#also sorry for how ugly the horses look i Cannot draw horses anymore

[wanderer-clarisse]

Galadriel hunting with her brothers !

here's Finrod, Galadriel, Aegnor, and Angrod! Orodreth is either resting at home, or this drawing takes place in the universe where he isn't a son of Finarfin, haha. but anyways I hope you enjoy!

[bunnyart-blog]

Tovar x Reader: Honeysuckle, horsehair, and halberd. "You are weak with love for her."

I’m so sorry this took me twELVE ACTUAL YEARS to write but after much struggle it is done. This takes place in the same universe as this and this, which. I have now named the Honeysuckle Universe in honour of you for always indulging my Tovar fantasies. Also this is from Tovar’s POV pls go easy on me I have no idea how this reads 

Words: 7K

Rating: MA (explicit sexual scenes, some violence)

Summary: Tovar leaves the cottage, only to return to it much earlier than planned. 

. 

The tavern feels miles from the cottage. It is full to bursting, shouting and drinking and cheering spilling out into the dim around it. William waits for him outside, looks lost with the absence of his bow, picking at something on his trouser. The Germans were inside already, he explains when Tovar arrives, almost at dusk. The thickness of the forest around the large wooden building makes the world seem darker than it is. William pushes up and follows Tovar to the stable, shows him to the stall next to his own horse. He does not ask why Tovar is late, and Tovar does not have to lie that he could not have beared to leave you any earlier that morning. Did not have to lie about the delay which came from the small gift you had given him before he left, hanging now from a chain around his neck. A small ring. Tovar hands his horse to the stable boy with a bronze piece and follows William inside.

The Germans are at a low table in the corner, empty drinks around them already. Heinrich, the bigger of the two and a large man by any measure, is laughing. Tall and dirty, with a slick of long blonde hair and a beard which might have been red were it not so covered in grime and dust from the road. Otte is smaller, darker and has drunk much less. Nods at Tovar and William as they tuck into the table. William tries to lead the conversation, tries to talk about the job ahead. The four of them, hired as guard for some lord making the travel from the North country to the Asian Steppe. But Heinrich is raucous, drunk already, and not interested in talk of work. He wants to reminisce of their last job, of the bloodshed, of the women he plans on fucking. Otte is quiet, and William gives up. Tovar has not listened since they sat down, has pulled the chain from around his neck and fiddles with it.

He stares down at the pendant in his hand. It had looked small in yours, but in his it is miniscule. A thick band of gold like a ring, but much too small for his finger, plated with a gold flower which stands off the smooth surface. Honeysuckle. Like the bush that grows outside your cottage, the smells of sweetness and of you. The inside is inscribed with a single word. A word he cannot read and does not recognise. You had been nervous to give it to him. Unable to meet his eye. Insisted if he didn���t want it he did not have to take it, not just to spare your feelings. He rolls the ring over in his palm, watches the way the chain catches the light. It’s a thick chain and is bronze instead of gold. He tries to imagine you, the money which you had planted in the ground and grown with your hands, hard earned through soil. Saved for months, that little coin purse at the back of your cutlery drawer you had stopped checking he had stolen. Just to buy him this – a trinket. Some piece of jewellery. One which you had no need for. Knew that he had no need for either. Just given it to him because it was pretty, and because you wanted it. To serve as a reminder. It’s worth could have fed you for weeks. Bought you enough of the yellow cotton you had stared so longingly at in the dressmaker’s window. Enough to make you the dress you desperately wanted. The small thing feels heavier than it could possibly be.

Heinrich snatches it out of his open palm, laughing. “And where did you swindle this?”

The German holds it up between them, Tovar’s eyes follow the ring as it swings on the end of the chain, glimmering in the low light of the fire. Forces himself to still in the chair, not to grab at it. He grunts. “Give it back.”

“You know the rules, Tovar.” Heinrich curls his fist around the chain. Too big and rough for something so delicate. “All for all.”

“This is not from a job.” Tovar struggles to keep his face smooth. “This is the agreement for the job.”

“Who’d you steal it from?” Heinrich lifts the ring closer to his face. Then his smile turns malicious. Ugly. He grins with all his dirty teeth. “Did you steal it from your widow?”

