look up at the man and find him smiling disgustingly at you, already bringing out his other sword as he chases after you. You can’t find it in yourself to stand up and look away, silently praying to God in anticipation of what’s to come. 

“Yea, though I walk through the- the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with m-me. Your rod and...and- Your staff, oh God...they comfort me.”

But nothing ever happens and you reluctantly look up in time to see Tovar holding a knife to the man’s throat. 

“Drop the knife amigo, or I will make you taste your own blood.” Tovar snarls out, all the while looking at you with something in his eyes that you're not quite sure of. The man listens to Tovar’s warning but doesn’t drop his smile, looking at the wound on your shoulder before turning to Tovar just as he ties his hands to his back.

“You are not truly married are you?”

“Cállate...hijo de puta madre.” You struggle to get up, frowning when Tovar swears at the man as he swiftly wraps his arms with rope, perhaps harder than needed. 

“This should be fun then.” You ignore the man’s remarks and look around, finding most of the wanted men either dead or tied to some tree. You catch William’s eyes and nod when he asks you if you will be alright.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to accompany you to the sheriff, William. Perhaps it’s best that you leave me here.” You groan in pain and ignore the way Tovar’s eyes are sweeping over your form. 

“It will take me a day’s journey. Tovar, you will stay with her.”

“No, William that’s not necessary. Please, I’ll- I’ll be fine.” You respond immediately, completely missing the deeper frown that takes over the Spaniard’s features. 

“We’ll be in the inn. See you amigo.” Your eyes widen in surprise at the response but you say nothing, instead walking around to collect your weapons in order to place them on your horse. Within minutes, the company is leading away whoever is alive and taking note of the few that were killed. You remain standing against a tree, holding onto your shoulder as you pray softly for relief. 

“You cannot ride to town like this. Come here.” Tovar grabs your wrist and brings you to a large boulder, pushing onto your other shoulder until you’re sitting down before he brings a small pouch from his horse.

“This will hurt a bit querida.” Tovar gently speaks to you, completely throwing you off with the tone of his voice and distracting you enough to pull out the knife. You scream in pain and reach for his thigh, digging your nails into the muscular flesh just as he throws away the dagger and takes out the wineskin.

“I do not need such vile drinks.” You spit out at him in anger, unable to hold back from crying as he murmurs something before he pours the expensive alcohol on your shoulder. You’re turning away from him and sniffing violently, trying to hold back from swearing at how rough he’s being.

“Vindicate me O Lord, for I have walked in my integrity, I have also trusted in- in...please, no more, it hurts.” You start praying but can’t continue when you feel Tovar ripping a part of your shirt in order to wrap the clean gauze better around your shoulder.

“Cállate...or better yet, keep praying for your God hermosa. Maybe he’ll reach down and help stop the bleeding. We both know you won’t thank me for this.” Tovar is trying his hardest to ignore the way you’re marking his thighs and he shakes his head when his thoughts become more unholy by the second. He imagines you sinking your nails into his skin under other circumstances but he’s brought back to the moment when you obey him and resume your prayers. 

“I have also trusted in the Lord, I shall not slip. Examine me, O- O Lord...and prove me, try my mind and my heart. Ahhh careful!” You’re crying again and it breaks Tovar’s heart to know that he is the reason behind your pain. He wants nothing more than to ask you why you stepped in front of him and took the dagger into your shoulder but he knows you’ll either lie or ignore his question should he inquire. He’s trying to finish swiftly so you aren’t left in the wood alone, or at least that’s what he says to himself so he doesn’t think of how soft and sweet your skin looks beneath his touch

“Stop your whining and take it. We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t- hadn’t...mierda. No importa.” He grumbles again and looks up at you momentarily, only to find you staring at him with doe-like, innocent eyes. He swears he sees some form of affection pass through them but the expression is gone as soon as it comes and he forces himself to focus on your shoulder once more. He’d already cleaned it and wrapped the gauze around it, but he wants to make sure that the knot isn’t too tight or too loose. 

“For, for your lovingkindness is before my eyes...do not gather my soul with sinn- nghhh-” You moan in pain when he swipes his fingers over your bruised clavicle and the sound shoots straight to Tovar’s cock, causing him to clench his jaw tightly to prevent himself from acting on his desires. His eyes unintentionally hone in on the rosary around your neck and he gulps when his mind instantly imagines his hand wrapped around your throat and grasping onto the beaded chain as he fucks into you mercilessly until every living thing around knows who’s making you scream with pleasure.

“Lo siento.” He whispers to you as he meets your eyes again, and there’s a multitude of confessions in those two words but you choose to ignore them. You choose to ignore the way he looks at you with those hopeful eyes. You choose to pretend that you aren’t wishing for him to lean over and mold his lips with yours. You choose to ignore...so you wouldn’t have to leave him forever. 

“Redeem me and be merciful to me...be merciful to me. Be...be merciful to me.” Your repetition doesn’t go unnoticed by Tovar and he clears his throat before he stands up and helps you back onto your horse. The two of you ride back into town in silence, with Tovar occasionally slowing down to ensure that you aren’t close to unconsciousness. When you reach the edge of the forest, Tovar hops off of his horse and removes his belongings, taking the leather of his saddle and handing it to you before he speaks.

“I will find some lodging with the innkeeper, sí? And you can look around for someone to keep these two until William returns.” He rubs anxiously at his beard and waits for your response, nodding when you look around before replying to him.

“Yes.”

The Spaniard turns around and he only walks ahead ten feet before you’re calling for him. He turns around at the sound of his name and raises his eyebrows.

“Thank you. For caring for me.” You gulp at the intensity of his gaze and barely manage to hold contact with his brown eyes as he flashes you a quick, shy smile. You hadn’t expected to be at the receiving end of such an expression and you held onto the leather between your fingers tightly to try and ignore how fast your heart began to beat. How had you never noticed those dimples before? 

“De nada hermosa.” Tovar is backing away immediately and trying to ignore how his heart is violently beating at his chest from your words. He never thought the day would come where you would thank him for anything and hold such an amount of affection in your tone. But he quickly remembers the events of the last hour or so and shakes his head in irritation.

Why had you taken the dagger instead of him? 

You continue to watch him until he enters the inn, sighing heavily when it finally occurs to you that you might be having dinner with him alone tonight. Slowly making your way through the town, you thought of who you could possibly ask to care for your horses when you spotted a barnhouse just behind the church. When you reached the open door and looked inside, you shut your eyes in gratitude before getting off the horse and approaching the priest brushing a horse.

“Good afternoon Father,” you smile when the older man turns around and nods towards you.

“Good afternoon.” He says nothing else and you wait until he is finished with the task at hand before asking him if you could tie the two horses in the corner.

“My name is Y/N, and I am a- well, coin for hire...Father. And I was wondering if you would be kind enough and direct me to someone who could care for my friends here until the rest of my company arrives?” You nervously pick at the rosary around your neck when you notice him looking at the bible peeking out of your satchel.

“There’s no need, child. You can leave them here and I shall care for them.”

“Oh Father I couldn’t possibly ask you to-”

“Good thing you are not asking then.” He cuts you off with a smile before leading you out of the small barnhouse. 

“Are you otherwise occupied at the moment?” You ask him just as he moves to enter the church.

“I am not.”

“I- I wish to confess.” The older man notices your nervous stance and nods gently before asking you to follow him into the church. You follow behind him, not realizing that Tovar has already made reservations for the both of you and has come out in search of you. He spots you right before you enter the building, his eyes hardening almost instantly when he sees the priest speaking to you before you are both gone out of his sight. 

He walks towards the church but refuses to enter, instead waiting outside until you are finished. Not a few minutes pass and his patience wears out and he murmurs something beneath his breath as he enters the house of worship. You are nowhere in sight and he can’t help but marvel at the religiosity of the space, his eyes shifting instantly to the large cross hanging above the altar. Clearing his throat, he quietly makes his way to the front of the hall and looks up, taking a deep breath and shutting his eyes as he reluctantly falls to his knees. 

It has been long since Tovar spoke to the Almighty but he forces himself to ask for His guidance, if he can call it that, and hopes that he would one day be able to receive it. The moment ends as soon as it begins, however, when Tovar hears the faint sound of sniffling coming from the confession cubicle followed by the familiar sound of your voice. 

He knows he shouldn’t go near the private room. He knows that he has no business listening in on you confessing your deepest thoughts to the holy man. But he can’t stop his feet from carrying him towards the cubicle.

“I- you must know by now what I am required to do in my line of work Father.” Pero hears your soft voice through the quiet sniffles and he clutches the strap around his shoulder to prevent himself from walking into that room and pulling you into his arms. 

“Yes, but you know as well as I that you must voice your sins to me so God could forgive them.”

“I know. I am not sure where I could begin if I am being honest. I do not claim to have any excuses but I want you to know that I try not to kill anyone, not unless I have to. I have killed three men this morning. They were poor souls that stole and killed and needed to be stopped. It does not excuse what I have done but it is what happened.” 

“Let me ask you this, child. Do you kill out of anger? Out of jealousy? Out of hatred?”

“No, no never. I have never hurt anyone in my anger, at least I hope I haven’t. I killed them because they were going to kill me and my friends. I- it...it couldn’t be avoided.” Tovar wants to laugh at your innocence but he remains silent as he listens to the older man guide you through your troubles. If he had a priest like him back home, maybe he would have never strayed from God. 

“Then you have not sinned in the eyes of God. As long as you know the difference, then you are safe from the powers of satan...what else do you wish to confess?”

“There is...there is this man.” At that, Tovar’s eyes widen and he steps closer to the wooden panel to listen more closely. “And I- I have...I have dreams of him. Wicked dreams, images that do not escape me even when I wake.” Tovar bites into his lower lip when he feels his cock harden beneath his breeches and he fixes his clothes quietly before leaning his ears into the flimsy barrier.

“I dream of him almost every night Father and I pray to God every waking moment so he could take them away from me. But they only increase, so much so that I wake up sweating and heaving throughout the night. I do not wish to have such thoughts of him because-” You halt in your words and Tovar hates that even in your confession, you are choosing your words carefully.

“I do not want these dreams and I do not wish to think of him in the ways that I do. But I- I cannot help it Father. I don’t know what more I could do.”

“St. Paul writes in his first letter to the Thessalonians, ‘For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you should abstain from sexual immorality.’ My child, sexual immorality does not only cover the physical actions of the body but the emotional and mental thoughts as well. It is better for you to come forward to this man than to remain in this sin.” Tovar almost growls at the response, hating how the priest validates your beliefs further. 

“That is not possible Father...as much as I wish it, I cannot.” 

They both remain quiet for a few moments and Tovar almost loses his mind when the silence extends. He shuts his eyes and clenches his fists tightly before running out of the church to the barnhouse, multiple curses falling through his lips when he realizes that he will never have a chance with you, especially now that he was certain you were thinking of another man. Unable to hold back any further, Tovar throws his things to the ground before moving to the back of the barnhouse. He stands behind a large tree and makes quick work of his breeches, hissing in anger when he finds himself painfully hard and already leaking precum. Throwing his head back, he spits onto his hand before taking his cock roughly in his palm. Pero moans when he squeezes the crown of his hard dick, his mind finding it much easier to conjure up images of you writhing beneath him in bed now that he knew of your dreams. 

He wishes you had been more detailed, no matter how wrong and inappropriate that would have been. He pictures you sweating and heaving on your hands and knees as he drives his cock deeper into you with every thrust. Tovar’s groans grow louder as he increases his pace and he shivers in need when he imagines you begging for him to take you, to touch you and kiss your tits and perhaps fill you with his seed. The thought of you letting him rule over your body brings him closer to his pleasure and he cries out pathetically as he cums onto the ground, your name like a sweet benediction on his lips as he continues to rub his cock. Pero finally opens his eyes and looks to the blue sky, hissing in regret and feeling a sense of disgust settle into his stomach. He quickly fixes himself and silently asks for your forgiveness, for violating you in his mind and for listening to your confessions. Breathing in the clean scent of the grass, he moves back to the barnhouse and washes his hand quickly before taking his satchel and walking to the shop in front of the church to wait for your return. 

Unbeknownst to Pero, the priest in fact chooses to ask you a more personal question than necessary, inquiring after your strange answer as to why it was not possible to approach this man you speak of.

“He does not love me as I love him. He- he cannot stand the sight of me. I am not sure what I had done to deserve such hatred from him but- it is what it is, Father.”

“You love him.” It was more of a statement than a question and the priest can’t help but shake his head in sadness as he continues to listen to you.

“I do. I love him dearly.” You wipe the tears as they fall down your cheeks, looking towards the light coming through the small window before returning your gaze to the ground again. 

“Hmm...Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” 

“Father?” You look towards the barrier between you and the priest quizzically, hoping he would explain his response further.

“I will give you an absolution Y/N, but- I cannot help but think that you may have been asking God for the wrong thing. You ask Him to take away these dreams yet you never pray that this man returns your love or, at the very least, become less hostile towards you?” There is almost a humorous tone to the older man’s words and you raise an eyebrow in curiosity because he was right. Granted, it is the last comment you expect from a man of God but it wouldn’t hurt to listen to him.

“N-no.”

“You are correct in wanting to rid yourself of these thoughts, for they are most unholy and they will only lead you to eternal hellfire. But you might find it in your best interest if you pray that God opens the eyes of this man. Ask to know the truth of his feelings and why he chooses to be the way he is. And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” You wait for a few moments before you ask him to give you the absolution. When you walk out of the church a few minutes later, you find it much easier to breathe and you can’t help but think about the priest’s suggestion. Maybe you have been going about this all wrong?

You spot Tovar in the shop in front of the church, but not wanting to bother him, you turn around and move to the barnhouse to brush your horse. Leaning against your horse, you kiss its neck and comb through its hair as you try to push the pain in your shoulder aside. Ignoring the sting of your muscles, you pick up the brush and proceed to massage your horse all the while replaying the priest’s suggestions through your mind. 

When Pero looks up and sees the priest standing at the front of the church and speaking to a young girl, he lets go of the cloth in his hand and moves out of the shop, scanning the street for you. When he doesn’t find you anywhere, he slowly approaches the priest and waits until the young girl leaves before he clears his throat.

“Padre.”

“Yes?”

“There was a woman who entered the church a while ago. She is dressed like me. Have you seen where she went?” Pero is uncomfortable but he tries his hardest to not turn away from the priest’s piercing gaze. He is unsure how you managed to speak to him but he quickly remembers of the barrier between the two of you. But he frowns when the priest doesn’t respond and instead stares at him for a while.

“She is in the barnhouse.” The older man narrows his eyes at Tovar before he turns around and walks back into the church. Tovar is confused and a tad bit annoyed but he thinks nothing of the weird interaction. He scratches his beard as he approaches you, about to let you know that your room would probably be prepared when he finds you whispering to the large animal. He stands at the foot of the door and leans back, finding it calming to watch you interact with the horse.

“He shall send from heaven and save me, he reporaches the one who would swallow me up. God shall send forth His mercy and His truth. My soul is among lions, I lie among the sons of men…” Tovar sighs in irritation when his mind chooses to misunderstand your words yet again and he shakes his head as he swears at himself. 

“My soul is bowed down. They have dug a pit before me, into the midst of it they themselves have fallen. My heart is steadfast, Oh God, my heart is steadfast...ahh, ah- gah…” Pero snaps out of his haze when he hears your cries right as you drop the brush from your hand and fall to the ground. He is beside you in an instant, turning you around and resting you against the wall. 

“Pero…” His expression eases almost instantly when he hears his name on your lips. You’ve rarely used it and he finds himself wishing he could ask you to repeat it over and over again.

“Let me look at the wound-” He asks as he tries to loosen the knot to check on the wound but he senses a shift in your demeanor as soon as his fingers trail over your skin. You gasp at the touch of his hand and move away from him, unable to control the stabbing sensation in your stomach when you feel heat radiating off of his body. Tovar misunderstands your reaction and he looks away shamefully before he steps back. 

“How can I help?” He tries to remain neutral but he is hurt that you think he would ever touch you inappropriately without your consent. 

“I- I umm, the- the lodging.” Your throat suddenly feels dry and you look up in time to see Tovar’s eyes taking in your heaving chest. Struggling to stand up, you grab your belongings and tighten your hold around the small Bible in your satchel, unsure of what to say as the man in front of you continues to stare at you.

