#Unsure what to do with this mop on my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bzurk · 5 months ago

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what gets dirtier the more it cleans?

series masterlist:

cw: DUBCON, oral (f recieving), coersion

thursday, week one:

Thursday, with its date circled in red on your calendar, almost nauseates you. Still, with your bank account dangerously close to overdrawing once your credit card bill hits, you have little choice but to return to the mansion.

You arrive at two o’clock and close the garage door behind you this time, and the space is empty. No cars, no occupants. Your heart just about leaps from your chest with relief.

You’re in the middle of mopping the floors when you hear the rumbling of the garage door open. You freeze, instantly tense, eyes darting to the laundry room just past the kitchen where the entryway to the garage threatens to come flying open at any moment. You hear a car door shut, your breath quickening, and you consider your options. Whoever is home knows you’re there; your car is parked outside, and it’s three o’clock on a Thursday. You could hide, but not for long, especially if the new arrival is who you dread it to be.

Left with little else to do, you force yourself to continue mopping. The gentle swings of it are like a second-hand, ticking away the moments before your entire day is ruined. Swish… swish… swish…

Footsteps make themselves known against the cold, hard marble tiles of the entryway, the sound amplified in your panicked state. Each step only hammers one more nail into your metaphorical coffin.

And just like that, he’s there, filling the doorframe to the kitchen.

Price.

Your stomach swoops and relief washed over you like a wave. Price. It’s just Price. He doesn’t even spare you a look as he kicks off his shoes and heads straight for the fridge, opening it and grabbing a beer from the top shelf. His nonchalance is refreshing, offering a nod and a smile before taking a drink.

Swish… swish… swish… You’ll finish as fast as possible, get out of his hair.

As you cleaned, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Price, marvelling at how different he seemed from the man you had met on Monday. The cold calculated gaze was still there, but it was tempered with a hint of weariness. You found yourself feeling a twinge of sympathy for him, despite your better judgment.

Price's presence, though imposing, is oddly comforting after the chaos of Monday. His calm demeanour and the way he simply goes about his business without making you feel like an inconvenience help to ease the knot of anxiety in your stomach. He leans against the counter, sipping his beer, and you notice the deep lines of fatigue etched into his face.

As you mop, you try to stay focused on your task, but curiosity gets the better of you. You steal glances at Price, noting the subtle differences in his demeanour. There's a weight to his movements, a heaviness that wasn't there before. He catches your eye once, and you quickly look away, pretending to concentrate on a particularly stubborn spot on the floor.

"You don’t have to look so scared," Price finally says, his voice breaking the silence. "I don’t bite."

You offer a nervous smile, unsure how to respond. "Just trying to get my work done, sir."

"John," he corrects, waving off the formality. "No need for all that 'sir' business."

"Okay, John," you say, testing the name on your tongue. It feels strange, but not entirely uncomfortable.

He takes another sip of his beer, studying you for a moment. "You did a good job on Tuesday. Never seen the place so shiny."

You pause, glancing up at him. "Thank you."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. "I’m impressed. This place can be a lot. I hope Simon didn’t give you any trouble.”

Simon, Simon, Simon. You nod, not trusting yourself to say more without your voice betraying your lingering nerves and fear. Price’s presence is a balm to the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm you, but you can’t quite shake the memory of Simon’s smug face and the feel of his touch lingering on your skin, his taste on your tongue.

"Listen," Price says, his tone softening. "If you ever need anything, or if there’s a problem, don’t hesitate to come to me. Alright?"

"Alright," you reply, feeling a surprising surge of gratitude. It’s a small reassurance, but it means the world in a place that had so quickly become a source of stress and fear. “Alright… I might take you up on that, sir- John.”

He finishes his beer and sets the can on the counter, giving you a final nod before heading out of the kitchen. "I have some work to do first, so you finish up here and come find me, yeah?"

"Yes, John," you say, watching him go. As soon as he’s out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The relief is palpable, and you take a moment to collect yourself before returning to your task.

Swish… swish… swish…

The rhythmic motion of the mop is soothing, helping to ground you. You focus on the floor, on the task at hand, and let the stress of the last few days melt away with each pass of the mop. Price’s words echo in your mind, a small beacon of comfort in an otherwise tumultuous week.

He said to come to him if there’s a problem, he seemed so genuine, but can you really tell him about Simon? About his own housemate, ex-teammate? What if it makes things worse? What if Simon finds out you told? The mere thought of Simon's reaction sends a shiver down your spine. Let alone how John would react. Would he demand the money back? Blame you? Fire you?

You take a deep breath and try to focus on the task at hand, but it’s no use. The encounter with Simon on Tuesday haunts you, and you can’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, his touch on your skin. Price’s reassurance was genuine, though. Maybe he really can help. You need this job.

As you finish mopping the floor, you glance towards the hallway where Price disappeared. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mixture of fear and determination. You’ve never been good at asking for help, but this situation is beyond what you can handle alone. Simon's presence is a dark cloud hanging over your every move, and you need to find a way to dispel it.

Swish… swish… swish…

You wring out the mop and set it aside, the decision solidifying in your mind. You need to talk to Price. You need to tell him about Simon, about the fear that grips you. With trembling hands, you tidy up the cleaning supplies and make your way to the hallway.

Each step feels like a monumental effort, but you push forward, driven by the hope that Price can help. You follow the the hallway to the office at the end of the hall. The door is ajar, and you can see him sitting at a desk, papers strewn about. He looks up as you approach, his expression softening when he sees you.

"Finished already?" he says, setting aside the documents and covering them under a manilla folder.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve, um, finished all of today’s tasks, so- so I can just leave, if you don’t have time."

Price’s brows furrow, concern etching into his features. He gestures for you to come in and sit down. You close the door behind you and take a seat, your heart racing. This is it. No turning back now.

He stands from behind his desk and comes around to the other chair in front of it, turning the heavy piece of furniture until it’s perpendicular to you. The sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor fills the silence. He sits down, his presence commanding yet comforting. Up close, you notice the fine lines etched around his eyes, the subtle signs of weariness that weren’t as apparent before. His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a face that’s both stern and kind, a dichotomy that makes you feel both safe and slightly intimidated.

Price’s eyes, a piercing blue, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. There’s a depth to them, a lifetime of experiences and stories hidden behind that calm exterior. He’s dressed in a simple, yet elegant manner, dark slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

The room is silent except for the faint ticking of an antique clock on the wall, each second amplifying the weight of the moment. The atmosphere is dense, charged with the unspoken tension of what you’re about to reveal. You can feel the steady thump of your heart, each beat echoing in your ears as you try to steady your breath.

His palm lands on your knee and you jolt. His eyes narrow further, and his hand squeezes for a moment before backing off. He leans in further, elbows resting on his knees, and hunched over he’s eye-level with you, sympathetic, earnest.

“Look at me, love.”

You hadn’t even realised your eyes had screwed shut, your breathing rapid and your fingers curling against the armrests.

“Breathe, alright? Deep breaths f’me. Can you do that?” His voice is silky smooth, rumbling and deep, but it doesn’t carve into your chest like Simon’s does, whittling down your ribs. Price’s voice is soft, rounded, gentle, but it’s so confident and authoritative that you have no choice but to listen. His voice is an enveloping blanket, warm and disarming, but you know it has the potential to become suffocating. “It’s just you n’ me, love.”

You don’t know if that’s comforting or not.

You yelp loudly when you feel your chair move, grinding against the floorboards, and your eyes flash open to take in John’s hands around the armrests, easily turning your entire chair to face him, the display of sheer strength enough to force your brain to pause.

Gently, he guides your shaking hands into his, his skin warm and calloused, but it is a comforting heat, a reassuring touch. He slowly uncurls your fingers from the armrests when your breathing evens back out, his grip firm but not crushing.

“Now, what’s gotten you so spooked?” His voice is a low rumble in the quiet room, and you feel yourself open up under his touch, his thumb gently brushing back and forth over your knuckles.

Here goes nothing, you think, glancing away and back. You can’t find it in yourself to meet his eyes. “It’s... It’s about Simon.”

His thumb, stroking back and forth, doesn’t pause. A metronome, so calm and unfailing, a direct contrast to your heart that feels like it’s flailing about in your chest. He nods for you to continue and gives your hands a comforting squeeze.

“I would like it if he wasn’t in the house when I’m here.”

Price’s eyes narrow, his grip on your hands tensing ever so slightly. He doesn’t say anything, and the silence that follows is suffocating. You can practically hear your heart thudding in your ears, the ticking of the clock on the wall, and even the buzzing of a fly by the window seems to reverberate off the walls. He’s going to fire me, you think as dread sinks like lead in your stomach, replacing all other feelings.

“I-I mean, I just don’t feel... safe around him?” you blurt out, tone lilted up at the end like a question, and he raises an eyebrow at you. You’re digging a deeper hole for yourself - your grave, perhaps.

“Simon’s a big man, love, I know that he can seem intimidating, but I promise you he means no harm,” he finally speaks, and you begin to shake again, crossing and uncrossing your legs and nudging his in the process. You don’t want to explain why you’re afraid of him, you want to hope that he will just listen to your one request.

“No, I- he-”

“Want me to have a chat with him? You can come on another day if you’d like to, doesn’t have to be Tuesdays and Thursdays, but he’s home most days, love. Doesn’t like leaving the place.”

Tears are blurring your sight now, and you can’t stop the way you hunch in on yourself, palms slick and sweaty and he just holds onto you tighter. You don’t want to say it, to admit it, to confront what Simon had done to you, but the air is suffocating and Price is just staring at you, waiting for you to open up and you have no out.

“He paid me for a blowjob.” You blurt out frantically, and ice rushes through your veins.

The weight of your confession lingers, the fear you’ve been carrying now laid bare between you. The atmosphere is charged with an electric tension, a mix of dread and relief that leaves you feeling exposed and fragile. The rich scent of leather and aged paper fills your lungs, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within you.

You can feel the warmth of Price’s hands, a steadying presence that cuts through the fear. The stillness of the room is profound, the kind of quiet that demands to be felt, not just heard. Every creak of the wooden floor, every distant sound from the outside world feels muted, insignificant compared to the gravity of this moment.

Price doesn’t speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough for you to catch your breath. His calm, composed demeanour is a balm to your frayed nerves, and you find yourself clinging to his presence like a lifeline. The soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock is the only thing filling the frozen silence, and five audible ticks pass before your brain restarts.

He’s calm. Why is he calm? Did he know already? Does he hate you, is he disgusted? No, no, he’s still holding onto you, tightly- why won’t he say something?

“Please, John,” you plead, the tears spilling over your cheeks, and you do not doubt that you look pathetic to him. “I need this job, please. I’m sorry I said anything-”

“Was it not enough?”

His words hang in the air like a sharp, unexpected knife, slicing through the momentary calm. The shock hits you first, a jolt that sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat, and the tears momentarily stop, your mind racing to make sense of his question.

The room seems to constrict around you, the walls pressing in with an oppressive weight. The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different, thick with a new kind of fear and unease.

Price’s face is unreadable, his expression of sympathy and care a mask that betrays nothing of his thoughts. The warmth of his hands no longer feels reassuring but instead adds to the confusion swirling within you, instilling a new fear, and they almost resemble shackles in your mind, chaining you to this moment.

You try to process his question, the implication behind his words twisting your gut with anxiety. Was what not enough? What did he mean? Did he think you were exaggerating? The uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you adrift in a sea of doubt and fear.

The silence is excruciating, each passing moment stretching into an eternity. Your mind races, replaying the confession, trying to find where you might have gone wrong. The fear that you’ve made a terrible mistake claws at you, a suffocating weight that makes it hard to breathe.

Price’s steady gaze feels piercing now, as if he can see straight through you, past your defences and into the heart of your fear. You feel exposed, laid bare under his scrutiny, the fragility of your position starkly illuminated. The room feels colder, the rich scent of leather and paper now tinged with the acrid bite of panic.

You swallow hard, trying to muster the strength to speak, but the words fail you, your mouth opening and closing dumbly.

“What he paid you. Was it not enough?”

The world comes rushing back in and slams into you like a wave. The cogs of your mind become violently unstuck and your lungs are full of air again and the afternoon sunlight is too bright streaming across the polished wooden floor.

The security blanket that was Price’s presence is now tangled around your limbs, and you’re choking. The hypoxia is making you stupid, rendering you immobile.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” You blubber, the taste of tears salty on your lips.

“What’s the problem, love? What’d Simon do?” You can feel the bones and joints of your hands creak under his grip when he squeezes again. “He didn’t pay you enough? Was he too rough? Did he force you?” He hums, deep and rumbling in his throat, the growl of a predator before his brows jump and he sighs, “Bet he didn’t return the favour, did he? Selfish bastard.”

The disbelief of it all is enough to make your head spin. You can’t believe the twisted meaning he’s just given to your confession.

“N-No- That’s not-”

“Think I get it now,” he says as his back straightens and his arms reach out, wrapping around your forearms with a gentle but firm grip and tugging until you lurch forward, and he easily tugs you into his lap, his hands trailing down your torso to rest against your thighs. “You’re just pent up, aren’t you, love?” His actions only further muddle your thoughts, as he cradles you like a child against his chest, rocking you gently back and forth.

You try to pull away, the panic rising again but his grip tightens. The way his fingers dig into your thighs is possessive and tight and it stings but not nearly as much as the look in his eyes when you finally meet his stare again. There’s something feral there that you’ve never seen before and it makes your blood run cold enough for gooseflesh to break out on your skin.

“Don’t have to be so scared. You just say the word and I’ll let you leave, don’t have to come back again. But I know you talked earlier about how you really need this job... You stay, be good, and I’ll take care of you.”

He didn’t need to say it outright. You know what he means, the threat underlining his words.

You swallow the bile that creeps up your throat and try to focus on anything but the way his hands are roaming so close to places they shouldn’t be. You can feel him against your hip now that you’ve stilled. Your mind is still reeling from the sudden shift in the conversation, trying desperately to make sense of it all. You stay, you let him do what he wants, you keep getting paid. A man, a very wealthy and attractive man, offering to ‘take care of you’ and pay you handsomely for it? You’d be an idiot to pass it up.

So why do you feel so gross?

“Y-Yes,” you mumble, cursing yourself for stuttering but you can’t help it when his grip tightens around your thighs and he hums again. “Please take care of me, John.”

His nose presses against the underside of your jaw, whiskers tickling and you shiver, “Good girl.” So quiet, so close, his voice is a growl. His hands begin to inch their way up your thighs, and you shudder, closing your eyes. “Takin’ such good care of the place, let me return the favour.” His hands deftly unbutton your slacks, tugging at the waistband until you lift your hips for him, rolling them down your thighs until they fall around your calves.

You let out a small sound of surprise, but he quickly quiets you with a gentle shush, firmly grabbing your thigh and pulling it open until the stretch aches, his other hand coming to rest on your hip as he guides you to turn in his lap, squeezing the flesh of your waist when you settle your back to his chest, curved and nestled into him. You can feel the strong thrum of his heart against your back, the way his chest rises and falls, so steady and confident compared to the way your heart flutters like a hummingbird. It’s calming, a metronome, forcing your breaths to align with his.

“Relax,” he mutters, and you shudder again as you feel him press his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your earlobe and his beard scratchy and coarse. His voice is almost a purr, low and sensual, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

He must feel the way your breath catches, realizing at the same time that you do that you’re enjoying this. His hands skimmed up your stomach and over your breasts, squeezing and kneading them through your blouse like he owned them, like he had every right in the world to touch you like this. In a way, he does- your livelihood cradled in his hands. He noses along your throat, following the pulse of your heart down until he reaches the space where it meets your shoulder, pressing a feather-soft kiss against the skin. A long breath rushes from your lips, and he hums against your skin, a sound you feel more than hear - the vibration against your skin, the rumble in his chest against your back.

His mouth on your neck distracts you from his hands, easily undoing the second and third buttons of your shirt until your chest is bared to the cool air. His hands find their way underneath the fabric, and you squirm in his lap as he runs his fingers under your bra and cups your breasts in his calloused grip, his thumbs circling your nipples and the feeling is so foreign you continue to writhe atop his thighs until he groans behind you. Your breathing hitches as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you can’t believe how turned on you are by this, by him.

“That nice?” he teases, a knowing lilt to his voice as he pinches the other nipple between splayed thumb and forefinger. You gasp again at the sensation and arch into his touch. He tugs at the band and pulls it down until your boobs tumble free, held up by the material. “Anyone touched you here?”

He punctuates his question with a harsh pinch to your nipples, and you squeal, “No one!”

“Do you?” He purrs, giving your nipples a break to knead at the flesh, his left arm sliding across your sternum like a bar, holding you against him as he squeezes your opposite breast. His other hand trails down, splaying over your ribs, fingers drumming impatiently against your skin.

“Some- hah- sometimes,” you pant, hands resting against his arms where they surround you in some twisted facsimile of affection.

His hand leaves your ribs and you whine, but it only moves lower, down your stomach, skirting dangerously close to where you ache. He dips a finger past the waistband of your underwear, resting at the apex of your thighs. “What about here?”

“John-”

“Tell me, sweetheart. Do you touch yourself? Right here?” He pushes his index finger between your folds and you moan even as you deny it, hips bucking against his hand. A bright trace of pleasure jolts through you as a result, and your eyes flutter for a moment as you try to resist the urge to repeat the motion.

“Y- no, I don’t-”

He chuckles, “Liar.”

He groans at the warm heat of you, the little flutter of invitation that greets him. It’s enough to startle a wanting little moan from you, craning your head a little, unintentionally baring the bare flesh of your neck to him. John’s mouth presses against the skin there and lets his tongue go flat over the spot he’s seized before he seals his lips over the spot and sucks. His finger, coated in slick, drags back up until he can again tease your clit, circling the nub until your entire body is tense with need. The wavering, licking flame of lust inside you blazes brightly at the sensation, shuddering as the heat pulses low in your core, slick and warm and empty. You moan as he pushes a second digit inside of you and then pulls them out, repeating the motion until your hips are rocking against his hand of their own accord, your ass grinding against Price’s cock below you.

“That’s it, love, right there.” He hisses in your ear, sucking another bruise onto your skin before hooking his chin over your shoulder, watching the way your panties bulge and move with his hand, a dark, wet patch obvious, highlighting the movements of his fingers. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? All f’me?” His voice is like honey and yet it grates against your sensibilities, grating against your every instinct. You want to hate him for this, for reducing you to a quivering pile of need in his lap. But you can't seem to find it in yourself to care anymore. All you can think about is his fingers inside of you, the way his touch sets your body on fire, how good it feels. His fingers reach so much deeper than yours, calloused and rough and thick.

"John," you moan, voice rough with lust as he withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty.

"Not yet," he teases, sucking another hickey onto the column of your neck. "We're not done yet." You whine as he helps you up off of his lap, but any protest that might have passed your lips dies on your lips as he stands and crowds himself against you, hands squeezing your hips and pushing until you stumble, ankles tied together with your pants, and you hiss in pain as your ass collides with the cold wood of his desk.

"Shit!" You exclaim, more shocked than hurt, but his hands are already tugging at your underwear, thumbs hooking in the sides and pulling them down until they're resting with your pants around your ankles. John takes a moment to run his eyes up and down your body, pausing on your breasts and between your legs, before he sinks to his knees. “What- what are you doing?”

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” He hums, lifting your legs until they rest on his shoulders, his head nestled between your thighs, eye-level with the place your body weeps for him. It's all the warning you get before he pushes his face into you, mouth dropping open to let his tongue lull out. Licking a scorching stripe from hole to clit. And, oh—

Your head lolls forward, chin to your chest, eyes slipping closed at the liquid feeling between your thighs. The white-hot sensation of his tongue laving across your slit. A needy gasp tears from your throat. Your hips buck. John clamped down on your body, leaving deep dents in your thighs. His wide, flat tongue strokes from bottom to top in languid laps. When he reached the tender nub at the top, you jolted again. He paused and swirled over the area a second time.

And then his lips are on you, his tongue lapping at your folds with enthusiasm that borders on animalistic. You make a noise in the back of your throat, awful and wet and choked. You can’t seem to take a fucking breath around all the hoarse cries coming out of your throat. It honestly sounds like you’re sobbing, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you lifted your hand to find tears forming in your eyes. The feeling of his tongue inside of you is good. Beyond words. It slips in more. The full length. You keen, arching, hips flexing, jerking against his mouth. He lets you ride his face like this, fucking your hole with his tongue, nose glued tight to your clit. You cry out, hands flying to his head, nails digging into his scalp as he teases you with abandon. Trembling legs clenched around his shoulders, burning him in a vice grip of quivering thighs.

His fingers find their way back inside of you, curling and twisting in time with the movements of his tongue, and it’s enough to bring you back to the edge. His tongue leaves you, sliding up your seam until it cups your clit. Laves over it. He lifts his chin, seals his mouth over you and sucks. Your nails score tracks down his scalp as you come apart in his mouth, pussy clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you like an ocean tide.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he pulls up your panties from between your legs before standing, still between your butterflied legs, and now that the ringing in your ears had quieted, you can hear him, the wet schlick of his hand around his cock - the hand he was using on you. “Fuck,” he groans, wedging his cock beneath your panties until the wet, hot head rests just above your clit, further darkening the wet spot you’d left. His hand continues its up and down on his cock, the movement jostling it against your still tender clit and releasing a pathetic, overstimulated whine from your throat.

“‘s too much, John,” you mewl, your hands slapping against his thighs weakly, and he growls again, deep in his throat, before a splash of heat coats your pussy and stomach, soaking into your panties.

He smears the head of his cock through his spend, painting it into your skin, and you yelp when he taps it against your clit one last time before pulling out from your ruined panties, tugging them up and into place again. His cum is warm against the lips of your pussy, and you can’t hold back the wince at the feel of the slick mess.

He holds down your thighs as he steps out from their embrace, a smug smile stretching his cheeks and crinkling his blue eyes, the cat that got the cream. He wiggles your pants up your legs again, over your hips, zips the fly and buttons them up, grabbing a handful of your ass before stepping back and slumping into one of the chairs. You refuse to move, to acknowledge the combined mess pressed into your skin. You’ve never been more glad for your black wardrobe.

John must see the disgust etched onto your features, and he just laughs, huffy and airy and quiet, “Couldn’t make another mess for you to clean, love.” You take a hesitant step toward the door, eyeing John, who seems to relish in your discomfort. “Best get yourself home before the boys return, eh? Wouldn’t want ‘em asking too many questions.”

You jolt at his words and hurry to the door, pointedly ignoring his laughter and the way your skin slides against your panties.

“Don’t forget to check your pockets when you make it home, sweetheart,” John cooes, and you make sure to slam his office door loudly once you pass the threshhold, but you can still hear him call after you. “Use it to buy something cute for next time!”

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balrogballs · 30 days ago

Text

"Bilbo had assumed accusing an elven lord of Tookishness in his own house would result in swift decapitation and not a decades-long camaraderie that both parties truly cherished, but it seemed that in this regard too, the Lord of Imladris defied expectation."

The Peculiar and the Deranged: Moments between Bilbo Baggins, Elrond Peredhel, and the most unprecedented friendship in Middle-Earth, under the cut!

(aka this friendship wasn’t leaving my mind so I wrote this on my phone and drew this with the 3 pencils I had on a train because I’m incapable of being normal about anything)

on Bilbo's first visit to Imladris, featuring Estel's pet snake:

"You had a rat?" Bilbo blinked, hoping Elrond wouldn't notice the snake he was glaring at had initially been curled around his own neck. "Sir."

"I did not have a rat," corrected Elrond imperiously, looking every bit the lord of the valley. "I would never have a rat, I do not approve of rats. My daughter had a rat. Lothinvar, it was called, the bane of my household. Until this terrible creature wormed its way in. The snake that is, not the child, though Estel is not in my good books at the moment either."

on the return journey, after the death of Thorin Oakenshield:

"What can I do? How can I ever move past this?" Bilbo asked quietly, unsure why exactly he was pouring his heart out to a being six thousand years older than him, who must have faced far greater sorrows.