The rest of the party has been drawn in, watch with curious eyes as Heinrich throws the necklace straight up into the air and catches it again in his waiting palm. Tovar can’t stop the jump of his shoulders, the instinct to reach for it. The fear that the man will let it clatter to the floor. But he does not move fast enough. Heinrich’s grin is all bared teeth and snarl, throws it up again and this time Tovar moves with purpose, leans across the table to catch it. But Heinrich snatches it before he can and pulls it out of his reach. Tovar slams his fist onto the table and Heinrich laughs. Otte and William shift with the tension, watch the two men with wary eyes.

“How much do you think we can sell it for?” The German hums in mock thoughtfulness. Has the look of a man who knows he has found something important. “We could stay in inns for a week, all of us for this!”

“You’ve had your fun, Heinrich.” William sounds tired. Takes a deep drink from his pint. “Give it back.”

Tovar closes his eyes, breaths a silent sigh. Open his eyes again and finds Heinrich laughing again. The sound is uglier than his smile. Heinrich holds the ring up to the light and then slaps his open hand down flat on the tabletop. The ring in his hand scraps across the wood as he drags it back towards himself. Clinks against the slats in the table. Tovar clenches his fist tighter. Doesn’t bother to try and hide is fury anymore. Heinrich leans forward, pushes his weight of the table.

“Are you going to give it to her?” He is close enough that Tovar can smell the bitterness of his ale on his breath. “Does our friend buy his little whore gifts, now?”

“Enough Heinrich.” William says, while at the same time Otte says, “Give it back.”

Tovar watches Heinrich, still and quiet. Releases his fist on the table, tenses ready. Lets the big man lean close enough that his balance is all the way over the table and his ass has lifted off his seat. Holds his gaze. And then Tovar snaps up, grabs him by his dirty blond beard, yanks him even further forward. Stands, grabs the back of the man’s head and slams it down against the tabletop. There’s an awful crack, the sound of his nose breaking, and a wet cry. William yells, Otte is on his feet, knife in hand. Tovar lifts the man again by his hair, crouches down low so that he is level with Heinrich’s already swelling eyes and gushing nose.

“You do not touch my things,” Tovar murmurs to him, soft and gentle, like he would talk to his horse. Some skittish animal. “Yes?”

Heinrich glares, struggles to do it has the blood begins to run into his teeth. Tovar yanks him by his hair again, harsh enough to make the man gargle a cry, yell. “Fine!”

“Give the necklace to me.”

Heinrich is slow to move again but he lifts his weight off his hand. Pushes the necklace across the wood again, harder, makes the scraping loud and deliberate. Lifts it up and drops it into the hand Tovar puts under his nose. The chain falls with a soft tinkling.

Tovar looks down at it. Smiles, too friend, too big. “I want to hear you say it.”

Heinrich licks his lips. Dribbles blood into his heard. “Say what?”

“I will not touch your things, Tovar. I would like to hear these words from you.”

Heinrich pulls, tries to manouver out of Tovar’s grip, but Tovar tightens his hold on the man’s hair, clenches it so tightly the ruddy skin of the man’s face pulls back. Shakes him. Heinrich makes a noise, a sound of defeat and braces his arms against the table.

“I will…” Heinrich struggles with the words. With the thickness in his nose and the blood in his throat. “I will not touch your things, Tovar.”

Tovar smiles bigger. “Good. This is good.”

He releases his fingers slowly from the tangles mess of blonde. Cups the back of Heinrich’s head, draws him even closer, until their foreheads almost touch. Chuckles when the man flinches away from him. Tovar shushes him, pats him gently, his palm meeting the back of Heinrich’s head. Still treats him like he would his horse, a dog. Laughs louder when he releases him. Heinrich lurches back, lands hard in his chair. Otte has his blade still out, unsure, hovering by his countryman. William is still in his seat, eyes Tovar with disapproval. Says nothing. Tovar straightens and closes his fist around the chain and the ring on it. Feels the jittering surge of relief.

The tavern around them is completely silent, onlookers watching to see the result of the scuffle. The barman has moved to the public side of the bench, away from his post. A rag slung over his shoulder and arms crossed. Tovar pushes away from the table. Wipes his mouth along the back of his forearm and sniffs at the men before him. He picks his way through the crowd, lets it part for him, stop before the barman and presses two coins onto the counter next to him. For the commotion and for the drinks. The barman pulls the rag at his shoulder away and picks up the coins. Inspects them briefly. Drops them into the small purse at his hip and nods. Murmurs pick up through the crowd again. Tovar moves towards the door again, finds his way back the way he had come in not an hour before and out into the night. Night well and truly fallen now, dark except for the orange glow of the tavern lantern lit beneath a swaying sign. Still and calm compared to the din which has picked up again inside the wall, squares of light illuminating patches of earthen road outside, trampled by hoof and boot.