“Sí,” Pero responds quietly before he moves out of the barnhouse, ignoring the sounds of harsh breaths emitting from behind him as he makes his way to the inn. You try to catch up with him but eventually fall behind, and you can’t find it in yourself to ask him to slow down so you opt to keep your eyes on him as he moves through the crowded market. When it becomes too difficult to walk, you move towards a stand and rest on it, finally realizing that the dagger must have been laced with a poison. You’re not sure how long you stay leaning against the wall until a pair of hands shake you to consciousness.

“Hermosa, can you hear me?” You open your eyes and find Tovars’ handsome features laced with worry. It occurs to you that the poison might have a hallucinogen because there was no way on earth that this man would ever feel such worry towards you. 

“T-tovar...I- I’m not feeling too good.” You whisper right as your eyes flutter closed but you’re instantly awake once more when you feel Tovar lean down and take you up in his arms. You’re struggling to breathe but force yourself to look at the Spaniard as he rushes through the street. 

“Stay with me querida, por favor.” His voice is frantic yet caring and you don’t take notice of what you’re doing until you feel his eyes on you again as he comes to a halt. 

“Why- why do you hate me?” Pero can’t breathe for a second, not when your hand is skimming over his cheek while the other one rests above his heart, the same one that breaks when your question finally hits his ears. “I- I wish you didn’t...so I could show you how much I- oh, n-no...so we would-” You don’t get to finish your sentence though and Pero watches as you clasp onto your shoulder when it begins to bleed again.

“Mierda,” he hisses as he resumes running towards the inn, not bothering to provide an explanation to the innkeeper as he rushes up the stairs and into the room reserved for you. The man comes behind him and quickly asks him how he could be of service when he sees Tovar undoing the gauze and swearing when the wound appears more inflamed than before. 

“Do you have a healer in this town?”

“Right away sir.” Pero wets a towel before bringing it to your forehead just as the innkeeper fetches a young boy to call for someone. You’re writhing violently and Tovar blames himself for not being careful earlier in the day. It feels like hours have passed by when a knock sounds through the door and in comes the priest.

Anger rises in Tovar’s chest as he walks up to the priest, prepared to draw his sword and kick him out. 

“I did not ask for you, I need a-”

“I am a healer son, of all ailments. Please let me pass or your friend will not have much time.” The priest speaks with patience and he waits until Pero moves to the side before he brings out his tonics and ointments. 

“What caused this?” The priest asks as he removes the gauze completely and attempts to clean around the wound before he decides which ointment was best. 

“A dagger, we were...after some men and I- I was not...she took it instead of me Padre.” The priest grows silent at the odd remark. He is about to ask if the weapon was laced with anything when he notices a strange green substance forming on the edges of the wound. He instantly recognizes the poison and shakes his head. 

“S-save me oh God, for- for the waters have come...come up to my neck. I s-sink in deep mire where- where...where there is no standing. I have come into d-deep, oh god...deep waters. Where the floods overflow me.” You whisper through a haze, vaguely aware of a gentle hand treating the wound on your shoulder before it ceases to move. 

“May god have mercy on your soul…” Pero almost loses all control when he hears the priest’s prayer. 

“Will she die?” He steps forward and asks just as the older man begins to apply a heavy tonic onto the wound. You’re hissing and groaning for a few moments before your frown relaxes just as the priest applies new gauze to the wound. 

He waits until you’ve calmed down before he collects his things and asks Tovar to meet him outside. When they both leave and lock the door behind them, the Priest looks away from the angry Spaniard.

“Padre, please, tell me. Will she die?”

The priest is about to answer when he hears you crying through the door.

“My eyes fail while I- I...please, God...while I wait for my God. Oh God...my sins are not hidden from You, oh Lord...my prayer is to You. Oh God- please...T-tovar- I need...please...deliver me out of the mire and let me- not...not sink. Hear me Oh Lord…”

Pero tries to ignore your cries but he feels his heart give out with each whimper that escapes your lips. And then you call his name and ask for him and he all but loses it, hands shooting to the knob to turn it. He stops, however, when he feels the Priest pull him back.

“It is not wise to go in there my son.”

“Let go of me.” Tovar snaps at the older man, rolling his eyes when he feels the hold around his shoulder tighten.

“There will be many consequences to your actions if you go in there...the dagger that she was stabbed with...it, well, it held a dangerous...aphrodisiac.” Pero’s eyes widen in surprise and shock when he registers the words of the priest and he steps back from the door while looking to the floor.

“If you can go in there and care for her without touching her, then by all means,” Tovar gulps when the priest motions for him to walk right through the room, eyebrows furrowing in frustration when he listens into your pained noises, “but I must warn you to not lust after her beauty in your heart...not let her allure you with her eyelids.”

“Take your proverbs elsewhere Padre, they will not find seed in this heart. How dare you think me of such actions when she’s not aware?” Tovar angrily points at his chest as he continues to pace back and forth, trying to calm himself down as he continues to hear you moaning through the door. 

“Draw near to my soul and redeem it...deliver me because- because...oh Pero. Pero, please. I need you, please. I want you...I crave your touch...your- your lips. I need to feel your skin against mine. Please...pl- oh God, please.” 

“If not for your sake then for hers. You shall not commit adultery. She is a child of God.”

“Was it not her God that allowed for this?” Pero yells at the priest as he moves across the hallway and kicks the wall. He waits for the priest to respond and huffs sarcastically when he doesn’t and remains silent. 

“Answer my question Padre, will she die if- if she remains untouched?” 

“I am not certain...but you must think of your soul as well, no? Whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” The priest approaches Tovar reluctantly, immediately stepping back when he sees his shoulders tense at his words. 

“Padre, for your sake, I need you to reserve your gospel for someone else. I do not care for my salvation, and if you must know, I have committed adultery a thousand times with her in my heart. I have no need for your absolution nor do I seek God’s forgiveness.” He isn’t sure what brings him to such a confession but he watches the man of God nod silently as he moves away with disappointment written on his features. 

“Then there is nothing more for me to tell you except this...if you do not walk in there and- aid her, she might not make it through the night. But, if you do, then you will have to live with the consequences of your actions. I cannot give you, nor her, my blessings for such immoral activities. May God have mercy on your souls and guide your heart.” Tovar turns away when the priest walks past him and down the stairs. He grasps his sword tightly to try and ground himself, but then the faint groans ringing through the small room bring him back to reality. 

He’s ashamed of how many times he’s thought of this moment. But not once did he think he’d ever refuse to lay with you. Yet here he was, forced to make a decision that would ultimately hurt both of you. If he doesn’t help you, he might lose you forever and he would never forgive himself as long as he lives. But if he does help you, he’d risk losing your trust and your company, and would perhaps never see you again. He’d have to live with the knowledge that you hate him. But you would be alive and well...

There was no doubt in his mind what he needed to do. 

Tovar looked down at his hands and blinked in regret. The last thing he wished to do was to willingly hurt you. But he couldn’t let you die, especially when it was him that the dagger was meant for.

Taking a deep breath, he musters up enough courage to turn around and unlock the door, not bothering to look at you as he enters the room and shuts the wooden barrier behind him. Taking his weapons off of his person, Tovar clears his throat and slowly turns to look at you, his eyes taking in your desperate form as you fisted your hands into the sheets and stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“P-Pero...god, I- you’re here. Please, I n-need you. You- you’re too far, please, need you, want you...want to feel you. Your- oh Christ, your skin, your l-lips...your tongue- your hands...need you, inside me...please.” Pero almost chokes on his saliva when your desperate words hit him and he remains grounded in his spot as he licks his lips. His cock twitches in his breeches when he notices your disheveled clothing, and he realizes that you must have tried to take it all off but couldn’t tug hard enough. He looks at your exposed neck and clenches his jaw when he sees the rosary nestled perfectly between your sweaty breasts.

Fuck. He knew he didn’t have a chance in heaven but looking at you now, with your body calling for him, he realized there was no chance in hell for him either. Not with what he was thinking of doing to you.

Slowly approaching you, he stood above your shivering form and gently brushed your hair aside, hissing in anger when he found you hot to the touch. There was so much he wanted to say and he figured this was his chance considering how you would probably not recall this night when you wake up the following day.

“Hermosa, I- perdóname. Forgive me for everything I have done to you...and for everything I will do to you tonight.” Tovar’s heart clenches when you take his hand and bring it to your mouth, kissing and nipping and the skin of his palm and wrist until you couldn’t take it anymore. It breaks him knowing that those gentle touches are born out of a hazed necessity and not because you wanted to kiss him. 

“Please...be merciful to me.” Your words echo from earlier through the tense silence and Tovar hates how he longs to hear you pray for him instead. Stepping away from you, he holds his hands up and shushes you as you start to whine again, whispering sweet words down to your aching soul as he strips himself of his garments. You find it difficult to wet your throat and attempt to take off your clothes as well, almost breaking into tears when you continue to struggle with the long-sleeve shirt and your trousers. 

“Here, let me.” You feel your skin crawl with ants when Tovar begins to undo the laces and buttons of your garments, and you find it hard to look away when all you are met with is gentleness and determination. At some point, you swear his hands are shaking and your hazed mind mistakes it for rejection but there isn’t enough consciousness left for you to apologize to him so instead, you grasp on his forearms and dig your nails into his muscles as he rids you of the dampened fabrics hugging your shaking body.

Tovar tries his hardest to not pounce on you as soon as more of your skin is revealed to him and he silently prays for patience when your touches turn rough. He throws everything onto the chair near the bed and returns to you, inhaling deeply when he sees how soaked your chest band and undergarments have become. He’s standing in nothing but his own breeches and he can’t help it when he fixes himself through the fabric, smiling to himself when you whine at the not-so-subtle movement and mirror his actions. He growls when he sees you cup your mound and rub harshly to try and relieve some of the pain. 

“No.” The single command shoots straight to your aching cunt and you instantly remove your hand from your heated skin, looking up at him and silently begging him to take you right then and there. “No, you do not touch yourself when I am here. Your pleasure belongs to me. Your noises...they belong to me, your arousal...every last drop of it, belongs to me. Sí?” You nod frantically and sigh in relief when he moves onto the bed, a little annoyed that he is yet to take off all of his garments. He gently parts your thighs and kneels between them, smiling to himself when he sees your flesh responding so easily to his touch. A part of him feels horrible for what he is thinking but he can’t help but fill his chest with pride at the thought of knowing that no one else has touched you like this, let alone seen you so wrecked and positively...sinful.

“Magnífico,” your hold on the sheets beneath you tighten as more words of his mother tongue roll off of his lips and you bite down on your hand when he pushes your legs up towards you to open you up for him a little more. It’s absolutely filthy what Tovar is doing and he is aware that he should be more gentle with you, perhaps move slowly since you have never had such contact with a man before, but he can’t bring himself to hold back, not when you were looking at him with those pleading, innocent eyes. 

He leans down and shuts his eyes as he pushes his nose into your undergarment, moaning lewdly when he fills his nostrils with the scent of you. 

“Dios mío...your smell querida, it’s as sweet as honey.” Tovar mumbles against your heat, smiling devilishly when he notices your eyes widen with embarrassment at his comment. In the blink of an eye, he’s fingering the edge of the flimsy material and violently pulling it off of you, throwing it behind him haphazardly before he sinks in between your thighs again. He doesn’t give you enough time to prepare for him as he hungrily licks at your wet pussy. You briefly think you should feel ashamed for what he’s doing to you, or perhaps beg him to not be so forward and filthy with his sounds. But the thoughts roll away when he growls against your slit and your back arches painfully off of the bed when you feel his tongue licking into your heat. You aren’t sure how to convey to him the immense pleasure he is bringing to you so you settle for grabbing his hair and screaming his name over and over again. The sting his scruff is offering you soothes the pain in your muscles and you silently pray for him to become a little more aggressive with his touches. 

Tovar becomes a crazed man when he hears the way his name falls from your tongue like a prayer and he grabs your hips harshly before bringing you closer to his mouth. He continues to look at you as he tongue-fucks your cunt, unable to comprehend how this moment was real. He closes his eyes again to savor the taste of your juices flowing so easily into his mouth and moves one hand to your backside, squeezing and slapping your ass as he zeroes in on that bundle of nerves. Your hold on his hair tightens but Tovar enjoys being at the receiving end of those rough touches. He continues to lap at your cunt, occasionally switching to sucking on your little nub until you let go of his hair and grab at the sheets. 

Pero feels you coming on his tongue but he can’t find it in himself to stop, wanting to commit every single moment to memory. He momentarily moves away to nip at your thighs and just as you’re beginning to come down from your high, he shoves two fingers past your slit and returns to mouth at your clit. 

You try to sit up on the bed but one hand across your navel pushes you back down again. You aren’t sure if you want him to stop or keep going but you feel that familiar tug at your lower stomach again and before you know it, you’re hitting that delicious peak once more. You aren’t aware of what happens when you fall back down again though. All you can feel is your body shaking and your chest heaving as Pero refuses to let you close your legs. 

At some point, he finally shows you mercy and removes himself from you, and it takes you a few moments to open your eyes and will yourself to look at him. Your lips part in shock when you see Tovar licking his arms like a starved man, not realizing what has happened until you look down and see the soaked sheets beneath you. You’re mortified and attempt to close your legs but Tovar stops your movements with a dangerous smirk, raising an eyebrow as he looks down and sees his chest also soaked with your juices. You turn away from him and try to hide behind your arm but he’s falling on top of you and removing your hand before he turns your chin so you could finally meet his gaze. 

“My delicious little princesa...don’t shy away from me cariño. I want you, all of you...whatever you wish to give me.” A small part of you is aware that he is only speaking those words to put you at ease and help you through your predicament, but a more desperate corner of your mind tells you that he meant every word he said and that you should trust him. You’re aware of how dangerous this could be but you can’t find it in yourself to care as you lean up and kiss his chapped, plump lips. Tovar is taken aback from your forwardness but he meets your motions with as much vigor, lapping and sucking on your tongue until he feels your hips meet his shallow thrusts. You moan lewdly when his clothed cock pushes against your heated core and Tovar takes this chance to shove his tongue into your mouth, not caring for how messy and how unskilled you were. He would teach you tonight, even if it was the only night he would spend with you. 

When your fingers tangle in his hair and pull it on, Tovar growls and pushes up away from you. You have a few seconds to prepare for the onslaught of his hands as he attempts to rip the chest band off of your body. He is silent when you are finally naked to his eyes and you feel self-conscious from how quiet he’s grown. You move to cover yourself but Tovar is taking hold of your wrists and slamming them above your head, eyes boring into your hazed ones before he descends on your breasts. You throw your head back when you feel his tongue swirling roughly around your nipple, arching your back further into him when he pinches and twists the other one between his calloused fingers. You’re torn between begging him to slow down and screaming for him to take whatever he wants. It seems that Tovar knows what you crave though because he nips at the hardened peaks until you’re writhing beneath him. He looks away for only a second to take in how absolutely wrecked you look before he takes the other nipple in between his lips and sucks on it, groping the other and not caring for how wet and messy he’s left you. 

His treatment of your body only makes you more needy for him and as you’re about to beg him to give you his cock, Tovar pulls off of you before swallowing your moans again, keeping both of his hands on your tits and playing with them as you gave yourself over completely to him. It creeps up on you without warning and you’re screaming his name as you feel your cunt clench around nothing. Tovar pulls off of you and watches as your body shakes with pleasure at his ministrations, smirking when he sees the rosary sliding against your heaving chest. It’s almost taunting how it looks back at him but he pays it no mind. He swears in his mother tongue when he looks down and sees your cunt contracting violently and gushing more arousal. You’re finding it difficult to breathe as his fingers trail down to your thighs and push them further so he could take a better look at you.

“Did...did you just-” Tovar isn’t able to finish his question because the look you’re giving him is anything but innocent, and your little nod is the perfect boost for his ego because he’d just managed to make you cum from only touching your tits. He’s distracted when he sees your hands inching towards the tent in his clothes and he doesn’t stop you when he feels the warmth of your palm seeping through and engulfing his cock. You’re tugging and squeezing with curiosity in your eyes and Tovar loses his patience, slapping your hands away as he just manages to take the last article off. He’s kneeling in between your legs and smiles to himself when he sees your widened expression at the size of him. 

“Don’t worry princesa, I’ll go slow...for now.” Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the implications behind his words and you’re snapped back to reality when you notice that Tovar stretched his hand and kept it against your lips. 

“Escupe,” you have no clue what he just said but when he opens your lips and shoves his fingers into your mouth, you get an idea of what he wants. Reluctantly, you spit in the palm of his hand and grip the sheets tightly when he keeps his gaze on you and spits on the same palm as well right before spreading the mixed juices across your slit. You’re turned on by his forwardness and brace yourself for what’s to come, already feeling your stomach burn with need when he takes longer and touches himself. You watch as he coats his cock with your juices, mind slowly falling into a haze when you see how he tugs and rubs the aching tip of his dick. 