"Grief," Elrond replied, staring intently at him, "tricks you into thinking it’s all you have left. As though if you let it go, even for a moment, you betray him. You hold onto relics like lifelines, thinking what else is there to keep Thorin alive in your mind? It is a lonely life, Bilbo. It will turn you into the loneliest person in the world."

"Is there no way out?" he gasped, looking up at the elf.

"Start small. A smile, perhaps, when you think of a joke he made," Elrond said steadily, like he was reciting a recipe. “And then, try telling someone about him. Perhaps you could tell me. Something new each time you visit, perhaps.”

“You say it like you have experience of it, sir,” ventured Bilbo. “Like you know it by-heart. Did you get past it?”

“I did,” Elrond’s voice was confident, too confident. Bilbo chose not to probe.

"Thorin's nephews?" Elrond asked later, after Bilbo had gathered himself together, mopped himself up. "They were slain too? Both?"

"Yes, both."

"That is good," Elrond had said with a blank, intense smile etched into his features. "That it was both at once."

"What?" Bilbo sat up in shock, spluttering. "Good? What is wrong with you?"

"Were they not twins? Thorin's nephews I recall were twins, no?"

"Brothers. But what difference does that make? What do you mean good? I beg your pardon, my lord, that's an unhinged thing to say!"

"Oh. I am sorry, Bilbo," Elrond shook his head, the awful, blank expression still on his face. "I am sorry, I spoke without thinking. It is only that I had thought they were twins. Do forgive me, I misunderstood, and spoke out of turn."

"Don't worry," Bilbo sighed, finding to his own surprise that he could manage a laugh. "With names like Fili and Kili, it's frankly a surprise they aren't."

He still thought it was a rather unhinged thing for Elrond to say, but, well — Bilbo Baggins had always been fond of the peculiar and the deranged.

on a visit to the Shire, sharing burnt scones

"Cel was — is — remarkable. She had an exceptional appetite for burnt bread: she would go into the kitchens and instruct the staff to deliberately burn sweetbreads, just because she loved the crunch, apparently."

"She sounds like a Shire lass through and through."

Elrond laughed, shaking his head: "I am certain had I brought her to visit, she would never leave. Though she is not made for the rustic life. A total terror of any creature on four legs. The first time I spotted her she was in a garden, standing on the bench screaming, because she had seen an enormous beetle scuttling around the grass."

"Oh, so it was a damsel in distress situation, eh?"

"Quite the contrary," he admitted. "She threw a pair of gardening scissors right at my head, and called me utterly disgusting for the crime of allowing beetles to exist on my property, and threatened to cut off my hair with the same scissors if she ever came across another one. And mind you, this is Celeborn's daughter, and that soul would have married an Ent if Galadriel hadn't come around."

"Well, that truly is a surprise! Did she not even like dear Arwen's little rat?"

"Oh, you remember the rat!" Elrond's eyes shone, genuinely delighted. "If I remember right, she paid our boys to get rid of it and told Arwen she had sent it to, well, your people."

"I will be certain to invent an illustrious Shire-based family tree for the rat, if your Arwen ever gets around to asking."

on a Yule visit, when Bilbo forwent self-preservation, featuring the same snake:

"Oh, it was not I who named the snake after the Mariner, it was my… other father."

"That's impressive, sir. Quite bohemian."

"One would wish," Elrond muttered darkly, pouring himself more wine, as if all the talk of snakes had driven him to drink. "Estel is friendly with Maglor, who along with Maedhros, raised my brother and I. And I had banned all talk of pet snakes until Maglor showed up last year with a present for Estel: his very own snake named Gil-Estel, which they both insist has nothing to do with the Mariner and is simply a play on the child's name. Which I would have believed, if Maglor did not also own a remarkably ugly cat named Thingol."

"When they say you are Half-Elven, Lord Elrond," Bilbo blurted out, after a short, surprised silence. "Do they mean the other half is merely mortal man, or…?"

"Yes, the other half does indeed refer to mortal men," blinked Elrond in surprise, looking something other than perfectly composed for the very first time. "Do you… suspect otherwise?"

"Oh, I was certain there was a bit of Hobbit somewhere. Just your life, you know, your family, all of it," he waved his hands about the valley. "It's a little… well, Tookish."

"What in the world is a Took?"

on a midnight wander in Minas Tirith on the morning of Aragorn’s wedding to Arwen

When Bilbo came across the figure sat on the steps, he was ridiculously old and his memory even more ridiculously ragged, so he didn’t know why it was that he thought, reflexively, it will turn you into the loneliest person in the world. He didn't say a word though, only reached out a hand and sat beside the figure. Elrond didn’t say a word, only grasped the offered fingers so tightly Bilbo's knuckles turned white, held on as he shook. When it passed, he looked away and apologised, sniffing. "Forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to get melancholic, especially not on a day of such joy. I —"

Bilbo cut across him, too old to deal with the elvish tendency to be completely insufferable.

“How did you get past it the last time? With your brother?”

"I have one of the longest memories in this land, yet I cannot truly remember this one thing," the elf smiled bitterly, tapping his nails on the stone steps. "I slept, I think. A lot. I shrunk out of the world until the sheer pain of it no longer clawed at me. But I cannot do that, Bilbo. Now, I have duties, responsibilities. I have kings to oversee, a valley to hand over and a people for whom I must keep up something of a brave face. There is no longer any room for the small death I was permitted last time."

Elrond sighed. "You must think I am terribly privileged, or that I have too grandiose an idea about my place in this world."

"No, I was just thinking how unfair it is," said Bilbo quietly. "So unfair that for you there is a last time and now a this time."

Elrond, in tears again, was looking at him with an almost obscene gratefulness, as if Bilbo had done him some enormous kindness and not something any friend would do, looked at him in a way that made the hobbit think again, inexplicably, the loneliest person in the world.

“I’m sorry,” said the lord, catching his friend’s expression. “You should not be h-“

"Shut up," Bilbo huffed, looking truly offended, rolling his eyes. "You're insufferable, do you know that? Stop acting like you've jumped off a damned cliff before my eyes, Elrond. I'm starting to think elven history would have been a lot less bloody and tragic had more of you — and I mean that Fëanor, mainly, but the rest of you too — appreciated the value of a good cry. Emotional constipation is just as bad as the real thing, you know. And you can be sure I'll tell old Fëanor that to his face when I see him."

Elrond blinked, then laughed. "Oh, Bilbo, I am glad you found your way back to Imladris this year, I truly am."

"And I, in turn,” Bilbo found himself saying, cursing the fact that his memory decided to make its wondrous reappearance that night. “Am equally glad our mutual friend Aragorn tried to bribe me to put his pet snake in your office that very first day."

on a ship in the sundering seas, far too early

"Suffering from a spot of morning sickness, are we?"

"My apologies, Bilbo," Elrond stumbled back into Bilbo's cabin from the privy, looking only slightly less green than he had when he left it. "Please do not make any sudden movements."

"I am only pleased that you and I are now such intimate friends that you feel comfortable enough to throw up your breakfast in my bathroom. Maybe you should come around and do it every morning to wake me up, like the world’s most useless cockerel."

"It was not by choice, as you very well know," Elrond muttered, downing a swig of ground herbs and honey from a bottle in his pocket. "My mortal heritage does, unfortunately, mean there are some weaknesses to the constitution. Perhaps this is why it was Elros who took ship for Numenor and not I."

"Well, that, and you couldn't resist micromanaging six thousand years of Middle-Earth now, could you?" chortled Bilbo, settling down in a plush chair and laying his walking stick by his side. "Mortality is all well and good, but heaven forbid you lose a chance to develop domestic policy over the continental grain trade. Besides, and I don't want to be the one who brings it up, but…"

"Elbereth, what now?"

"Your father was known as the Mariner, you know," Bilbo snorted. "As in, the seafaring sort, no? It would truly be such a shame if someone were to… write a poem about the mis-inheritance of seasi—"

"Write that poem, Bilbo Baggins, and I will personally petition Ulmo to turn you into seaweed."

in the house of Elrond in Aman, with the chattiest woman Bilbo has ever encountered (which is saying something)

"I only burned that layer because you made me do it, mind you. You really are as remarkable as he said you were," Bilbo blurted out as she picked out pink sugared biscuits with a dark crust that he knew to be from burning. He had even spread jam on them for a second layer of sweetness. "Mad and irritating, to be frank, but remarkable. I am truly glad to know you, Celebrìan — not as Elrond's wife, but, well."

He gestured at her weakly, meant the peculiar and the deranged. She understood.

"Yes, I do pity all the folk that know me as Elrond's dead wife," she wrinkled her nose, sitting down by him and grabbing a second burnt biscuit. "And considering my poor husband's approach to grieving, and all the laments Lindir said he's made him compose, that is what most end up knowing me as. It is quite a pity, I am as you say, delightful. Oh, Bilbo, this is amazing! So wonderful, I didn't think pastries could be this sweet!”

"No, not when your cheapskate of a husband is in charge of the rations," he said in a carrying whisper. "In the Shire though, we know how to live."

"Who are we referring to as a cheapskate then?"

"The elf who implemented a sugar tax in his valley," said Celebrian dryly. "You may know him. Have a biscuit!"

"I would truly rather nail myself to the birch," he said dryly, picking up a piece of bread. "I do not get the logic behind oversweetening victuals. Impractical, unnecessary."

"Oh," Celebrían clapped her hands to her mouth. "Of course! The Lord Elrond grew up amidst the War of Wrath! Surely, he has not mentioned that to you, has he? He never does!"

"Ah, that he was raised in military conditions by a couple of kinslayers?" chuckled Bilbo. "No, not at all. Not once. He certainly never brought it up in our first ever conversation. Should we ask him to expand?"

#lord of the rings #elrond peredhel #bilbo baggins #bagginshield #celrond #lotr #the hobbit #balrogballs writes #balrogballs art

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trivia-yandere · 2 months ago

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fuck it a look into "survival" with jin; apart of my valentine's day masterlist - dont judge ik it's only november :3

you apply to a dating-show in hopes of winning enough money so you and your sister can live comfortably. what you didn’t know that you would be competing to death for the heart of one man while those on the dark web watched.

“Let’s get something straight, ladies.”

Your eyes turn towards who is speaking. The woman is tall, her skin almond and seemingly shining beneath the golden lights of the mansion. Her hair is neatly slicked into a bun, not an out of place hair in sight. Her eyes are dark as they roam around the room at each one of the contestants. She raises a manicured hand, crimson nails going around to point at each of you - six women in total.

“This is a competition.” the woman says, lowering her hand. “You all are not friends.”

You don’t respond, opting to listen instead as the other women chatter amongst themselves. One thing for certain, you didn’t have to be told at all.

“For the past week, you along with hundreds of other women had fought diligently to be where you are standing now. This is your final challenge. Look to your left and your right, as you are now competing against your direct rivals.”

“Ladies.” the host says, nodding to you all. “Place your plates right here onto the table.” she says, motioning to the large, glass table behind her. There’s cards that sit about six inches from one another that have each of your names labeled onto them.

“Now, Kim Seokjin-ssi will test them all.” she proceeds to say as each of you gather back into a line.

Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes begin to widen as a man, tall and slender, begins to strut from up the staircase to where you all stood. Your eyes are fixed onto him - as are the other women. Your mouth parts a bit as he bows before all of you, a mop of dark hair bouncing.

“Hello to you all.” the man says, a familiar voice dancing through your ears. The same exact voice of earlier.

Kim Seokjin was not an older man, no. He was young; and maybe you should’ve guessed by his voice. However, he didn’t look a day over 25. His skin was clear of any blemishes and porcelain similar to a doll. His eyes are beady as he looks between the six of you. His lips, plump and pink, form a low smile.

Jin is sporting a solid, black dress shirt that he proceeds to cuff toward his elbows. His dress pants are baggy and brown, however not a wrinkle in sight. You ponder just how much his outfit is, as you were told that wealth such as him doesn’t talk, but whispers.

“Now, let’s see.” Jin says, clapping his hands as he turns away.

Jin eyes the array of food on the table, humming to himself softly.

It takes 10 minutes for Jin to try it all. Ten long minutes of you all waiting in silence as he eats, nodding his head a few times and then whispering to the host, who would either snicker or respond.

“Siobhan.” Jin speaks, his back not turning to face either of you. The host does, stepping away from Jin. “Come closer, please.”

Siobhan does, her long locks bouncing onto her shoulders as she comes face to face with Jin. He’s a beauty of a man and instantly, your heart jolts. Jealousy, sure, yet you weren’t here for true love. This wasn’t the bachelor. You were here for money and that only.

“Chan-Mi…Luisa…you two, as well.”

Your blood runs cold, your palms beginning to sweat. You’re unsure what Jin is doing - if you’re about to be eliminated or not. Your eyes glance at the other two women left, Zarish and Anjali. You suck in a breath, turning your eyes back to Jin. It would be humiliating to be sent home so early.

“Your food is…”

You swallow as the man slowly turns, his arms now behind his back. The smile on his lips he sported 10 minutes prior had disappeared.

“Lackluster.” Jin murmurs, and instantly his right arm jerks, a dagger held tight into the palm of his hand. He slices Siohban’s throat as quickly as yall all seen it, the woman gasping and clenching onto her neck.

#trivia-yandere #jin x reader #jin yandere #trivia yandere's valentine's day masterlist #survival #dark web

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fillesdesiir · 25 days ago

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PLEASE YOUR PRINCE / aemond targaryan

aemond targaryen x maid fem!reader (no appearance described) + mentions of masturbation, slight dubcon.

authors note / ( hi, i havent written for this app in two years! nor have I posted but uhhh im bacK? ig? i still don't really know how to work this app but if any1 wants to be friends, just comment also ty for 400+ followers, I didn't even realize I had that many lol ) © fillesdesiir, all rights reserved. do not copy, translate nor steal my work. @/ -sexpistols on wattpad (fanfics only and where I only post tbh)

Aemond Targaryen was selfish. Never willing to share any of his toys nor did he like the mere concept of doing things without any gain. Perhaps this was rooted in being born with a golden spoon in his mouth, he had been spoiled from the day he was born. Or it could have been when he lost his eye and suddenly the world viewed him as a monster. Maybe the urge to prove himself, better himself, no, be better than those who have wronged him is what created the man he was today.

Nonetheless, whatever creature lurked in the depths of his soul, wants you. You were forbidden, a mere servant for the crown but blessed with the beauty fit for a queen. Watching you bend over and clean his chambers made something inside him churn. The way you’d breathe heavily after long hours of cleaning, your breasts rising up and down with droplets of sweat sliding down the valley of your tits left him needy. He wanted you so badly that his hand was no longer enough to ease the throbbing in his pants. His cock red, swollen, and pulsing with the desire to put itself in you.

You were driving him to madness. The need to take you from behind as you made his bed, sent him over the edge. This primal urge in him had gotten so bad, he found himself in the company of whores on silks street. Aemond was so desperate to pleasure the lust in him, he’d envision whores as you while he fucked them. It was humiliating. You were making a fool of a prince and you didn’t even know it. Aemond felt as though you were haunting him, with your wicked tongue which he wished to see so badly trailing his cock.

He had gone on like this for months, rutting against his sheets and anything that could ease himself. Aemond could not take it anymore, he snapped.

And so, one day as you were doing your routine rounds, Aemond made sure to make his room extra messy. He needed to keep you there as long as he could. Aemond was on a mission to expel this entity (you) from his mind. He could no longer be haunted by the mere idea of you.

When you arrived at his chambers, your jaw fell agape at the state of the room. It was in ruins, papers thrown across the ground, books displaced, his bedding thrown to the ground as well as spills upon spills of wine. Aemond smiled to himself as he watched you walk in slowly with a bucket and mop in hand. He clicked his tongue before speaking, a grin present on his lips.

“Is something wrong?” He asked you mockingly. Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips pursed.

“Of course not, my prince,” You muttered in response with deep breaths and a rapid shake of your head.

“I know it is quite a mess. And I’m sure you’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” Aemond teased as he watched you grimace at the mess. You nodded, unsure whether you were allowed to engage with him in such a manner.

Suddenly, as you began to clean his mess of a room, an idea struck him.

“Ah, I feel terrible making you clean this all up. Alas it is your job but, I wonder, perhaps,” he paused, “Perhaps you could complete your daily task another way,” Aemond spoke hesitantly, eager to see your response.

“What is it you mean?” You questioned his idea, curiosity eating at you. The prince had never even spoken to you this long and so his words enticed you.

Aemond stalked toward you, his chest barely brushing against your own.

“It is your duty to help me. Please me, is it not?” Aemond whispered against your ear, his slender hand caressing your cheek. Your cheeks flushed and Aemond immediately picked up on the deepening of your breaths. He towered over you and so he had a clear view of your tits, rising up and down slowly, heavily.

“Get on your knees,” Aemond commanded. A moment of silence passed by, a simple stare-off between the two of you before you shakingly got on the ground. Aemond smiled, proud of your display of obedience. “Now take my cock out,” he ordered with a slow run through the top of your hair. A small gasp escaped from your lips. You were taken aback by his words but as you stared up at him, you found yourself unable to say no.

Slowly, you unbuttoned his pants which were a lavish leather. Your hands were shaking as you slipped them down right below his arse along with his undergarment. Small breaths left you as Aemond’s cock rested before you. It was long, thick with veins entwined into it. But what truly caught you by surprise was how hard it was. The tip of his cock was flushed red and the entirety of it was pulsating.

“Now suck. Perform your duties and please your prince,” Aemond whispered sensually. With a nervous gulp, you gripped his cock in your hand. Aemond hissed in as you touched him, the lust coursing through him had left him painfully hard. You stared up at him, looking deeply into his eyes before taking your tongue and licking his cock from top to bottom. When you reached the tip, you swirled your tongue around the swollen flesh before hollowing out your cheeks and taking him whole. Aemond’s head tipped back in ecstasy as you gave him what felt like the best head of his life.

You sucked him off uneasily at first, nervous about his reaction but slowly you eased into it. Your head bobbed up and down on his cock rapidly causing Aemond to grip the back of your head for support. He grunted loudly from above you, lost in the pleasure of your warm mouth as you took him. His mouth was agape, sharp breaths leaving him continuously. Aemond pushed you down onto his cock deeply with his hand, gripping and pulling at your hair. Salvia dripped from the sides of your mouth as you gagged on his cock, taking him in over and over.

The scene taking place was so erotic, terribly filthy, and forbidden but nevertheless, your thighs were squeezing themselves together. You could feel your own arousal dripping from your cunt, leaving a small puddle on the ground. Aemond moaned and grunted as he began to fuck your mouth. His thrusts were quick, desperate, and filled with need. You had been haunting him for so long with the little moans of stress you’d let out as you’d clean a too-high-up place. With the way your dress would ride up as you bent over to clean his chambers, revealing your thighs. The way sweat would trail down the valley of your tits after a long day's work. You were a parasite that he wanted to be rid of.

But even now, as he thrusted inside of your mouth, taking pleasure in the sounds of your gags. All he could think about was when he’d get the chance to do something like this again with you. He wanted so badly to hear you moan into his cock, as you were doing so now, every day. Aemond had to have your wicked tongue run its warmth against his cock for eternity.

He needed you. Craved you. And as his spend filled your mouth, Aemond realized something then. His plan had not worked, you were still haunting him.

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echantedtoon · 2 months ago

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DILF Eustass Kid Headcannons

Since there's a cannon concept design for Kid at both 40 n 60 years old I'm disappointed by the severe lack of writing for DILF Eustass Kid. So here's some from me.

*Despite being older he hasn't lost his attitude or spunk. Although compared to his younger self he is a bit more level headed now.

*extremely experienced with relationships. If you're uncomfortable or unsure about anything going into the relationship, he's very much willing to be patient and guide you through anything or give advice.

*speaking of advice, he's very good at giving advice on pretty much anything having already been through most things. Need to know what knife to use for stabbing? He's got you. Need help with difficult tax info? Scoot over and he'll help point out the best(way to evade them-) guy for the job. Want help choosing the best wood for a project? Oh he's an expert. Only thing he can't help you with is cooking. He's calling up Killer for that.

*SO domestic in a retired pirate, handyman way. Most likely you two are gonna be living on the Victoria Punk he converted into a giant house boat apartment thing for his crew and himself. He's always fixing things from the sink and shower to keeping up with the usual maintenance a ship needs. So it's not uncommon to see him mopping the deck or eyeing a loose board in the floor either.

*Personality pretty much stays the same. He's just as flirty, overprotective (if not more-), and stubborn as he always was twenty or thirty years ago.

*Spoils the every living heck outta you(Sugar Daddy-). Want a new purse? He's buying you the latest fashion. A necklace with a matching set of earrings? You're getting good days nights to that nice restaurant you wanted to go to.

*Ironically he'll sometimes say the stereotypical 'back in my day' line when annoyed at new generations of pirates. Don't point it out. He'll get very huffy and annoyed if you tease him about it. You'll be getting the silent treatment for the rest of the day.

*Ya both probably met by you hitting on him first. Probably won't admit it, but he's a little self conscious about the age gap and knows it's not the most normal relationship out there, but he still loves you.

*Annoyed with younger men try hitting on you and judging your relationship. Just because he's technically 'retired' doesn't mean he still won't take someone's life. They better pray that he doesn't hear anyone calling you a golddigger. If they do...Well they'd be lucky if they just end up with a giant hospital bill. Makes him a little more overprotective over you as a result.

*Melts if you kiss his scars and call him handsome. Helps boost his ego and eased his insecurities about the relationship.

*If y'all end up having kids he panicks less than if you had kids with a younger him. By now he's been through so much(jail, bloody fights, near death situations-) that it doesn't phase him too much. In fact he's probably more prepared after watching Killer and some of his own crew getting married and eventually having kids of their own.

*Don't ever call him a 'dilf'. He'll tease you endlessly and trying to insist on you calling him 'Pirate Daddy'. He's got no shame being called a dilf and if anything laughs from how flustered/embarrassed you get at him for teasing you about it.

#one piece eustass #one piece kid #one piece #eustass x reader #one piece eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustass captain kidd #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #eustass kidd #eustasscaptainkid

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love-fictional-ppl · 4 months ago

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Ace and Sabo arguing over who loves their gf more, but she loves them both equally and just absolutely adores them

Maybe smut if ur up for it

The one piece is real

Yesss I love this concept and ty sm for the request anon🙏🏻🙏🏻 I’m ngl Sabo might be ooc😭

༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

Equals

Summary: look at the request sillies🤭

Pairings: dom!Portgas D. Ace x switch!fem!reader x switch!Sabo

Warnings: language, arguing(brief), smut, making out, double penetration,anal, oral(m&f receiving), facial, fingering, unprotected P in V(wrap it b4 u tap it), Sabo has a mommy kink, hair pulling, double creampie, aftercare

A/N: for the sake of the story Sabo and reader are apart of the Whitebeard Pirates also for my sanity sabo and ace both ate the flame-flame fruit(no actual tak abt it tho) and tbh fuck a plot

You were below deck on the Moby Dick, walking up the stairs, you were ordered to mop the entire deck, so you had in each hand a pale of water and a mop.

Finding where it was least crowded on deck, you start on the port side. Eventually you heard arguing somewhere amongst the ship. At first you assumed some of the guys were getting into, listening closely you realized your guys were getting into it.

You dropped the mop, not really caring who tripped over it, and made your way over to the commotion.

As you made through the crowd of pirates, you see people making bets on who you assumed were the two hotheads. Suddenly, you can hear what was being said clearly.

“HA! She loves me more!” Sabo shouted in a manner of fact.

The raven haired boy let out boisterous laughter. “As if a mother could love a face like that!” Ace retorts.

“Says you!”