Tovar is still clutching the ring. He slips it on over his head and tucks it beneath his cuirass and tunic and lets the little, warm thing sit there against his skin. Puts his hand over it, only a tiny bump beneath layers of linen and leather. He tries to remember the last time anyone gave him something, anything, simply for being.

He can’t.

The door swings open behind him. Tovar sighs and doesn’t have to turn to know who has followed him. Heinrich is a hulking man, larger than him, taller by almost a head and stronger. Thick arms and legs and a body like a barrel. There is blood on his shirt and in his beard, beginning to cake and dry into black clumps and stains Staring up at him now Tovar realises his mistake in picking this fight with him. But he can’t bring himself to regret it. Drops his hand from the spot near his heart and rests it against the hilt of his sword at his hip. Idle and easy, hoping he does not have to draw it. Heinrich has not drawn his or moved to do so. Just stares at him, breath clouding in the cooling autumn air. Puffs of anger dissipating into the darkness as they fade.

Neither of them moves.

Tovar turns again and makes for the stables. Has to lift his boots high out of the trodden path to clear the mud from every step so he does not slip. He can hear Heinrich following after him and keeps his hand on his sword. The stable boy is half asleep, slumped against the wall and jumps at the sound of boots through the mud. Tovar tosses him a bronze piece and winks, jerks his head towards the grain room at the back of the wooden structure. The boy stares at him, at the coin, and then spots Heinrich following him through the dark. Nearly slips as he passes between the settled horses and disappears into the hidden space. Tovar moves to his horse.

“You stupid man,” Heinrich says from the door.

Tovar pulls his saddle from its place on the wall. “You are the one with broken nose. Which one of us is really stupid?”

“It’s you, you fool.” Heinrich steps closer. “Another job you’re leaving. What about England? You refused that, and now you’re leaving this as well.”

“Travel by sea does not agree with me.”

“Horse shit.”

Tovar pulls at the straps of the saddle until they are tight at the front, straps the back around as well. Heinrich moves from the huge door of the stable closer to his stall, gets right up to it and blocks the way out. Lit by the lamp in the middle of the stable Tovar can see the deformed swelling of his broken nose. He does not stop in his task, fits the headstall over the mare with gentle hands.

“It’s that widow. You are weak with love for her.” Heinrich crosses his arms over his chest. “So weak you cannot take our work anymore.”

“Maybe I am sick of the sight of you, hmm?” Tovar throws his packs over the horses’ rump. Begins buckling them into the saddle. “Maybe I cannot stand you.”

“Never bothered you before.”

“You are jealous?” Tovar finally stops, turns to look at the huge man in the doorway. “Would you like for me to buy you necklace?”

“You are going to ruin this job for everyone.”

“Keep this job then.” He says. “I know I am not welcome now that I ruin your pretty face.”

Heinrich does not move when Tovar leads his mare forwards, stands blocking the whole doorway to the stall. Stares down his crooked nose at Tovar.

“Is it fighting you want?” Tovar asks wearily. He has one hand wrapped around the reins, the other pets the mare’s neck comfortingly. “Will we duel here in these stables in the shit and the dirt?”

Heinrich does not move, does not reach for his sword or flinch. He looks briefly at the face of the horse before him and then back to Tovar. Considers it, considers fighting him. His pale eyes roam the length of his body and back up. The air seems to grow thinner and thinner until finally Heinrich yields. He steps to the side, only just enough for them to fit through the space, Tovar brushes his shoulder against him as he walks. Leads the horse out into the wide middle of the stable and tucks his foot into the stirrup. Swings up and over. He looks down at the German before he leaves, now several feet taller than him. Heinrich watches him with a lowered brow and a grimace. Tovar clicks and pushes the mare out into the night.

.