“Are you ready for me mi amor?” He’s massaging your inner thighs, eyes keeping you captivated as you nod and inhale deeply in preparation for him. Tovar sighs as he takes your hand in his before he slowly inches his cock into your cunt. The two of you are hissing and Tovar thinks he’s died and gone to heaven with how tight you feel around him. He nudges further into you and continues to whisper in Spanish when he feels your muscles tense.

“Relax for me querida, please. I could make you feel so good. Relájate. Don’t want to hurt you mi cielo.” He leans down and gently rubs at your neck, licking and kissing down your shoulder until he feels you ease around him. Moments later, he can feel you twisting beneath him and he realizes that you’re telling him you’re ready. Without a warning, Pero snaps his hips and sheathes himself fully inside you, his cock twitching at the whines and whimpers you were whispering in his ears when he broke your barrier. He’s trying his hardest to remain still so he doesn’t hurt you but then you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and molding your lips with his. It should not have been like this, he thinks. But he let’s his selfishness take over because if this were to be the only time you’d ever let a man touch you, then he was glad it was him and not someone else. Someone whom he knew would never feel this deeply towards you. 

“Please...move, I need- I want...it hurts. I want you to move Pero...oh god, Pero..Pero, you’re so...so hard for me. Feel so full, oh Christ, feels so good.” There’s something about hearing you moan his name along with the name of your God that makes him feral and he sits back up again, taking hold of your hips and ensuring that your eyes are on him before he pulls out and thrusts his cock back in. You dig your nails into the bed when you feel every ridge and vein passing against your walls, biting into your lower lip to stifle your moans. 

“Fuck...eres perfecto.” Tovar wanted to savor every moment, to commit this to memory so he would revisit this night time and again until his life on earth was finished. But he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t go slow even if he tried, not with how tight you were clenching around him and how wet you became the harder he filled you with his cock. You were a sight to behold, face scrunching up in pain and pleasure, some drool rolling from the corner of your lips as you sighed and begged him to take whatever he wanted from your body. 

“Better than any fucking dream hermosa...mierda, I- I could spend an eternity between your thighs and never wish to leave. You’re, fuck fuck ah f-fuck...you’re so much better than what I imagined. So sweet, so warm...and so- goddamn- tight.” He pronounced every word with a harsh thrust of his hips and you cried out as he took his pleasure and coaxed another orgasm out of your pussy. You grabbed his forearms when you felt your stomach flutter, and threw your head back when Tovar noticed you coming undone once more. He picked up his pace, switching his attention from your facial expressions to where you were joined. Letting go of one hip, he spat on his thumb before laying it on your clit and rubbing furiously to prolong your peak. You barely managed to open your eyes, turning to look at him as he continued his assault on your skin. Your chest tightened at the thought of never being with him again but you forced yourself to not think of the following day. There was tonight, and you would take everything and give him all that he wanted. After all, there was no truth behind his words, just the heat of the moment. Or perhaps it was him speaking of his triumph over you, someone he’s loathed for wasting her time on what he called a ‘false God.’ 

“P-pero...yes, oh- Pero, Pero...fuck, please.” 

Pero held your gaze as he let go of your waist and fell on top of you, one hand quickly wrapping around your throat as he pushed agonizingly slowly into you. There was something different in his eyes and you weren’t sure if it was affection or despise but you looked away from him instantly, afraid he’d see how you feel about him. Tovar misunderstood your fear for disgust and he snarled in anger as he tightened his hold around your throat until you turned to him again. He met your lips with an aggressive kiss and continued to push his cock deeper into you until he felt your nails digging into his back. He swore when they trailed down his muscles to his backside, forcing him to thrust a little quickly. 

“Who knew princesa...that you were nothing but a filthy fucking whore. Begging to be fucked...to be filled over and over again. Shit, this cunt, so tight and wet for me...you’ve no idea how much I craved this...craved you, to touch you, kiss you, mark you as my own...my whore, my innocent whore.” His words should have hurt, but you found yourself growing wetter just from hearing him call you his. But it was the twisting of the knife to hear him confess of how he craved you. You knew as well as he that this was far from the truth. But you found yourself ignoring the heartache just to enjoy him and the sensation of his skin sliding against yours in the throws of passion. 

“You’re getting close again cariño...fuck, I could- ahh ahh, could feel you swallowing my cock sweetheart. Come on, cum for me. Cum for me one more time, let me feel you coming on my cock like the good little girl you are. Please, mi amor…” It was almost as if your body had a mind of its own because at his words, the familiar knot in your navel untwisted and you arched into him as you came with a silent cry, hand grasping to the one holding your throat and pushing down on it to make him grip you tighter. 

Tovar shuts his eyes and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, refusing to reveal any more of himself to you. You’ve rejected him several times and he couldn’t bear the thought of thinking him more of a monster as he reached his pleasure. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, I- mi amor. Te amo más de lo que nunca sabrás. Ah, god f-ffu…” Against your better judgement, you let go of his hand and push them into his hair, forcing him to look at you right before you met his lips. He’s growling and almost sobbing with want as he fills you with his seed, never once halting in his movements as he pushes his cock deeper inside you. You lose yourself into the kiss, unable to put together a coherent thought as you feel warmth spread where you are joined. This kiss is more desperate, and you’re not sure if it’s because of Tovar or because of you. 

His chest tightens painfully when he looks at you and sees tears in your eyes. He’s not sure if you’re crying because of him and he’s about to ask when you push him off of you and onto his back. Maybe you’ve finally come to your senses and wanted him t-

Tovar chokes on air when you slither between his legs and take his cock between the warmth of your hands, not giving him a chance to say anything as you lean down and take him in your mouth. “Hermosa, you- oh fuck, you don’t have t- oh gah.” He’s twisting your hair in his hand when you try to take him as far back in your mouth as you could. It’s messy and filthy and you’re inexperienced but he finds your attempts to pleasure him the most beautiful sight in the world. He can see cum and saliva rolling down the corners of your mouth and he grows harder at the thought of you tasting yourself and him on your tongue. 

He swears you might be the devil incarnate when you take him out of your mouth and kiss the underside of his cock. It’s such an innocent gesture but his cock twitches, and then you’re licking across the protruding veins and he all but loses it. 

“Shit, you l-look so beautiful mi amor, mouth full of my cock. Can you taste yourself? Go on, tell him how we taste...please, tell me.” You continue to mouth and nip at him, occasionally massaging the base of his cock and biting into his thighs when his hold tightens around your hair. 

Tovar feels his cock harden the more you give it attention and he begrudgingly pulls you off so you could answer him. 

“Tell me mi amor.” 

You’re not sure why you choose those words and you hope he understands the implications behind him without you needing to bare your soul to him any further

“As tempting as death…” 

The words are an arrow piercing his heart and he shuts his eyes for a few moments to collect his bearings before he’s roughly pulling you off of him and bringing you to his lips.

“Ven aquí y bésame! I want to taste us.” He shoves his tongue into your mouth and hums in approval when he can vaguely taste his seed and your arousal mixing with your scent. He’s not sure what brings him to do this but Tovar pulls back far enough and he maintains eye contact as he spits into your mouth, biting into his lower lip as he watches you make a show of swallowing his spit. You part your lips and breathe in his natural musk before you lean over and kiss his jaw. Momentarily distracted by your sudden need to show him affection, Tovar doesn’t notice you moving up his chest until your lips are trailing up the scar across his eye. He shakes in need when you kiss it over and over again, whispering quick apologies and wishing you could have been there to prevent him from being hurt. 

Tovar is no longer able to discern what it is you’re feeling. One minute you’re hiding yourself and turning away from him, and the next, you’re worshiping his cock and his scars as if he was yours. He decides to blame it on the poison and the wound-

The wound.

Pero pushes on your neck harder than he intends and he apologizes when he’s met with a shocked, hurt expression.

“Lo siento mi amor…” He whispers kindly to you as his eyes take in the wound on your shoulder, sighing in relief when he sees that the Priest covered it well. Little amount of blood managed to seep through the coverings but it wasn’t enough to alarm him. “I needed to ensure you aren’t hurt, forgive me hermosa.” Tovar explains again and watches as you visibly relax against him. 

“Come here,” you obey him as he pulls you into his arms and lays behind you, telling you to rest before the poison takes hold of you once more. You feel rejected, wishing you could tell him that the fire in your stomach and your lungs is returning already. But he’s done so much for you throughout the night and he deserved more than this. More than you. It wasn’t his duty to aid you through such a circumstance and yet he took it upon himself to do so.

Tovar wraps his arms around you and hopes you don’t pay any mind to his already hardening cock. He wants to slide into your cunt again and fill you up, but he doesn’t want to take more advantage of you. Not when you were hurt and vulnerable.

You try to get some shuteye, and you do for a little while, but you’re no longer able to quiet down when you begin to feel your skin crawling with ants. You’re sweating again, and your breaths are coming in quickly when you finally wake up and feel the pins and needle pain jabbing in your lower stomach. It’s your little whine that breaks Tovar’s daydreaming and he’s turning you around to take a better look at you.

“What’s the matter mi amor? Did I- did I hurt you?” You’re shaking your head violently at him as you’re turning in his arms and before he could try to figure out what it is you want, you’re getting on your hands and knees, ass in the air and face turned to him with an expression that he’s never seen before. 

He gulps at the sight before him and looks at you, rubbing at the scruff of his beard before his eyes widen in shock when he sees your hand reaching down and swiping across the mess seeping out of your cunt.

“I need you Pero, need you to- fuck me. Please, fuck me. Mark me and fill me up with your seed. Want you to use me for your pleasure, use me however you want. I- I can take it. Just- need your cock.” The sound of your pleas is music to his ears and Tovar is moving to kneel behind you in the blink of an eye. He kisses your lower back as his hand pushes down between your shoulder blades until your face is flush against the dampened sheets. You shiver when he trails his fingers up and down your back, smiling when he nips and kisses your round ass cheeks. Tovar bites into the skin of your backside and lightly spanks you when you try to jump away from him.

“My pretty girl wants me to fuck her again. You’re so wet for me hermosa, so ready and needy. Tell me, tell me how much you crave my cock.” He takes hold of his dick and swipes it between your slit, chuckling to himself when he sees the way you’re looking at him.

“Pero, don’t- please don’t tease. I burn for you, ‘ve dreamt of- oh I, I need your cock inside me. I really need you to fuck me, to- to-” You’re tripping over your words and Tovar knows he shouldn’t blame you for your lack of coherence but he’s living for how crazed you are. He pushes his cock into your fluttering walls and doesn’t miss how awfully tighter you feel around him this time around. You’re shaking with lust but only scream his name when you feel the palm of his hand landing on your ass one time after another as he fucks you without remorse. You lose count of how many times he spanks your ass and you don’t care because as soon as he stops and slips his other hand down to your clit, you’re seeing stars and groaning as pleasure courses through your veins. 

Tovar hisses at how tightly your cunt clenches around him and he’s suddenly in need of feeling your skin against his. Shoving his hand into your hair, he violently pulls on it until your back is flush to his chest. 

“That’s it querida, scream for me. Scream my name mi amor, so- fuck ah ah shit, so everyone knows who fucks you like the filthy whore you are. Go on cariño, sing for me. Feel me, pray for me. Dios mío, I’m- I won’t last mi cielo. You’re too good, too sweet, my heaven. Everything my heart desires...yearns for, lives for. Oh fuck, oh god- go on mi amor, cum for me. One more time, please. Need to feel you squeeze my cock one last time...just once, please. Fuck ah fuck I-” Tovar bites down on your shoulder as he thrusts into you, his rhythm forgotten as he fills your womb with his seed. You’re a quivering mess in his arms, relishing the harsh touch of his scruff on your heated skin. He moans your name when he feels you contracting around him, one arm wrapped around your chest and cupping your tits while the other is twirling around the rosary on your neck. 

You lose all sense of reality and time as Tovar slowly pushes you to your side, his cock somehow still hard in your cunt. You’re both heaving when Tovar takes the rosary from around your neck and holds it in the palm of his hand. 

You’re dozing off again but a harsh pinch to your nipples brings you back and you’re turning around just in time to see Tovar licking the beads that go around your neck before he drags the rosary down your skin. You’re not sure what he’s playing at until you feel the individual beads twirling in the mess of your combined juices. He’s rubbing your slit with the necklace and collecting your mixed arousal and your eyes widen in horror at the filthiness of the action. Tovar’s hand moves from your breast to your neck, aggressively turning your head around so you’re looking into his eyes as he brings the rosary back to your mouth.

“Open your mouth querida...and taste us.” You silently obey him and let him push the holy object into your mouth. You’re unable to hide how thoroughly you’re enjoying this and Tovar leans forward to lick in your mouth, smiling devilishly when you try to chase his lips as he tries to pull away.

“Sleep mi amor, you need to rest.” Tovar takes the rosary from your lips and throws it around his own neck. You turn in his arms and nuzzle into his chest, silently praying that he doesn’t regret this the following day. 

“Please be here when I wake up.” You murmur in your sleep and Tovar’s heart breaks into a million shards when he realizes that things will be different once the two of you awake the following morning. 

He’s not sure how much time passes but he spends every second looking at you, memorizing your calm expression and how at ease your muscles feel under his touch. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, not when he knows this would be the last time he’d be able to be near you in such a manner. When he tries to move to get a drink of water, your arms wrap tightly around his chest and bring him closer to you. He’s smiling to himself and brushing your hair aside to kiss you, laying his head back in irritation when he notices that the darkened skies are turning a lighter shade of pinks and blues. 

Tovar shuts his eyes and doesn’t bother to wipe the tears away when he remembers the events of the night. He’s torn himself into bits to ensure your safety and although he was of sound mind when he walked into this room, he never thought it would hurt this much to leave you. 

When the chirping of the birds rings through the morning light, Tovar takes a deep breath and turns to you, kissing you one last time on your forehead before he loosens your hold on him. You frown for a moment in your slumber but remain unmoving as he dresses and leaves the room. He’s holding fast to the rosary around his neck as he walks to the barnhouse when he sees the Priest unlocking the doors of the church. 

The older man takes one look at Tovar and nods in understanding. 

“Is there anything I can help you with my son?”

“Thank you but no Padre.” Tovar walks to his horse and whispers his good mornings to the animal, sighing deeply when he hears footsteps approach him.

“Is there anything you wish to confess?” Tovar snorts a laughter before he turns around and attempts to hide his sarcastic remarks. “How long do you have Padre? Because I assure you, I have not confessed since I was a little boy.” Tovar is thankful that the priest understands the implications behind his words because he smiles and pats him on teh back before heading towards the church.

“My door is open should you change your mind.” Pero nods at the older man before he returns to attend to his horse, his mind recalling every second he spent worshiping your body and how sinful his name sounded falling from your lips.

It’s not until the sun is shining in the middle of the sky that you finally come to your senses. You open your eyes and look around the room for a moment, unable to recollect how you became in this room. When you take in a deep breath and smell the musky and heavy scent of something alien to your senses, memories of the previous night come crashing into your mind and you sit up instantly. You’re frantically looking around but there is not a single sign of Tovar. Removing the sheets, you flush at the sight of the mess that meets your eyes before you cover yourself once more.  

It was no dream then. He was here, in your bed, pleasuring you all night long.

Images of the Spaniard hunched over you and driving his cock into your cunt flash into your mind’s eye and you’re hiding in your pillows when you remember what he’s said to you and what you moaned for him in return. 

But not everything that comes through your hazed memories was pleasant and you remembered some of the things he’s whispered to you, and the last request you asked of him. You wished him to be here, even told him so and he was gone. He chose to leave you alone after laying with you. 

A loud knock came through the door and you tiptoed to the barrier to ask who was calling on you.

“Miss, I was told to bring you a hot bath. You want me to come back another time?” A young girl half-yelled from the hallway and you thanked God you didn’t have to walk around the rest of the day with the stench of sex and god knows what else sticking on your skin.

“No, no. Now is perfect thank you. Just, please give me a moment to collect my bearings.” 

Tovar remains in the barnhouse all day long, not trusting himself to leave for fear of seeking you out. He dozes off at some point, and dreams of your sweaty skin sliding deliciously against his as you ride his cock and cum around him. He dreams of your lips softly caressing his own as you beg him to take you over and over again. He dreams of your soft hands massaging the pain away as he kisses every inch of your skin. He dreams and dreams until the neighs of the horses wake him from his sleep. He sits up immediately to inspect them only to find your beast beating down its hooves as it nudges its head outside the barn windows. Looking outside of the door, Tovar is planted in his place as he watches you make your way into the church. There is a hurry in your footsteps and he can barely make out the expression painted on your beautiful features. He ceases to breathe when he notices your furrowed eyebrows and the way you wipe frantically at your cheeks.