You were honestly shocked they hadn’t already started beat the shit out of each other, better yet that they could be this immature. All the noise was starting to annoy you, especially the sounds of your boyfriends thinking you loved one more.

“How bout this!” All heads turned in your direction, “I love Luffy more!”

Ace looked utterly appalled and Sabo looked like he had been hit by a brick. After fully processing the remark, both boys started clinging to you saying things like; “you don’t mean it, do you?” And “Stop goofing around!”

You truly couldn’t help laughing at the pair, you were still annoyed though about the fact they think one is more cherished than the other.

You started to head below deck to the three of you’s shared room. Both boys followed you, desperate for an answer.

“I love both of you equally and more than anything, so I’m going to prove it to you.” You stated bluntly. You didn’t bother to look back at either of them, simply walking to privacy.

A light blush covered Sabo’s cheeks at your words, Ace on the other hand started grinning like a child.

You finally reached your destination, opening the door you walk over to the bed and start to take your shirt off.

Sabo was caught off guard by how quickly this all seemed to be happening. He simply watched, unsure, for a second or two.

“Man, I’m gonna fuck the shit out of her if you don’t hurry up.” Ace’s voice brings Sabo back to the reality of the situation.

Ace seemed to have had no problem with your pace because he already had no shirt off, which is no surprise considering he never wears a shirt. The raven haired man pulled off his hat and set it on the desk in the room.

Sabo, finally finding his footing, takes off his hat as well placing it next to the other male’s. You strutted over to your blonde haired lover and kissed him sensually with tongue, helping strip him of his clothes.

“I love you.” You told him, looking deep into Sabo’s eyes. “And you,” you then turn to put your attention on Ace.

You walk a few steps towards Ace, he readily responds by grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a rough, sloppy kiss.

You turn your head away from the kiss and urge Sabo forward, he took a few slow steps toward you. Sabo couldn’t be sure why, but he felt anxious, in a nervous and excited kind of way.

Once the blonde was a few centimeters from your face you dropped to your knees, catching both men by surprise.

Gently tugging on the blonde's belt, you look up at him through your eyelashes, "Be a good boy for me, okay?"

Sabo bit his lip and nodded his head ferociously, "mhm, yes, mommy."

"Good boy."

You began to unbuckle his belt and release his member than you suddenly stopped. When Sabo's gaze landed on you he realized you were coaxing Ace to join you and feel the warmth between your legs, he wasted no time to walk over and rip the shorts and panties off your body. After presenting you bare and in all your glory, Ace shoved his face in between your thighs and started slurping your juices like a starved man.

After you came down from the shock of Ace's roughness, you returned your focus to Sabo's throbbing cock, tip peaking out of his underwear desperate for attention. you yanked his pants down and started tugging at his shirt, signaling him to take it off, which he picked up on quickly.

Standing in front of you in his birthday suit, you decide to fondle your sweet sub's balls and take his length into your mouth. Sabo's head fell back and he shut his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the pleasure your mouth brought him.

Ace was flicking your clit back and forth with his tongue causing you to moan around Sabo. You had lost your pace due to the pleasure you felt so Sabo grabbed you by the hair and started fucking your face. The male behind you started fucking you with two fingers while massaging your clit with his tongue, occasionally sucking on it. You were cumming a few minutes later.

Sabo followed shortly after, pulling out to paint your face. You stuck your tongue out to taste him, only managing to catch a tiny bit of his cum, the rest landing on your cheeks and forehead. The submissive male used his fingers to scoop the cum off your face, you sucked the semen off his fingers.

Suddenly you were lifted off the floor and dropped on the bed, Portgas D. Ace being the culprit. Sabo followed the both of you and moved you to straddle him. Ace once again got behind you and pulled a bottle containing a clear liquid from the night stand.

You shivered at the cold feeling of the lube being squeezed onto your asshole.

Ace whispered in your ear, "Gotta make sure you're ready for me, okay, Love?"

You nodded your head enthusiastically, wanting him to be inside of you already.

When you least expected it, you felt the familiar defiance of Ace's fingers pushing against that tight ring of muscle, you grimaced at the feeling. Sabo placed his hands on either side of your face, making you look at him.

"I'm right here with you." Sabo then pressed his lips into yours.

Ace's middle and ring finger moved at a steady pace, eventually turning the uncomfortable sensation into pleasure. You pulled away from the blonde in front of you and dropped your mouth open into a silent moan.

"You okay? You wanna keep goin'?" Ace checked in.

"Yes," you moaned, feeling his fingers still working.

A few seconds later, he removed his fingers leaving you feeling empty, only to replace the emptiness with his cock.

"Oh-!"

Sabo once again pulled you in for a slobbery kiss, distracting you from any discomfort.

Ace dropped his head back and started picking up the pace, his hands holding your hips. The sound of skin clapping could likely be heard above deck. You gathered your strength and braced yourself, placing your left hand on Sabo's shoulder and using your right to grab his cock and line it up with your entrance.

"Holy fu-uck," Sabo groaned when he slid inside of your tight cunt.

You rocked your hips backwards against both boys'. Ace grabbed you by the hair, his right hand making a ponytail. The male behind you used this new found leverage to fuck you even harder than before.

Sabo fucked upward with shallow thrusts. You dropped your head onto the blondes shoulder and pulled his face toward you, kissing his scar.

“I love you both so much,” you told them.

“We know, Sweetheart, we love you too,” Ace responded.

You reached behind you pulling his jet black locks, pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss was awkward due to how hard he pounding into you from behind.

“I-I’m gonna cu-um,” you cried out, the lower half of your body had gone numb awhile ago.

“I’m close too, cum with me okay, mama?” Sabo was babbling and you struggled to make sense of his words for a minute.

Sabo’s thrusts contrasted Ace’s, Sabo gently rocked his hips up whereas Ace was slamming into you. You and Sabo came together, you were shaking and exhausted. Sabo pulled out and you held onto his shoulders for support as Ace continued jackhammering into you.

“Shi-shit, your ass is so tight, I’m gonna cum.” Ace’s pace sped up and became unsteady.

The dominant of the two pulled you up so that your back was pressed against his chest. Ace’s right hand roughly groped your tit and pinched your nipple. Your eyes were shut tight.

Ace didn’t last much longer, you felt the warmth of him filling you up. Ace pulled out leaving you completely empty, both holes clenching around nothing and dripping cum.

Sabo adjusted you so that you could lay with your head on his chest. Ace cleaned himself up, dressed, and left to fetch you a glass of water and a rag to clean you up. You were so physically worn out that you fell asleep before Ace could return. When said male returned and saw you asleep with his brother, Ace attempted to clean you up without waking you.

You spoke groggily with your eyes closed, “I love both you idiots, okay?”

Ace chuckled, “we love you too.”

He kissed your forehead and joined you in the bed. Both Ace and Sabo drifted to sleep while admiring your beauty.

༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

A/N: this took way longer than anticipated😭 sorry for the wait I hope you enjoy, anon.

#smut #one piece sabo #one piece #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace #ཐི♡ཋྀpeanut ཐི♡ཋྀ #flame emperor sabo #sabo x reader #asl brothers #whitebeard pirates #portgas ace x you #portgas ace smut #saboace #op sabo #fem!reader #portgas d ace x fem!reader #Sabo x fem!reader

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princessbrunette · 8 months ago

Note

back on applying my problems into my daddy!john b fantasies means im currently thinking ab reader accidently cutting her hand while trying to open smth and genuinely just shaking her head as she trips over herself to find john b !!! all like i can't look i can't look i can't look fifhfjd and he's just so daddy calm n collected despite being worried - 🍓

u literally own daddy!johnb at this point n i love that for u.

✧˖°🪷🍥⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

but yes just appearing in the doorway after walking into it with your eyes screwed up, john b looking up from his maps all concerned and coming over.

“oh john b i can’t look!” you squeal, holding back tears as you drip blood on the floor.

“ohhhh boy, how’d you do it pup?” he stays calm, seeing as this is definitely not the first time you’d gotten yourself into a situation like this. he cups your injured hand in his big warm one and walks you to the bathroom to hold it under the tap.

“i tried t’open a can with a pair of scissors because i didn’t wanna mess up my nails.” you explain sadly, knowing it was the wrong choice. he presses his lips together, raising his brows in that know-it-all way as he holds you hand under the running water.

“cant say it was your brightest idea but, hey — we all mess up sometimes.” he keeps his comforting tone as he starts to dab at the cut with tissue, mopping it up. you wince, and he strokes your back with his free hand. “yeah i know.” he croons quietly.

after he’s got you all patched up, he’s cupping your cheeks running a thumb over each cheekbone. “so… what did we learn?” he raises his brows waiting for an answer.

“to let you open things for me if i can’t do it?” you offer, unsure if it was even the right answer. honestly between the upset from the injury and john b babying you, your brain had gotten a little foggy.

“atta girl.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead.

✧˖°🪷🍥⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

#🍓 anon #john b prompt #puppy!reader

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absurdthirst · 10 months ago

Text

The Irish Escape {Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.9k

Warnings: Rudeness, Pero being an asshole, prejudice against Americans, hypothermia, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex

Comments: Freshly arrived in Ireland to visit the cottage your estranged grandmother has willed you, you run into a rude Spaniard. Unsure of why he hates Americans and why you seemingly can't stop running into him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s raining when you arrive in Dingle, County Kerry. You curse your suitcase as you try to drag it along the garden path that leads up to the small cottage known as Fairy Lodge. You fumble to find the key under the mat and work quickly to unlock the door, shivering as you step into the entrance, dragging your case behind you. You shut the door and shrug off your coat, wiping your boots on the mat. The cottage - tiny and cute - was left to you by your grandmother. She recently passed but you hadn’t seen her since you were ten after she decided to follow her dream and buy a house in Ireland. She left it to you in her will with the note, “always follow your dreams” and you decided to take a vacation and check the place out. It’s beautiful, even in the rain, and you are looking forward to exploring the area your grandma loved so much. After drying off and opening up the cottage. It’s quaint in the best way and you check the cupboards to find nothing, not even a pack of cookies. With a sigh, you look out of the window to find the rain has stopped so you put your coat on and make your way out onto the damp streets. You aren’t sure where to go but you googled a small pub nearby so you make your way over to it, hungry and desperate for a drink after traveling.

“Come on, mate.” William rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting his pint down to slap his friend on his shoulder. “You should stay and drink. The rain’s gonna start again and it’s not like you can work.” He chuckles, imagining how much the Spaniard would curse working out in the rain. When Pero had shown up at his door nearly a year ago, angry and adrift with no plan for his life, he had taken in his old friend. Let him live with him until he had purchased a cottage down the road from the Garin farm. “Nothin’ better to do than drink.” Pero grumbles, shaking his head as he stands up, pushing his chair back. “No.” He huffs, pulling his coat off the back of the chair and shrugging into it before jamming his flat billed hat onto his head. “I’m not paying for your beers.” He glares at the Irishman, knowing that if he stays, he will be left paying the tab. He turns and strides towards the door, not noticing the woman turning away from the counter with a hot coffee in her hands.

You gasp as the man knocks into you and your coffee spills over his front, soaking his jeans, and you immediately bounce back. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I- shit.” You place the cup down on the counter and you reach for the napkins, turning back to try and help the man mop up the mess you made of him.

The accent makes him immediately seeth in rage, barely even paying attention to your remorseful expression as you shove the napkins at his crotch. Pero slaps your hands away, hissing at the heat of the coffee. “Fucking Americans.” He spits, shooting you a deadly glare. “Ruining fucking everything.” Shoving past you, he slams out of the door and out of sight.

Your jaw drops and you stare at the door as he swings on the hinges. You can’t believe what he spat at you and you turn to look at the men gathered around the bar. “I- I didn’t see him behind me.” You choke and the blonde man shakes his head, “don’t mind the miserable Spanish bastard. He’s just not a fan of Yankees at the moment.” He chuckles and gulps down the rest of his pint. “Not your fault, lass.” He tells you and you sigh, “he made that crystal clear.”

The bartender shakes his head, “Garin, that Spanish git needs to apologize to the lady.”

William scoffs, “you tell him that.”

You huff, “doesn’t matter. Can I get another cup?” You ask the bartender who nods. You sigh as you finally sit down in the corner, your annoyance at the rude Spaniard fading as you relax.

William decides that he needs to make up for his friend’s rude behavior. He stands up and groans, carrying his pint back to the bar for a refill. He nods to the bartender and slides it down to where he’s pouring you another coffee. “So.” He leans against the rubbed worn wood and shoots you what he knows is a charming grin. “Tourin’ Ireland, are ya?” He asks, making his accent slightly thicker. “Passin’ through, or will ya be stayin’ awhile?”

“Actually, I - my grandma had a cottage down the road. Fairy Lodge? She left it to me after she recently died and I needed to get away so I came to check on the house.” You explain.

William nods, “oh that tiny little place on the corner? I remember the old lady who owned it.” He nods, “sweet old gal.” He takes the pint from the bartender and comes over, sitting down opposite you. “How long you plannin’ on being here?” He asks you and you shrug, “not sure. I can work remotely so I’ll probably be here a couple of weeks before I head home. I’m going to put the home on the market. I won’t be able to get out here to maintain the home so I think I’ll sell it.” You confess, setting your mug down.

“Oh, you should stay awhile for sure.” William advises. “Make sure the land doesn’t grow on you.” He has to admit, having a younger, attractive woman in the village would be a good thing. But he also doesn’t want the home sold to someone who would not respect the land, or the people. He can’t imagine your granny raising anyone who would disrespect the lady she had adopted as her own. “Besides, ye can always ask your neighbor to check on things. We take care of each other ‘round here.”

You offer him a soft smile, “yeah…except for ‘fucking Americans’” You scoff softly as you quote his companion.

William shakes his head, “ignore Tovar. He’s a grumpy fucker.”

You tap your fingers against the mug, “well, he clearly doesn’t like Americans so maybe it’s best that I sell up.” You hum and William sighs, “well, see how ya feel. You might turn out to love it here. I know I do. I served in Iraq and all I wanted to do was come home.” He confesses and you smile again, “it is a beautiful place. I’ll see how things go.”

He nods, reaching for the beer that has been put in front of him. “Well, if you’re needing anything, I’m at the Garin farm. Ask anyone and they’ll point you in my direction.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” You offer William a smile and he makes his way back over to his friends. You settle in to continue reading your book and you thank the landlady for your meal as she brings it over to you. You eat and thankfully the rain has stopped when you decide to make your way back to Fairy Lodge. Tomorrow, you’ll get some groceries but for now, you’re exhausted. You quickly get ready for bed and settle in, falling asleep within minutes.

The next morning, Pero grumbles to himself as he walks up the lane towards the village. Needing some groceries, he wants to see if old man Sawyer had gotten in those wines that he had asked for. It was hard to make some of his dishes without the Spanish wines and he was looking forward to getting them.

You carry your basket around the small grocery store and you gasp when you walk around the corner to see the asshole from last night nearly walk into you again. "Do you make a habit of walking into people?" He growls and you huff, "only rude bastards who don't notice anyone in their peripheral." You hiss back, stomach twisting with annoyance at the man.

He purses his lips at you and narrows his eyes. “What’s an American like you doing in a grocery store like this?” He demands, annoyed that your mere presence makes him feel guilty for yesterday and it just irritates him more. “They don’t have all the fancy shit you would want here. Best go to Dublin and take your demanding, childish ways with you.”

You narrow your eyes and grip the basket in your hand a little tighter. "Listen, I don't know what the fuck I did to you yesterday that makes you act like a rude prick but I accidentally spilled my coffee over you and you act like I just pissed in your cornflakes. I am here because my grandma left me her house so you'll be seeing more of me around the village. Get used to it, asshole." You growl, spinning on your heel to find the ground coffee.

The news that you will be here even longer than he would like puts Pero in a mood. “Hijo de puta.” He spits, his own basket handle nearly broken as he grips it tight in his fist. The last thing he needs is some stuck up, American bitch hanging around and causing trouble. Old man Sawyer comes into view and he stomps over to him to see if the wine came in.

You don’t notice the man has left when you go to pay for your groceries and the old man starts to ring everything up. “I noticed there’s a bit of tension between you and Tovar.” He says softly and looks up at you. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in a small town - the gossiping and everyone knowing each other - but you sigh, holding your wallet. “I accidentally spilled my coffee over him in the pub last night and he seems to hate me without even knowing my name.” You huff, “I’m not the kind of woman that’s gonna bow over and beg for forgiveness when I already apologized.” You explain and Sawyer nods, “he’s a grumpy git. He, uh, has had a lot going on from what I have heard.” You snort, “haven’t we all? Still not enough of a reason for him to be a prick.” You say and Sawyer chuckles, “you’re fiery. You’ll fit in just fine around here.” He winks and hands you your change. “Thanks.” You say and make your way back to Fairy Lodge, wondering what happened to make Tovar such an asshole.

Pero is passing by the gate to William’s house, his own groceries in a bag on his arm and lost in his thoughts when his friend calls out to him. “Missed a bit of gossip after pouting off into the night.” He looks over at where William is pushing his best sheep, Nell, out of the way and walking towards the stone wall. He rolls his eyes.

“What, did she manage to spill a beer on you?” He huffs, smirking slightly in amusement at the idea.

“No, but she did tell me that she’s going to be in town.”

His smirk slides away and he scowls. “Sí, I know that.” He grumbles, sighing as he walks off the road and towards the wall to talk. The lane was narrow and lorries love to careen around the corners recklessly.

“How did you find out?” William is grinning, about to tease Pero for being interested in the American. “She nearly ran me over in Sawyer’s.” He snorts. “Woman - women - are menaces. Especially stuck-up, American bitches.”

“Now mate, you and I both know that’s not fair. She’s not your ex wife.” William shakes his head, “not all Americans are stuck up bitches…or cheaters.” He raises his eyebrows at his Spanish friend who came to him years ago after finding his wife in bed with their neighbor. “Besides, you always told me you wanted to move from Seville. Said you felt trapped. So you came here to bother my ass.”

“I can always kill you so you aren’t bothered anymore.” Pero threatens, only making William laugh. He knows the Spaniard won’t actually kill him and therein lies the problem. They had been in the military together, serving on the same military bases in Iraq and somehow had become friends. Or as close to friends as Pero could have. Knowing the Irishman wouldn’t pity him like so many he had known would, he had decided to sulk in the Irishman’s home village and ended up staying. “She’s just like her.” He predicts. “All pretty smiles and batting eyelashes to get her way and then she shoves the knife in your ribs. She’ll sell the cottage to some developer who will want to put some god awful monstrosity where her granny’s cottage is. Only hope it's far away from my own.”

William snorts, “she doesn’t seem money hungry to me, mate. She’s not like her. From what you’ve told me, she was charming and drew you in with a fake personality. This one seems real. She doesn’t seem to be faking anything.” William observes, “she’s not your ex wife. She just happens to be American.”

Pero rolls his eyes, knowing that William won’t understand. He’s not been betrayed like he has and had his heart ripped out. Even more to find that the baby she had just told him about wasn’t his. She had just been planning on using him. “I’ve got better things to do than to argue with you, amigo.” He grumbles, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the road.

“All I’m saying is to just give her a chance.” William shouts at Pero’s retreating form and he sighs, looking down at Nell. “He really is a stubborn bastard.”

****

You decide to spend the day in the cottage, checking out things that your grandma left here and cleaning it up. You look through the photos she left there of your family. You haven’t seen her for years but she had an album of photos your parents must have sent her over the years. You caress the book, wishing you’d known her more and you wonder why she left you the cottage. She didn’t even leave you a note in her will when you got the keys.

There’s movement in the Fairy Cottage. Pero had noticed it when he was moving some more kindling under the lean-to on the back of the cottage. The sweet older lady that had lived there had been an American, but he hadn’t held it against the feisty old woman. A light comes on and he narrows his eyes in anger. People need to respect that a house is empty without molesting it. He grabs the crowbar he had been pulling old boards off the interior walls to redo. Ready to go confront the thief and make sure they don’t walk away with anything.

You hear the back door open with a creak and you inhale sharply, unable to believe that someone is breaking into the tiny cottage in the tiny village that you believed was as safe as could be. Everyone knows each other for fucks sake. You pick up the nearest thing - a book - and make your way down the stairs to confront the invader. When you get to the bottom step, you see the shadow and throw the book, a scream escaping your lips.

Pero curses when the book comes out of nowhere and hits him on the head. Turning and swinging the crowbar threateningly. “You had better make your peace with God if you think you are stealing anything from this house!” He shouts, lunging forward to grab the criminal who has broken into the cottage. “Got you!”

You scream as he grabs the back of your sweater and you try to hit him. “Get the fuck off of me!” You tell, slapping anywhere you can reach. “Get off!”

He drops the crowbar just as soon as he hears that accent, immediately aware that he has a woman and despite everything, he couldn’t hurt one. “Ow! Ow!” He yelps, throwing his arm up to block the jarringly accurate slaps as they strike his skin. “Stop your hitting, woman!” He growls, finally grabbing your arm so you can stop slapping his face.

You can’t believe it’s him. “Oh my God, it’s you. You bastard!” You growl, trying to wrench your arm from his grip. “What the hell are you breaking into my cottage?” You demand to know, “what the fuck, Tovar?”

He would be surprised you know his name, but that bastard William has a big mouth. “Your cottage?” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was your cottage. The old gal that lived here died just two months….” He trails off, remembering you had said you inherited a cottage from your grandmother. That sweet old woman was your granny? He lets go of your arm and grunts. “Thought you were a thief.” He tells you. “Wanted to run them off before they could steal anything.”

You are slightly touched that he’d put himself in danger to protect your grandmother’s cottage but you are also annoyed that he broke in without any warning. “Well, it’s just me. Although I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to whack me.” You scoff as he lets go of your arm and you reach up to rub it.

He snorts, bending down to pick up the crowbar and glares at you. Hating that it was you that he had run into again. No doubt you will be telling everyone what a fool he is, or perhaps calling the police on him for entering your cottage. “Might should have.” He grunts at you. “How do I know you even own this property?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at you again. “Wouldn’t be the first con artist American I’ve run into.”

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Wow. You’re a grade A prick.” You scoff, “my grandma left it for me and you - I don’t have to explain anything to you.” You huff, staring at him and you get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s handsome, even with that scar on his eye, and you hate that he’s handsome. “Did you, uh, did you know my grandma well?” You ask softly after a moment. The curiosity gets the better of you.

Pero stares at you for a moment before nodding. “I fixed her roof the first year she was here.” He tells you. “Delivered her peat moss to burn and made sure that she was okay when bad weather rolled in.” He rocks his jaw, having to admit to himself that he could see the family resemblance and thinks that he had seen a picture of you when you were younger. “I-” he swallows. “I’m the one who- who found her.” Sadness fills his eyes as he remembers that day. At least she had passed peacefully in her sleep.

You inhale sharply, tears stinging in your eyes for the grandmother you didn’t get to know properly. “I- I hadn’t seen her since I was ten. My parents divorced and my mom…she didn’t let my dad take me to see her when she moved here. I- I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, stepping back from Tovar. “Anyway…you must be sick of me by now. The ironic thing is you don’t even know my name.”

Pero recalls the stories she had told him about her family, producing your name with an ease that startled him. “She talked about you.” He tells you. “Never stopped loving you and talking about when you were young.” The least he can do is not let you think the old woman didn’t care about you. “Maybe that’s why she left you the cottage.” He offers.

You nod, biting your lip as tears sting in your eyes when you think about your grandmother. “Thanks for telling me that.” You say, sniffing as you try to not cry. “I - I appreciate it. Do you, uh, I really am sorry about spilling my coffee over you.”

He can’t snap at you when your eyes are watering and you look like you are about to cry. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells you. “I’m sorry for breaking into your cottage.” He tells you as he shuffles uncomfortably. He’s never been good at apologies, but he owes you that. “I’ll leave you to your day then.” He tells you.