The cottage is completely dark when he arrives in the deepest hours of the morning. The world cold and quiet, only the rustle of trees in the wind. The road had been long and empty and felt miles longer than when he had ridden it earlier the day before. But it was easier, because the road was leading back to you, thinks of how your body will feel beneath him when he arrives. Of the sounds you will make in the quiet, as loud as he will be able to encourage from you. He dismounts at the gate, clucks quietly to the horse as he leads it to your tiny stable. Shushes the mule inside when it wakes at the sounds. The animal quiets quickly under his touch. He means to move quickly, to settle his mare and go to you, to find you and the warmth of your touch and the heat of your body. To find his way to your sheets and lose himself in the feeling of you everywhere around him, the taste of you on his tongue. To fuck you so deeply into the sheets that the next day you will not be able to leave him. But he finds himself lingering with the animals. The occasional rustle of the hens, the smell of turned soil and growth. Of honeysuckle. His hand lingers at the necklace beneath his shirt. He is not as angry anymore, now that he is at the cottage.

He tends his horse, diligently and thoroughly. Murmurs his thanks to her, for carrying him hours in the morning and then through the night, with little rest. Dips into the grain bag you have stored in the makeshift stable and fill both the animal’s troughs. Pours more water from the spare bucket for them both. Sweeps the floor and tidies the space and finds himself calming with every stroke. Cleans until the dawn begins to lighten the heavy sky.

Inside it is quiet and still. He picks his way through the kitchen and into the bedroom. Can just make out the shape of your shoulder and the curve of your neck, illuminated in the dim. He seats himself, sets your working boots to the side where they sit by the door and slowly unlaces himself from his armour. Pulls off the layers of leather and padding and his boots. Leaves again to fill the wash basin and rinses his body, scrubs the dirt from the road from his hands and face. He would not bother, were it not for you, knows you will fuss over him is he does not. Does not want the smell of the day to linger in your sheets or on your skin. He empties the basin again through the window and onto the grass below. Sets it back carefully in its place and checks the room, checks he has not left anything which will trip you when you wake in too few hours with the call of the rooster in the yard. Feels something in his heart and his stomach settle at his small pile of things, stacked next to yours in the corner of the room. Realises he is too tired to wake you or fuck you. Wants nothing more than to sink into the bed beside you and sleep.

He settles his weight as gently as he can on the bed behind you. Tries not to jostle you. He murmurs your name softly and lets his hand rest just by his fingertips against the soft, exposed skin of your shoulder. You begin to stir, to shift slightly beneath the covers of the bed. He draws his fingertips around your shoulder once again and then down to your neck, shifts the hair away from it and bends to kiss the muscle between your neck and shoulder. You hum. Still half asleep. Turn towards him and sigh.

“Flor pequeña,” he murmurs. Presses his lips to your forehead now that you face him. Breathes in the smell of you.

You reach for him through the darkness. “Pero?”

“I am here. Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter open, just enough that your lidded gaze catches the shape of him.  He begins to draw the covers away, slips beneath them while you make room for him in your arms, stretch them towards him until you find his undershirt, his wrist. Pull him to you as he lays with you in the bed. He moves a hand beneath you, his other over your hip, and he rests your body against his. You adjust to him, press your cheek to his chest and your lips against the small scar under his collarbone. Let him wrap himself around you and brush his fingers through your hair. He falls asleep to the softness of your breath on his skin and the faint feeling of your heart beating against his ribs.

.

You are gone when he wakes.

He feels so soft against the sheets he can barely move, can barely turn his head to see the brightness of the day streaming through the window. The sounds of work outside are close, knows you had been working your way through your small property in preparation for winter, that you must nearly be done to be back so close to the house. Hears the hens loose in the yard, right outside the window, clawing the soil and clucking. He closes his eyes again and smiles into the pillow.

He rises slowly, dresses slowly. Wanders around the room in just his trousers and undershirt, fiddles with the pendant he had worn through the night. Pulls it out now that it is bright and he can see, and inspects the surface of it. Sags when it is undamaged. Sits with it on the bed for some time, just listening to life around him, the smell of the cottage and of your skin which lingers in the space, watching the way the light moves across the gold surface. His chest aches with being so close to you, with knowing that you are just beyond the next room, and that if you will have him he will stay the day with you and the night again. And just like the night before he is happy just to be, to sit and be at peace.