You’ve been crying. And he is sure he is the reason for your tears. For your regrets. And for your broken vows. 

Tovar is incapable of moving a muscle and he knows very well he is the last person you probably wish to see. Grabbing his belongings, he struts back to the inn and ascends to his room, pausing for a moment to look at your door before he pushes into the one across and slams the wooden barrier behind him. 

Back in the church, the Priest can only stand aside as you kneel at the altar, crying and begging God for forgiveness. 

“For...for I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against You, You only, have I sinned, and done this- this...oh Christ, this evil in Your sight. Hide Your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Do not cast me away from Your presence, and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me. Please...my Lord, my God...a broken and a contrite heart, these, O God, You will not despise. Forgive me, have mercy on me. I have sinned before You and I- I have no one else to comfort me. Oh God, I- from the depths of my heart, I beg for Your forgiveness and I ask for Your guidance. I cannot lie to myself any longer, nor can I hide from him. He is my...my everything. Forgive me, f-forgive me.” You’re openly weeping in your hands as you stand and move towards the exit, coming to a halt when you see the Priest standing near the candles.

Walking towards him, you wipe the tears away and look to the floor as you come to a stop in front of him.

“How are you feeling this morning?” His voice is kind and calming and you silently thank God for sending you such a messenger. 

“I cannot lie to you Father, I have seen better nights.” You smile nervously at him and he returns the gesture, nodding in silence before he asks you to walk with him. 

“As much as it pains me to admit this to you, I- I cannot bless your relationship with this man.” You nod in affirmation as he brings you to the door of the church and stops. “I understand that last night was a difficult trial for you, and in a way, for him as well. But you know now, that it has become a temptation...should you, should you choose to go to him.” You can tell he is both sad and uncomfortable by the words he’s speaking to you. 

“I understand Father. But, I- if there is a slither of a chance that I could be with him, I must take it. I must. Forgive me.” You gulp nervously before you move past him and out the church, wiping the tears from your eyes as you make your way back to the inn. As soon as you walk in, you head to the innkeeper and ask him if he’s seen Tovar. He trips over his words and avoids your gaze, quickly telling you that he saw him ascend to his bedroom not too long ago. You thank him before heading up to his chambers, silently begging for your heart to slow down before you knock on his door. 

Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock three times, furrowing your eyebrows when you are met with silence. Knocking once more, you wait with patience and begin to feel nervous when Tovar doesn’t respond. You’re about to try one last time when the door swings open and causes you to almost trip as you back away. 

Tovar’s furious expression melts away at the sight of you, and he barely holds back from pulling you into his arms and comforting you. 

“What do you want?” You wince at his tone and feel your chest tighten when he doesn’t move to let you in. 

“I- I wish to s-speak with you. If- I mean...if that is alright with you.” You’re stuttering again and Tovar finds it endearing that you’re somehow nervous in his presence when, not hours ago, he was pulling the most beautiful sounds from your mouth. Reluctantly, Tovar steps aside and lets you into the room, waiting for you to halt in your steps so he could remain as far away from you as possible.

“Speak,” he knows he should be more kind, a bit softer at least. But he can’t bare his heart to you again, not when you’ve come here to reject him, or perhaps tell him that you couldn’t remain in the company anymore. 

“I- about last night...I wanted to- that is, I’ve been...I was wondering if you- oh God.” Tovar can barely understand a word you’re saying and his impatience is growing by the second so he does the only thing he is capable of.

“You don’t have to say anything princesa, I know.” He pulls you away from your thoughts with a gruff response.

“Y-you do?”

“It was nothing, a mistake. We will not speak of it to anyone, sí?” Tovar snarls the words at you and it takes everything not to break down in front of him. So he’s known of your feelings, and he called what you’ve done last night a mistake. Who knew that rejection could hurt this much.

“Oh. I- I see.” Your voice breaks as you continue to ring your fingers nervously, unsure if there was anything left for you to say. Tovar is confused by your body language and he almost steps towards you to take your hands in his own and comfort you, but he stops himself. 

“So all of what- what you said to me was, it was just in the heat of the moment?” You can’t stop yourself from asking him as you look at him with hope in your eyes. There must have been some truth to them. There had to be. You don’t realize you’re stepping closer to him until the next few moments pass by. 

“You, I- I gave you everything that I am. Everything that I’ve kept for- for decades. And you’re telling me there isn’t a single ounce of affection in that god-forsaken cold heart of yours? I- what more do you want from me? I have nothing else that isn’t yours. Please, I- oh god...” Tovar is shocked at the turn of events and he doesn’t stop you when you begin to beat his chest until he sees how much you’re hurting your own hands. 

“Hermosa what-”

“I’ve given you my body, my- my heart...my soul. And you- you stand there and mock me with how little I matter to you.” You know you shouldn’t admit any of those affections to him and yet you’re incapable of hiding any longer. Tovar’s arms are suddenly tightening around your shaking form and you find yourself calming when you breathe in his scent. 

Tovar wholeheartedly believes he is dreaming because he is sure you would never say such words to him. He gives you all the time in the world to take your frustrations out on him, softly shushing you and rubbing at the back of your neck when you begin to sob again. You’re not sure how much time passes and when you finally pull away, you’re met with a soft pair of brown eyes that carried the weight of so many secrets in them. 

“Hermosa, I-”

“I’m sorry, that was...you didn’t deserve this. I- I should go.” You’re about to slip from his arms when Tovar pulls you back in and molds his lips with yours in a chaste kiss. You let him walk you to the bed and sit you down, never once letting go of him as he keeps his skin on yours. 

You want to ask him a million questions when you finally pull away, but your eyes shift to the beaded necklace around his neck and you recognize it immediately. Rubbing the rosary between your fingers and his chest, you look into his eyes once more and understand what he was silently telling you. What’s been hidden in those venomous words he’d thrown at you ever since you joined the company. 

“Pero.”

“Mi amor, forgive me. I never wished to hurt you so. I- I hoped that you’d one day return my feelings but- I...mierda. I tried to come to terms with your vows and I failed. I’ve been selfish and… last night was, it was- it was the best night of my life. But I knew that you would regret it once you woke up and I couldn’t be there when you looked at me with mistrust. I wish I could tell you that I regretted it...you weren’t yourself and it was, it was against your will. But I wouldn’t take back a single moment. Not one. You were finally in my arms querida and it was everything I’ve prayed for.” Your heart is beating violently at your chest and you swear he can probably hear it.

“Pero, I- I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t you.” Your confession is enough to break down all of the walls he’s built ever since you came into his life and he’s smiling at you before he remembers how you came to this moment. You frown when you watch his smile fade and he turns away from you.

“No hermosa. I- I cannot do this to you. Last night was...forced. I cannot tempt you to break your vows again. I love you Y/N. More than you will ever know. I cannot be the one to come between you and your God again.” You cease to breathe when you hear him admit that he loves you with immense ease. And you decide then and there what you want. 

“Pero, I do not see a life for myself where you are not in it. Where I am not sleeping in your arms every night. I cannot lie to myself anymore. I- I love you. You have my heart. Believe me when I tell you that I choose this for myself.” Your words ignite a fire in Tovar’s chest and he almost cries at what you were willing to do for him. 

Silence grows between the two of you before Tovar breaks it. 

“Marry me.”

“W-what?”

“Marry me hermosa. Marry me and you do not have to disobey your God, and I- I will be with you until the day I die.” His exclamation is beyond shocking and you’re not sure what to make of it because as far as you can tell, he is right.

“Tovar, I- you must understand that you need to be baptized to marry me?” You’re not sure why you ask him such a question but you want to be certain he understands what he is walking into. 

“No I do not cariño, I’ve already been baptized when I was a young boy.”

“You’re Catholic?” 

“By birth...but you know as well as I that I have not practiced in a long time. I- I can try to if you wish me t-”

“I could never force you to do something your heart does not long for. As far as I know, and in the eyes of the church, you need only be baptized.” You shrug, your mind already running with thoughts of how the Priest in the village would react when you return to him alongside Tovar. 

“So you will marry me?” Tovar is beaming with joy at your rationale and he’s squeezing your hands, praying you would end his agony and agree to become his wife. 

“Yes, a thousand times yes.” You jump into his arms and meet his lips once more, savoring the natural taste of them and moaning against him as he deepens the kiss and twists his tongue across yours. You feel his hands skimming down your form and you sigh when he grabs your backside and pulls you into his lap until you’re straddling him.

“Tell me mi amor, is it a sin if I make love to my future wife?” He’s kissing down your chin and nipping at your neck, making it difficult for you to form a coherent thought yet again. 

“Hmm, I’m not- oh God...I don’t know Pero. But- I...I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t confess about later.” You squeal when Tovar turns the two of you around and pushes you beneath him. There is a dangerous glint in his eyes and you twist your fingers in his hair to bring him closer to you. 

“In that case,” Tovar looks up towards the ceiling and you raise a curious eyebrow at him before he returns his attention to you once more, “forgive me Father, for I am about to sin.” 

Translations (please message me to correct the Spanish): Princesa - Princess ¡Váyase! - Go away! Buenas noches - Good night. Mierda - Shit Cállate - Shut up. Hijo de puta madre - Son of a bitch. Querida - Sweetheart Hermosa - Beautiful No importa - It’s not important or it doesn’t matter. Lo siento - I'm sorry. De nada - You’re welcome. Padre - Father Sí - Yes Perdóname - Forgive me. Magnífico - Magnificent Dios mío - My god Cariño - Dear/Honey Escupe - Spit (imperative form) Mi amor - My love/My sweetheart Relájate - Relax (imperative form) Mi cielo - My heaven Eres perfecto - You’re perfect. Te amo más de lo que nunca sabrás. - I love you more than you’ll ever know. Ven aquí y bésame! - Come here and kiss me!

Biblical References (because I can’t not footnote and I am shameless) Matthew 6:14-15, Psalm 6, Psalm 121, Galatians 5:17, 1 Corinthians 3:16-17, Psalm 3, Psalm 23,  Psalm 26, 1 Thessalonians 4:3, Matthew 7:7-8, John 8:32,  Psalm 57,  Psalm 69, Proverbs 6:25, Exodus 20:14, Matthew 5:28,  Psalm 51

Tagging some people who showed interest in this fic: @blueeyesatnight @purple-mango @mouthymandalorian @namay @kesskirata @starlightmornings @pedro-pastel @the-ginger-hedge-witch @pedropastelpascal @mothandpidgeon @romanosgirl1978 @littlebopper96 @fan-of-encouragement @feelmyroarrrr @metalarmsandmanbuns @tremistqueen @sebastianruinedme @im-not-great-at-making-up-names @a-bang-for-your-bucky @queensoybean @kat-r-in @blackmarketmummy @fleurdemiel145

#Pero Tovar #Pero Tovar/Reader #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero Tovar Fanfiction #Pero Tovar smut #Pero Tovar angst #Pero Tovar Fluff #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Hopelessly Devoted to You | R.L

Pairing: Marauders!Remus Lupin x Female Reader

Warnings: None :)

Words: 3,200

Request: @risingtripletaurus​ hi lovey! may i pretty please request a fic with the reader very much in the halloween spirit, celebrating halloween the marauders.. remus and the reader also lowkey have a crush on eachother rEMUS HOPES HE GETS ALL THE CHOCOLATE WHEN TRICK OR TREATING over all just a very fluffy time!

A/N: sorry this is so late, a lot has been happening in my personal life. I hope you enjoy! I took it in a slightly different direction that I hope you like anyway, it’s still a fluffy spooky time so I hope you enjoy. I really like this one :). I also have an idea for a part two so keep an eye out... also I know that Grease technically came out after the Marauders were at Hogwarts, I just thought it was cute anyway.

Summary: Reader and Remus are crushing hard, and what better way than an accidental couples costume and a Halloween party to get the pair together

Y/N and Sirius came bounding through the doors to the Gryffindor common room with so much force Peter grimaced as the walls shook around them. Their hands were loaded with boxes, overflowing with black and orange decorations, cheap spiders and what seems like an insane match of costumes and clothes. It wasn’t even the start of October, but whenever the season rolled around even slight, Y/N and Sirius went all out! For the pair, it seemed that they were built for the season, putting care and thought into their costumes and the treats they would make everyone; their energy infections, getting everyone else in the school hyped for the spooky season months in advance. 

Even Remus let himself loose around the Halloween season, knowing how happy it made Y/N when he would join in on the corny games that she and Sirius worked so hard to make. And he lived to make Y/N happy; to see that goofy smile that she would give him as she looked up at the lanky boy, melting his heart even more around Halloween when she would be dressed in an adorable hand made costume. 

His friends all knew, about Remus’s crush on Y/N. Honestly, it seemed that everyone in the whole school knew that the boy was smitten except Y/N, they just strolled around the castle, unaware of the boys lingering stares and wistful glances. He had a plan though, to change that. Well, Sirius and James had a plan. A plan that he wasn’t privy to despite being a leading role in it. 

Sirius dumped the box onto the couch next to James, who was prying the lid open before it even landed, to pear inside. He pulled out all sorts of different costumes, Y/N’s box joining next to it, Gryffindor written in scratchy writing on the side, full of decorations and gags to put up around the common room. 

“Sirius,” James laughs, pulling out a tight black off the shoulder top, “you’d look great in this mate but it’s a stretch to think it’ll fit you.”

Y/N rolls their eyes, taking it out of James’s hand and holding it up to their smaller frame, “it’s mine you nit.” 

Sirius comes up behind Y/N and slings an arm over her shoulder, “we’re doing a couple’s costume this year.” The pair struck a cheesy Charlie’s angels style pose as they giggle. Remus knows it’s stupid but he can’t help the hot feeling boiling in his stomach at how close Sirius and Y/N are. He knows it’s stupid, he has no reason to be jealous; Sirius knows that Remus likes Y/N, and he knows they’re just friends, but he can’t help it. He wants to be the one to make Y/N laugh, to be able to sling an arm around her without making a fool of himself, to be able to do cute couple costumes that Y/N is excited to make. 

“What are you going as?” Peter’s voice breaks Remus’s train of thought, the shorter boy hanging over the back of the couch to rummage through the box himself. He pulls out a pirate hat and an eyepatch, laughing slightly as he puts them next to him. 

“We’re going as Sandy and Danny from Grease,” Sirius says, shooting James a look that he just returns with a nod, sending me a glance as he smirks slightly. 

“I’m so excited to do it,” Y/N chimes, reaching a hand up to grab onto Sirius’s arm slightly before turning back to us with a wide smile on her face, “It’s that muggle musical I was telling you about, the one set in the 50s. We’re going as the two main characters!”

James gets up from his seat on the couch behind Y/N, walking over to the pair and placing his arms around them, “I thought you were gonna do a costume with me this year Black? We’ve been working on it for months.”

With an exaggerated hand to the forehead, Sirius lets out an exasperated sigh, “shit that’s right James, fuck I’m sorry mate. We’re gonna have to save our amazing surprise costume for next year, I promised Y/N.”

“You guys were working on a costume?” Y/N asks, looking at the boys on either side of her as they nod. Remus can tell she’s slightly upset at the thought of not doing her costume she had planned but is hiding it with her excitement at her friends getting into the holiday. “That’s so cool guys, please do it! I want to see what you guys have planned.”

“But what about your costume?”

“That’s ok,” she smiles warmly back, “I have plenty of other ideas.”

“I feel super bad now,” Sirius brings Y/N into a hug to which the girl giggles and assures him it’s ok. Over Y/N shoulder he shoots Remus a wink, the boys' eyes going wide at the thought of what his friends are up to, “say, Remus is around my size isn’t he?”

All eyes in the room turn to Remus, and he feels his face heat up at the attention, glancing down at his book, “not happening.”

“Come on mate,” Sirius and James chorus, James throwing an arm around Y/N and sarcastically patting their head, adding “you don’t wanna make little Y/N sad do you?”

“Come on guys,” Y/N chuckles, slinking away under James grasp and looking over to Remus, “he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.” James and Sirius's glare daggers over Y/N’s shoulder at the boy sitting on the couch, Peter going to say something James shutting him down with a stern look before he can even get a sound out. It seems that the boys are able to have a conversation without saying a single word, ‘dude come on don't be a baby,’ James’s look taunts, Sirius’s glare telling him to not lose his chance. 