You nod, uncrossing your arms as you escort Pero to the back door. “That - I’ll fix that.” You say, not even sure of where to start to fix the door he had broken when trying to protect the cottage from faux thieves.

Shaking his head, he opens the door and bends down to examine it. “I’ll have the door fixed in an hour.” He tells you. “Need to go get some things from my tool shed and I’ll have it sturdier than it’s ever been.” He looks up and shrugs. “My fault anyway.”

You accept his offer, knowing you won’t be able to fix the door, especially not tonight, so you let him go grab his tool box and when he comes back, you’re preparing some tea. “You want some tea?” You ask, knowing the nights are turning colder here.

“Do you know how to make it?” He asks seriously. “American tea is very sweet….and cold.” He grimaces, remembering when his ex would try to make tea and he had to drink it in order to make her happy. He had hated it.

You chuckle, “I can make hot tea. Iced tea is for hot days. Or I can make some coffee?” You offer, not sure what he wants and you wonder when he had iced tea. It’s not something you’ve encountered so far in Ireland.

“Hot tea.” Pero nods. “I don’t understand how someone drinks tea that is thick like syrup.” He chuckles and then thinks to add, “thank you. I’ll get your door fixed, I’ve got another one that will fit.” He promises, opening the door and examining the frame. He had been about to replace his own door but he could always go get another one.

You nod, getting to work on boiling the water on the stove. Your hatred of Pero fades a little since you’ve managed to talk to him and you still don’t understand his apparent dislike of anyone and anything American. When he comes back, you are a little chilly and you pour the brewed tea. “Do you like milk or no?” You ask, wondering how the Spaniard likes his tea.

His nose curls and he shakes his head. “No milk.” He insists. “I cannot have it.” His sensitive stomach was something that made William laugh but milk curdled on him. It was not pleasant and he didn’t want to risk it. “Please.” He adds when he remembers that manners are important to Americans.

You nod, setting the cup of tea down on the kitchen counter for him. "It's not poisoned." You tease, "although it was tempting." Tovar scoffs and picks up the cup, taking a sip. "So...what brought you to Ireland?" You ask, curious and nosey despite knowing you risk him shutting down on you.

“My friend.” He shrugs, looking down at the cup and then back up at you. “You can actually make a cup of tea that's not shit.” He grunts, knowing that is a compliment from him. “He lived here and I wanted a change so I came and decided to stay.”

You don't push him, sensing there's more to it and you don't want to risk your newfound ceasefire. "Fair enough. I wanted a change too." You confess and lean against the counter with your cup. "I got tired of the hustle bustle living in the city...it was exhausting."

“You won’t find that here.” Pero promises, pulling his hammer out to start prying the broken piece of wood off the frame. “Unless you count when Garvin’s sheep get out and run amok in your vegetable garden.” He snorts. “Nell, his favorite, never fails to end up walking into the pub like she’s gonna order a pint.”

You chuckle, "she sounds like a riot." Pero snorts, "a handful." You watch him work, his broad back muscles moving and you bite your lip, suddenly attracted to him. He's been an asshole but you think he's sexy in a mysterious asshole way. "You like it here." You observe, a statement more than a question.

“It’s quiet.” He shrugs slightly, not willing to admit that he’s found more peace here than he had when he returned to his ‘home’ in Spain. “I like quiet. Most are bored to death by it, but there's a tranquility in a slower pace of life.”

"Sounds like a little piece of heaven." You sigh, cradling the cup of tea in your palms. "Quiet is underrated. People want to live fast but I want to stop and smell the roses...take my time with life. Sorry...too many goddamn cliches." You scoff at yourself.

“People say that, but then they get pissed when there’s no new clubs to go to or activities that aren’t for ‘old people’.” He rolls his eyes and grunts as he measures the wood. “I should go get a piece to replace this and grab that door.”

You nod, “sure.” You don’t question him anymore or ask anymore questions, deciding to focus on starting a fire to ward off the chilly fall air especially since the door is open. You’re bending over the fireplace when Pero comes back in but you don’t hear him as you remain bent over as you poke the kindling.

Pero frowns, watching you poke at the fire. “You-” He huffs and sets the wood down and walks over to the fireplace. “You’re smothering the fire.” He tells you, taking the poker out of your hand. “It’s not like a wood fire. Peat is finicky, but it burns longer.”

You want to roll your eyes at him as he tries to tell you how to start the fire. Tired of men explaining shit to you at work, you stand up and let him take over with a huff. “I know how to start a fire. Did it enough times back home. God, you really can’t let people make mistakes, can you?” You ask, confused about why he’s so critical all the time.

Pero snorts and shakes his head. “If you want your cottage to be full of smoke, be my guest.” He snarks back at you, waiting to see if you will take over again. When you don’t, he kneels down and reaches into the fireplace. Pulling out the kindling and the hunks of peat to restack them and pulling his lighter out of his pocket.

You watch him with intrigue, noticing his strong jawline as he clenches his jaw in concentration. You observe what he does and you take notes for when you start another fire. The hearth is soon full of warmth and Tovar stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Thank you.” You tell him, placing your hand on his arm, “sorry I- I’m not good at not being good at things.” You admit softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a small laugh. “Took your grandmother nearly a month of freezing to accept my offer to help her with the chimney.” He has to admit that you seem like you are self-sufficient. Strong-willed.

You chuckle, “she was stubborn. My dad got that from her. Guess I did too.” You sigh and bite your lip as you lower your hand from his arm. “It’s too damn cold to mess around being that stubborn.” You confess, “even I can admit that.”

“Well, the new door will keep out the wind better and with a good peat fire, your cottage will be nice and cozy.” He promises. “Irish winters aren’t warm, but there is a beauty to them.”

“So I’ve heard. I’m not sure if I’ll be here long enough to see its full beauty. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do.” You confess and cross your arms, watching as Tovar continues working on the door. “You’re from Spain?” You guess from his accent.

“Sí.” He frowns as he fits the wood in and marks it with the pencil he tucked behind his ear to trim a small sliver off. He grabs his hacksaw and looks up at you. “Seville originally.”

“I’ve never been to Spain. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous. And I think they used Seville for some Game of Thrones locations. There’s so many places I haven’t been that I want to go to.” You sigh, leaning back against the counter. “You must’ve been a lot of places, having such easy access to Europe.”

“It is not hard to travel.” He admits. “But your country is larger than all of Europe combined.” He had been amazed when he had come over to meet his ex’s family. “The flights are short if you want to go on a holiday.”

You shrug, “and expensive as hell. Two hundred bucks average for a flight to another state and nothing as old as what Europe has to offer. I am thinking I might travel to Germany or Austria. Check out the Christmas markets.” You admit, “I miss home but I needed a change.”

“Sounds like more than an inherited house brings you over the pond.” Pero finishes cutting the piece and fits it back into the frame, grunting happily when it fits snugly. He nails it in place as he waits for you to answer him.

You sigh, “I wasn’t happy. I was working twelve hour days. Going on endless first and second dates but couldn’t find a man ready to commit. I was working hard to pay my rent but had nothing left to enjoy myself and I- I got sick of the rat race. I needed to leave the city before it killed me. That kind of life…it gets to you eventually. The loneliness.” You mutter, glancing over at the fire.

He snorts, having no problem being alone himself, but that was after the betrayal. Before then, he had imagined spending the rest of his life with his ex. “If you're alone, only you can disappoint yourself.” He tells you, knocking the last nail in place and starting to take the door off the hinges.

You sense there’s more to his words than he’s letting on but you ignore it, sipping your tea while he works on the door. It doesn’t take him long to get the new one swinging and he adjusts the lock. “There you go, señorita. A new door.” He announces and you snort, “least you could do since you’re the one who tore it off its hinges.”

“It was a shit door.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck before he bends down and picks up his tool box. “Next time I’ll knock to scare away potential thieves.” He tells you before he nods. “Thanks for the tea.” He murmurs before stepping out and closing the door behind him. He had lost a few hours of work fixing your door and now he needs to get back to it.

You huff as he shuts the door behind him, not even saying goodbye and you glance over at the fire. Just when you thought he could be a decent person to talk to, he shuts up again. “Whatever.” You mutter to yourself and get ready to settle in on the sofa to read before you go to bed. You’re not here to be friends with Tovar. You’re here to find yourself.

****

Over the next few days, Pero keeps busy. His home is still a work in progress, the addition done poorly so he’s having to redo a lot of it. Helping William out on his farm when he needs. Keeping busy and keeping his mind off the neighbor. Sure, he’s checked on the cottage when he’s outside or looking out those windows, but he doesn’t make any effort to speak to you again, knowing that you’re nothing but trouble.

Your days are filled with exploring the village and then working remotely in the afternoon. You’ve actually never felt so at peace. You don’t see Tovar, which is a blessing in disguise. The man still rubs you the wrong way but you find yourself thinking about those brown eyes…even when they are narrowed in hatred towards you. You close your laptop, glancing out at the beautiful sky. It’s cloudy today but still gorgeous so you decide to go for a walk, explore the area some more. After putting on your boots and coat, you lock up the cottage and get started on your exploration.

Pero grumbles at the sky, loading his truck to go help William with the roof of his barn. Wanting to get it done before the rains came again. He gets behind the wheel and starts down the road towards his farm. Traveling about a mile before he sees a figure walking along the wrong side of the road. He scoffs and shakes his head, knowing exactly who it is. Slowing down, he rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “You’re gonna get wet.” He shouts. “Go home.”

You turn your head to see Tovar and you shake your head, looking up at the sky. “Only woman to get wet around you in a while, huh?” You tease with a smirk and he huffs, gripping the steering wheel. “Fine. If you want to get rained on.” You nod, “all part of the experience.” You tell him, “the Irish way of life.”

Pero snorts. “Crazy Americans.” He huffs, handing his hand out the window as he drives past you. You’ll learn. Your coat isn’t enough for the rain that is coming and you will look like a drowned rat if you get caught out in it.

You are stubborn. Something your mother told you was just like your father. Much to her annoyance. You continue walking after Tovar drives off and the wind starts to pick up. You shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you and you look up at the sky as the rain clouds come in. "Bastard." You curse Tovar for being right as you decide to head back to the village.

The last piece of roofing was being nailed into place when the first splatters of rain hit Tovar’s back. “Mierda.” He hisses, glancing up and wincing when a droplet hits him in the eye.

“Good thing we finished. It’s gonna be a blustery one for sure.” William agrees, wiping his forehead and shoving his hammer back into his tool belt. “You should go home. The sheep will come back and file into their barn quickly and I’m gonna shower and build my fire up.” He tells his friend. “You should do the same.”

You shiver as the rain comes down and you struggle to get back to cottage. The wind is strong and pushing you back as you try to get back as the rain pelts at your face. You curse Tovar for being right. You wish you had gotten a ride.

The rain is coming down in sheets, making it nearly impossible to see in front of the truck as Pero makes his way back to his cottage. He has to admit that he had gotten busy and didn’t look for you like he had thought to. Surely you had turned back and was cozy and warm in your cottage. He believes that until he damn near hits you. Swerving and nearly running off the road to keep from killing you because you’re walking in the damn middle. Cursing, Pero slams out of the truck, instantly drenched by the downpour. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” He yells, running up and grabbing your arms.

Your teeth are chattering so hard you can barely speak as Tovar grabs you and drags you into his van. You shake so hard your vision is blurry as the windscreen wipers work overtime. He slams the door shut and drives towards the village, cursing that he's soaking wet and you know you're both going to get sick from this chill.

The heater in his little lorry barely works, but Tovar blasts it, pointing the vents towards you. “Idiot.” He hisses. “You should have your pants pulled down and your ass whipped until you cannot sit.” He wipes his face and presses the gas, needing to get you home and out of those soaked clothes. “I told you to go home, but you’re too fucking pig-headed to listen.”

Your teeth chatter but you manage to say “fu-fuck you. I- I was on the way home.” You tell him and place your hands closer to his air vents. You desperately want the heat to seep into your bones and you shiver as Tovar races to your cottage.

“You would have already been home if you had listened to me.” He reminds you, taking one hand off the wheel to start shrugging out of his coat. It’s damp, but it has to be warmer than what you have on. “Stubborn Americans who think they know it all.”

You gasp, inhaling the warm air from the heater. "Wha- what th- the hell is wrong with - why the fu- fuck do you hate Am- Americans?" You ask him, still shaking. You watch as he hands his coat to you. "Put this on." He growls and you don't argue, wrapping his coat around you.

Pero whips his van into the small spot that is closest to your cottage and hisses a curse as he jumps out to run around to your door. Knowing that he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. Get a fire started and get you stripped out of those clothes. Yanking your door open, he drags you out of the seat and tries to shield you from the rain as much as possible. You are shaking violently and he knows you’re close to, if not already, hypothermic. “Inside.”

You nod, letting him take you inside. You didn’t lock the cottage - having heard from the villagers that nothing happens - so Pero shuffles you inside and immediately starts to strip off the coats. You should be embarrassed and angry that he’s stripping clothes off of you but you’re so freezing you don’t care. You shiver and he helps you out of your boots. “Wh-why are you doing this?” You ask, watching him as he leaves you in your soaking wet jeans to work on getting the fire going.

“You could die.” He spits, his hands working quick and steady as he stacks the peat and kindling to light. He needs to get you warm and dry as fast as he can. The damp chill could have you sick with pneumonia within a day if you aren’t careful. As soon as the tender starts to smoke, he turns towards you and unbuttons his flannel shirt. Body head is needed. Stomping off towards your bedroom, he strips the quilts and blankets off of it before coming back into the main room. “Can you take your clothes off, or do I need to do it?”

Your eyes widen at his broad chest as he comes back into the living room with the blankets. You nod, teeth still shattering as you work on removing your wet clothes until you are in your underwear, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Sur-surprised you - you care so much.” You choke out, still freezing cold.

He grunts, rolling his eyes and nearly tells you that he doesn’t care but that wouldn’t be truthful. He doesn’t want to find another member of your family dead. He spreads a blanket on the floor in front of the fire and pushes you towards it. “Lay down.” He orders, immediately starting to strip off the rest of his clothes, including his underwear. He knows you might be prudish like most Americans, but when you are trying to warm up, you can't wear any wet clothes and your panties look soaked. He ignores your gasp and drops to his knees, gathering the rest of the blankets at his back and reaches for your panties, pulling at them to take them off and they shred apart in his hands.

You gasp, knowing you should push him away but when he pulls you close, into his body, into his warmth, you shudder and inhale deeply. Feeling the sensations come back into your body as you give in and curl around him. Breathing him in, you lift your leg over his, trying to get even closer to him, seeking his warmth.

His hands start rubbing, massaging heat and feeling back into your body. He thinks about anything but the softness of your breasts pressed against him. Knowing that if it weren’t for this serious situation, you would not be naked in his arms. “You’ll get warm.” He promises, feeling you shake and your teeth chatter. Your body is like ice and he shudders slightly as he transfers his heat to you under the weight of the blankets.

You breathe him in, thankful for him showing up to save you even if you’ve not gotten along so far. His hands rubbing all over your back and you eventually relax, the shivering stopping as you warm up. You kiss his chest, silently thanking him for finding you even if you can’t vocalize that right now as you curl around him, seeking his warmth.

He knows you will get sleepy, it’s your body’s way to try to recover from the energy it had expelled to try to keep you warm. “Go to sleep, espléndida.” He murmurs quietly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.” He knows that he can’t pull away right now. Even though you are warmer, you still need more of his body heat to fully warm up.

You mumble into his chest, listening to his beating heart as you fall asleep in his grip, feeling safe despite the man curled around you being insufferable in every interaction you’ve had. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been asleep when you wake up alone, the blankets wrapped around you, the fire roaring and you hear noise coming from the tiny kitchen. “What - Tovar?” You croak, wondering where he went.

His boxers on his hips, Pero appears in the doorway as soon as you call him. “Wait.” He orders, not wanting you to get up. Disappearing again and within seconds, he is coming back into the room with a tray. It was one your grandmother had often served him tea on, so he was familiar with it. Your cup of tea is in addition to a mug of soup. You need something warm in you. The hearty stew was one that your grandmother had canned two years ago, so he knew the rich broth would be good.

You sit up, keeping the blanket tight to your chest as he carries the tray over and he has his boxers on. Shit, he’s attractive. More than that…he’s hot. Really hot. You swallow harshly, throat dry as he sets the tray down in front of you. “Thank you.” You tell him, looking at him as he sits down next to you. “This is - you poison it?” You tease softly, voice a little raw from the cold wind you breathed in earlier.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Not poisoned.” He huffs. “I just saved your life, why would I poison you?” He asks, picking up the tea and handing it to you. “It’s got honey and lemon in it, your throat will be raw.” He murmurs, blowing on the steaming liquid slightly before he hands it off.

You take it, your fingers brushing his, and you moan softly as the tea soothes your sore throat. “I- I don’t really know how to start saying thank you for saving my life. I would’ve frozen out there. I didn’t think the storm would come in so quick.” You confess, watching him as the flames and shadows flicker over his face. “I guess I can start by saying thank you.” You say after taking another sip.

“You’re welcome.” Pero is slightly surprised that there’s no sarcasm in your statement. “Almost ran to my house to get some whiskey to pour in it, but it’s still raining outside.” He tells you, the rain beating against the windows. “So, it’s not quite as good as it could be. But I made you some stew.”

You set the tea down and pick up the mug of broth, taking a sip and you groan. “You made this?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Your grandmother. She made it. Canned it a couple of years ago. She gave me some jars.” He reveals and your eyes widen as you look down at the cup in your hands, “I wish I could’ve known her better.” You sigh, “she seemed like a great woman. I- I’m writing a book about her. That’s why I came here. She fell in love with Ireland and I’m writing a romance novel based on her life.” You confess, “her grand escape to Ireland after divorcing her husband.”

He’s surprised by that, lifting his brows and humming. “A romance?” He should scoff, but he can’t manage the sound to come out of his throat. “I guess Ireland would be a romantic place to escape. If you’re looking for that.”

You sip your broth before you look at him. “I must admit I had my wild fantasies dreaming about meeting a handsome man in Ireland and shacking up in a cottage to love our lives away but I- I know that’s - it’s silly.” You shake your head, “especially when I literally bumped into you and you hate Americans.”

“You would hate Spaniards if your ex was one.” Pero tells you. “Especially if he had cheated on you. Even though he would be an idiot to cheat.”

You frown, setting the broth mug down. “You think…your ex was American?” You ask, confused and curious. “And she - shit - she cheated on you?”

Pero sighs, looking out the window. “Sí.” He murmurs. “We were- I met her when we were both stationed on the same base in Iraq. She was with the Americans, I was with …anyway,” he shakes his head. “We got married. She was pregnant. They made her leave her military position and we went to Spain.” He blows out a sigh. “And I found out later that she was cheating on me and the baby wasn’t even mine.”

You inhale sharply, “shit. I- I'm so sorry. That's - Wow. What a shitty thing to do. It’s - that’s monstrous. I’m so sorry Tovar-” You ramble and he cuts you off. “Pero. My first name is Pero.” He says and you nod, “Pero.” You say softly, “I’m sorry that happened to you. No one deserves that. Is that why…why you hate me? Because of my accent? My homeland?”

“She was just as stubborn as you are. Always right and having to have her way.” He shrugs. “I guess that I just don’t like women right now.” He admits after a moment. “I gave my heart to that woman and she tried to pass off the proof of her infidelity as my child.” He growls.

You shake your head, shifting closer to him to reach for his hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Pero. No one deserves that. I - I can understand why I triggered that anger in you. That’s unforgivable and I’m sorry someone did that to you.”

That bastard William had told him that you weren’t his ex. Pero rubs his cheek. “It’s not your fault.” He admits quietly. “You aren’t her and I shouldn’t have been an asshole to you,”

You sigh, letting go of his hand, “and I shouldn’t have been a bitch but I’ve never been good at people not giving me a chance.” You confess and sip your tea. “Can we start again?” You ask and he stares at you so you set your cup down, holding out your name. You introduce yourself, “and you are?” You ask, offering him a playful smile.

He grunts, watching you for a moment. “Pero Tovar.” He tells you. “Grumpy asshole from Spain.”

You chuckle, “great to meet you, grumpy asshole from Spain who saved my life.” You add and he shakes your hand. You stare at him, your smile fading as his grip on your hand is tight, reluctant to let go. You keep holding his hand, your eyes searching his as you keep the blankets close to your chest to keep you covered up until you let it drop, exposing your skin to his eyes.

Pero’s eyes widen and drop down to your breasts for a moment before he jerks his gaze back up to your face. “Hermosa….” He grunts, confused as to why you are showing him your body. “You don’t owe me anything.” He promises.

You nod, "I know. I- I'm not saying thank you. Well, I am. But not like that. I - I think you're handsome." You confess, "...sexy." You add and he frowns softly. "If you don't..." You trail off and reach to pull the blankets up your body, standing up on shaky legs. "Do you want a drink? I think my grandma had a bottle of brandy." You make your way into the kitchen, blanket wrapped around your body.

He thinks he’s embarrassed you and he doesn’t want that. He can’t deny you’re beautiful and he had been fighting an erection the entire time you were asleep once you were warm. Standing up, Pero pulls off his boxers and follows you into the kitchen to find you standing at your grandmother’s drink cabinet. “Do you want me to touch you, hermosa?” He asks, bracing his arms on the counter and trapping you against it, his lips close to your ear. “You are a beautiful woman, and I would enjoy finding out what makes you shake in pleasure.”

You whimper, unable to control the shiver that runs along your spine as he hovers behind you. You want him to touch you. He's been a bastard but you would be dead if it weren't for him. You understand now why he was antagonized by you and you forgive him for his barbs. You lean back against him after letting the blanket drop from your body. "I want you to touch me." You whisper, turning your head to look at him, your lips brushing his chin.

“I’m not gentle.” He warns, knowing that it’s been too long since he has touched anyone and he’s not a suave lover like Garin claims to be. He slides his hand up to grab your breast and squeezes the flesh.

“I don’t need gentle. I don’t want gentle.” You tell him, covering his hand over your breast and you squeeze a little harder. “I want you.” You add, kissing his jaw.

Pero growls, his hardening cock pressing against your ass. “Drop the blanket.” He orders, pulling you away from the counter and dragging you towards the main room. If he’s going to touch you, it will be in front of that fire so you stay warm.

You follow his order, nearly tripping over the blanket as he guides you into the living room and you whimper as he lays you down on the blankets you still have piled near the fire. You lay down, waiting for him to touch you as he kneels down near you. “Pero.” You whisper, biting your lip as you wait for him to make the first move.

He watches you for a moment before he lunges forward, his lips smashing against yours in a hard kiss. Covering your body with his and pushing your thighs apart with his knee to settle between them. Groaning into your mouth at the taste of you as his hands fill themselves with your breasts and hips.

You moan into his mouth, your hands caressing his back as he kneels over you, his hands squeezing your flesh. His tongue slides into your mouth and you eagerly grant him access with a low groan of his name muffled against your lips. Your hands slide down to his ass, squeezing and bringing him closer so his cock is pressing against your thigh.

Pero rocks against your thigh, groaning and pinching your nipple harshly. Kissing down your throat and biting down on your shoulder before he ducks his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth to bite.

"Fuck." You hiss in pleasure as he grinds against you and sucks on your nipple, paying it attention until you are swapping over to suck on the neglected one. "Shit baby." You pant, reaching between you to wrap your fingers around his thick cock.

Pero groans at the feel of your hand. It’s been so long since he’s felt any touch but his own. His cock twitches and his hips buck into your grip. He lavishes attention on you, loving the way you moan.

You twist your arm, trying to jerk him off as he surrounds you, the spicy scent of his skin combined with the smoke from the fire he started. Your free hand slides through his hair as he kisses the skin below your breast and you whimper, getting wetter with each kiss.

Pero is a harsh lover, he bites and scratches and fucks hard, but he’s also attentive. He wants his partner to feel good. To drown in him. Scattering bites over your skin, he works his way south, nipping your hip bone. “When was the last time you were devoured, hermosa?” He demands, cutting his dark gaze back up to your face.