He goes to find you, drifts through the cottage and out through the back of the kitchen, finds you kneeling in the garden and he waits in the small doorway, just to watch you and not yet be seen. You are humming while you work, a soft and pretty melody he has not heard before. He leans against the frame of the back door and listens to the sounds of it, the sound of your spade digging into the earth and turning it, sifting soil, and the clucking of the roaming hens, the sound of your voice. Not a voice which would perform before an audience, a voice which you are too shy to raise in other company, but has sung for him before. And now it has all the charm of someone who does not know they are watched or heard. Tovar thinks it is beautiful, that you are beautiful, covered in dirt and pink with exertion in the midmorning sun. You sing some of the words, words which are syrupy with sweetness, make promises of love and of eternity. Wonders if it was the kind of love you had with your husband before he died, this sort of gentle, beautiful thing which does not belong in his life. Which he has no right to claim.

He feels suddenly out of place, like there is something moving beneath his feet and he cannot escape it. Feels stupid for coming, for racing back to you, for sacrificing a job which would have yielded great reward. Stupid for seeking you when he has no place here in the cottage, touched by your hands which have only every made things grow and bloom with life. Touching you with his, hands which have killed.

He watches you for some time, quiet and still, until you fade from one song to the next, drifting between melodies. You fold out a handkerchief on the ground beside you, your skirts gathered all around you, and sift through the seeds which are encased inside. Tuck away a strand of hair which has come loose from your braid and continue to hum. He feels all at once as though he has no place and that he belongs there, with you, and he cannot regret returning, cannot regret waking in your bed. You turn to scoop some seeds from beside you and catch the sight of his feet in the doorway when you do. You turn, lay down your small spade and wipe your hands off against your apron.

“I thought I was dreaming last night,” you smile at him.

“No. Not dreaming.”

“I thought you said you would be gone for months. What of your job in the North?”

Tovar shakes his head, watches the way the sunlight paints you against the grass and the soil. Steps away from the doorway and down into the grass below. Moves slowly towards you. “It got called off,” he lies.

You hold up a hand, reach for him to join you. “I was very happy to wake with you still there. Normally when I dream you come back I have to wake to an empty bed. That is the worst of it.”

“You dream of me?” He stops just before you. Brushes your knuckles with his thumb.

The pink which fills your cheeks and your bashful smile glows. “Very often.”

He hums quietly and settles into the ground beside you. You fidget, nervous, catch his eye and then look away, at his mouth, his neck, his scar. You don’t flinch away at it, at him. Have pressed gentle kisses to it between pants of his name. So tender and soft. You reach for him now and thread your hands through his, let him lift you hand towards him and ghost his nose along your knuckles, lean close enough to press his lips to a cleaner spot further up your arm, clear of dirt. Nuzzle against the skin there and then pull away.

The words rise and lift and come all the way to the edge of his lips before he realises, they are there, waiting to be said. That Heinrich was right, and he is weak for you. And in love with you. That he had ridden through the night to return to your small cottage to tell you it.

“What do you dream of?” He asks.

You turn back to the garden, dig to distract yourself from his question. The small beds nearest your house are always the ones you tend last, dug up now in neat little rows before the change of the season to winter. You pat around the edges of your small ditches, each one next to a little pile of dirt to refill the hole. “I dream of all different things,” you say. “I dreamed of the day we met recently.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” You reach into your handkerchief of seeds and begin pinching them out, scattering them into the holes in the earth one at a time and carefully filling them back in again. “You bought tomatoes.”

“You gave me a flower.”

He does not say he had seen you many days before that, with your mule, walk to the marketplace with your goods. He does not say he had taken his time to finally come to talk to you, to work up the bravery to approach you. Had watched you from a distance from his camp and thought you were too pretty, too soft to want to talk to him.

You flush. “I thought you were very handsome.”

He hums thoughtfully, lifts his hand to wrap his fingers in a loose strand of your hair, twists it between them. Watches the way it curls around his knuckles. “I did not scare you?”

“No.” You turn back towards him, dirty hands fisted in your apron. Frowning. “No, you were kind to me. The other soldiers…” You glance down. “Some of them scared me. But you were… you were very gentle.”

“Not as gentle as I should have been.”

He sees you know his meaning. Watches the pretty way the colour in your cheeks darkens and you fidget away from his eyes. Even after he has known your body in so many ways, so many times since then. “It felt good,” you say quietly. “I liked it.”

He is quiet, rubs the strands of your hair between his fingers.