“I-I’d love to d-do the costume with you Y/N.” Remus grimaces slightly at his nervous stuttering, grinning at Y/N as they bound over to him excitedly, thanking him as she pulls him into a hug. The boy freezes for a moment, before relaxing in the shorter girls grasp and returning the hug. The pair stood there, enjoying the small moment, for slightly longer than they probably should have; as their friends just looked on smirking and chuckling to themselves as the two teens were so obliviously in love with each other. James coughed obnoxiously, breaking the pair out of their hug as they pulled apart, faces red as they smiled shyly at each other.

“Well I think I need to get going,” Y/N smiled up at the boys, ruffling Peter’s hair slightly as she walked past him, grabbing a box labelled Hufflepuff that she had placed on the floor earlier, “those Hufflepuff’s won't help themselves.” She turns and walks towards the door to the common room, turning back to Remus to smile at him and thank him one last time before she was out the door, and once again on a mission about the castle.

The instant she was gone the common room erupted into cheers, as Sirius and James loudly hollered in excitement for Remus; Peter joining in soon after, confused as to what was happening but feeling left out that he wasn’t involved. Remus however was unamused, arms crossed in front of his chest as he glared at his friends, eyebrow raised as if daring them to speak.

The cheering stopped when Sirius and James noticed Remus’ upset attitude, Peter once again joining in and stopping, mumbling a small what’s happening to Sirius who brushed him off. “Oh come on mate,” James argued, mimicking Remus’ posture but with a smirk plastered on his face, “how are you possibly upset with us?”

Remus was gobsmacked at James’ question, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water as he looked at his friends trying to find the words to convey how stupid they were, “you lied to her that’s how! You got her hopes up when you knew you weren’t going to go with her. And you dragged me into your bullshit once again.”

“Oh come on mate, it’s not like that,” Sirius chimed in, trying to calm the tension forming. Leading Remus over to the couch he sat both of them down, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “besides, she was way more excited at you saying you’d go with her than she was when she brought it up to me in the first place.”

“That’s not true.”

“It so is,” Sirius argued back, “now stop being a fucking baby and grow some balls. It’ll be a great night.”

“If you’ll excuse me, lads,” James mutters, standing up from the seat he was on and heading towards the door, “but I need to catch Lily before she makes it to the library. Anyone joining?”

Sirius gets up and follows James, the pair out the door in an instant; and Peter, who is lagging behind, gets up to follow them, turning to Remus before he leaves, “don’t worry, it’s gonna be a wicked night.”

Remus can't help but chuckle slightly at Peter’s excitement, his head still swirling and his heart still racing, even after his friends leave.

The month was trekking on, October drawing to a close, much slower than Remus and Y/N would have liked. The closer it got to Halloween the more nervous excitement the two teens felt bubbling away. It was noticeable to their friends, as they would talk during break and pass each other in the hallway; both unbelievably ~excited and hopeful that the night would go how they want, and yet nervous. But that didn’t stop Y/N from getting in the festive spirit. She went all out this year, dragging along anyone and everyone that she could convince to help with her preparation. The whole school seemed to know that she was in a particularly festive mood this year, everyone in her year helping where they could, all the first years unbelievably excited over how amazing the castle looked.

As the talented young witch, she was, it was no surprise that Y/N was able to make some pretty amazing decorations. Pumpkins that would follow students around, glasses that made the teachers look like they were dressed up, the orange streamers and plastic spiders that would come to life when you walked past. Everyone was shocked by how all out Y/N was going this year, they knew she was talented, but not this talented. In the back of her mind though, Y/N knew she had to make this year perfect. 

Remus was confused when he walked down the corridors to potions one day, and the school seemed to be buzzing with excitement more than usual. Students everywhere were glancing around in excitement, peering over each other's shoulders to get a glimpse at the parchment they were all holding. As he walked up to potions class, surprisingly early for once, he heard a commotion behind him, and turned and saw Y/N and Sirius walking towards him, students around them clapping and patting them on the back in excitement. They made their way over to Remus, who was stood there seemingly entranced by Y/N. It was like she was glowing with excitement, and he couldn't help the dopy smile on his face at seeing her so happy. 

When the pair got to him Sirius pulled him into a headlock, rustling his hair slightly as he laughed, “we’re superstars we are,” he gleamed, letting go of the boy and putting an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, “everyone loves us.”

“Y/N I can understand people liking, but you?” Remus says, glancing at Y/N quickly to see her face going slightly pink, as he is doing too, at his bold comment. ‘haha lover boy,’ Sirius shoots back, but Remus isn’t listening as Y/N passes him a piece of parchment, notes from last potions class. They both go to say something when the door swings open and they are being summoned inside for class. 

The boys are back in their dorms, late in the evening now, Sirius and James gasbagging about Severus while Peter listens attentively, chewing on a sweet Y/N brought to the common room earlier. Remus is trying to read his herbology textbook, trying to take notes from class today, but his mind continues to wonder. To Y/N, to Halloween, to Sirius and Y/N's friendship, he’s all over the place. As his mind is racing he feels the heat in his shirt pocket start to warm up, shocking him out of his trance as he pulls out the bit of parchment Y/N handed him earlier. He never got a chance to ask her about it, she was being pulled in every direction that day, but as he looks down at the piece of paper, no longer homework but rather an invitation now. He feels his heart start to beat harder in his chest as he turns the sheet over, Y/N’s handwriting littering the page, 

“I’m so glad you decided to come, Remus, I was hoping you would. I can’t wait to see you, I’m really glad we’re doing a costume together.”

That night Remus goes to bed with a huge grin on his face, the happiest he’s felt in ages.

Halloween day comes and goes, much slower than the school would like. The teachers drone on in their usual lessons, their patience running thin at their student's erratic excitement. No one was more excited than Y/N. The second her last class finished she was off, grabbing her friends as she went and dragging everyone to the Ravenclaw common room, where she had made it clear would be open to anyone in dire need of a last-minute costume. In came students of every house and year and out walked clowns, mimes, zombies, princesses, anything and everything they could think of, hidden from the teachers by some simple spells. 

The boys were down at the room of requirements, decorating for the party to come; the room had transformed itself into a huge dance hall, and the boys were doing everything in their power to make it a spooky extravaganza. And they were succeeding. There were jack o'lantern, punch, sweets of every size and shape, every corner of the room decorated with spooky charmed decorations, and every ceiling adorning some spider or streamers. Peter had even thought of the idea to set up a trick or treating scavenger hunt for the younger students (and some of the older students too), so there were plenty of people already coming in and out collecting clues and sweets before they weren’t allowed to be wandering the halls anymore. 

It was immaculate, seeing the room come together because of his friend's hard work, but nothing could describe the awe he felt when Y/N walked in the room. By now there were people flooding in at a regular pace, but when he heard that soft voice call his name and turned to see her, his world seemed to stop. All he could do was stare, she looked gorgeous. Not that he didn't always think she looked gorgeous, but he couldn't help but think how happy she looked, completely encompassed by the holiday spirit. She looked beautiful in her costume, her hair big and curly, and the tight leather trousers and off the shoulder top complimenting her figure perfectly. She held her self with a confidence he had never seen in the girl before, and he was amazed. 

“This is brilliant Remus,” Y/N smiles up at him, grabbing his hand as she looks around, “you guys did an amazing job.”

Remus barely processes her words as his brain is already trying to put together his next sentence, “you look incredible.”

It caught Y/N off guard his compliment, he had never been so earnest and bold with her before, and the sentiment made her blush furiously, “you look great yourself.” The teens stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, when Sirius and James sauntered over to the pair, already on the verge of drunk, and started chiding them “there’s my favourite greaser couple.”

“Don't tell me this is your incredible costume?” 

Sirius was shirtless, a studded leather jacket and black glove the only attempt at a costume, giving him a Billy Idol vibe that both Y/N and Remus didn’t even know was intentional. James was more obviously dressed up, the mouse ears on his head giving him a very distinct, albeit lazy Micky Mouse appearance. They both just shrugged at the girl, going into a tirade of drunken excuses to which Y/N just rolled her eyes, “if it makes you feel better I only did this to match with Lily,” James slurs, “turns out they were lying to me and she's wearing some bloody antlers.”

“Dear god James you’re so thick sometimes,” Y/N shook her head, turning towards Remus, “wanna go dance?”

The pair made their way into the crowds of other people dancing, ignoring James’ shouts of questions. 

The night went on, and the people kept dancing, chatting and spinning and laughing at how much fun they were having; all through the night people would come up and compliment Y/N on the party, and never once did she take full credit, always saying how much other people helped her. As the pair stood there, laughing with their friends as they danced to the ending of the monster mash, it slowly faded and didn't pick up again. A slow song began to play, and Remus looked over to see Sirius playing with the music, James giving him a thumbs up. 

Before Remus can say anything, Y/N is placing his hand on his arm, “wanna dance?” Despite both of their nerves, the pair danced together slowly, Remus’s arms around her waist, and Y/N’s around his shoulders. Both of them wanted to look at each other, to bask in how lovely they each looked but neither wanted to ruin the moment. 

Remus moved his head from where it was resting against Y/Ns, and she moved her head to look up at him, meeting that soft, goofy smile that sent her stomach tingling with butterflies. “you really do look lovely tonight, I’m so glad you asked me to come with you.”

Y/N barely knew what to say to him, it seemed that her body was moving on its own as their heads were slowly moving towards each other. “I’m glad you came with me,” she mumbled back before their lips finally connected. 

What seemed to be years in the making was finally happening, both teens dream coming true as their lips pressed softly together. All at once, Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, her mind racing at yet somehow, all she could focus on was Remus, and his lips pressed against hers. It seems that the world disappeared around them, as they stood there with each other. Nothing mattered right now except them.

They pulled apart sooner than they wanted to, both could've stayed there for eternity if they had the chance. They looked into each other's eyes, hoping their shared glance could give them all the words they failed to be able to say. It was a nice moment until James’s, Sirius’s and Peter’s hollers broke through the soft ambience of the crowd, everyone looking around confused, some even joining in as Remus and Y/N just laughed slightly at their friends' antics. 

“Do you wanna do Hogsmead with me this weekend?” Y/N asked softly, grinning up at the boy. 

He leaned down to connect their lips again softly, grinning when they pulled apart, “I would love to.” 

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin headcanons #grease 2 #the superior grease #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter Smut #harry potter fluff #hogwarts #Marauders #marauders remus #requested #remus #hp #HP Fandom #hp fanfic #marauders fanfiction #haloween #grease

[onecanonlife]

In which Quackity has no idea why Wilbur keeps hanging around Las Nevadas, and the answer, when he finally gets one, is not what he expects.

(word count: 2,228)

--------------------

Quackity’s gotten used to solitude. The true kind of solitude, where you can be with a crowd of people and still be alone. He’s used to it, because he knows himself well, knows exactly what he’s doing, knows that his methods will gain him power and citizens and forced loyalty but no true friends. Which is fine. He hardly needs them. Getting close to people only gets you betrayed and left behind; that’s a lesson he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon.

So he runs his country. Continues to work on preparing it for its full opening. Ignores the fact that even though people live here, now, it’s still empty more often than not, Purpled and Fundy only around occasionally, Sam avoiding him whenever he can manage it, Foolish constantly fucking around in other parts of the server, procrastinating his work here. And that’s not even mentioning the ghost in the basement. It’s fine. They’re still his citizens, still bound to protect this place, and that’s what matters.

He’s sitting pretty. He’s got everything he wanted. Companionship doesn’t matter when he’s got power.

But then, of course, there’s Wilbur.

Wilbur is a wrench in the works. Wilbur is a knot in the rope, a disruption in the pattern. Wilbur is around constantly, always messing with something, always provoking him, always ready with a quick grin and a motion of his fingers, all sharp angles and edges. And Quackity’s not one to admit nervousness, not one to give his opponents an advantage like that, so long as he can help it, but Wilbur is unpredictable, and that makes him dangerous.

And he’s always here.

So it shouldn’t be surprising that it comes to a boiling point. It’s a day like all the others when it happens; he’s alone for the moment, sitting at the bar of a casino that isn’t yet finished, nursing a glass of champagne. It’s about the only alcohol he can stomach; anything stronger, anything like beer or, gods forbid, whiskey, and his mind gets taken back to a place he doesn’t like to dwell on. But here he is, alone, no one else in the country as far as he knows—except for maybe Slime, who could very well be in a dark hole nearby, but he hasn’t seen him—and then Wilbur comes prancing in. Prancing is the best word to describe it. The man has a certain way of moving, a giddy delight combined with a smug surety, confidence oozing from every motion, as if he’s daring him to try to stop him.

Just try to get rid of me, he seems to be saying. You can’t.

He tries to ignore him. He really does. But Wilbur’s not even supposed to be here in the first place; the casino isn’t open to anyone, yet. And all Wilbur seems to want to do is poke around, which is annoying on so many levels, so he finds himself swiveling on his barstool before he can stop himself.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps, and Wilbur looks at him, lips curling into a wide smile. He immediately knows he’s messed up in giving him any attention at all. Wilbur seems to thrive on it. Attention.

“What,” Wilbur says, “I can’t visit? I don’t seem to recall you saying that I couldn’t.”

“I should,” he mutters, and the smile sharpens.

“Going to exile me, then?” Wilbur asks. “Shall we have a little repeat of history, just you and me? You have a stage right outside, I noticed.”

He has to work hard to not flinch at that. He doesn’t want Wilbur to know that it affects him, whenever he brings that up. Because he—does regret it, as much as he is able to regret anything. He regrets his ineffectiveness. He regrets standing there and laughing as Wilbur and Tommy were chased out, as Wilbur literally lost a life on Schlatt’s orders. He does regret it. But regrets don’t change anything, and he prides himself on his ability to move forward.

So instead of rising to the bait, he just sighs, fixing Wilbur with a stare that he hopes conveys how unimpressed he is.

“Why do you keep coming here, Wilbur?” he asks. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

Wilbur seems to take this as invitation to come near, perching on a stool next to him. This close, Quackity can pick out details: the bandage that is perpetually wrapped around his arm and always bloody, the way his coat is missing its hood, the gleam in his eyes that looks red when he catches the light just right. For some reason, though, that red has never looked frightening. More lonely, maybe, even though it doesn’t make sense to assign feelings to a flash of color.

He also notes that Wilbur smells different, too. Gone is the gunpowder smoke that clung to him in the ravine. Instead, he smells like damp dirt and pine, with a slight coppery tang underneath.

“Not particularly,” Wilbur says. “Do you really want to know, Big Q? I mean, really?”

He takes another sip of his champagne, and leans back against the bar. “That’s why I asked, isn’t it?” he says, and his voice isn’t as harsh as it should be. He’ll blame the drink. “I don’t get it. You’ve declared us rivals, but you’ve barely done anything other than build that stupid looking fort and bother me all the time. What are you getting out of this?”

“What am I getting out of this?” Wilbur repeats, looking surprised. “So you really don’t know?”

He rolls his eye. “Look, if you’re not going to give me a straight answer, just leave it alone and quit bugging me,” he says. “I do actually have work to be doing. And I don’t see why you’re so determined to hang around here all the time.” Nevermind that he’s not doing any work at all at this exact second, and doesn’t really plan to.

“Oh, Big Q, you really don’t know,” Wilbur says, and—why is his voice doing that? Why has it gone so soft? “So I’ll let you in on it. Just this once. Tell me, Quackity, would you say I’m human?”

He blinks. Because—what the fuck kind of a question is that?

“What the hell else would I call you?” he asks, genuinely bewildered, but Wilbur just nods, apparently satisfied.

“That’s it,” Wilbur says. “That’s the big reason. The secret.”

“Wait,” he says, and holds up a hand. He also puts his glass down, and it hits the counter with a loud clink. “Wait, what? That’s it? You’re here all the time because—you’re human? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“No,” Wilbur says, patient. “It’s because you think I am.”

He has to take a moment to work through that. But he still can’t make sense of it. He shoots him a look, for once not bothering to hide his expression, displaying his confusion openly in the hopes that Wilbur will elaborate on whatever the hell this tangent is.

Wilbur sighs, shaking his head, but the look on his face—Quackity doesn’t know how to describe it other than fond, but that doesn’t make any sense either.

“You’re the only one who does,” Wilbur says. “I know what other people think of me, you see. I know what they say. I’m a freak, a monster. I’m insane, evil, crazy. A villain.” He does some jazz hands, but the gesture dies quickly, little energy put behind it. His smile no longer quite looks like a smile, even though it’s trying to be one. “And they’re scared of me, Quackity. All of them. They’re waiting to see what I’m going to do, and they’re shaking in their fucking boots.” He leans closer, and Quackity can’t help but mirror him. “And then I come here, and do you remember what you called me?”