Your chest heaves as you look into his dark eyes, hungry with desire for you and you don't remember the last time you were devoured. You shake your head, "I- too long ago. My ex...he didn't - he didn't do that." You confess breathlessly.

Pero snorts, shaking his head at your worthless ex. “Then you will remember this.” He promises. His tongue slides around your hip bone, dragging across your stomach as he settles his broad shoulders between your thighs and pushes them up to rest there. Making a show of settling in to look down at you glistening cunt. “Such a pretty cunt too.” He smirks, looking up at you again as he lowers his mouth to your folds and winking right before he dives in.

"Shit!" You squeak, thighs clenching against his head in surprise as he licks into you like a man starved. "Pero." You gasp as he flattens his tongue against your clit until he decides to suck it between his lips. Your hands tangle in his hair as you slump back to look up at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

He loves eating a woman out. Loves her taste and the way she responds to his touch and effort to make her scream. His fingers slide around your entrance for a moment and then he buries two down to the knuckle and curls up inside you.

You cry out as his thick fingers curl inside of you. Making you moan his name loud enough for the entire village to hear as you buck your hips into his face. His free hand slides up to squeeze your breast and your hand covers his, eyes squeezed shut as he laps at your clit.

Groaning into your cunt, he samples you. Tastes you like you are the finest whiskey or his precious Spanish wines. Pumping his fingers inside you to find the spot that makes your body spasm in pleasure and growling when he finds it

"Fuck. Oh shit!" You hiss, walls fluttering around his digits as he curls them to find that spot that makes you moan. Your chest heaving as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. "So- yes. There. Cl-close." You pant, stomach clenching.

He growls, sucking your clit in his mouth and pulling on it harshly, before he twirls his tongue around it and starts to flick his tongue over the little bundle of nerves. Pumping his fingers into you faster and harder, wanting to see how hard you break.

You fall apart within seconds. “Oh my fuck - fuck!” You squeal as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them as you cum for the first time in a long time. Nearly pulling his hair out as you cry out.

He snarls, lapping at you faster and pushing his fingers deeper when you start to cum. Feeling you soak his face as his cock throbs against the blanket on the floor. Working and pushing you through your orgasm with the determination of a man possessed.

He pushes you higher until you have to push his head away, overstimulated, and you feel like your body is on fire from his attentions. “Fuck, I- Pero. I need you.” You beg, “let me - I need you inside of me.”

He grunts, smirking as he crawls up your body. Aching to push inside you and feel those tight walls squeezing his cock like they had his fingers.

You grab the back of his neck when he’s hovering over you to drag him down to kiss him. Your tongue slides against his to taste yourself on his mouth. You reach down to grip his cock again, pumping him as you kiss him.

Pero groans your name into your mouth, almost like a plea. Rocking his hips into your hand and lowering down so you can guide him in. When you notch him at your entrance, he bites your bottom lip as he drills his cock deep into your wet cunt.

You moan into each other’s mouth as he pushes deep in one thrust, making you cling to him as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you are certain you’ll feel him tomorrow if he’s as rough as he claims to be. You wrap your legs around him, the blankets crumpling up beneath you as he starts to move.

Pero doesn’t hesitate. Bracing his hands on the floor beside you, he starts pounding into you at a rough, hard pace. Feeling your walls giving with every deep thrust as he drives himself into you over and over, groaning over how well you are taking him. “Mierda.”

He’s rough and takes what he wants but fuck, you love it. You whine, throwing your head back and he wastes no time leaning in to bite down on the skin above your pulse. Your walls clench around him every time he pushes deep and hits something devastating inside you that no one else has found. “Pero. Shit. Oh God. I- it’s so good.” You almost vibrate as you speak, shaken by his thrusts.

Hissing, he tries to hang onto his control. Feeling it slip as he continues to rock into you. You're so fucking good and it has been the best sex he's had in ....ever. Not even his ex felt like you do. Dropping down to his elbows, he shoves his hands under your back and starts biting along your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth with every piercing thrust of his cock.

Each bite on your skin has you clenching around him and you struggle to maintain control until you give in. Whines escape your lips as his pelvis drops into just the right position that he’s grinding against your clit and your heels dig into his ass. “I’m gonna - oh fuck. Pero. Pero!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock and practically shaking beneath him as you soak him with your orgasm.

The shout Pero lets out is hoarse and rough, pushing deep and grinding even deeper for a split second before he is ripping free of your cunt. Panting as he realized he had not spoken with you about birth control and he could not risk filling you up. Coating your belly, breasts and thighs with ropes of his hot seed as he spits out another curse.

You pant, watching him as he pumps his cock to paint you with every drop of seed that drips from his body. His chest heaving and you stare up at him in awe. He’s incredible and you know that all your previous fighting means nothing compared to this perfect moment of bliss. “You- you could’ve cum inside me. I’m on birth control.” You tell him breathlessly, knowing it’s too late now.

“Shit.” Pero hisses, huffing slightly and dropping his head against your shoulder. “I didn’t- we hadn’t- fuck.” He grumbles, rolling off to the side and onto his back to reach off his undershirt to wipe your skin clean.

You watch him clean you up and you turn onto your side to look at him, “it’s okay. Maybe next time you could…?” You trail off, biting your lip as you wait for his reaction. Unsure if there will be a next time.

Pero smirks and nods. “Next time.” He agrees, tossing the shirt off to the side and rubs a hand down your side. “How are you feeling?”

You hum, closing your eyes with a smile on your face. “Better. A lot better. I’m warm and satisfied and - thank you again for rescuing me.” You say as you open one eye to look at him, “you’re not too bad for a grumpy asshole.” You smirk, closing your eyes again.

He snorts, rolling his eyes and sighing, “you’re not bad.” He admits. “For an American.” He adds, smirking himself as he moves his arm and nudges you slightly, seeing if you want to curl against him.

You take the hint, shifting to curl into his side and he quickly pulls the blanket over you. You sigh, breathing him in and kiss his chest, exhausted again after his rigorous fucking. You’ve turned a corner with the Spaniard and you’re interested to see how things go from now on.

****

The sunlight starts to shine through the windows of the cottage, the gap in the curtains letting in light that makes you wince as you wake up. “Pero.” You murmur, shifting to sit up and you pat the space beside you only to find the man you fell asleep with is gone. You frown, calling his name again and when there’s no response, you huff. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, you stand on shaky legs and head upstairs to get ready for the day. Perhaps he had an early start.

“You slipped out of the house like a thief?” William shakes his head and frowns at his friend. “Why would you do that? She deserves better.”

Pero huffs and rolls his eyes, shuffling guiltily as he looks up the road towards your cottage. “She’ll be going back to America.” He reminds the Irishman. “I don’t need to be getting myself involved in that mess.”

William snorts, eyeing Pero suspiciously. “I’ve never known you to turn down pleasure. A fling of some kind. Unless you like her more than you are admitting.” Pero scowls again and shuffles, not answering.

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen him, which is an accomplishment in the tiny village. You are in the grocery store when old man Sawyer tells you about the village fete. “It’s the harvest festival. In the church hall. There’ll be food and booze of course.” He winks and you chuckle, wondering if Pero would be there. It’s unlikely as he doesn’t like people. “Maybe I’ll see you there.” You tell the older man as you pay for your groceries. “See you there.” He says with a chuckle and you take your bags, pondering if you’ll go to the fete.

You decide later that you won’t hide away so you get dressed and make your way over to the church hall, shrugging off your coat once you’re inside and there’s music from the local band of teenagers and various tables with food and drinks. You immediately feel eager to mingle. That is until you look around to see Pero standing there with William, his dark eyes focused on you.

“Go talk to her.” William shoves at Pero’s arm, making him stumble.

Turning, he glares at his best friend. “Amigo….” He growls, warning him not to mess with him tonight. He’s been busy trying to avoid you and here you are, looking prettier than ever.

“If you don’t, someone else will.” William warns him.

You avert your eyes, pissed off he didn’t even come to see you after he slept with you. You walk over to the drinks table, greeting Gladys who lives down the road from you and she hands you a cup of hot cider. “How are you dearie?” She asks and you sigh, “confused.” You confess and she frowns, “what?” You shake your head, “I’m good, Gladys.” You tell her and she smiles at you, nodding until her gaze shifts to behind you. You turn your head to look and your eyes meet Pero’s. “Hi.” You murmur, fingers flexing around the cup.

Pero looks at you for a moment, studying the anger in your eyes and he feels guilty, guilty for avoiding you. “You’re still here.” That’s what he comes up with to answer you. Hating it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but he won’t take it back.

You stare at him for a second, “I’m still here.” You observe, glancing around the room until your eyes meet his again. “So…you've been busy?” You ask, a little sarcastic but you’ve never been known to be timid, especially when it comes to men who run away from your bed.

“Busy enough.” He grunts, not sure why he even came over. You don’t seem happy to see him at all, not that he can blame you. It’s not like he’s gone out of his way to check in after the other day. He had convinced himself that you still hated him, and had run with it.

You nod, "busy enough to not even stay for a cup of coffee?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him, "or was it just pity? You felt sorry that I nearly froze to death and you decided to fuck me...or was it so you could brag to William? Tell him you tamed the bitch in Fairy Lodge?" You snort, keeping your eyes on his, refusing to look away.

Eyes widening, he glances over at Gladys to see if she is listening. Shame making his face burn, and in turn, pissing him off. “Nothing could tame you.” He snorts. “I’m not a magician.”

You chuckle, “clearly you are since you made yourself disappear.” You huff, taking a sip of the cider. “If you regretted it, you could’ve just come to see me and tell me that instead of leaving me to think I did something wrong or…or I wasn’t good enough.” You finish quietly.

The sound of your voice is what makes his anger deflate. “I- you’re leaving.” He murmurs quietly. “I - I’m not a casual lover. I don’t sleep around anymore.”

“I’m not gonna stick around and be treated like shit.” You snort, “I could go back to America and deal with American men if I wanted that.” You tell him, setting down the cup of cider just as the band starts to play.

Pero narrows his eyes, hating that you are comparing him to American men. He’s not a boy who plays games, but apparently that’s what he’s been doing with you. “Fine.” He grunts, grabbing your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You let him drag you onto the makeshift dance floor and there's a few elderly couples dancing but everyone has their eyes on you and Pero. "Everyone is looking at us." You murmur and he stares at you, not looking around.

"Let them." He says, pulling you closer and you don't push him away.

"You don't care?" You ask, keeping your eyes on him.

“Why would I?” He asks. “People stare because of my scar. They stare because I’m a mean looking bastard.” He shrugs, used to the looks. “Or they stare because I’m holding the prettiest girl here.”

You offer him a soft smile as he looks at you and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. "Your scar makes you look dangerous...and sexy. And you look grumpy...not mean. And you think you are not good enough but you are...and I- I wish you would let people in to see that." You finish, cutting your gaze across the room to see Gladys smiling at you and Pero dancing.

“I'm not the man you think I am.” Pero grumbles. “I have done a lot of shitty things, even to you.” He reminds you. He doesn’t want you to think he’s some white knight when he’s not.

You look at him again, “no one is perfect. Hell, you know I’m not. I know you’re not. But…but I think you are good deep down. You’re just hurt.” You murmur, “and I know why but I didn’t - we started off on the wrong foot. We were both mean to the other.”

“We should not fight.” Pero agrees, nodding. Even if he doesn’t feel like you know him enough to make that judgment, it’s nice to have someone besides William believe in him.

“I- I’m supposed to go back to America on Monday.” You tell him quietly, wondering if he will pack your bags for you to get you out of Ireland and away from him, from his mistake of rescuing you…sleeping with you.

“Oh.” Pero frowns and swallows harshly. Knowing that he’s wasted time that he could have been spending with you and quite possibly made this better than it had been. “Big plans back there?” He asks.

“Just work and…and I don’t have to go back. I can change my return flight…or cancel it…” You trail off, “unless you don’t want an American living here full time?” You test him, wondering what his reaction will be.

“You still don’t know how to make a fire worth a damn.” Pero tells you, watching your brows pull together in confusion. “It would be hard for you to learn over there. Bet you don’t even have a fireplace.”

You shake your head as he rocks you both to the beat. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to make a fire…I’d definitely forget. So…I think I need to stay to make sure I learn properly. Perhaps you could teach me?” You ask him quietly, preparing yourself for him to practically escort you back to the airport.

“It’ll take a long time.” He cautions, pulling you closer to him. “I’d probably need to check on the fires during the night. Make sure you don’t burn down your granny’s cottage.”

“What a gentleman.” You smile, tilting your head towards his, “I definitely think you’d need to check on them nightly. I don’t think anyone in the village wants a fire. So…it looks like I’m staying - for fire starting purposes only.” You tease, taking a chance to kiss his neck as you lean closer.

Pero groans at the light contact of your lips, turning his head and capturing your mouth in a kiss for everyone here to see. Not caring if they do and telling them all that he wants you. Claiming you in front of them so that there are no misconceptions about what he wants. You.

You cup his cheek, responding to the kiss, and you let everyone see that you are with him. The parishioners all stare and you smile against his mouth. “Come home with me.” You murmur when he pulls back but keeps his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure, hermosa?” He asks quietly, knowing that he had hurt you the last time he had slept with you.

You nod, “I’m sure. I want you to come home with me and show me how to start a fire.” You murmur, stopping as the song comes to an end and you let go of Pero to clap your hands, waiting for his answer.

Pero smirks, willing to take a risk with you when you are also taking a risk on him. Nodding, he motions towards your cottage. “Let’s go, I need to show you a lot of things if you’re going to live in Ireland.” He grunts. “Starting with how to properly leave a party.” It’s all the warning he gives you before he bends down, scooping you over his shoulder before marching off the dance floor with you like a medieval mercenary carrying off his kidnapped bride.

You squeal, giggling as he carries you out of the hall and you cling to him as he strides down the hall. “Where are we going?” You ask as you tilt your head and notice he’s not carrying you to your cottage. “My place.” He says and you are surprised but let him continue his journey, the wind whipping cool on your skin.

You've never been to his cottage, he's well aware of that. Marching down the road and not slowing down a bit. "Best place to start teaching you is where I am comfortable." He admits, slapping your ass. "Kept expecting your granny to come out and catch me with my ass showing."

You chuckle as he sets you down so he can unlock his door. You lean against the wall as he fumbles with his keys, “she definitely would’ve told you to put some pants on.” You tease and he finally opens the door, “and what’s my next lesson?” You inquire as he guides you inside and you see the masculine but cozy cottage he lives in.

He hadn't really thought much beyond taking you home. Getting you here. He hums, his own fire slowly smoldering and the inside of the cottage warm. "Temperature control." He decides. "What to do when it's too hot."

You smirk, licking your lips as you look at him, “and what do you do when it’s too hot.” He smirks back at you, “get naked.” You nod, slipping off your shoes and you work on the buttons of your dress. “I think that’s a smart idea.”

"It is." He grunts, taking off his jacket and then lifting his shirt over his head. "Getting too hot is just as bad as being too cold." He rolls his eyes towards you. "And you know how that feels."

You glare at him playfully and you shrug your dress off, letting it fall to the floor and you move to push your tights down but Pero scoops you into his arms. “I’m still hot.” You tell him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

"Yes, you are." He won't deny that, arms coming around you and sliding down your sides to your hips. "Your panties and bra are what's keeping you hot." He murmurs.

You giggle, “yes. They are.” You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra as you caress his chest and you lean in to kiss his clavicle as he slides the bra down your arms. You squeal when he grabs your ass, lifting you over to his sofa and he lays you down on it. “Fuck. These need to go.” He growls, pushing your legs apart so he can grab the thin material of your pantyhose and he rips them, making you gasp and wet your panties in arousal.

"Oops." Pero snorts, not even slightly sorry about ripping your pantyhose. He never understands why women wear them, although he can understand under your dress since you are unused to the chill of the Irish weather. He grins and pulls them off your feed and tosses them aside. "Need to teach you to quit wearing that shit." He grunts. "Harder to get to you."

You giggle as he drags your panties down your legs and you spread your legs further apart once he tosses them over his shoulder to expose you to his hungry eyes. “Need to see you too.” You tell him, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

"Yeah?" He lets you undo his belt, feeling like you want him and it's a thing to savor. It might be a fling, but the look in your eyes is telling him that he should trust that it will be more. "Taken with me?"

You scoff, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, Tovar.” You tell him, working on unbuttoning his pants after you toss the belt aside. You reach into his pants to pull his hard cock out, groaning as you get to see him properly. “I want to suck you off.” You tell him, meeting those dark eyes.

"You don't have to do that." Every blow job he's had in the last few years has been begrudgingly given. Complaints about sore jaws or him always wanting head. He had stopped asking for them, stopped her from giving them if she tried to initiate and it's almost like a reflex. Nothing that can be held over his head, until he takes your wrist and realizes what he's doing. "Uh...my ex..." he bites his lips. "She would always complain about it. Or use it to guilt me into something."

You scoff, “she sounds…wow. Lay down.” You order, pushing on his chest and he nods, shifting to lay down on the sofa and you straddle him. “Too Goddamn sexy for your own good. Definitely for my good.” You chuckle, leaning down to kiss him. You slide your tongue against his until you are kissing along his jaw, down his neck, and down his stomach until you reach his cock resting against his stomach. “I want to give you a blowjob. I want to make you feel good. For nothing in return.” You promise and take him into your hand, squeezing him as you look into his eyes as you press your tongue against the slit, tasting his pre-cum.

"Shit." Pero hisses, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he opens them again. Needing to see you touch him. To see how eagerly you want to touch him. It's not all Americans that are horrible, it was his ex. She was a bad apple. He reaches down and cups your cheek. "Fuck baby," he pants, "So fucking pretty and sweet."

You hum around him as you take him deeper. Loving the way he groans and reaches down to caress your cheek. You love the way his jaw clenches and his cock twitches inside of you as you widen your jaw to take more of his length until he’s hitting the back of your throat and you gag, unused to giving head to a long cock like his.

"Pull off, hermosa." He urges, pulling your cheek up but you shake your head and continue to bob up and down on him. Making him groan as he feels the exquisite bliss of your mouth around him.

You want to make him feel good, look after him like he did looking after you when you nearly froze to death. You moan around him, caressing his chest and you bob your head a little faster.

"Hermosa...." he groans, feeling you starting to pull his orgasm out of him and he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to make sure that you cum first. "Ride me." He begs quietly, twitching in your throat at the thought.

You won’t deny him. You pull off of his cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and you straddle him. His cock pressing between your folds and you are soaking wet. You look down at him and his hands immediately find your tits. You lift up to position him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto his cock.

"Mierda." He hisses, rocking his hips up to thrust up into you. Bouncing you slightly and sinking deeper into your tight cunt. "You are so pretty sitting on my cock."

“Not bad for an American?” You tease, starting to rock your hips on top of him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look down at him and you know you couldn’t leave. Not with this unspoken thing between you. It’s not quite love but it feels like it could easily evolve into it. You lean down to kiss him, bracing your hands on the arm of the sofa behind his head.

He doesn't answer because he wouldn't even know how to answer. It's not because you are an American, but because you are just you. His hands slide up your sides and he holds the back of your head, deepening the kiss as you start to slide your tongue against his.

You rock back onto his cock, your tongue sliding against his and your hands tangle in his hair, moaning into his mouth as you find an angle that makes the head of his cock rub against your g-spot.

“Shiiiiiiiit.” His moan is muffled and he throbs inside you. Loving how you clench down around him and he squeezes your hip with his free hand.

You moan into his mouth, rocking back onto him and he slips out of you. You whine at the loss of pleasure but he reaches down to push himself back into you and you swivel your hips to find the same angle. You soon find it and rock back onto him, getting closer and closer to cumming.

“That’s it, hermosa.” He grunts out, leaning in to bite your shoulder. He lets go of your head, reaching down to start rubbing your clit. Wanting you to cum for him before he spills inside of you,

You whine when his fingers rub your clit just right and you are close. Grinding back onto his cock, trapping his hand between you, you get closer and closer until you cry out his name. “Fuck!” You choke, clamping down on his cock as you soak him with your orgasm.

"Perfecto." He groans, rocking his hips up and driving his cock deeper into you as he takes over. Letting you collapse against his chest as he wraps both arms around you and fucks you through, chasing his own orgasm. Panting out your name as he thrusts one last time, burying his cock deep as he paints your walls with his cum.

You whimper, kissing his jaw as he pants into your ear. “Cum for me, Pero. Cum. Wan- wanna feel it.” You beg, grinding back to try and egg him on as his cock twitches inside of you.

You moan, loving how it feels to have him paint your walls with his hot seed, silently thanking your IUD as he pulses deep. You kiss along his jaw, “feels so good.” You pant, relaxing on top of him.

"Stay." He murmurs, panting as he tries to catch his breath. "I want you to stay, hermosa." He presses his lips to yours again. "I want to be grumpy to everyone else. Not you."

You nod, pressing your lips to his again. “I’ll stay. All you had to do was ask. I’ll stay and I want to see where this goes.” You tell him, kissing his chin. “You’re a grumpy bastard but you’re my grumpy bastard.” You tease, caressing his cheek. You never imagined you’d come to Ireland and find the man you spend the rest of your life with but you have and you don’t know it yet but you have a beautiful life ahead of you with Pero in Fairy Lodge.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar fic #modern pero tovar #modern au

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willowed-wisp · 5 months ago

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HER KNIGHT, HIS HEART - part eight

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Ser Harwin Strong x female!OC/ x reader

WARNINGS: swearing, descriptions of childbirth, mentions child loss, suggestive themes, violence, Criston Cole getting his ass kicked

TEN YEARS LATER…

Elspeth was on a mission, her destination were Alicent’s chambers. Every part of the woman was swollen and she didn’t know whether it were her breasts or beneath her diaphragm that burned. It had been like that very early on in her seventh pregnancy.

Nobody was surprised when she popped out an army, the depravity sounding from their chambers… it wouldn’t take a genius to know she’d become pregnant over and over.

Their eldest, Alyric, was three-and-ten while their youngest, Lyonei, was four.

Knocking on the door… she met a mop of platinum blonde, a strong jaw followed. Her stare lasted mere seconds, turning attention to the open-eyed, mortified sister of hers. “Alicent…” Her head shunned away. Now her focus remained on that of the Rogue Prince- who had been tamed by Laena Velaryon that past decade, “What in the hells did you say?”

“Only the truth, daughter…”

Storming over to him, “I will never be your daughter!” She stared up at him, the same scowl he himself had and the same wickedness- even in High Valyrian. It was returned with a smile.

“The blood of the dragon runs thick…” By the Gods, she would stab him if she got the chance.

“I’m nothing like you.”

“That’s yet to be seen.”

She reminded herself of why she was here- why had he been there in the first place? “What business do you have here?”

“I was asking The Queen if my grandchildren might accompany the princes down to the Dragonpit…”

“Can you stop speaking fucking Valyrian? Prince Daemon, please leave. My sister and I have matters to discuss…” He gave a less than respectful bow. They both seethed. “You are his kin. And it somehow slipped your mind to inform me!” That was their mother in her.

Elspeth's own anger boiled deeper- primal even. Yet she contained that eruption- it wasn't good for the baby. For now. “Father told me well over a decade ago,” that struck a heartstring in the younger, “I didn’t say anything to protect you… you had more than enough on your shoulders.” Elspeth observed the face change. “I was embarrassed.”

“How so?”

“I am a bastard, Alicent. I’ve been trying to escape it… escape him… keep him away from my children,” Rage turned to recoil- for fifteen years she had felt hopeless with the sword over her head, “Please, sister… understand that... I need to protect them…”

It wasn't a scapegoat nor did she cry crocodile tears... she had always been trying to keep her kids safe. It didn’t matter if Alyric was thirteen, he still couldn’t deal with the likes of Daemon Targaryen. Even if his own father was Lord Commander of the City Watch. Luckily for her sanity the prince along with his wife and twin girls were headed to Pentos that next day.