“My husband, he never… it used to hurt, sometimes. With him.”

“He hurt you?”

Tovar watches your eyes fall again. Embarrassed. Feels the heat of fury fill his chest even though your husband is now long dead, and there is no way to fix what he has done. No way to make him sorry for making his wife feel ashamed of admitting to pain. Ashamed of asking to be touched, of feeling pleasure. That even now, after a year, you are sometimes too nervous to make any sounds, to let yourself have release.

“He was not a bad man. He did not try to hurt me on purpose.” You are fiddling with the hem of your apron, picking at the spot where the seam is beginning to come lose. “He just did not know, I think. He didn’t know how to make me feel good.”

“And you never told him?” Tovar knows, he knows it is a stupid question. He knows you had been young when you married, had never had anyone to ask what was right and what was wrong. That your mother had made it very clear to you your duties as a wife. That you had followed them. And that you had loved your husband, despite his inadequacies. And it does not stop the feeling. That he wishes he could have changed it for you. Still angry at the man who had brought you pain, no matter how unintentional, or how small. His hand moves higher in your hair until it rests against your neck, finger tangle closer until they are against your scalp at the base of your head.

“I didn’t know it could feel…” You shiver, only slightly. He can only feel it where his hand sits against your skin. Sees your eyes glaze slightly at some memory. “I didn’t know it could feel how you make it feel.”

“You should never be with anyone who makes you hurt.” He is fierce. His fingers press into your scalp only slightly, but it is enough. Sees the goose bumps race along the trail of your neck and collarbones. “You must not allow anyone to hurt you. It is not right.”

“I don’t need anyone else.” He watches your quiet surprise as the words slip out. “I have you.”

He knows his face has gone slack with surprise, and you are a mirror of him. You had not meant to say those words to him, he can see it clearly, that you had felt too much and spoken too quickly. Nervous, the same look as when you had given him the pendant. The same look of expectant fear, as if he would ever reject you, as if he did not already love you with his whole heart, his whole soul. He surprises himself with the ferocity of his own feelings, with how suddenly he is overcome by them all. He is still staring at you, still quiet, and you begin to draw away.

“I’m sorry – ”

“Wait.” His hand in your hair turns to a soft fist, not tugging but holding you steady. “Do not be sorry for this.”

“I don’t – I don’t need anything in return. I don’t expect you to – to only… with me.” You search his eyes, are looking for something, but he does not know what. Does not know what to give you. “I don’t ask that of you.”

He loosens his fist, slowly, when he is sure you will not leave. Flattens his palm around the back of your neck, cups your head gently. His thumb rubbing small circles at the skin just behind your ear. His other hand holds the pendant hanging around his neck, burning a hole through his skin, joining the brand of your name he is sure must be on his heart. He holds it through the linen shirt, can feel the shape of it better through the thinner fabric. It is not hot, that is only in his mind. He can feel how hard his heart is beating. You are watching his eyes still, still searching. Are willing to give him so much and not ask for it in return. He has not told you his love for you, and you would let him leave you. He does not know what to give you, what he can give you that is equal to you.

“You do not need to ask this of me,” he says. “It is already yours.”

He wants, very badly, to kiss you. Wants to pull you against him and not let go. But instead he moves around the little bundle of seeds so he can hold you without disturbing them, settles behind you and wraps a leg either side of yours on the ground and pulls your back against him. Lets you lay your head back on his shoulder and sigh, sit your weight against him. He looks down as your eyes slip closed and you turn your face into his neck, tip your jaw up and brush your lips against his skin. His hands find yours, closes his eyes and gently holds your fingers with him, touches against your knuckles, the callouses at the base of your palm, outlines the shape of your hands with him thumb. Your lips are so soft, brush against his Adam’s apple, the tendon in his neck, the hollow above his collarbone, makes his stomach twist and his chest ache. Your lips brush against the chain of the necklace and your eyelashes flutter against his skin. You untangle one of your hands from his and dip it below the top of his shirt. Feel along the chain until you reach the ring hanging from it and pull it loose.

You sit away from him enough to see him. He looks down at you and your eyes lift to his, full of wonder. “You’re wearing it.”

“Of course.”

He still wants to kiss you. Is scared of what words he will not be able to stop when he does. So instead he keeps his eyes locked with yours and lowers his mouth to the ring in your hand, brushes a kiss against it. Reveals in the way your gentle eyes darken and your lips part.