He’s finding it a little difficult to keep his breaths even, for some reason. “What did I call you?” he asks, voice almost a whisper.

“Unpredictable,” Wilbur says, hushed. “You called me unpredictable. And I knew then. I knew that you were wary of me, but it was because I was human. A person. An unpredictable, messy sort of person. I’m not sure you understand what that means to me.”

He’s still not sure he’s getting it. “Come on,” he says. “I can’t possibly be the only one to act like—I mean, you’re just a guy, Wilbur, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“And who else would there be?” Wilbur asks. His head tilts. “Phil? Phil watches me like I’m a ticking time bomb. He might love me, but he sort of has to. That doesn’t count.”

“Tommy, then,” he says, and feels assured in his answer. “Tommy still hangs onto your every word, man.”

But Wilbur snorts. “Tommy hangs on because he’s worried that I’m going to blow up another country,” he says. “He’s trying to be my minder. And I’d rather have that than not have him there at all, but I know him too well to think he likes me anymore. He thinks I’m nuts. And he’d rather have the ghost version of me back. The more palatable version of me. He gave Ghostbur a grave, did you know that? He gave Ghostbur a grave and not me. He’d rather I was dead.”

He feels his mouth drop open, just slightly. He’s sure not all of that can be true. Tommy—he is certain that Tommy still adores Wilbur, that Tommy would still go above and beyond for him. But at the same time, he’s seen Tommy’s trepidation. He’s seen his doubts. He’s tried to play on them, tried to use them to his advantage, tried to bring Tommy to his side. Tried to cleave him from Wilbur.

So maybe Wilbur has a point after all. And if that’s the case—

Wilbur really is a mess. And he can’t blame him for that.

“Even back then, the person I was before,” Wilbur says. “You called me crazy, but you didn’t treat me as something less than human. And now, even when everyone else I’ve met is—” He stops, breathes in. Leans back a bit, and Quackity realizes just how close their faces have been to one another’s. “And then here you are. Someone who doesn’t stare at me like I’m some kind of curiosity, who understands not to point out everything that’s different about my appearance, who thinks I’m human. And that’s a bit exhilarating, I’ll admit. Exciting. Do you see?”

Quackity’s not one to be overly empathetic. He can’t afford to be, these days. But just for a second, he puts himself in Wilbur’s shoes. It’s easier than it should be. His next exhalation is shaky.

“I think so,” he says. “I think I might.”

And just like that, Wilbur is standing. “Good,” he says. “I hoped you would. Don’t think you can use it against me, though. I’ll know if you try, Big Q. I’m quite good at all the same games that you are.”

He inclines his head, the barest suggestion of agreement. And, if Wilbur knows where to look, perhaps an admission, that part of his mind is already filing this conversation away, picking it apart, seeking out the best ways to use this new weak spot he’s uncovered. That’s just the sort of person he is, now.

And yet—

Before Wilbur can leave, he catches Wilbur’s wrist. It’s a skinny thing, frail, though perhaps that’s to be expected. He can wrap all of his fingers around it, and Wilbur freezes, literally vibrating with sudden tension. Quackity wonders if anyone’s bothered to touch him since his return from the grave.

“For the record,” he says, before he can change his mind, “you’re an asshole, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, and I absolutely think you’re a threat to what I’m trying to build here. But I wouldn’t rather you were dead.”

For a long moment, Wilbur just stares at him.

“Oh,” he says at length. “Thank you, Big Q.”

He lets his fingers slip away, though slowly. Wilbur tarries for a second longer, just watching him, and then, he’s gone, coat sweeping across the shining, empty floor. Quackity watches him leave, and again, wonders. Has anyone bothered to tell him that, either?

Kind of fucked up, if no one has. He can use that, probably. But—later. He doesn’t want to think about it right now.

His fingers burn where he made contact with Wilbur’s skin, tingling not unpleasantly. He finishes off his champagne, but it doesn’t make the sensation go away. So he flexes his hand, and finds himself thinking, once again, about companionship, or the lack thereof.

He doesn’t want friends. Friends, or—or anything more than friends, that is a bad idea. Never ends well. But he watches the spot where Wilbur used to be, and—maybe having a rival around really won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll let him push himself, give him something else to strive for, or against.

He’ll turn this to his advantage. And maybe, there could be something here. Something good. Something to be built upon. Something—

Exciting.

The word echoes in Wilbur’s voice, and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #wilbur soot #quackity #revivedbur #tnt duo #tntduo #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #cw swearing #cw mentioned manipulation #and keep in mind that both of these guys are such unreliable narrators #and also #look i wrote this to be /p #but if you wanna read more into it that's fine lmao #i completely understand the appeal of shipping c!tntduo

[bearriebelliejam]

"Hit One Where One Lives"

Summary ↳ Atsumu has had feelings for you since the day you've met, and he's always had trouble controlling his urges.

Words ↳ 1,566

Tags ↳ 18+, NSFW, characters above legal age, descriptions of NSFW fantasies, no actual fucking, atsumu is horny, mentions of high school days, angst but only like a couple sentences

A/N ↳ ahh I'm so sorry this is short and got cut off, but if you guys like it and want more please lmk!!

hit one where one lives

hit (one) where (one) lives

To affect one on a personal or intimate level.

People by nature only care about an issue if it hits them where they live.

Atsumu Miya was good at a lot of things.

Setting, spiking, serving, receiving, and bargaining for discounts on fatty tuna.

But one thing that Atsumu could never, ever bring himself to perfect was the art of conveying his feelings properly. It was something Osamu had confronted him about during their early high school years, recognizing his twin’s coping mechanism to protect him from his own self-destructive thoughts. A strained smile and bottles of bright yellow hair dye could only do so much for the rather eccentric Miya twin, something his brother had warned him would lead to burnout by his early 20’s. Atsumu, at the time, would only laugh it off, claiming that his inquisitive behavior was more stalkerish than affectionate.

This was until Atsumu had cost Inarazaki their spot in the nationals during his first year. He had never considered himself to be someone with butter fingers, in fact, he prided himself in his setting skill. Too much sometimes. Atsumu’s scalp felt raw from how his fingers dug into his hair, pulling at the obnoxiously dyed strands as fat tears rolled down his cheeks. It felt juvenile. He was in high school now, he had no reason to be mourning over such a stupid mistake.

Atsumu flinched lightly when the cool condensation of a plastic water bottle hit his calf, feeling the Air Conditioning in the now almost empty stadium blowing against the wet spot on his leg. Maybe he was dreaming, he thought, looking into the slightly glossy eyes that bore back into his. Yep, definitely dreaming. Little did he know those eyes would be the focus of his J/O sessions for the rest of his life.

His breath caught in his throat as your rosy cheeks swelled with your smile, although empathetic. It was too much of a foreign feeling to him. You were just doing your job, being the one and the only manager of a team as arduous as Inaraziki- in the same grade as him, no less- meaning that you had to sniff out each and every demanding member. Atsumu didn’t think he could ever forget how you sat next to him that day, softly rubbing the area between his shoulder blades and whispering soft words of encouragement as you helped him pop the lid on his bottle. You admitted to him about how even though you barely knew shit about volleyball, you could tell from the way his teammates and captain regarded him after the match that it wasn’t his fault. That night, after walking you home and waving you off down your driveway, Atsumu felt a foreign feeling rising in his chest.

This feeling would only continue to grow over the next four years.

Whether it be the way you had to clutch your knees every time he made you laugh too hard, the way you’d sneak a pudding to him during the mornings where your classes lined up, or the way that you’d both pull some sort of immature prank on his disgruntled brother. It was safe to say that you two were super close. But not in the way that Atsumu wanted you to be. Alongside every little detail that made you a great friend, there were way too many details that made you desirable. That time during the summer when it got so hot that you stripped yourself of your short sleeve for a tank top that accentuated every one of your curves still keeps him up at night. Not to mention the form-fitting elastic shorts that hugged your ass so right that even the newbies on the team couldn’t help themselves from trying to sneak a peak.

This would continue up until graduation, where Atsumu opened the door to your very teary-eyed and very emotional-looking self. Your eyes were brimming with tears, and he didn’t think those delectable swollen cheeks of yours could puff out any more than they already were. With shaky hands, you lifted the slightly crumpled piece of paper up to your chest. The thick black letters of ‘MSBY’ must have grown fists and hit him in the gut because before he knew it, he was lifting you a foot off the ground with an enthusiastic spin.

--

Fluffy white cotton surrounded Atsumu’s vision as he dried his hair from the shower, letting out a long sigh of relief at the feeling of his muscles relaxing after such a long practice session. It was the off-season, and the MSBY Black Jackals were taking the time off doing what they always did. Play volleyball. Obviously not to the extent as they would during the actual season, but every moment spent not doing something productive was a second basically submitting victory to the other team. That’s how Bokuto put it at least, before ultimately spraining his wrist from going too hard on the dumbbells. Safe to say both Coach and Akaashi were not happy.

“Hey, Omi-om, you should totally let me borrow that body spray you got.” Atsumu didn’t typically wear any sort of cologne, but the way you had him bend down to your level to smell his shirt collar after Kiyoomi’s scent wafted onto him was the result of a long sleepless night for him.

“Get your own, Miya.” Kiyoomi scoffed, rolling his eyes as he threw on his MSBY brand sweater. Atsumu pouted, quickly forgetting about every single one of his surroundings as he saw his phone light up with your contact name, your photo staring back at him expectantly. He had taken the photo when you had dragged him to the mall with you once, having slid a 20-yen coin into the slot of a mechanical bull riding machine. He had found it amusing at first, the way you had desperately grasped at the horns of the animal as it began to speed up, but his laughter was caught short. His eyes had trailed down your back that was arched suggestively off the saddle, hips moving with the steady bucking of the machine-

“Shit-” Snapping himself out of his erotic memory, he quickly clicked the green ‘answer call’ button. “Hello?” “Atsumu, are you almost done getting ready yet?” Your voice alone was enough to ease the tension building inside of him, shoulders relaxing as he let out a low chuckle.

“Why, missing my pretty face?” He could at least acknowledge that he only flirted with you to try and ease the urges growing inside him, he wasn’t that stupid. It was also partially because of the way the tips of your ears would redden at his sly comments, but you would always brush it off as being part of his play-boy-like personality. If only you knew how much he wanted to change that.

“I’m missing that your pretty face isn’t hurrying the hell up and getting in my goddamn car.” The teasing lilt to your voice did nothing to prevent the way his chest swelled when you called him pretty, a stupid, joyous smile spreading on his lips.

“Alright, alright, hold your horses. I’ll be right out.” You blew a raspberry into your phone, Atsumu giving one of his own before hanging up and grabbing his gym bag.

Nudging open the locker room door with his side, Atsumu had to force his dick from twitching in his shorts as he witnessed the sight in front of him. You were bent over the reception desk of the college gym, talking to the lady behind the desk as you fiddled with the heel of your stiletto. His eyes traced the way the fabric of your skirt hugged down your thighs. You really had no idea what you were doing to him. Discreetly making his way up behind you he shot the desk lady a wink with a finger over his lips, receiving a gulp and small nod from her before turning back to you.

“And that’s when I told Coach, we need to stop letting Bokuto near the equipment when he’s having one of his emo-” A dramatic squeal ended up finishing your little rant as Atsumu’s muscled arms hooked under your shoulders and yanked you off the floor. In the midst of your flailing, you caught a glimpse of bleached blonde hair in your peripherals. “Atsumu Miya set me down this instant!” Although your face was contorted in frustration, the laughter that slipped between your words disclosed your amusement.

The specific position that Atsumu had you in reminded him of one of the fantasies he had of you once. Your breath hot against his cheek as he plowed into you from behind, strong hands caressing the bulge that appeared in your stomach whenever he bottomed out. He would feel the sweaty slap of your ass against his pelvis with every harsh thrust, cries escaping your lips at the feeling.

“Atsumu?” You looked over your shoulder at the athlete in confusion. Realizing that he had spaced out, Atsumu mentally slapped himself as he smirked and set you down. “Sorry, sweetheart, got lost in thought.” He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to act casual, which was not missed by the reception lady as she grabbed her jacket and left the office, clearly sick of the flirting. A familiar smile spread across your cheeks, ears tinting in the way that made his cock twitch in his shorts, this time failing to conceal it. “Your place tonight, right?”

“You know it.” You giggled. This was going to be a long night for him.

dm/send an ask to be added to my @ list!! currently empty <3

#bearriebelliefics #atsumu miya smut #miya atsumu smut #atsumu #miya #atsumu smut #osamu #osamu smut #miya twins #miya twins smut #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut fic #inarizaki #inarizaki haikyuu #inarizaki smut #kita #aran #suna #my adhd was so bad while writing this

[amitlee]

Open Doors

Summary: Tommy should really consider closing his door.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic that has swearing.

This is all platonic!

———————————————————————

“Copy and...paste. Oh a full quizlet, lets fucking go!” Tommy muttered to himself, searching the answers for his homework.

Now, normally he would just read through the articles he had been assigned and answer the questions paired with them. But he was tired and history can get very, very boring.

So there he was, laying face down on his bed and facing away from the door, which was wide open. He continued clicking between the tab with answers and his own worksheet for a good 10 minutes and was about a third of the way done when a voice spoke from behind, startling him.

“Tommy” Came the questioning yet knowing voice. Tommy spun his head around to see Phil standing a meter behind him, he’d leaned down slightly to get a better look at Tommy’s screen and be sure he was seeing right.

“Phil! What’s up?” Play it cool, play it cool. He could probably weasel his way out of this one. He’d never been caught cheating, well- bending the rules, before. However, Phil had always been good at keeping him motivated to do his schooling be it reward or persuasion.

Phil chose to ignore the question and took a step forward, “What are you doing, mate?” He asked although he already knew the answer.

“Me? Oh I’m just doing some studying. You know, being a scholar and all.” Tommy answered somewhat honestly, hoping the slight twist of his words wasn’t too noticeable. He kept his tone light and threw jokes in as an attempt to convey his usual confidence. He switched his tab from the quizlet with answers back to his assigned article when Phil took a step closer.

Phil smiled, it was funny how Tommy was such an unconvincing liar and yet a decent actor. Phil knew what Tommy was up to and he didn’t blame him, it seemed neither of them were interested in history. This didn’t mean that he was going to let him off the hook though. “Oh hey hey! No need to click off so fast bud.” He let Tommy dig his own grave with his words.

“Sorry, I clicked off of it and now I can’t find it, no need to worry though. You know, I should really get back to-“ Tommy was cut off.

“Here, let me help.” Phil interrupted the boy and moved to sit beside him, now almost leaning over him completely. Phil pretended to search, massively overacting to build the playful atmosphere. “Awww, I can’t find it Toms. Sorry mate.”

Tommy blinked at the sudden close contact and tried to control his grin at the silliness. “That’s what I said, but it’s alright Phil.” He assured the man, now more confused at where this was going.

Phil put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and let a sympathetic look overtake his features. “No need to look so sad, let me see what I can do.” He dropped the false sympathy in exchange for a sly smile and began skittering Tommy’s ribs.

Tommy yelped and tried to clamp his arms to his sides as giggles escaped passed his lips. However, they were the only thing propping him up and he found himself faced with shoving his face into the bed or taking his punishment. He decided to hide his face in the blanket as Phil soon began cooing at him.

“Phihil, I sahahaid I’m fihihine!” He whined, muffled by the sheets.

Phil let his hands wander further up towards the boy’s upper ribs, sporadically dipping into his underarms to get a screech or two. He easily got past the weak defenses and stepped up his teasing a bit.

“I’m fine! I’m fine Phil!” He mocked Tommy in a high pitch voice. “You won’t be when I’m done with you, that’s for sure.” He light heartedly threatened, knowing the promise of more to come would get a rise out of the boy.

Whines now pierced the light laughter as Tommy tried to drown out the words being spewed at him. He thrashed from side to side when the evil fingers dug into his hollows, his volume increasing. He tried to keep some form of coherency as he was taken apart piece by piece, he didn’t want it to stop just yet so he opted to do a little provoking. “IHIHi dohont sohOHOUnd like thahat you ohohold asS-SHIHIHIT!”

Phil didn’t take lightly to the provoking, especially since Tommy had brought this upon himself in the first place. He moved his hands down quickly and without warning, dug into his hips. He used his pointer fingers to dig into the cluster of nerves near the front of the bones on each side and used the rest of his hands to hold the boy in place.