"When you were younger you always looked up to me... what changed?" An ambush down the corridor.

A roll of her eyes, "Could we have this conversation later? Every part of me is swollen, my ribs are like daggers and I cannot be bothered with your manipulation today..." Despite the agony she paced quicker, or so she thought.

"You're just like your mother," Gods, did she wish she was armed.

Continuing forward, "Don't talk about my mother. Not after the pain you caused her."

His hand, with a surprising level of gentleness turned her to face him- the eight month old bump affirmed a comfortable distance. "What did Otto Hightower tell you? That I attacked Alyrie?"

"Didn’t you? Then why am I here with your blood in my veins..."

A sincere, stern look on the man's face- he hesitated in his words, "The times I shared with your mother were of her choice... my decisions may be... questionable, at times... but I’m not heartless." She shoved him away, unsure.

"That's yet to be seen, my prince..." She did the proper action of a curtsy, unable to commit to it fully due to her condition. That confused her even more.

Had her father lied to her all of those years? An entire decade.

She did naturally have a liking for Daemon in an idolisation type of manner, they shared the same temperament; knowing fully well why they did.

The woman needed to see her children, probably in the courtyard…

She shares his majesty’s presence on the balcony- spying if her wayward children and husband were in fact there. “Your Grace,” she curtsied with some labour. It had definitely been the hardest pregnancy- even when her twin boys, Jaimes and Ronin, made home in her stomach. She hoped the bloating would fade when she delivered- not wishing to feel blistered her entire life.

The King- dishevelled due to illness- waved his hand, “No need for such formalities, Elspeth- we are family,” he didn’t know how closely related they truly were.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he motioned for her to take a perch- she smiled up at the Hand of the King, her father-in-law.

Turning her attention down to the courtyard she saw no knight of the name Harwin Strong, only that of Criston Cole. With him, the princes and her own children stood. Listening to every word he said. “I’m going to see if Ser Criston requires assistance with training,” her feet despised her but she stood. Buckling slightly, held firmly by Lyonel.

“Maybe some rest would benefit you, Elspeth,” the man said with caution. “Ser Criston is the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms- he can handle training the children…”

She patted the hand on her shoulder, “Rest is for the dead,” she joked, though she could be in the grave that very next month.

Early on into her pregnancy she was diagnosed with ‘toxic birth disease’. The mortality rate was… devastatingly high, and she informed the Maesters not to divulge to her Lord husband- he worried so…

She would make it through… she had to for the children she made her way down for.

That same courtyard she used to hack training mannequins and Harwin would always catch her. But now she bore witness to her own children- even her own girls alongside their brothers and cousins.

Alyric stood out like a sore thumb, tall and already gaining his father’s ballast. Even his smile was like Harwin’s and his fighting stance. That grin turned into a scowl, and shouting commenced. “Ser Criston, Luke is struggling, if I may-,”

“No little Lord Strong, you may not. Lucerys must learn, as I did from the pommel of a sword or the blade itself,” Elspeth liked neither the condescension nor the tone the knight used. “If you’re a trained warrior, Alyric, spar with me.” He grappled the front of the boy’s shirt, who was able to maintain balance from the brute force.

She staved off intruding- Alyric wouldn’t care for the embarrassment of conceding because of his mother being protective. Like his father, Alyric was formidable in stature and presence but that didn’t provide technique.

Ser Criston presumed he would have the eldest Strong on the floor in one strike but Alyric was a young brute. Until the knight crushed him to the ground, “You’re not the best there has been, boy. Maybe the Lord Commander needs to teach you modesty,”

That was the last straw, “Ser Criston.” The children shivered at that voice- for there was nothing they feared more than the wrath of their mother, “We are finished here for the day children…” voice as soft as silk and as gentle as a feather. They ran along- Gwen ushering the younger ones out.

And she did not care if they had an audience overhead, “I do not take orders from you. You may be of royal birth, but you are still a bastard.” He must have overheard Daemon and Alicent.

“You forget yourself, Cole. Strong words for a common-born concubine.” His hand wrapped her cheek before she could think. Not phased she readied for his raised fist, aiming for her face. But he found the floor thanks to a swiftly negotiated knee to the crotch. Done so with grace and decorum. “A reminder of who my father is. Now stay on your knees… where you rightfully belong,” venom rolled off her tongue. Looking up towards the disapproving faces of the King and Lyonel Strong.

A face far too sweet for the person behind it gave a snide smirk, “You sound just like him,” he paused - studying her every move, “Your mouths move far too much, for what you both are… conniving cunts.” Contemplating whether or not to crouch down, deciding not to; being eight months along.

"You're the one on the floor after hitting a lady who is with babe..." Her shadowed green gaze bore straight into the man's soul, "What a sad little life, Cole... now they all see what a wretch you are."

Elspeth agreed with him. She did sound like Daemon, but at least with the Rogue Prince you knew what to expect.

The unexpected.

Clutching her swelled stomach, she paced to her sister's chambers. Heart pounding, her back felt constricted. Elspeth greeted the guards stationed outside of the door with politeness, stepping into the room- finding those big brown eyes. "Elspeth...?"

"Your 'sworn shield' just hit me... King Viserys and the Lord Hand saw it for themselves…" Elspeth's forehead felt clammy- cheeks reddened.

"Ser Criston... hit you?" The woman didn't know if she nodded in answer to her sister.

Alicent's arm wrapped around her older sister- feeling how hot she was. The unmistakeable coiling in her lower stomach was all too familiar, "Fuck..."

"What is it?" Something felt different, body numb. She could no longer feel or hear Alicent. To her, she was in a forest with her mother's long red hair swaying as they rode deeper into the trees. But in reality her sister screamed for the assistance of Maesters and for the presence of the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms.

Curls were the first thing she awoke to followed by bloodshot eyes like the ocean. "My strong knight..." Milk of the poppy, she presumed- reaching her hand to rub his cheek with her thumb. His rigidity solved itself as he welcomed that warmth- not nearly as searing as she had been beforehand. But even under the influence, Elspeth knew her husband- something was direly wrong. "What troubles you?"

Then she remembered snippets. How she rattled the King's quarters with cries to keep her baby safe... "No... we couldn't have lost the baby... Harwin..." Tears wrapped his eyes, shaking his head. The murmurs of child-like giggles in the distance.

"We have a daughter..." But a plague cast over him, until he broke. Normally she was the one cracking like a piece of glass. His name sounded so divine on her lips and her touch a warm reminder that he was alive as was she.

His body rocked the bed with sobs as her arms enveloped his bulking frame. His golden cloak beneath her fingertips, "We're both here. The Stranger will have to make a better attempt..."

"You were dead,” time stopped. She hadn’t been crying, but when Harwin; a man who possessed such redoubt, quivered in his whisper… she couldn’t help it. “The Maesters said that your insides failed you, and by some miracle,” a tear shed, “you are here… by my side. And so is our darling daughter. What shall we name her?”

Her head crashed against the pillow. The look on his face imprinted in her memory- one of joy laboured by disparity, “A miracle… Mirabel… our little Mia,” the innocent face of the girl present- Rhaenyra holding the girl in her arms.

She had been crying, “She may be the cutest button of your brood… what is her name?”

“Mirabel… our Mia…”

Criston Cole was brought to justice. The King was appalled, and the prince was blind with fury. “Ser Criston Cole… you have been a faithful knight to the Crown, but today I witnessed abhorrent actions that are forbidden as a member of the Kingsguard nor of any noble man,” Elspeth watched on alongside her husband, “Before I cast judgement, speak… what do you have to say for yourself?”

Elspeth respected the king, but he was too lenient. “The words of Lady Elspeth are as tainted as her blood, Your Grace…”

“What do you mean? Lady Elspeth is a just, fair woman,”

“She is a bastard, Your Grace, not the daughter of Otto Hightower,” Viserys’ laughed at the man knelt down.

Elspeth was frozen in the crowd of nobility- all eyes on her, “And who may her father be?” The King held genuine amusement to the accusation.

The heavy doors opened, and so entered the Prince Daemon, “She is my kin.”

Ser Criston, no matter how true his claim had been, was exiled to the Wall. While Elspeth became legitimised under the eyes of the King and of the Seven. Though, Viserys was not thrilled- he was glad peace was made with Daemon, who remained in Kings Landing.

Laena passed away giving birth to their third child, killed by dragonfyre- Vhagar. The question of Rhaenyra’s children wasn’t thrown into contention, and they were never to know that the disgraced knight Ser Criston Cole was their father. But Elspeth knew what Jace and Luke were- but she loved them like her own sons. She would protect them with her dying breath.

And she did not break that vow, even against her own sisters. Lylith had always loved animals, held such compassion that she spent her free days compiling a bestiary of the creatures of Westeros. She was unlike Gwen, who loved hunting- alike their mother. The second born daughter had never detailed Vhagar up close.

During the wake of Laena Velaryon, she sought out the she-dragon. They feared she had been eaten, but she arrived returned on green back of the biggest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms. Harwin didn’t know whether to be proud or terrified that his family owned the two largest dragons - except Vermithor - in the Seven Kingdoms.

Peace was quaint in the years following.

Lyonel Strong still remained as the King’s Hand, though, Otto Hightower still plotted his return. Quashed when Viserys died, and Rhaenyra swiftly ascended. “I wish to offer you the post as my Hand…” It was what the pair had always dreamed of.

“The Lords will not abide by that-“

“I am Queen, I am the Head of the Seven Kingdoms and they will follow my commands,” she paused at the apprehension written over Elspeth’s face.

The Princess shook her head, “Lord Lyonel has been a faithful Hand to your father- ,”

“How am I supposed to rule if I cannot fully rely on my Hand? In my absence how can I rely on the judgement of men to carry out my word?” The Queen held the Princess’ hands, “You are my closest friend- ever since you arrived in Kings Landing- before I was born. You have never shown deceit nor malice on my part- even my husband doesn’t have my complete favour… you do…”

“If I say yes will it stop your queenly speech?” Rhaenyra gave a nod. “Then yes, I will be your Hand…”

She was a bloody good one at that, Rhaenyra remained in Kings Landing as she always had.

Ric was a promising young heir to Harrenhal- knighted for his fighting in the second war for the Stepstones. He was a good sword, and betrothed to Rhaena Velaryon for his actions. They suited one another- calm and loyal.

Gwen, unruly like her mother, rode horses not dragons; fearing great heights. She found a love match in the Lord of the North, Cregan Stark. He loved her fighting spirit- unlike any Southerner he had met.

Lily rode the biggest dragon in the Known World. Her mother refused a marriage with the Lannisters- who called out for an alliance. Lily found affections with the young Lord Oscar Tully. They had proven to be a youthful yet wise Lord and Lady of Riverrun.

Jaimes found himself separated from his twin, Ronin but Jaime was living his dream under the wing of his uncle Gwayne. Travelling the Seven Kingdoms at the age of six-and-ten, yet to find himself a wife but with his father’s looks and mother’s drive- it’s more so the fact that he isn’t looking.

Ronin had claimed the Bronze Fury at two-and-ten, and has since built a loving bond with Vermithor. He found himself with a crowd of women gawking, his mother’s angelic features and his father’s demeanour. Yet he only had eyes for the brash Alysanne Blackwood, admiring the huntress and sharing liaisons while at Harrenhal. Elspeth warned him to ask for her hand before somebody else demanded it- and he feared no person as much as he feared and loved his mother.

Cullen favoured the pen rather than the sword, becoming a scholar. He toured around the libraries, transcribing every ounce of knowledge he garnered. This took him to the Free Cities- where he encountered a young maiden. Her name was Aliandra, she loved his inquisitive nature and he her fiery attitude. It was only when he ventured to her homeland that he discovered her to be Princess Aliandra Martell, and he was to be her Prince Consort. It aided in relations between the Seventh Kingdom.

Lyonei continued her education in alchemy and prophecy. Still close friends with Princess Helaena, though, at Harrenhal she found the company of Alys Rivers- rumoured to be her aunt- and judiciously followed her expertise. For that time being she had no room for love, neither did her parents force her.

Mia resided at Driftmark, Maesters said she had problems with the heart. But she enjoyed life with her head in books. Rhaenys was more than willing to house the gentle-spoken, petite girl even in her adulthood. She found the sea air aided in her ailments, finding love in a sailor.

Their parents moved to Harrenhal when Ser Lyonel died. Larys lurked in the shadows, not any danger.

The Kingdoms lived in peace. But the pair weren’t alive when the power struggles took place- resulted to ash and bone.

Dying in bed together- both of old bones. Knowing what eternal love felt like, reuniting with Alyrie Florent and those lost along the years.

History would remember the fierceness of Elspeth Hightower- true Targaryen born - married a strong. An issue of seven, rider of Ebrion the Cannibal and the best shot in the Seven Kingdoms.

THE END

___________________________

So this is the last part of the series. I have loved writing this and thank you for the support with it. Thank you to everybody reading ❤️❤️❤️

Series taglist:-

@llynx7 @babyred7 @felicisimor @beebeechaos

#house of the dragon #harwin breakbones #harwin x reader #harwin strong #hotd #house hightower #house strong #house targaryen #ser harwin strong #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd fic #hotd spoilers

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peppermintquartz · 3 days ago

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Chris opens the door and embraces Deacon in a warm welcome. He hugs her back with one arm, the other holding flowers and a case of beer. It feels almost like old times.

"It's been too long, man," she chides. "Come on in. Street's so excited, he's gone out to get this amazing tiramisu we found on one of our dates."

"You didn't have to go to that much trouble," Deacon says, smiling. "Oh that smells great."

"My aunt gave me a surefire chili recipe. We've tested it several times, it's definitely good."

"And you look good. How's everything? The shelter doing okay?"

"Yeah," says Chris. "Thanks to Nichelle, I got in touch with some sympathetic ears and they've been super generous, and I've been able to find a steady roster of volunteers. Plus, with our rep, we're left alone for the most part, and anyone trying anything gets warned off fast by the ones running the block."

Deacon makes a face. "Not sure if that's the safest way to go about things."

"Gotta work both sides of the law now," Chris says with a shrug. Deacon means well but he's still a straight white man who has always lived in privilege. "But my girls are all on the straight and narrow. I've fourteen of them with me, and six have found sponsors to help them to get work permits, which will help with getting full documentation. I'm helping another two cooperate with police because they were smuggled here after being sold by their parents for cash, and the rest... well, we'll get there." She grimaces before grinning. "Sorry. I get excited talking about my work."

"No, no it's good. I'm happy for you." Deacon hands her the colorful bouquet and the beer. "It's great that you found your purpose."

Thanking him for the gifts and rummaging around for a vase or jug for the flowers, she asks, "So how come you're here alone? I was under the impression that it'll be you and Annie. Wine?"

"Water, please. I'm driving." Deacon sits down in one of the chairs around the dining table. She wonders what he notices about the place on his second visit. It's a cozy apartment, despite the industrial elements; she especially likes the new potted herbs Street has insisted upon, even though neither of them can tell a cabbage from a lettuce.

"I, uh, I wanted to chat with you, actually. Not, not chat." Deacon says as he rubs his wedding ring. "I want your advice on something that I need you to keep secret."

An odd feeling tickles the back of her neck. She sits down in the chair beside him, wondering if she should hold her friend's hand. "Sounds serious."

"I think it is." He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, like he's planning to dive into the deep end of a pool. "Chris, how and w-when did you know you're bisexual?"

Chris' eyebrows shoot up. That is definitely not a question she was expecting. "Uh. Okay. For me, I was fifteen and really into a boy, a classmate." Enrique Garcia, she recalls, lean and athletic with the cutest freckle on his right cheek, with a shoulder-length mop of gleaming dark curls. "And then, one day, I met him and his older sister Alina at the mall. She was really nice when we talked and my mind kinda went a little insane thinking how pretty she was and how much I'd love to kiss her."

"And that was... That was how you knew?"

She shrugs. "Some reading up and some very confusing dreams later, I kinda figured it out." She angles her head and studies Deacon. "Are you...?"

"Fifteen, wow." Deacon chews on his lower lip. The tips of his ears are red and he can't meet her eyes. "Maybe I'm too old for this."

"You met someone who's causing you to question everything you knew about your sexuality?"

He ducks his head, still fiddling with his wedding ring. "Yes," he admits quietly. "And I know, I know it's not good, I'm married and I have Annie, it's just really..."

Chris smiles and holds his forearm. "Confusing."

"So confusing," Deacon agrees with a brief chuckle. His voice sounds so unsure and lost that it's disorienting for Chris. That isn't the Deacon she has known for the past decade. "Annie is the perfect woman for me. Like, once I met her and got to know her, I knew she was the one I wanted to marry and have a family with. And I thought that was it. That that is all I would ever need or want."

"But now you've met someone. Some guy."

Ducking his head, Deacon bites his lip and shakes his head. "I'm over fifty, Chris. I shouldn't be having sexuality crises at this age. But, yes. I met some guy."

"He's that special, huh." Chris hopes she doesn't sound judgmental. Having been through this with her own family, she feels for him. And a part of her feels honored that someone she respects so much will choose to come out to her. "Am I the first to know?"

"Yes." He clears his throat. "I never thought I would be interested in a man like that. And yet... I feel happy whenever I see him. I worry about him at work. I hear a song on the radio and it'll remind me of him."

There's something that Deacon is hiding. After so many years as a cop and now helping scared women, she's learned to read between the lines.

Still holding his forearm, she says, "Thanks for trusting me with this, Deac. I'm so honored by your trust."

He sniffs and finally looks at her, his eyes dewy with a hint of tears. "Chris, am I bisexual?"

"You could be," she says. "I can't answer for you. I'm not some mind reader for queer people. You might be attracted to women in general and one guy in particular, and that's normal. Sexuality is a spectrum and the great thing is, you get to define yourself. It may feel overwhelming-"

"Understatement of the year."

"-but I can point you in the direction of some websites or resources you can refer to. Don't be surprised if any are angled at teens, though. Most people who are questioning tend to be young."

"Unlike this old geezer," Deacon jokes weakly. She squeezes his forearm as she grins, then lets go of him.

"You're never too old to learn new tricks, Deac." Taking a deep breath, Chris leans closer and says, "I'm gonna ask something that may be invasive, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you may feel better if you do."

Deacon sighs like he knows what's coming and looks at her.

"Are you seeing this guy?"

The guilt that flickers over Deacon's face tells Chris enough.

"Oh, Deac..." She pulls him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to know about that," he murmurs.

She squeezes him and pulls back enough to smile at him. "I'm your friend, Deac. But you know you can't have him."

He nods, pressing his lips tightly together. "I know. I wish... I don't know what I wish. But Chris... Chris, I'm so happy when I'm with him." There's a waver in his voice. "I didn't know that I could even be this happy with anyone."

Not even with Annie.

The words are not said, but she hears them as clear as day. She hugs him again.

They hear the keys jingle and Deacon straightens, rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes while clearing his throat.

"Hey, Deacon!" Street comes in with an insulated bag and Chris stands up to welcome him with a kiss. His dimples deepen and his eyes light up. "Hey babe. Deac, come here, bring it in."

Deacon smiles and hugs Street. The mask has fallen back in place over Deacon's face and Chris makes sure hers is present too.

"I'll go plate up dinner," she says with a smile, kissing Street again as she passes him and takes the tiramisu from his hands, leaving the two men to catch up. Deacon won't tell Street what he told her; that's not the friendship they have, and she knows he trusts her not to tell anyone what he's revealed to her.

It's not her secret to tell, and Deacon will need time. He'll do the right thing, she's sure. She only hopes he figures out what the right thing for him will be.

#the divorce arc #chris alonso #deacon kay #swat cbs #pq writes

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months ago

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Hi friends! I know it's been a while (over a month, woof), since I published a fic. Summer is a busy time for me - birthdays, social occasions, festivals, etc. And now I am heading off on holiday for a week. I have been working hard on chapter one of Fire on the Mountain whenever I have a free moment, and wanted to have it finished before I went away today, however, between working and trying to get myself packed and ready to leave for the airport, I've not had time and I didn't want to publish something hurried and low quality. It is very close to being finished, and will be my first priority when I return from my holiday (I will still be around, can't resist a snoop at Tumblr while poolside, I just won't be able to write)

Anyway, to tide you over, I leave you with the following snippet!

Header by my beloved recipient of sour cream and onion dust fingers, @vampire-exgirlfriend

Lia props herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watches Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lies discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she begins slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent keeps her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continues her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffs, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

Alicent sighs, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap, fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowers her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hums, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sit upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stares up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nods in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there, he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffs, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” She asks, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent says proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto sweeps into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent says apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolls her eyes, knowing their fun is over and rises to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent says quietly, making her way out of the solar.

Lia is about to follow suit, when Otto reaches out, softly grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she says with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightens his grasp. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slips away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, I cannot say the same for myself.”

Full fic coming the beginning of September, otherwise you are free to beat me with your shoes.

#fire on the mountain #otto hightower x oc

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ss-skyearn · 2 years ago

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Took Too Much

❝They say your love lasts forever if you see the first snow together.❞

PAIRING : Hwang Hyunjin x female!reader

WORD COUNT : 4.5k.

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : explicit sexual content, substance abuse, longing, mutual pining, vulnerability, they're in love and just want each other, angst with a happy ending.

SMUT WARNINGS : grinding, dry humping, foreplay, petnames, launderie kink, desperation, WORSHIPPING (quite literally), unprotected intercourse (don't try at home).

A/N : This piece is a little heavier than what I usually write but am particularly fond of it; feedback much appreciated. As usual, enjoy, lovelies. ♡

But it's a silhouette you'd recognize anywhere.

Those legs that you were trapped between during stolen moments of vulnerability.

Those large palms that held you down while you shook from the white hot pleasure the same hands brought you.

That soft blonde mop of hair that tickled your inner thighs when the same head was buried in your heat, almost every chilly night like today. And every warm one too.

It's funny.

How a single 'ding' can mean so much, can seize your heart, can threaten to bring out what you have been trying so hard to suppress.

It was a heat of the moment thing, done in good fun.

"It gives me a special privilege," he'd said.

"That makes no sense. You already occupy the largest unit in my heart," you'd breathed against his lips.

Moving back an inch, he'd whined, "It'll let you know it's me and that you have to abandon everything to give me attention. Pretty, please?"

You never could say no to his doe eyes, a fact he exploited on the daily.

So you'd given in, changing the ringtone for his messages and calls to one that is seperate from the rest of your contacts.

So really, it was a spur of the moment decision he'd proposed after having been interrupted mid make out session, him claiming a special place on yet another part of your being.

It's funny, honestly.

How the tone that once was the cause of butterflies going rampant in the pits of your belly, now has reason to cause grief of the same, if not more, measure.

You know who it is before you even chance a glance at your screen, but you look all the same.

Not knowing what you were expecting, the sorrow burning a deeper shade of red is felt and you reckon that it's the price to pay for reaching out to something you know would elicit a reaction such as this.

Hyun<3

You hadn't deleted his contact, the reason you're unsure of to this day. Perhaps a reminder that he did in fact once exist in your life, had a grounding presence, a place reserved all for himself in the mainland of your heart, and not someone entirely dreamt up.

It surely felt like it at times.

The silence from his end hurt you, broke you, shattered you, despite having been at your request. Days seemingly never ending, nights even moreso, your house empty, bed cold. All of it ate away at you a little at a time, leaving behind a silhouette tainted with holes, torn and run down at the edges.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't imagine, didn't long, didn't yearn for this very moment. The moment his side of the silence ceases, the moment he, despite your asks, reaches out.

So why does your heart feel about fit to burst at the seams? Why do you so badly want to run away? Why do you feel the air suddenly burning its way into your lungs?

"Hello?" your voice is but a whisper, foreign to anyone who's known you.

"Baby?"