“I didn’t know if you liked it.”

He smiles. Kisses the ring again and then clasps his hand around yours, turns it over. Kisses the skin at the inside of your wrist where it is not covered in dirt from your work. Kisses a little higher along your arm, and then again almost at the inside of your elbow. His eyes always on yours. Feels you shiver at his touch.

“I love – ” He gives one more chaste kiss over a spot where the blue of your veins show through your skin. Changes his mind, just at the last second. “ – It. I love it, flor pequeña.”

The smile you give him – it is as if he has given you the world. As if him caring for this little necklace made it worth what you must have sacrificed to buy it for him. He is so full of everything he does not know if he can hold himself together. He will love the pendant with everything inside him if it will just make you smile like that. Will wake you with kisses to remind you of it. Will maybe soon not be so weak with his love that he will tell you it is not the necklace at all, it is you. Your heart, your soul, that he wants, that he would give everything for.

You lean back against him, your hand resting against his chest and over your shoulder, not letting go of the necklace. He kisses them again and then wraps both arms around you. The sky is a clear blue, bright and cloudless. The tops of the trees all around the cottage sway in a light breeze. Still warm in the sun, despite the coming chill of winter.

You other hand is still wrapped in his, tightens around his fingers and you turn your head towards his neck again and press more kisses to his warm skin. Not chaste little pecks as they had been before, he can feel the heat of your open mouth against his neck, the wetness of it. Hums when you suck a mark right at the base of it, and then you press just one little kiss on top of it. He fists his hands into the skirts of your dress, and then slowly begins to pull at it, lifting them to expose first your ankles and then your calves. Watches the way your breath catches, your eyes almost fluttering open. He lifts the hem of your dress until it is bunches all around your thighs, so much fabric swallows both of you up, draped over his knees either side of you as well.

You continue to mark his neck, move with more purpose. Lap occasionally at him when you have sucked at the skin or bitten into it. His hand lifts the hem of your dress, slip beneath the fabric. Trails gently along your thighs until he finds your crux. Dips his fingers idly through the hair there until he reaches your clit. Circles it, almost lazily and you push back into him, trying not to pant. Trying not to show how much so little has affected you. Your mouth breaks from his neck and your head lulls back over his shoulder, exposing the length of your smooth neck. He smiles, enjoys the brightness of the sun illuminating the way your eyebrows pinch and your mouth drops open. Kisses your neck where he can reach it and moves his fingers down, parts your slit and presses against where you have become slick and wet. Draws the fluid up again and circles it around your clit. You arch, he feels your head dig into his shoulder, feels you begin to shudder against him. Your grip around the necklace so tight the chain bites into his skin.

“I missed you,” he says. Finally lets himself press his lips to yours.

You are breathless. “Only… only gone a day.”

He kisses you again, harder now. Tastes you on his tongue. “Still missed you.”

He speeds his fingers up until you keen, until your whine into his mouth. Until you are unable to kiss him back anymore, your mouth just fallen open against his. Your body locks up. He gathers more of your juices in his palm and spreads them over you, coats them around his fingers and pushes inside you. Pumps one long, thick finger in and out of your pulsing cunt until you are shifting and rolling your hips against his hand. Carefully pushes in a second finger and curls them up against your walls, searching until you cry out. You release the necklace. Your hands grab at his thighs, at his knees. Dig your nails into his pants and the skin beneath. Gasping and writhing against him. He wants to stop, to bring you back down and then build you back up, over and over, until you are sobbing. But he is still raw from the confession of your husband’s inadequacies, still furious that you had not always been treated with the reverence you deserved. He curls his fingers again and again while you buck, his other arm holding you around your shoulders, so you do not slip or fall. You come with a wet gasp of his name.

His lips rest against your temple as he holds you against him. Let’s you ride out the course of your orgasm with his fingers still inside you, occasionally curling into the spot that makes a tear slip from the corner of your eye and trail down to where his lips are against you. Kisses it away, kisses the corner of your eye and then your cheek. Feels the tremors of your body begin to lessen. He waits until you blink your eyes open slowly to pull his fingers from you, to carefully extract his hand from beneath your skirts and lift it to his mouth. He licks them clean completely while you watch.