Hiccups now intermingled with the boisterous laughter as the sweet spot was targeted. Curse Phil and knowing Tommy’s spots like the back of his hand. Tommy gathered the strength to flip onto his back in an attempt to better fight off his playful attacker. This plan backfired almost immediately. Phil raised his shirt and blew a large raspberry right above Tommy’s belly button.

“PLEHEHEASE! PHIHIHIL-“

Phil knew he had a better advantage in the new position Tommy had foolishly put himself in. However, he also knew that the boy wouldn’t be able to take much more and so he decided on a grand finale. He gave an exaggerated evil laugh, similar to a Disney villain, took another breath, and dove back down to blow a series of raspberries on Tommy’s stomach. He scratched at the sides on his stomach whilst still administering the treatment. He ran out of breath soon enough and settled for nibbling around the area, dodging flying hands when they came too close to actually making contact.

Tommy was relived when he finally caught both of Phil’s hands, stopping them in their tracks. This was short lived as Phil blew a final raspberry, this time not staying in one area but moving his head as he dished it out. Tommy let go of his hands and curled up in the fetal position, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Phil chuckled and pulled away completely. He let him rest for a moment before moving a hand to card through his hair in the most relaxing manner.

After originally flinching at the incoming hand, Tommy relaxed into the gesture and uncurled his body. He let out the remaining giggles he had before closing his eyes and melting, school could wait until the buzzing after effects wore off.

“Take a rest bud, you definitely deserve it after that.” Phil assured and took his free hand to rub away the left over tingles on his stomach. He chuckled again when Tommy’s smile reappeared and he set his hands next to Phil’s, half expecting him to start up again. “Relax mate, I’m done for now.”

That was the last thing Tommy heard before tipping over the edge of sleep.

——————

——————

Wilbur was walking down the corridor with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. He was bored out of his mind but in a good mood nonetheless. As he passed the youngest member’s room, he heard a familiar toon being gently sang out.

“I’m looking for a window to another world-“

His eyes lit up and his heart filled with warmth so strong he had to take a second to cope with it. Tommy had a way of being able to melt Will down to his very core. He crept up to the door sitting ajar and stood in it’s frame.

“What’cha singing Tommyboy?” He asked with the teasing tone he saved for times like this.

Tommy jumped a foot in the air and clutched his heart dramatically, making a face mixed with shock and mild embarrassment.

“Nothing, just some weird song I heard. Kinda shit.” He said with mocking confidence. His cockiness soon retreated when he saw Will’s eyes darken as he stepped past the threshold.

“I don’t know, sounded like a good one to me. Maybe you could sing it again?” He set his mug on Tommy’s desk, where the boy sat, and stood looming behind his chair.

Tommy strained his neck trying to look at Will once he felt his presence so close. “Absolutely not.”

“No no, you definitely should. Maybe I could gets some tips before releasing it, you never know.” Will continued to play it up even though he knew Tommy wouldn’t full heartedly sing in front of him. “Why don’t I help you out some hmm?”

With that, he spidered his fingers right where the shoulders meet the neck to get him to scrunch up. This made it much easier for him to sneak his hands under Tommy’s arms and tickle there instead.

Tommy gasped and let out small huffs at the spot Will had chosen, unknowingly falling right into the trap by trying to crush the offending hands between his shoulder and head. “Yohou’re so duhuHUMB-“ He trailed off at the change in spots as he was overcome with laughter.

“Those aren’t the lyrics, try again!” He playfully encouraged his friend and picked up some speed. “Maybe this’ll help motivate you.”

Tommy felt himself relax into the sensations, torturous as they were. He had been editing for the past 2 and a half hours and could use a distraction. While he was caught in his thoughts, he forgot to answer Wilbur.

“Not answering are we?” He tsked with a grin. He didn’t mind that Tommy wasn’t talking, he knew that he was enjoying himself and besides, he liked his laughter just as well as his witty comebacks.

His thoughts were sliced through by Wilbur’s words. Tommy shook his head, now hiding his face in his hands. He could feel his blush and there was no doubt the content look on his face wouldn’t go unnoticed.

At the head shake, Will chuckled. He lifted one of his hands, keeping the other scratching away at the boy’s underarm. “Ok tough guy.” He said before dropping his now free hand to squeeze Tommy’s knee. Will knew it was unfair to target two weak points at the same time, but he also knew Tommy had a high tolerance.

Tommy’s laughter increased as did his squirming. He ended up hitting the underside of his desk with his knee so hard that it knocked over the full mug. Thankfully it missed anything important, but clattered to the floor anyways, spilling the liquid and making quite the noise.

Both boys gasped and looked to the mess.

“Tommy!”

“Will!”

They both exclaimed each other’s names at the same time accusingly. Now looking at each other in shock.

“Boys...” Came Phil’s voice from the living room. “What happened? Actually, never mind, I’m coming.” There were foot steps quickly approaching as both boys shared a look of ‘oh shit’.

“Again?” Phil exclaimed once he’d seen what happened, his words clearly expressing his disbelief.

Wilbur and Tommy exchanged another look. “SCATTER!” Will yelled out as they both ran past Phil.

——————

——————

Tommy admired himself in the mirror. ‘I should really get one of these capes and definitely a crown too’, he thought to himself as he admired his complexion adorned with Technoblade’s signature outfit.

“We could always get you your own you know, so you don’t keep takin’ mine.” Speak of the devil.

Tommy acted unfazed as he turned to face the regal man. He put on his best American accent and tried becoming stoic to imitate Techno. “Bow before me, fool. This is my outfit now, sorry not sorry.” Tommy said smugly, dropping the accent after the first few words.

Techno brought a hand to his chin and gave Tommy an interested look. “Oh really? My apologies, your Majesty. But in my defense, you’re wearing it all wrong.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, he turned back around to the mirror to give it another look. “Really?” He asked, now looking at Techno from the mirror.

Techno hid his mischievous grin, he had Tommy right where he wanted him. “Oh yes, it goes more like this-“ he grabbed the bottom on the cape and threw it over Tommy’s head.

Tommy let out a laugh at the antics. “No, no. I really don’t think it’s supposed to go like thihihis, stohohop it!”

Once he had plunged Tommy into darkness, he put his plan in action. Roughly scratching to be felt through the thick fabric. He began scratching at his ribs and drifted towards the lower parts of his sides, now switching to squeezes and swift pokes.

“Ihihi’m royal Techno! Yohohou won’t gehehet away with this!” He exclaimed, knees going weak but continuing to hold him up.

Techno let himself freely smile, seeing there was no one to see. He moved down a little to squeeze now at the boy’s hips. He used a tactic he’d seen Phil use a few times. Using his pointer, middle finger, and thumb to squeeze at the muscles. He knew from experience that it was nearly deadly.

“But you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned so he could whisper in Tommy’s ear, “I always win.” He said, ceasing his previous tickling to vibrate all of his fingers into the sides of Tommy’s stomach.

Tommy’s reaction was instantaneous, he curled in on himself as hysterical giggles poured out. He knew this was one of Techno’s favorite spots to get him, mostly because of the childish laughter it produced. It was a very flustering spot despite not being one of his worst.

Techno caught him before he could completely crumble to the ground. “Woah there Little Prince, take it easy.” He chuckled and took off the crown and cape, setting them to the side.

“Bihig Prince. Like the Fresh Prihince of Bel-Air but better.” Tommy rambled as after giggles still rampaged him.

“My mistake.” Techno said as he walked Tommy over to his bed so they could regain some composure.

And if a week later there was a flowing cape and a golden crown wrapped in pink paper on Tommy’s bed, well it’s good as canon.

———————————————————————

Ok so I either have Covid or a cold but either way I’m feeling significantly less swag. Also I miss you guys omg 💕

#mcyt tickle #mcyt tickle fic #tickle fic #ticklecommunity #philza minecraft #philza #lee!tommyinnit #lee!tommy #ler!phil #ler!philzaminecraft #SBItickle #ler!wilbur #Ler!will #ler!technoblade #ler!techno

[peanut-in-the-goal]

characters belong to @lumosinlove

Logan and Finn had been together for years. Still, neither of them were happy. Not as happy as they used to be. Some nights it felt like old times, when everything was new and fresh, that honeymoon period of their relationship back at Harvard.

The soft smiles and quiet laughter. The way their hands brushed together when they walked. They went on car rides, one of their favorite pastimes from when they wore the crimson colors that they had grown to love. Finn remembers what it was like those days. He and Logan were young and immature, in for it for the fun, only serious about the game.

They had a good rhythm about it. Any drama or arguments they left off the ice. The ice was their home, it always had been since they were young, at different rinks, in different cities. It was familiar, smooth, something that was reliable to not change too much.

The lines on the ice were recognizable anywhere, marking their territory. There was something about the adrenaline that raced through them when they stood on the ice, that feeling of carrying the puck at your stick and gliding along the ice.

It was magical. Something that you couldn’t forget no matter how long it’s been.

But Harvard was a long time ago, years ago. Some days it felt like they were treading on thin ice around each other, doing everything they could so the other wouldn’t just leave.

The love was still there, but it was fraying between them, like a blanket that was being ripped apart at the seams. It ripped slowly but they were never complete without the other half. No matter how hard they wanted it, this relationship wouldn’t save itself, the two of them were willing to put in the work, but even that couldn’t save them. They were losing each other.

Everything was tense and stressful, Finn couldn’t take it. He loved Logan, he knew he always would, but he couldn’t do this anymore. They couldn’t play this game anymore, acting like everything was fine when it so clearly wasn’t. He couldn’t bear to watch Logan slip away without trying to pull him back in.

But he had tried that already, hadn’t he? He wasn’t willing to go along with this anymore and work and work and work to fix things when Logan didn’t seem to care.

He wanted out. So he was going to call it off. He couldn’t put himself through this anymore, waking up and seeing Logan curled up on the other side of the bed when he used to be so close.

He was so tired of saying things were alright when they so clearly weren’t. So as much as it pained him to say it, it was over. It hurt to love someone who made no show of loving him back.

That plan didn’t last very long.

Finn had been trying to find the right time to tell Logan, the days seemed to just drag on. Soon days were becoming weeks. He was starting to second guess himself, so either do it now or do it never.

He chose the former.

Finn decided to just tell him, choke down his nerves and tell Logan that this wasn’t working out. He swallowed, clearing his throat to get Logan’s attention.

“Logan, um. I—” He stammered, before inwardly groaning at being cut off. That might’ve been a good thing.

The door swung open, coach walked in with this tall blonde following behind him. Finn inwardly made a mental note to befriend this dude. Sirius walked forward immediately, shaking his hand. The two exchanged words, but Finn wasn’t listening, too busy looking him over.

Coach’s hand was resting on his shoulder protectively as the kid got his first look at his teammates. His eyes brightened up when they landed on Finn and Logan. Finn noticed his hand go to his left wrist, tugging at his sleeve there a little, pulling it further down to cover his wrists. The outline of a bracelet was visible through the cuffed sleeves.

Finn tried to gather his words and think of a more private place to talk to Logan but had to shake the thoughts from his head when Dumo steered the blue-eyed kid towards them. When had Dumo taken the coach's spot in showing the new rookie around?

He throws on a smile, extending his hand before he can even reach them.

“Mon fils,” Dumo smiles, clapping the kid—who Finn has realized is really fucking tall— on the shoulder. “This is Leo,” he pronounces proudly.

Leo’s shy at first, he shares a timid little smile where his dimples make an appearance. Finn thinks that it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

He catches the fond look that’s already gleaming in Logan’s eyes. Maybe, just maybe, things were knitting back together slowly.

Maybe Leo would help them in more ways than one.

—

Leo was around more in the weeks that passed. The weeks quickly turned into months, and the three were practically inseparable on and off the ice.

The rest of the team saw it too. Finn and Logan were obviously happier than they’ve been in a long time. Logan laughed more, his guarded eyes that they were used to seeing all the time were finally coming down. Finn smiled again, he hadn’t done that in such a long time. Sure, he smiled for the camera and the team, but something was always off about it, forced even.

Now it wasn’t. Now his smile was the way it was when he first joined. Free. He wasn’t worried about anything or anyone, it was just him, Logan, and the team.

But now it wasn’t just them. Now there was Leo. With his baby blue eyes that could light up anyone’s day just looking at him. The boy seemed so innocent from the moment they met him. He had looked around the locker room in awe like he couldn’t believe that he had actually made it here.

That one of the dreams he worked so hard to achieve was actually successful in the end.

Dumo had practically adopted Leo as he had with Cap. Like he would have with Logan had he lived with the Dumais’ and not Finn. Although Pascal has practically adopted everyone on the team as one of his own didn’t he?

-

There was still tension between Finn and Logan, especially when they lived alone in the same apartment. They had Leo over as much as they could, but he could only be there so long before going back to Dumo’s.

The peace couldn’t hold forever, something was bound to happen and one of them was bound to snap.

Leo just wished he wasn’t there to hear it.

On his way to their small apartment, he heard the yelling. It was loud, it was mean. It was hurtful.

Leo knew that Logan and Finn didn’t have the best relationship when he joined the team. That was easy to pick up immediately. He just never thought that he would be the reason for their misery.

When he heard the yelling he didn’t expect his voice to come out of their mouths, his name was spoken like it was acid on their tongues. He wasn’t even there, he didn’t do anything, so why was he the one who was being blamed.

The yelling didn’t silence when he turned the key in the lock. If anything Logan and Finn didn’t even spare him a glance, like he wasn’t even there. They probably didn’t even notice he was there to be honest.

It was like the fraying thread finally snapped.

Logan was red in the face, yellingand hurling insults that he’d regret a few hours from now. But at the moment he was too driven by rage and insecurity to protect, protect, protect. Anything hurtful thrown at him, he’d have to throw back something worse.

Finn’s face was blotchy, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks. His hands waved around in front of him, trying to convey the words he was too choked up to say.

The room was full of nothing but harsh breathing for a moment, neither having anything to say to the other. Their eyes bored into each other across the room.

Leo let the door slam shut behind him.

Logan and Finn both startled, turning to stare at him standing in the entryway.

The fight seemed to drain out of both of them at once. Logan’s shoulders drooped and he turned to look away from both of them. Finn stubbornly rubbed the tears from his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“What the fuck?”

There was a beat of silence, no one said anything and Leo didn’t think he was going to receive a response. He was going to follow up on his question, asking what happened, why his name was getting thrown around and-

“I’m sorry…” Logan sounded small, like he was the one crying and not Finn.

Any questions Leo had were stored away for later.

“It was bound to happen.”

Suddenly Leo felt like he was intruding. They invited him over but he wasn't sure if he should be there, not when they were having a moment. Not when it looked like they may be finally healing.

“It’s not going to work out,” Finn continued. “This,” he gestures between the three of them, “isn’t going to work if me and you didnt work, Lo.”

Maybe not, Leo thought.

“I know.”

It was true, Leo knew. The two of them had had a rocky relationship since he joined the team.

But Leo thought he could make a difference, he thought he was enough to try and save their relationship.

He also loved them, he wanted this, he wanted to fight for them. He wanted them to stay.

But he also can’t be the only one who wants this to work, they all need to put in work for this relationship. He can’t be the only one pulling his weight.

Sometimes it’s better to save your breath. That’s what his father told him when he was younger and had just lost a friend dude to a silly argument. Some people are better to let go, they’ll hold you back and won’t make you happy. Always choose to be happy Leo, make the decision of fighting and giving up. Because giving up does not make you weak, some of the strongest people I know are the strongest because they gave up.

Leo really hoped he was right.

“I guess I should be going then.”

Finn and Logan nodded sadly, and Leo felt something in him break a little more. He turned and walked back out the door he came from.

Leo remembers crying on the way home. He hadn’t driven to their house, so the walk home felt like it took forever and no time at all.

#oknutzy #oknutzy angst #angst #peanut writes #sweater weather #leo knut #finn ohara #logan tremblay #lumosinlove #IM BACK WITH MORE ANGST FOR YA

[danddymaro]

Stubborn | Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Recap :

- Kira is Dead (LOL)

Josuke isn't massively fucked as he was in the last episode LMFAO. Basically, things went a LOT smoother here, with only one little exception.

Rohan admitting his feelings while almost losing his (F/n)

Character injury 

Major change in story

Happy end , no worries

Warning : Not so much romanticism but it was an idea I've had. And we just need to get these drafts outta here.

A/N:

Thoughts are in italics and quotations // ‘ Example,’

Flashback are all in just Italics

Word count: 3451

Stubborn

Rohan glowered at the younger, limping male as he trudged his way closer to him and the woman that was gingerly held within his secure hold.