Eyes closing shut, you let a long drawn sigh escape your nostrils. Being all too consumed in the eagerness of the manifestation of the moment you'd been wanting, you didn't stop to consider what his voice was capable of inflicting, underestimating your own longing for everything that's him.

"Baby, you there?"

"Why are you calling me?"

A rustling sound follows, as he lets out his own well deserved breath of air.

It's a sense of relief, if anything. Knowing that you're not the only one tormented.

A sick, sadistic kind of relief, sure. But relief all the same. Labels stopped meaning much to you a while ago.

"Missed your voice," he mumbles, tone having an unusual tilt to it.

You don't respond. Or rather, you can't. For if you will yourself to speak in this moment, a choked sob is about all that'll make its way out.

"Missed you," the tilt deepens and you catch yourself mere moments before voicing out your concerns. Not having spoken to him since the pair of you parted ways, it's going to take time adjusting to the fact that he's no longer accountable to your questions, your worries. And you're no longer expected to care for him.

You are no longer wanted.

"Why are you calling?" you echo, the fact that your voice is growing quieter by the second not lost on you. If anything, it's the same fact that withholds you from saying more.

"It's the first snow today."

You know what he's thinking. It'd be a lie to say you haven't been thinking the same all day.

You stay quiet, waiting for the blow.

When did you turn into such a masochist? You know the next thing coming out of his mouth is going to tear apart your tattered heart that you've been fixing up the past year since he left you.

"We met on the day of the first snow."

Alas, bandaids don't fix bullet holes.

They're ripped apart, shredded to nothing. Tattered and frayed, used for all their worth. Leaving behind the pieces of your heart, desperately clinging onto each other, trying and failing to stay in league.

"They say your love lasts forever if you see the first snow together."

A dry chuckle follows, filling the air with despair, a feeling contrary to the act in of itself.

"That's all fucking bullshit, isn't it?" the tilt to his voice wavers, a little sniffle enough to withdraw one from you too.

"Look where it got us," the silky voice breaks, the same one you adored.

The voice that once called you 'love', whispered confessions into your hair, your ears, your core. The voice that took on a hoarse tone when you woke up in his arms on late mornings, the one that promised to be with you always.

Empty confessions. Empty promises.

"Why are you calling?" seems like this is the only thing that's making its way out of your throat tonight. The only thing that can make its way out.

He hums, then chuckles again. The same hollow laugh, detached, impassive, phlegmatic.

"You always were stubborn, weren't you?"

"Hyunjin," your voice is stern, indicative of a warning.

But he finds no such emotion behind it.

"Keep going."

"Wh—"

"Keep saying my name. Please."

It's only going to take so much for the choked sob that you've been holding at the back of your throat to be let out. And it's taking every fibre, every alight neuron within you to keep it in.

"Why?" a meek whisper. Your voice wavering.

"Because I love it. Love you," a quiet sob. His tone trembling. "Still," A single word. Sealing in an entire universe worth of meaning.

Eyes falling shut again, you don't stop the trail of heat that burns your cheeks. For the first time in a year, you let yourself go. Let yourself feel.

Even if it's grief. Even if it's sorrow.

Your let yourself feel.

A huff of breath is heard through the receiver, followed by a shudder.

"You were always better than me with cold."

Your eyes snap open, back ramrod straight and despite knowing what you'll find, you hastily draw the curtains aside. And sure enough, the snowfall is steady, windy breeze rustling leaves off their petioles, streets emptier than they should be considering the early hours of night.

And for good reason.

"Hyun, are you out?"

"You still have me all figured out," he lets out, and you can almost see his breath condensing in front of his face, courtesy the coldest day of this year's winter.

"What are you doing out? Get in right now," the assertive tone isn't something you've used in a while. Maybe you just didn't have anyone to use it on anymore.

He chuckles again, seemingly the only reaction he's able to give you, the only reaction that doesn't involve speaking, lest the wobble to his tone give him away.

"Hyun, seriously. Get the fuck in."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Don't know where I am," the sigh that follows lets you know that he just closed his eyes. It's the one he let out every night when he laid behind you, his chest to your back, him buried deep in you. It's when he felt the most at peace, he used to say. Coming home and being with you, feeling you, inside out. Quite literally.

Though what he's finding peaceful about the biting cold is beyond you.

"What do you mean you don't know? Hyun, don't fuck with me right now."

The next chortle is almost a laugh, the irony of your statement not lost on you. You think you hear something eerily similar to "how I wish" through the microphone, but you choose to ignore it.

"Hyunjin. For the last time, where are you?" even as your tone indicates your growing impatience, your body works on autopilot. Before you know it, you're getting up and reaching for your car keys, all while throwing a fleece jacket over your shoulder.

"Is getting you mad the only way to make you say my name?"

He's not listening. Something you're not used to. Sure, not listening and communicating is what got you both where you are today, but it's something you've never been at the receiving end of. It's the complaint he always had. And the complaint you always brushed off.

You suddenly remember another spur of the moment thing you did back in the day.

You pull out the app where you had your locations visible to each other, knowing of the other's whereabouts at all times. Your friends had called it a red flag, that he was possessive, obsessive even, to suggest something of this sort.

Little did they know it was your idea.

You see him, his little bitmoji some ten kilometres away from your current location.

Even as you're making your way to the car, shoving the steady falling snow out of the way, you make a show of protesting, "Use goggle maps and drive home."

"Can't drive either."

"Why?"

Silence.

And it gives you reason to fret. Despite the unnerving tilt, he's been responsive and dare you say vulnerable all throughout, the shake to his voice not holding him back from letting his feelings known.

So the first time he's silent is enough to make you break into a cold sweat.

"Hyun, why can't you drive?"

You hear him drag a hand down his face, some rustling of clothes following shortly after.

Another deep exhale, another beat of silence.

"Hyunjin," you settle on it as the last measure, knowing it's the only way he'll answer, the weakness he has for you saying his name made plenty clear today.

"I'm sorry," the whisper is barely there, almost lost in the sounds of your engine revving.

But he's the only one you've ever had ears for.

So you hear him. You hear him loud and clear.

"Why?" while he may not be egoistic, apologising isn't something either of you are good at. It's always been that way. A constant push and pull, a tug of war, a battle of wills, seeing you caves in first, who loses first. Hardly a healthy partnership, but what you had with him made it all worth it. More than worth it. He's the closest thing to a soulmate you'll ever have. If they do in fact exist, he's your other half.

He once was. He always will be.

"I- I just.. I'm sorry, baby."

Ice cold panic grips your heart, the external cold fading by comparison. He's apologized twice in a row now, and while your past self would call it improvement, in this moment, dread is the only sentiment you feel.

You stay silent, stepping on the race, praying he doesn't pick up on the sound of your engine accelerating.

A long moment of daunting silence later, he says something you don't understand, or rather refuse to understand.

"I took too much."

Its beyond refusal, a feeling akin to denial.

You deny to process what he just said, what he just implied, what he just meant.

"Stay right where you are," so, much like everything else, you choose to ignore it.

He seems taken aback for all of three seconds before his tone softens, "You coming to get me?"

You choose to ignore this too, convincing yourself that this is just mindless rambling to him.

His words suddenly hold no weight, his confessions empty.

Like always.

You glance at the GPS mounted to the dash.

One kilometre away.

"Do you remember when I kissed you?"

"You've kissed me more times than I can count."

Even as your heart is splitting in two, even after the recent realisation, you somehow find yourself reponding.

It's honestly all you've been wanting since he walked out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, out of your life that late September night.

"That day. The day of the first snow. The day we met."

You don't respond.

He takes it as a sign to continue.

"I knew it then. I know you knew it too."

Eight hundred metres.

"That you were for me. And I you."

Silence from your end again.

"How did we end up here?"

You know how. He knows how.

Five hundred metres.

Suddenly, a loud beep resounds, the call abruptly ending. That sends you into a chill panic, grip on the gear tightening. You pull over, and try tracing his location again. To no avail.

The location is gone. The ringtone goes straight to voicemail. Messages not delivering.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to remind yourself between deep breaths that he's capable of taking care of himself.

But then comes a gush of memories. Of a time when he walked straight into a pole while facetiming you once. You'd laughed then and called him a manchild.

The memory, albeit fond, doesn't help ease your worries, only aggravating the uneasy churn of your stomach.

Exhaling loudly, you talk yourself down your own anxiety first, realising that this is the first step if you want to have any chance at getting to him.

This is the general location, you remember. Once again, you kick start your car, the frantic rumble of the engine echoing down the empty roads, signifying the urgency of the affair.

It takes another twenty minutes and a slow drive down the snowy streets for you to spot a silhouette in the distance.

The person is slumped down against a rusty pole, back pressed to it, long legs propped up with feet flat on the snow covered pavement, head resting on the bend of their elbow thrown over upward knees. With their head buried in the crook of their arm, their face isn't visible, the thick smog hovering around them adding to the haze.

But it's a silhouette you'd recognize anywhere.

Those legs that you were trapped between during stolen moments of vulnerability.

Those large palms that held you down while you shook from the white hot pleasure the same hands brought you.

That soft blonde mop of hair that tickled your inner thighs when the same head was buried in your heat, almost every chilly night like today. And every warm one too.

You don't know when you got off your car, for now you find yourself looking down at the same silky golden locks.

Your boots sink into the snow, the ice underneath them melting.

He gives no indication of knowing of your arrival, and you wonder if he's managed to somehow fall asleep here.

Tiny snowflakes having made themselves home on his hair, almost forming a halo, he looks angelic. You reach out, wanting to dust them off his head before your stop, hand hovering.

You're suddenly tentative, when you didn't hesitate to tug on these very locks whenever he was in you.

That simple knowledge brings forth the harsh reality.

He's here. Right in front of you. Yet so far away.

Hand still in air, you're entirely unprepared when his head suddenly shoots up, palm grabbing your wrist.

"Baby?" his voice is gravelly, eyes bleary.

Yet he's the most perfect piece of art you ever did see.

He's gorgeous, your mind says to you— as if the fact could've ever been hidden, been denied even in incoherence.

But it's when you look closely that it comes crashing down. The realisation.

His slim face is gaunt now, eyes red and hazy, bags prominent. He's gorgeous, sure, but not as stunning as he once was.

You're suddenly knocked off balance, back pressing into the pole he was just resting on, the surface hot from his warmth.

It takes far too long for you to perceive what it is that's actually happening. His fingers dig into your hips, large palms splayed over your back, winding to the front, thumbs meeting. Warm breath tickles your neck, forcing out a gasp of your own.

"You're here," his voice is hushed, reverent even, afraid that the illusion of you would disappear any moment.

You nudge his shoulder, trying to shake him off, albeit unwillingly.

He removes himself from where he's nestled, looks you in the eye before closing them, forehead resting against yours.

From what you were able to make from that brief glimpse into his orbs, they're bloodshot, not the kind that result from lack of sleep nor the ones that speak of tiredness.

No, they are indicative of him being far away from the realm of normal thinking. It's the excuse you allow yourself to live, the reason you don't push him off you.

He's not thinking.

His tongue darts out, gliding over the plump of his lower lip, the texture of which you know by heart. Parting open, quick breaths leave him, and the proximity is to blame for the fact that it goes right into your mouth.

He puffs rapidly as if suddenly breathless, lips quivering, seemingly trying to find something to say, or perhaps trying to not say what his heart wants to.

"Tell me you're real this time."

This time?

"Hyun—"

"Just- just tell me you're really here," his eyes open slowly, drowsily, forehead still pressed into yours, hands sliding from your hip up your sides, caressing, feeling, landing on your nape.

Once again they circle you, this time overlapping over the back of your neck as he pulls you closer still, "That I'm not making you up again."

"What happened to you?" looking into his eyes again, you know it's not him. He's gone. For now.

So it's more of a question to yourself than to him.

What happened to him? What happened to your artist, your lover, your Hyunjin?

And just as you surmised, your question fell on deaf ears for he is a man on a mission.

"Baby, you're here right? With me? You came to me?"

Moving to close your nimble hands over his big ones, you relish in their warmth for a moment, the reason of said unnatural heat another thing you choose to ignore for now.

You can wallow in guilt by yourself later. All you want.

But now that you've allowed yourself this moment of weakness with him, you plan to bank on it.

"Yes, Hyun, it's me. I'm here."

Encircling your arms around broad shoulders, you pull him to you, into you. His own hands slip to your hips, squeezing you right back.

"I keep seeing you everywhere, everyday. Wherever I am. Whenever I'm awake."

You think you hear a sob, but don't let it show, for you're not immune to the sorrow either.

Maybe the apathetic front was just that, after all. A front. One you had to put up, one you had to believe in— fool yourself into believing in, if only for self preservation.

"You're not making me up this time."

He doesn't reply with words, doesn't need to. The way his hold on you tightens, lips brushing the side of your neck speaks volumes.

Hot, wet kissed trail up the column of your throat, their heat melting off any snow falling on you. Surroundings be damned, you throw your head back, giving him the silent consent.

That seems to be invitation enough for him, as his kisses turn to sucking, sucking turns to biting. He's marking you, something he enjoyed partaking in quite a lot back in the day, and you already know the colour of each of the marks that he's leaving, only through the pressure and the ratio of tongue-teeth action he spares your skin.

You permit it, indulging him, indulging yourself.

But it's when he noses his way to your jaw and finally lifts up to look into your eyes that you're reminded of reality, of his incapacitated state.

You jolt back, practically shoving him off.

He's understandably puzzled, brows creasing, panting.

"Wh— did I do something wrong? I remember you liked when I did this? You don't anymore?"

"No. It's not that. I do like it. Maybe even more than before."

The crease to his forehead eases out as he takes a single step forward, to which you take one of your own. In the opposite direction.

He stops dead in his tracks, the bend to his brows deeper than before.

"Baby, why are you going away from me?"

You try not to look into his eyes, the branching redness visibly growing new stems by the second.

"Don't go away from me."

Unlike what some might assume, you're not put off, not repulsed by gleam to his eyes, nor by their sanguinence. In not too proud of a moment, you'd say you're even used to it.

It's what you see every time you look into the mirror. What you hate, what you need.

A vicious cycle. A cursed affair.

The glint in your eye reflects his, ignites his, the two light beams meeting to string together.

The profane symphony. The impious consonance.

You did try. Tried not to let it take over you, it's been more than half a day since you last indulged in a sniff, after all. But Hyunjin is nothing if not a vice to your repressive instincts.

Your kryptonite. Your aphrodisiac.

One look at his bloodhsot eyes and you know this is it. He is the one. Who else could be the other half to your broken, tattered soul? Who else could be the mirror image of your own intoxicated orbs? Who else could slot into your cracks?

He steps forward, and this time you don't have it in you to recoil. Closing your lids, you let him snake his arms around your waist, pull you impossibly close. His face finds the comfort of your neck again, hot breathe laced with desperation marking the seeping away of the last of your restraint, taking with it any hope you had to do this right. For once.

"Don't go."

You've known him long enough to realise he's pulling apart your guard, piece by excruciating piece. You've known yourself long enough to realise you're caving, embracing the pain that is him.

"Let's get you home."

You don't see anything, too consumed in the fire that is him, his touch.

You're kissing him like you need him to breath. He's kissing you like he needs you to survive.

His hands pull down the zipper to your shirt, legs guiding you back onto the bed proper, step by step.

You land on your back with a soft thud, shirt thrown off somewhere. His own following suit soon after.

His eyes land onto the black lace adorning your chest, shining and all too inviting. The same lace he got you for your two year anniversary, the same lace he had you in that day, the same lace he had you in on countless days after that.

He places one knee between your legs, the duvet dipping, and nuzzles his face in your cleavage, taking in a long inhale.

Nosing about, he whispers, "Are you doing this on purpose?"

You know what he means. He never failed to mention what this set did to him, to his brain, his length. And you'd made it a point to use it against him every chance you got.

Today however, was not that chance, but you're grateful for the fateful coincidence.

He gets up only to slowly peel off your leggings and partially hovers over you, knee between your legs again, this time much closer to the warmth of your core.

His eyes trail down your figure, taking in all the curves, the crevices. Remembering all that once was his, learning all that he wasn't there to witness during your time apart.

His hands gently move up and down your sides, caressing and massaging, eyes going back and forth between the two lace pieces.

They're the same pair, but your body has changed quite a bit since he last had you in it.

You've somehow managed to surpass your own beauty and it's nothing if not a detriment to his sanity.

And his stamina. He's suddenly not too proud of it, if the exponential build up of his arousal is any indication.

The heavy caresses have now pushed you down the bed, your heat coming in contact with the rough patch of denim on his knee. You gasp at the contact, your core tender from how drenched you are from all his staring and fondling.

He picks up on it and uses his hold on your hips to begin grinding you on his knee. You groan, your thin silky lace and his thick rough denim adding to your arousal. Never would you have imagined that simple gliding, over the confines of clothes no less, could feel this good.

This is what being with Hyunjin is always like. Trying, experimenting, tapping into uncharted territory, with the knowledge of safely, of assurance, of security.

Sleeping with him, you got to know of your own body, what made it tick, your likes, your turn ons.

Being with him, you got to know of yourself, what made you you, your talents, your strengths.

Existing with him, simply made you whole.

So if this is all you get, you'd be content.

Moans and whimpers echo in the room that's now empty without his studio table nestled in the corner, without his clothes piled up in random heaps, without music equipment thrown astrew on the wooden floor.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Without him.

"Goddess."

A loud moan rips from your throat, the sound unholy. Your eyes snap open, in shock of your own reaction.

"You like that?"

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you're not sure what to say. It's yet another uncharted territory, yet another epiphany. And you're grateful it's with him.

Leaning forward he captures your lips between his soft ones, tongued clashing, spit mixing, swaying his head side to side, smearing your collective essence all over your cheeks and jaws.

"Like it, my goddess?"

Another equally loud moan echoes, even as his grinding has ceased. Your response is unprompted, no physical stimulation in sight.

While it might have been embarrassing, you're anything but.

Simply because it's him.

And you're not yourself. And he's not himself.

But you're together. All else rendered trivial.

Feedback and reblogs are very highly appreciated. They're what keep the community alive and help content creators stay motivated.

[Send an ask if you wish to be added to the permanent taglist.♡]

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persephone11110 · 7 months ago

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tummy hurts || j.seresin

tw:grooming,childhood trauma, emotional manipulation, past sexual abuse->child sexual abuse, self victim blaming-victim blaming (not jake) mentions of alcohol, past child neglect, the school system failed, jake calls reader goldie, Y/n hit Jake in chest a couple of times

summary:“Little girls like you aren’t loved”.Your head was laying on the pillow next to him, your naked bodies touching eachother, he loved you…you loved him.

IMPORTANT NOTE: this is a very sensitive topic so please tread carefully also please let me know if there should be more trigger warnings

AN: a fic born after falling into a PLL hole on tik tok and the title comes from Tummy Hurts- Renee Rapp. Also ngl the reason Ive on a break was bcus my fics were going downhill and sad as it is it hard watching other fics blow up and your can’t even make it to double digits within hours.

—

THIS FIC IS ABOUT CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE/ SEXUAL ASSAULT, SELF& VICTIM BLAMING, AND CHILD NEGLECT

—

“Sweetheart?” Jake asked slowly, unsure if his old man hearing was fucking with him. His voice dropped to a lower tone as more rage filled his chest.

Saturday nights were designated for you dine with your husband. A night were you and Jake catch up with each other, his aviation schedule and your college professor schedule was hard to work with.

You hated drinking more than one glass of wine as it always made your tongue loose. Somehow you managed to pour another glass it felt nice to let loose—what didn’t feel nice was your husband knowing how much dignity you didn’t have as a teenager.

“Goldie, you were how old” Jake grabs your hand, gently taking the glass out of your hand. Careful not talk to roughly. He watches as the color drains out of your face.

You were lucky enough to have a history teacher who didn’t give up on his students—especially not you.

Mr.Daniels, the best history teacher there was, he had goods and bad days. But who didn’t?

You and him bonded over the love of historical events. He didn’t tell you to stop talking or, to get the hell out. He would sit there with a warm smile listening to you go on and on about history.

You don’t how many times you’ve tried talking about your interests to mom and dad. And how many times they’ve stared at you with a blank face, or told you to go away.

But Mr. Edward Daniels didn’t. You had the privilege to call him Eddie when it was just the two alone inside the classroom after school hours.

He called you Y/n and you called him Eddie when you laid your mop of brown curls aganist his bare chest.

His blue sheets wrapped your naked body, the hickeys that riddled your stomach and hips.

“I was fifteen Jake”. you sighed dropping your hands into your lap. “He was a freshman history teacher—it was his first year teaching”.

“Y/n Collins”, he dropped a hand onto your shoulder, “I like the way you argue kid”.

“Fifteen, jesus”, Jake rubbed a hand over his face,“How come you never brought this up before sweetheart?”.

Not even a butcher knife could cut through the silence in the room.

Because you loved him. He gave you the love that no one else would.

“Its been over decade Jake…. times were different back then”. You said, chewing at the bottom of your lip. Your bouncy leg betrayed in how confident you sounded in your response.

“Doesn’t matter what decade were in you were a child and he was adult”. He softly glared at you, “His job was to protect and teach you about wars and he couldn’t even do that”.

You leaned back into couch wishing the damn thing would swallow you whole. Why’s Jake trying to make you seem like a victim—you aren’t one you and Eddie were lovers in the past.

Jake sat across from you he had a death grip on the beer bottle. “He loved me Jake, he was the first man to ever give me a chance of being loved”.

Jake felt the need to empty his stomach at the words that came from your mouth. He scooted closer to you, there wasn’t any space between the both of you anymore.“Was it just a one time?”.

You couldn’t look your own husband in the eye.

Jake would know how dirty his wife is.

Your silence was enough for him,“It wasn’t one time Y/n?”. Jake eyebrows furrowed,“Y/n whatever answer you give I hope you know I’d never shame or judge you”.

“We lasted for atleast for over year in half, before the school transfered him out of state”.

How long would It take me to find him and kill him.

Son of a bitch was transferred, he didn’t lose his teaching license.

“Goldie”,Jake calls your name gently—while grabbing your hands into his. “Look at me”.

You curled into yourself—Jake’s mad at you. “ Please don’t yell at me”. your voice hiccuped, you were begging him. You could handle anything but Jake Seresin yelling at you with so much anger and digust filled in his voice.

“Oh I could never blame you baby not now, not ever”. He gently cupped the side of your face, “I need you to understand how this isn’t your fault baby”. He moved around and positioned himself to make your foreheads touch eachother.

“Jake” you mumbled before you shoving your face into his neck. “I’m-”.

Jake shook his head at you he gently pulled from him,“Darlin i don’t wanna you even to think about apologizing to me”, He pressed a kiss into your cheek before speaking again.“The only one who deserves that is you, the adults around you should’ve looked out for you, your parents had one job and it was to just love you”.

You curled into yourself, you didn’t deserve Jakes love.

“Sweetheart i’m sorry for my rant here it just makes me angry that all those adults in your life and no one protected you, a innocent child who willed for love and attention from her parents”. You held onto Jake tightly afraid that in a split second he change his mind and leave you.

Your breathing became shaky and weak the hiccups got worse—your sobs got louder.

You weren’t a victim.

Jake Seresin didn’t know what he was talking about, your husband wasn’t there fifteen years ago.

He’s wrong-.

“Sweetheart”. Jake reached to grab you, “Y/n”.

Your arms become flailing, your were pretty sure your hands and Jakes chest connected atleast once or twice.

“Its okay Y/n, Its okay sweetheart”, Jake was finally able to get a grip on you—pulling your head ontop of his chest. “Shh baby, let it all out”.

“He hurt me so much Jake and nobody cared”, you sobbed.“When I finaly got the courage to tell my parents they looked at me and the first thing that came out their mouth was whore. “Y/n how much of whore do you have to be to sleep with a man well into his early forties?” -.

Jake wiped a tear from your face.“You got someone who cares Y/n, you have someone who loves you just as you are”. Jake sighed, would he be bad person if he took the nearest flight to his wife hometown and he beat old man to a pulp?

Bad man or good husband?, those lines tend to blur when the love of his life gets hurt.

“Baby just say the word me and the daggers can hop the earliest flight and kill a man, while Ice and Mav are our alibi’s”.

Jake catches a small smile breaking through—its small but he’ll take it . “Theres that smile that broke my pool winning streak”,Jake smiles into your shoulder.

“Thank you Jake for loving me, thank you for piecing back my broken pieces”. you murmured quietly, knowing that if you go another octave higher theres a chance that you’ll start crying again.

“Oh baby I should be thanking you, you trusted me with your heart— and Y/n you were always whole you just didn’t feel it”.

My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore.

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

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atropxs · 1 year ago

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Spill your Guts; Eddie Munson

summary: eddie gets you high for the first time.

warnings: drugs (weed), vomiting but not described in detail, innocent!cheerleader!fem!reader, mutual pining, nonsexual nudity, no y/n.

word count: 5.2k

----

Ten minutes had passed since the fifth period bell rang and you were starting to think Eddie Munson had stood you up. Maybe he just decided that the straight-laced cheerleader wasn't worth his weed or his time. Hell, if you were in his position you might have just done the same. He was probably hiding out somewhere, just to see how long you'd stand alone in the dank basement hallway waiting for him.

Just as you were about to tuck your tail and head into fourth period English, mind racing to come up with various excuses to explain your whereabouts, Eddie's tall frame turned the corner. He smiled as he saw you waiting then wordlessly called you over, nodding his head to a door at the end of the hall.

"You're late." You huffed under your breath as you walked his way.

He held up his lunch box, dangling it in front of you; taunting you with it. "Actually, I'm right on time."

"Hold still," He ordered as you stopped beside of him. You barely had time to process what he was asking before he was plucking the hair pin out of your ponytail.

"Hey," You reached your hand up to stop him but he swatted you away. You jutted your bottom lip out in frustration, the act of which caught Eddie's attention in his peripheral vision.

He looked down at you, tilting his head in a doglike manner as he tried to level with you. "The door's locked, do you have any better ideas?"

You shook your head, causing a stray piece of hair—the same one you were holding in place with the bobby pin—to fall onto your forehead.

"That's what I thought. Now, put the pout away." The words were almost rendered unintelligible thanks to the bobby pin being bent between his teeth.

"But my hair—"

"Looks fine. Always does." He paused between sentences, as if he were unsure if he should add the last part or not, but then decided to go for it anyway.

"You really think so?" You asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. He smiled at you cheekily, the bobby pin still dangling from between his front teeth.

If you weren't mistaken you saw a faint blush coat Eddie's cheeks before his got on his knees to pick the lock. You flinched at the clinging sound his rings made as they came into contact with the door knob, already he was being too heedless for your liking. However, much to your dismay, the noise was quickly dwarfed by Eddie's metal lunchbox hitting the ground and echoing down the hallway.

"Eddie," you hissed a warning, looking up and down the hallway for any signs of life, despite the hall going unused for nearly a decade. "You're being too loud, someone is going to hear you."

"They're going to hear us. We're in this together now, princess."

Before you could make any rebuttal Eddie had the door opened and was up from his knees with his hand on the small of your back, ushering you inside. You blew the stray piece of hair out of your face—and really wished you had your now mangled bobby pin back—before you walked in, Eddie on your heels.

The room was bigger than you thought it would be, however most of the space was taken up by what looked to be an old water heater. The robust smell of mildew and mothballs tickled your nose. Mops, brooms, buckets, and various cleaners were scattered on shelves. As Eddie closed the door behind you everything around you went dark, all for the sliver of florescent light under the door cast from the hall. You felt around for the cord hanging from the light on the ceiling.

Eddie put his hand on yours, halting your actions. "It doesn't work. Hasn't since the sixties." He said it like it was obvious information.

"Eddie," you almost whimpered, uneasy from the dark. "How are we supposed to see?"

"Aww, is the little cheerleader scared of the dark?" Eddie playfully nudged you in the ribs. "Or maybe she's scared of the things that could be hiding in the dark." He walked his fingers up your spine in a spiderlike manner.

"I am not." You scowled as squirmed away from his touch.

"Liar." You heard him chuckle, followed by the sound of his backpack unzipping. You watched his figure in the dark as he pulled a flashlight from his bag and set it in the middle of the floor. The light cast strange shadows around the walls of the room.

"I need your jacket," He spoke, taking off his own jean jacket and stuffing it in the crack between the door and the floor.

"But it's cold in here," You complained.

"We have to seal the door so the smoke doesn't get out, otherwise we're sure to get caught. So, unless you have any other clothes you want to take off, I need your jacket."

"Why don't you take your clothes off?" You retaliated before you could think through what you were saying. You could feel your cheeks turning a bright crimson as the gravity of your words set in. Suddenly, you were less afraid of the darkness and infinitely more thankful for it. Eddie opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly cocky, but you held your hand up and cut him off.

"Never mind, just take it." You slid the kelly green letterman jacket from your shoulders and threw it to him. You purposely made a show of wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched the last of the hall light be snuffed out.

"Come over here," Eddie paid no attention to your dramatics as he led you the corner farthest from the door. He plopped himself next to the water heater and patted the spot next to him. There was just enough room for the both of you, had either of you been any bigger neither of you would've fit.

Your right side pressed harshly against Eddie's left. You could feel his bicep flush against your arm. The room was suddenly a whole lot warmer—from the water heater or from your collective body heat, you didn't know. You let out a small awkward giggle as your elbows knocked together while you soothed down the skirt of your cheer uniform.

"You don't have to do this, y'know. I won't say anything if you back out." You were sure Eddie meant the words to be comforting, but to you they just confirmed that Eddie thought the same thing everyone else did about you: you were too much of a good girl to actually go through with something like skipping class and doing drugs.

"If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't've came." The words came out a bit harsher than you had intended them to. You felt Eddie's arms shift against yours as he put his hands up in mock surrender. He said nothing but his breathing picked up a little, you only noticed it because it was now the same labored intensity as your own.

His chest brushed your legs as he reached for the lunchbox and handed you the flashlight. You shined the light on the rust red pail as he clicked it open. Your eyes rested on the contraband sitting in front of you; various amounts of cannabis sat precariously organized in tiny plastic Ziplocks. Eddie began to dig through them before plucking out a small cigarette-like roll. He held it up for you to see.

"This is a joint," He explained, going slow so that he could be sure you were comprehending.

"Obviously," you rolled your eyes at him, you may not have smoked one but you had at least seen a joint before.

"Okay, miss know-it-all," he laughed away your attitude as he reached between you and grabbed your hand, you tensed as his skin made contact with your own to gently place the joint in your palm. You held it between your pointer and middle finger, the same way you'd seen people hold cigarettes in the movies. Eddie really laughed this time as he plucked the roll from your fingers and replaced it between your thumb and forefinger then molded your hand so that you were holding onto it tightly with your remanding three fingers in the air. "I guess just knowing what a joint is is the extent of your knowledge?"

"Fuck off," You mumbled cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"You don't have to know everything all of the time. I don't expect you to know anything about this." He pilfered through his lunchbox, presumably looking for a lighter.

"Why?" You hoped you didn't sound too much like you were interrogating him.

"Oh, c'mon. You're such a good girl." Those words from his mouth had more of an affect on you that you would have liked to admit. You clenched your thighs together and scooted closer to the wall, hoping to God Eddie didn't notice.

"I am not," You huffed hoping that the darkness concealed your smile. "If I was a good girl I wouldn't have even considered coming here."

"Why did you then?"

"Because you invited me." Playing dumb when the conversation turned to something you didn't like was a skill you'd mastered all too well. Besides, you were not about to spill your guts to Eddie Munson.

"But why did you come?" You were convinced Eddie could see right through you.

Because you invited me.

"Because I wanted to. Now, please hand me the lighter so we can get on with it."

Eddie dropped a silver Zippo lighter into your palm, the words Edward Munson engraved just below the lid.

"Thank you, Edward." You tried not to smile as you placed the joint between glossed lips and flipped the top of the lighter. With a manicured thumb you struck the wheel and waited for a spark but it remained unlit. You struck it again to no avail before shaking it closed.

"Munson," You said with the joint still between your lips. "Your lighter is dead."

Eddie took it from you and in one fluid motion he popped the lid open and produced a flame.

"Looks to me like she's still kickin'," He watched as you scrunched your brows in the dark, noting duly the way the flashlight tucked between your knees cast shadows in the contours of your face. With gentle hands he plucked the roll from your mouth and placed it in his own. "I want you to watch me first," Eddie spoke through pursed lips as he lit up the drug.

"Suck...Inhale...Hold...Release..." He narrated each step as he went, a small cloud of smoke escaped his lips each time he spoke. "Sound easy enough?"

You nodded as Eddie brought the joint to your lips, his hand millimetres away from your face. You sucked in the scent of him in along with the smoke, giving your first taste of the drug a peculiar Eddie-like quality. You were halfway convinced that you could feel the heat where his lips had been on the joint a moment before. You blew the smoke out quickly.

"If you want to get high you actually have to inhale," Eddie teased as he passed the joint to you. "Ah, ah, ah," he tsked, "Hold it how I taught you to." You readjusted your grip around the tight bundle, being careful to keep your fingers away from the burning end.

"Good girl," He praised then waited for you to refute him again. You didn't this time, instead you looked up at him and shyly fluttered your lashes.

Eddie smiled down at you and for the first time you allowed your gaze to linger on his face, mapping out the crinkles that surrounded the exterior of his dark eyes and the dimple sunk into his cheek.

The pounding in your chest increased as you placed the now lit bundle back between your lips. Suck. You did as Eddie had said said drawing in the smoke and letting it sit in your mouth.

"Inhale, now." Eddie reminded you. You did your best to try to swallow the smoke down but instead you put yourself into a coughing fit.

"Easy does it," Eddie gently pushed your head into his chest to muffle the sound. He rubbed your back consolingly as he shushed you, reminding you that you had to stay quiet before giving you the instruction to try again.

You repeated the first two steps again, this time succeeding in engulfing the smoke into your lungs. You held it there for a beat, noticing that Eddie had yet to take his hand off of you and that he was still rubbing small circles on your shoulder blade with his thumb. For a moment the sensation was all you could think about but Eddie's voice broke through the brain fog and reminded you to breathe. He took the joint from your hand as you exhaled.

"How long does it take?" You asked nervously, your knee bouncing in waiting.

"How long does it take to do what?" He was smiling like he knew exactly what, but still wanted to hear you say it.

"To kick in," You had to focus to keep your eyes on him especially when his hand was snaking down your side. You didn't even think that he realized that he was doing it. If he did, you hoped he didn't realize the affect it was having on you.

"Relax, hot stuff." He brought his hand over your thigh and rested it on your knee, applying the slightest bit of pressure to keep you from shaking, the cool metal of his rings caused you to shiver anyway. "Don't focus on what is going to happen, focus on letting it happen."

"Eddie," you tried not to whine, now was not the time to beat around the bush. "Please, just tell me."

"You'll feel it soon enough, doll. Until then you're just going to have to wait it out." He passed the joint back to you and watched in awe as you took another hit, when you tried to pass it back to him he held up his hand motioning for you to hit it again.

"Hitting it only once before passing is like wearing a neon sign saying you've never smoked before—"

"Well I haven't smoked before."

"—Hitting it twice is optimal, it's just enough to get a buzz without causing the person with you to loose theirs. Three times is babysitting, and you don't want to do that." Eddie explained as you exhaled for the second time.

Eddie could taste the remnants of sweet artificial strawberry lip gloss around the edge of the joint as he took his turn to hit. You watched him, trying to make note of everything that he did. His Adam's apple dipped down as he inhaled the smoke, stayed stagnant as he held it for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, seconds, then bobbed back up as he exhaled through puckered lips. You wondered if you looked as nice as he did when you smoked.

"How will I know when it kicks in?" You asked in between your first and second hit.

"You'll know." His forefinger began to tap rhythmically on your knee, you were not in band but you could recognize 4/8 time.

"But how?" You passed it back to him barely able to focus on counting your hits because of the drumming of his guitar calloused fingers.

"You just will." He took the joint away from you. "Maybe you should wait a few minutes before you smoke anymore of this, we don't know how high your tolerance is."

"Eddieeee," You whined, making grabby-hands and causing him to hold it farther out of your reach.

"Just wait five minutes, then you can have it back." He said like it pained him to tell you no.

"But you're not taking a break."

"Because I know how much I can take, you on the other hand, princess, might over exert yourself." Eddie took a fourth hit and then a fifth, you watched him as you waited in anticipation for the drugs effects to kick in, jealous that you couldn't keep up with him.

"Babysitter," you mumbled, a tad bit more out loud than you'd meant to.

Eddie choked on the smoke as he playfully slapped your knee and broke out in laughter, you did too. You couldn't help yourself, the sound of his jubilation was just that contagious.

"I am not," Eddie laughed as he released a puff of smoke.

"You are so," You almost couldn't choke the words out for the way you were giggling, it seemed as though everything was way funnier now that the drug was in your system. "You're like the President of the Babysitters Club."

"I'm already the President of the Hellfire Club, and I can't be the President of two clubs, no one has time for that."

"Oh, how could I forget about the cult of virgins," you rolled your eyes as you released a guttural laugh.

Eddie slapped your arm playfully as he tried to force himself to stop laughing and feign sincerity. "We are not virgins."

You gave him a you-have-to-be-shitting-me look and he spoke again. "Fine, I'm not a virgin, the rest of the club's virginity is... undisclosed." You were both laughing so hard now either of you could barely speak.

"The leader of the cult of virgins isn't even a virgin. My life is a lie."

As Eddie took another hit you could tell just by looking at him he had some sort of burning question, but when he handed the joint back to you, you were so grateful to have the drug back in your possession that any thought of prying whatever he had to say out of him completely slipped your mind.

This time you didn't even have to think of each step that Eddie had told you as you smoked, you preformed the actions almost instinctively.

"How old were you when you first started smoking?" you asked innocently.

"Around fourteen if we're talking weed. Twelve if we're talking cigarettes. What about you?"

"This is my first time smoking anything."

"Not even cigs?" Eddie looked astounded.

"Not even cigs. My parents would flip their shit if they caught me smoking.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Eddie was chewing on his bottom lip. You couldn't stop staring, and you were beginning to think he was starting to notice. You handed the joint back to him.

"yea, because having strict parents is everyone's dream."

"I think it'd be nice to have someone care for you so much that they want to protect you like that. My parents didn't give a shit, and my uncle gave a few shits but maybe if he'd given a few more I wouldn't be here right now."

"My parents give entirely too many shits, and I'm here too."

"Because of me."

"Because I want to be."

Eddie took a deeper inhale this time, holding the smoke in his lungs for a longer time than you'd seen him yet. When he spoke his tone was different. Huskier. "You're a little spitfire, you know that?"

You gazed at him through the smokescreen, watching to see if he expected a response. "Only sometimes." You said finally.

"Do you think i'm a bad influence on you?"

"Yes." You said simply. Eddie smirked at you, bringing the joint up to your lips himself. "I have too many good influences, I'm in need of a bad one." You said softly as you exhaled.

The room was slowly beginning to spin. Maybe it was spinning this entire time and you just noticed it. You couldn't tell. The shadows on the wall became animated; the noises outside amplified. You were cold and too hot all at once. The lines separating Eddie's figure from the wall began to blur and you had the sudden thought that Eddie was going to fall through the wall at any moment. You grabbed hold his shirt collar and pulled him toward you.

"I'm having so much fun." He was so close now that you had no choice but to look into his eyes. Then you had another thought, "I want to kiss you."

You hadn't meant to say that aloud.

"I think you've smoked too much."

"I think so too." You laughed hard and loud. Eddie could get used to hearing that sound. "I still want to kiss you though."

"Shh," Eddie's hand clasped over your mouth suddenly, cutting off your laughter. The metal of his rings sinking into the plush flesh of your lips. You fell silent at once, as you did you could hear the faint sound of jingling keys crossing the door.

"I thought you said no one used this hallway." Fear was evident in your voice.

"They don't...usually." Eddie smiled at you cheekily as he pressed his hand further into your lips, as if that would stop you from asking anymore questions.

"What if someone comes in here?" You whispered through Eddie's hand.

"They won't," Eddie answered, somehow deciphering your mumbles.

"But what if they do?"

"Then you'll let me do the talking."

"But—"

"Shh, you're making yourself paranoid, dear. I've brought people in here loads of times and we haven't been caught yet."

"Oh." The admission hurt worse than you thought it should've. Your stomach turned and suddenly you weren't worried about whoever was outside anymore, instead your mind reeled with the images of him knocking knees in the janitors closet with another girl.

Eddie must have realized his mistake as he quickly blurted, "No, no, not like that—I mean..." But you didn't hear the rest of his explanation because you felt something lurch in your throat, and knew with a sudden sureness that you were about to spill your guts. This time, you meant it literally.

"Eddie..." You pushed his hand away from your mouth and tried to warn him of what was to come, but he just kept talking. You leaned over his lanky legs and felt around in the dark, just having time to grip onto what you hoped was a mop bucket and retched right in front of him

"Oh shit. Are you okay?" As soon as Eddie realized what was happening he gently grabbed the end of your ponytail, keeping it out of your face. Your answer came in the form of another wave of nausea.

"I'm sorry." Tears of discomfiture rolled down your face and you didn't know how to stop them. You tasted the drug in your mouth and throat and your stomach churned once more, this time it was out of substance to surge up.

"Hey, hey, it's alright." Eddie helped you sit up against the wall and handed you a bottle of water from his bag.

The water mingled with the tears that trickled down your chin as you drank. Your mind, still gone from the marijuana, barely registered Eddie softly grabbing your jaw and wiping your mouth with his thumb before disposing of the sick residue on a set of green and white microfiber towels you thought you recognized from the annual cheerleader car wash fundraiser. "It's my fault. I knew I should've made you stop earlier, you just looked so... Never mind."

You were too woozy to pry, but when you looked up at him with woozy eyes—You couldn't tell if your vision was blurry from tears or from the drug—He seemed sincere.

"It's not your fault," You murmured, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you became hyperaware of Eddie's hand still holding your chin and the way he seemed to be studying you with red-rimmed eyes. Your eyes darted to his lips, then to his lunchbox where the mostly smoked joint lay snuffed out on the lid. when had he done that? When you turned you attention back to him, his eyes were on your chest. Instinctively, your hand shot up covering your breast.

"I-I wasn't...It's just..You've, uh, got a little something," Eddie pointed to your chest, and as you dropped your hand you saw where a spot of sick stained your uniform.

"Shit," You huffed, holding back another wave of tears, "Great, now I've got to go around for three more periods with vomit on my top."

"I have an extra shirt in my bag if you want to borrow it." Eddie offered, already hopping up to dig around in his backpack for it. When his hand emerged he was holding a crumpled baseball tee, the picture of a smiling demon printed onto the fabric. "It's, um...," He smelled it and tried to hold back his reaction. "At least it doesn't have puke on it." He offered you his hand to help you up off the floor.

"Thanks." You smiled as he pulled you up, you couldn't help but to notice the way the veins in his arm tensed as he took on your weight. "Thanks for this too," You took the shirt from him eagerly, though it really did reek.

"It's no problem, really." Eddie's words were followed by an awkward silence, neither of you sure how to best approach the situation next.

"Are you going to just stand there and watch me change?" You asked him playfully, hoping the sarcasm masked the giddy nerves at the thought of him seeing your indecent exposure.

"Did you want me to?" Eddie responded with just as much sarcasm. He put his hands in his pockets and lightly whistled as he turned to face the opposite wall.

"Perv, you won't even kiss me and you think I'm going to let you see me naked."

"I don't fancy kissing the same lips I watched your lunch spill from five minutes ago." You could hear the smile in his voice. "What was it that they were serving today? Cheeseburgers?"

"Sloppy joe, actually." You retorted.

"Even worse."

"Whatever happened to 'In sickness and in health?'"

"I didn't know we we married."

"As if I would marry you."

"You'd kiss me though?"

"On second thought, you said you'd had countless girls in here, get one of them to kiss you."

"I said I had brought countless people here. Not girls."

"Touche." In the dark you fumbled around to find the zipper of your uniform, patting around with blind eyes attempting to yank it down. After three failed attempts you sighed, "Eddie, can you help me?" You heard him hum in the dark. "I think my zipper is stuck."

You heard his boots— Doc martens, he must have had to save up for a while to afford those—squeak on the floor as he turned to face you again. Wordlessly you held your hair away from your neck and lowered your head, giving him permission to partially unclothe you.

His left hand sat on your waist, the other at the base of your neck, slowly slipping the zipper down. You heard his breath hitch as the garment fell from your shoulders, the back of your torso now completely visible to him. He watched with eager eyes the movement of your shoulder blades in the dark as you let the top fall from your arms before throwing it on top of your backpack. The outline of your breasts cast in shadow from the flashlight which lay abandon on the floor. "I need you to help me put my—your—shirt on."

"Why can't you do it?" He asked, but he didn't sound like he minded fulfilling the request one bit.

"Because m'too dizzy."

As Eddie took a slow step toward you, you allowed yourself to fall into him, cheek pressed against his shoulder, bare breasts against his chest. If you listened closely you could swear you could hear the heavy beating of his heart. "M'tired and you're warm."

"You're a hot wreck," He shook his head full of frizzy hair. Slowly, he held your loose limbs skyward, slipping the shirt on over your head.

"Don't mess up my hair," you warned, not sounding nearly as tough as you meant to.

"Impossible." Eddie smoothed his shirt over your green skirt, the fabric loose and long on your frame, a stark change from your tight cheerleading uniform. He pretended to adjust the shirt in the back, but it was just an excuse to have his arms around you.

"I like this. I like you." The words came tumbling out, the drug alleviating all apprehension.

"You're high. You don't mean that." Eddie looked like those words hurt him to say. "Tell it to me when you're sober."

"I will."

With slow blinks you came to the realization that Eddie was waiting on you to move away first. with unsure movements you stretched your shoulders, reminding him of a baby bird just coming to the shocking realization that it has wings.

"Does it look okay?" you stepped back from him, motioning to your outfit.

Eddie's reply came out in a thousand stumbles and stutters, in awe at the sight of you, but eventually he managed to choke out a yes.

The taller man stepped toward you once more, putting a delicate hand on your cheek and shifting your gaze to him as he pulled a small bottle out of his pocket. He dropped the liquid into his own eyes first, and then angled the bottle over yours. "Don't blink."

"What do we need that for?" You squinted as the droplets made contact with your lenses.

"Takes away the red." Eddie replied simply before giving himself a few more drops. You gave him a look of confusion. "Weed widens the blood vessels in your eyes."

"Will they ever go back to normal?" Your voice was full of concern.

"Of course, honey. Y'know, I think this might be the only subject that I know more than you in," Eddie laughed as he knelt down and began to pack his things back into his backpack.

"I could tutor you sometime, y'know, in exchange for this," You leaned against the wall to keep yourself from falling.

"You want to hang out with me?" He acted more shocked at this admission than the one before it.

"Hey, I said tutor not hangout." You laughed, "But, you're not too bad, so I guess if you wanted to hang out, I'll allow it. plus, I get this cool t-shirt, which so totally doesn't smell like weed and the bottom of a gym bag."

Eddie threw his head back, laughing like a loon. "Hey, that's my signature scent. And, only members of the Hellfire Club get those. So, that means you're in."

"I want to hang out with you, not every nerd in Hawkins High."

"They're my friends."

"Well, your friends are nerds."

"Listen here, hot stuff, you've got my shirt, you're in my club."

"Ed's," you groaned, taking time to roll the nickname around on your tongue. It sounded good. Eddie thought so too.

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