"You..." the emerald-eyed male sneered before tenderly easing the (h/c) haired female down, mindful not to bring her any more unneeded distress.

He was then quick to shoot back up, moving in long strides, advancing towards Josuke with no trace of the tenderness he'd held moments ago, but rather, maliciousness that itched over his features as he came face to face with the younger.

“ Stay back !”  Rohan nearly roared, moving to stop the dark-haired teen from further advancing towards the hurt, (h/c) haired young woman as she lay injured on the concrete ground.

Jojo was then pushed back by a jut to the shoulder that was executed by a bloodied hand that stayed and had every intention in the world from letting him advance forward.

"Don't you dare come any closer Higashikata," Rohan huffed out with the same venom.

With glaring eyes, Josuke shoved the shaking man aside, quickly doing away with the sudden grip with his own vicious jerking motion, not willing to waste any more time with useless quarrels when it could be spent helping (f/n).

“ - You can't be freaking serious!” Jojo cried out in return while not holding back on the aggressive shove,  "What are you doing?" He then proceeded to ask, his tone wavering in the slightest, struck by the elder man's opposition. 

'- Don't you care about her?' He wondered with bared teeth, ' Doesn't it hurt you to see her like this?' He added, eyeing her beaten sight, all with threatening tears ready to path way onto his young, yet worn face.

“- I need to heal her”!  He then declared as he reached out past the artist, all in spite of  his determination to stand in opposition

.

‘Closer...I'm almost there... I'm almost there (f/n),’ Josuke thought to himself, knowing he was just centimeters away from his stand’s working range.

“ What you need to do is get the hell away from her!” Rohan retorted, still fighting back, and yet, throughout the entire time, he hadn't taken the liberty to look down at (f/n), instead, training his spite-filled green orbs eyes on the frantic teenager.

 “I didn't ask for your help!” Kishibe added, his spite heightened as he reminded himself just why she'd been targeted.

‘If it weren’t for you…’ The mangaka thought to himself, glaring venomously at the other male. ‘If it weren’t for you.... this wouldn’t have happened…’ He thought with assurance. 

'If she hadn't gone out of her way...all for you...' He then added with the same spite, his entire body trembling with fury.

"I'll get her out of here myself, And I don't need you to get in the way!" Kishibe added, soon hearing sirens in the distance as the paramedics approached.

"I don't need your help," He proceeded to speak lowly.

"- But she does," Josuke said back, sternness in his voice, "and I'm going to save her," he said with certainty, not wanting to have another loss on his hands.

"I didn't ask for your help," Rohan insisted, and the arrogant declaration stiffened the teen with silence. “Because if it weren't for you..." Rohan then repeated out loud, his sentence going unfinished before he continued with another line instead. 

  "....You should have just stayed away from her, ” he maundered, going ignored by Josuke as he wordlessly brought out his stand, the large humanoid being standing tall and just as determined as its wielder, who by then had a grasp on what the real issue was.

It only took the few uttered words prior to understand the true reason behind the elder male's actions, and it made him seethe with rage,  

“ You're pathetic,” Josuke said below his breath, unable to look away from (f/n) as he spoke, doing just what the other man couldn't. 

'Is that was this is about?' He wondered, 'That asshole...he can't just man up, can he?

- Not even for you,' He thought bitterly while gazing down at (f/n).

  “I don't give a damn about what you want. And I could care less about that simple-minded pride of yours,”  he went on, his voice rising as he finally took a chance to look back at the other male as he let crazy Diamond's power befall upon the female.

Cobalt met emerald, and in between the fierce gaze were unsaid words shot in between the two, whereas an understanding was made. 

'- Try to stop me.' Josuke taunted Rohan with a tight toothed grit, his body standing rigid straight as his hands which were at his sides trembled with his withheld fury.

The younger's haggard breathing steadied for just a moment as he stood as strong as his convictions were, and the very sight made the other man that glared at him scorn.

“I despise you,” Kishibe hissed before a sharp gasp came from below, the little noise stealing his attention, his eyes finally trailing down to the female to watch as the shattered bits of her bones took form. 

The endless flow of her cuts then closed, stopping the messy spill.

His expression then unscrunched from its frustrated sneer to melting relief as he saw her breathing begin to steady and afterward, a low, drawn-out breath left him as he saw her (e/c) colored eyes slowly flutter open, the lovely drops gradually adjusting to the light of the cloudy sky.

A small grunt emitted from (f/n) before her (e/c) colored eyes fell upon the teen kneeling before her. Her two hazy orbs then locked onto the concerned blues staring down at her,

 'JoJo...it's you...' She thought with a wave of comfort that soon livened her.

And after the relief settled, she then surged with elation, " JoJo! " (f/n) said amidst bubbling joy, her arms immediately circling his neck, tightly holding him with a urgent need to feel him close. 

" Jojo...you're ok," she said sweetly, soon crying into his neck. 

Her face then pressed directly onto blood and grime, ignoring the filthy stench that clung to him as fiercely as she presently did.

 'You're alive...' She thought with joy, knowing that, that was all that mattered.

"...But you’re all beat up," she sniffled afterward, grateful that even if he was injured, he was well enough to stand, enough to tend to her.

A weary chuckle then left her as she realized how fortunate they were to barely scrape by.

“Yeah,” he breathed while releasing the same breathy chortle she did, and instantaneously, his tensed body melted under her loving embrace, realizing that they had somehow gone against the odds, and he was thankful that it was all over. 

" Glad your back...and just as cuddly as ever too," he then smiled, the palms of his hands laying on her back, bringing her close while he returned her affection, grateful that he had another moment with her to add to his memories. 

'He would have taken you too...' Josuke thought while closing his eyes, ‘ He was so close to taking you...' He added while sniffling, grateful that Kira had left without claiming another innocent life.   

Peeking out from over the healer's shoulder, (f/n) then caught sight of the mangaka, observing as his face twisted into frustration, and she wasn't certain if it was fueled by pain or anger.

She noticed he was bloodied too, but couldn't see from where the gore spilled from, and she wondered when he'd arrived.

She asked herself whether or not he'd made it during their fight and had been caught in between as well because he'd seemed to have gone through an entire battle himself.

'Rohan...why do you look so...troubled? So …Beaten?' She wondered with concern, not knowing that the scarlet color that had clung to him so passionately had come from her, unaware that the reason he'd become so tainted by the tint was because of how strongly he'd held her.

He kept her in his arms, his vibrant, green eyes dimmed with horror as he felt how much of her life oozed from her stilled, cooling body.

"(f/n)?" He said softly while gingerly cradling her in a nurturing demeanor that wasn't too difficult to comprehend because by then, any fool could see how much he cared about her. 

By then, every bit of the hesitance he showed before was disregarded as he left himself bare, unable to face the situation with anything but the truth.

Swallowing thickly, he let out a soft, weary chuckle as he looked down at her, his thumb gently gliding over the running red that painted her lovely lips. 

"...You've made your point already, " He murmured softly as he witnessed the flow of his sorrow trail down the sides of her paling face.

' I can't live without you. ' He mused while he sourly smiled. 

"...You're my best friend." He openly admitted to her, the softness in his voice so tender, one would never believe it ever had the viciousness in it to convey his typical arrogance. 

' And I don't want to lose you,'  He thought while pressing his forehead to hers before huffing out three little words that had knotted in his throat before, but somehow, now found easy to utter in spite of the thickness that clotted his throat, 

"I love you..." he huffed, closing his eyes tightly. 

Gingerly, the hand that wasn't supporting her trailed over her bruised cheek before holding it, 

'Why....Why was it so hard to say before?' he wondered with frustration. 'Why is it that now, now that I finally have it in me to say it...you can't even respond back,' he added, lamenting being so cold with her in the past. 

 "Can't you hear me?" he asked her softly.

It was then that each and every instance he'd shown her anything but welcome tormented him because he recognized that every second of those memories could have been filled with her smiles instead.

If he hadn't been so bullheaded, then maybe he would have let his pride go for a moment and tell her what he felt.

If he hadn't let her go hours before, then she wouldn't have been in the killer's sight.

If he'd just pulled her back into his home and told her that he wanted her to stay a moment longer, then the outcome would have been different.

"Now, please...just wake up," He compromised with her, " Please...?" He whispered faintly, his voice falling into silence as she stayed still, unstirred by his plea.

And as he continued to speak and beg, the white material of his clothes soaked in the infectious red, letting it creep through the fibers until every thread was replaced with the color of her fleeting life.

And it wasn't long before the murmurs of bargain he released were then drowned out by a familiar voice, and it was at that moment that all of his suffrage evolved into bitter resentment.

' Why do you insist on risking yourself for him...?' Rohan thought with bitterness, witnessing how willingly she leaned into the other male, and much more, how happy she was to see him. 

'Don't you get it?' He continued to silently maunder, 'Don't you get that ...eventually...one day...he won't be able to heal you?' he added.

'In the end...he'll lose you too...'

"Rohan..." She breathed, slowly easing away from Josuke, offering him one last smile before her eyes found their entire focus drawn to the irritated male whose sight drew far from hers, finding the rubble of the street more his taste.

His lips were pressed together until his mouth formed a thin, firm line that wouldn't allow a single peep to escape. 

'Do you remember any of it?' he then wondered, not knowing which one of his organs had it worse, his twisting stomach of his overworked heart.

Slowly, his face filled with red, and he lost his ability to gaze at her any longer without turning completely vermillion.

Before she could question his sudden fluster, a faint memory of a sweet, sorrowful murmur came forth, and it made her eyes grow wide. 

With widely peeled (e/c) colored eyes she gazed at the dejected male before trudging her way to him, all while slowly functioning before happiness flooded her and filled her with giddiness.

'It was you...' She thought with a bursting heart, her hands both flying to her torso to press over her heaving chest.

"Rohan!" she said while suddenly leaping towards him, surprising him with the sudden pounce. 

"Rohan! I..." swallowing down thickly she chuckled, hoping it wasn't a delusion of hers.

'I heard... I think I heard you,' She thought with a heavy heart. ' I think that … we feel the same...' She mused while she felt his arms tightly wrapped around her. 

She took the risk and pressed her lips to his, quickly discovering that she was accepted by the simple ease he displayed while melted along with her. 

As Josuke watched, he took notice of the embrace they shared, observing the longing glow in Rohan’s eyes before they shut tight, taking in the way his hands held her, almost as though there was nothing more precious to him as she was.

"Of all people..." Josuke started, slowly shaking his head at the young woman, unsure of what to tell her, deciding to go with what was most obvious, and could basically sum it all up, 

"Rohan...That guy...he's just insufferable," he mumbled lowly, and it made (f/n) giggle. 

Rather than be insulted, the young smiled instead, 

"He is, isn't he?" She admitted, unable to count all the times the man had made her fume, because, truth be told, he got under her skin more than anyone else could.

"He's insufferable, and kind of full of himself, and don't forget that he can be a real jerk too," She added while looking up at the bright sky. 

"He's all of those things," she admitted while continuing to beam, acknowledging Rohan's worst points and accepting them.

"- But he's also sweet," She informed the Joestar descendent.

 "When you ask him something, he might say no," She reminded him, " But for the most part, he'll give in, with almost no fight, just an annoyed, little sigh that makes it seem as though he could be doing better things when in reality it's all a front," She informed the listening male.

"It's all a front so you won't see how eager he is to please everyone," She explained. 

" And it doesn't come from insecurity," She quickly added with certainty.

"It's not that he wants to be loved by everyone, or needs their validation," She further explained, making certain he grasped the reasoning behind the other man's actions.

 "He's just...Well,  he just wants to have all the answers, which in turn will help everyone he loves, and cares about, and that is including you." She spoke, and during the last bit, Josuke scoffed.

" He can't stand me!" he said with certainty, " But it's not like I care !" He quickly added. "'Cause it's not like I like the guy either, So it doesn't bother me one bit, " he added with a huff, crossing his arms while trying to seem indifferent. 

"You've gotten the best out of him." she started,  " - More than once," She then added with sagging shoulders.

 "To him, you're a rival. No matter what he says, you're on par with him. And the small admiration he has for you is flushed within that stupid arrogance of his." she sighed, wishing it wasn't so.

"He's just such a sore loser, and what's much worse, he hates having depts., because it means that he's somehow failed,"  she added, falling into the root of the problem.

"He might seem like he hates you, but if anything were to happen to you, he'd be concerned, " She revealed. "Because, Morioh is his home, and he knows that if anyone is capable of protecting it, it's you," she said while gazing at him with trust, setting the same trust on the youth.

 "He wants to be the one to do it...and in his own way he does, but he's well aware that when it comes down to it, you have the strength he lacks," (f/n) continued on. 

"He detests it...but at the same time... he's so grateful." She said with amusement, remembering that the only reason she'd come to the conclusion was because Rohan had let just a bit too much of the truth slip out during their talks. 

"He seems difficult to understand, but, that's just because you think about it too much. He's not so complex. He's just a bit eccentric and weird, " She said with assurance. 

"And weaved within all that strange nature is a good person." She added with a grand smile.

"You could write a whole book on him, huh?" Josuke teased, and she took it in with a bright glow, hanging her head afterward, 

"It'd just be a long love letter," She said while grinning stupidly, it being something Josuke threw his head back at. 

He laughed, openly teasing her, but silently admiring her at the same time.

'That's what I want,' he then mused. 

'Someone like that. 

Someone that dedicated. 

Someone that's willing to understand me,' He thought while praising the young woman, hoping he'll be lucky enough to have someone as comprehensive and sweet as her one day. 

In a sense, it reminded him of his mother and the sweet way she always expressed herself about Joseph Joestar. Granted, the situation hadn't been ideal, but he always smiled when his mom showed her tender side as she recalled the love she still held onto.

Josuke was well aware of how much she'd suffered, but when he'd asked her if she could change it all, she never changed her answer. 

She always chose to relive it all, and Josuke accepted it, compromising with himself that even if it ended up in suffrage, he'd be willing to cherish every moment he had with the one person that could give him that same love and understanding.

' That idiot...' Josuke thought to himself, unable to understand how Rohan couldn't see the way her eyes glowed when she looked at him. 

'That giant idiot,' He added, feeling insulted on the young woman's behalf whenever the other man showed jealousy towards their friendship, one that he never had any intention to morph into anything else, because it wasn't necessary.

And (f/n) would never dream of it either.

' Isn't it obvious?' He wondered, '(f/n) doesn't see anyone but you, just like, sometimes, you can't see a damn thing besides her,' He added.

For just a split second the two men aligned their eyes together, yet again lively green and bright blue met, though, with a different message sent in between, and it was almost amiable.

The artist's hand held the young woman's, tightly grasping it as he pulled her along before they both stood before the teen. 

"Josuke...Higashikata," Rohan said lowly, uttering the name with the same disdain as always,

"You won't hear this from me ever again, " he started before quickly looking back at the darling woman for a quick charge up in inspiration.

"But..." He started, all while still eyeing (f/n), " Thank you." he breathed, trying to keep his face stern, though faltering as he remembered the pitiful state the female had been in moments ago. 

"Thank you for healing her,"  He said with true gratefulness before looking back at the other male. 

At a loss for words, Josuke stayed silent before nodding quickly, 

'Sure, ' he silently added because he was left blubbering and flustered, having no chance for recovery before Rohan retreated, leaving with the young woman close behind him.

She looked back at him with a halfhearted smile, partially apologizing for not staying any longer, and somewhat sheepish for simply walking away with the other man while Josuke was still injured himself. 

But, the Joestar descendent didn’t mind in the least bit.

Granted, Rohan Kishibe wasn't his favorite person in the world, but he made his friend happy, and after the shitty day they'd had, Jojo wasn't going to insist to have her stay with him instead for what was just a couple of stitches he needed.

He then walked over the sidewalk, moving towards a more comfortable spot on the grass to lay on as he heard the blaring sirens ring louder. 

With a smile, he looked up at the Morioh sky, and he smiled, grateful that the bizarre summer of 1999 was finally over with. 

#rohan kishibe x reader #rohan kishibe x y/n #rohan kishibe x you #rohan kishibe x reader insert #rohan kishibe x femanine reader #rohan kishibe x female reader #rohan kishibe x fem reader #rohan kishibe one shot #rohan kishibe oneshot #rohan x reader #rohan x y/n #rohan x you #rohan x f reader #rohan x reader insert #rohan oneshot #Jojo's #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo bizarre adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Diamond is Unbreakable #JJBA #jjba fanfic #jjba part 4 #jjba oneshot #JJBA DIU #jojo diu #Diamond is Unbreakable #jjba diamond is unbreakable #diamond is unbreakable oneshots #anime