You kiss him afterwards, the taste of yourself against your tongue. Breathe his name between your mouths, something soft and treasured. Soon he will have to leave again, will have to find some employment or job, because he cannot bear staying with you and giving you nothing. But until then he will hold you, and he will help on the property as much as he is able. And he will wake up every morning to your smile, fall asleep to it at night. Catch the sound of his name leaving your lips with his mouth. Ask you what word is inscribed inside the ring on his necklace. He feels your silent hum of satisfaction and holds you tighter.

.

Perm Tags: @btillys @vercopaanir @damndamer0n @starwarsiscooliguess

[cryingbilldenbrough]

you should do a reddie where richie does something stupid and breaks his leg or where he gets the flu or something and then Eddie takes care of him,,,like that would be so fluffy and pure omg

anon i am so sorry about this but i cannot help where inspiration takes me. 

richie disappears into the Deadlights and eddie fears he’s lost him forever. 

his body is still there, limp and levitating impossibly over the dirt floor, head tipped back and arms spread out like a crucifixion, but he’s gone. his eyes are grey as they stare into the Spider’s own, unseeing and ghostly and eddie watches with horror as richie is pulled into the Void. 

bill is seizing, blood running from his nose to stain his lips and down his neck in thick rivulets and eddie traces it with his eyes, black in the darkness and dripping onto a dusty floor. richie’s staring upwards, almost to Heaven, but eddie knows better than that. he knows better than to think any of them are going anywhere other than the eternity of oblivion, hands locked tight in a circle as they run into the end together. 

eddie flinches as richie’s mouth drops open in a silent, endless scream. his teeth shine and there’s blood dripping out of his nose now that falls into his open mouth and stains it an ugly red. 

a moment ago, richie was saving them. he was running at It with his guns blazing, irish cop voice ringing out through the tunnels and echoing with the power of a thousand voices. 

and it was working. the spider was scared, screaming angrily and with a piercing fear that made eddie want to cover his ears and sink to his knees. 

it’s not working anymore. 

richie’s in the Deadlights now and eddie’s unsure if he’s ever going to come back. 

there’s faint speaking, the almost soundless murmur of richie and bill working together, the whisper of “take me to bill” and “LET ME GO” and a taunting “you’re toooo old”. eddie latches onto it, trying to pick up the conversation over the sound of dripping water and the vacuum of the Void.

the Spider might be winning, but it’s also distracted and this is eddie’s chance to do something. 

“come home now, bill,” he says, more to himself than anything else. “come home, richie,”

his prayer sent up, he takes a deep breath and steels himself for pain and blood. he exhales and then rushes at It, arm outstretched. his inhaler is pointed directly at Its eyes again, brandished and deadly only in his mind. 

the Spider’s eyes flick to him and eddie lets out a wild scream, his throat raw. 

that’s when bill and richie come back from the Deadlights. 

eddie can tell the exact moment richie is back in his body, head snapping back against his neck as if he’s been struck. his arms are outstretched and the magic leaves, tipping him backwards with a savage grace, almost as if he’s trust-falling.

eddie doesn’t catch him.

he tries, oh god he fucking tries. his shoes slide on the dusty ground and he spins on his heel to change his trajectory from running at It to running at richie. but he’s too slow, out of practice, sluggish as if caught in a dream. 

richie smacks the ground with the sound of a gunshot. his head cracks against the concrete and his skin is so pale, eyes finally closed from the Deadlights draw. eddie slides down to his knees next to him, pavement shredding the knees of his pants. he can see bill fall out of the corner of his eye but there’s no sound as bill hits the ground because ben is right there under him.

eddie watches as they go down together, ben catching bill’s dead weight in the way eddie couldn’t do for richie. 

eddie turns back to richie and brings his hands around richie’s face, cupping his head and trying not to jostle his neck too much. 

“richie,” he says, patting richie’s cheek. “rich!”

there’s still imminent danger, the Spider still looming somewhere behind him, but eddie can’t concentrate on anything that isn’t richie’s slack face. 

“richie!” he tries again, shaking richie despite the voice in the back of his head telling him not to touch him in case of a spine injury. 

there’s a scuttling sound behind him, an angry roar, as eddie can tell the Spider retreats. ben’s yelling after It, something about the Turtle, and eddie picks up on bill whispering something back to him in a hoarse voice but there’s no time for eddie to pay attention to them when richie is here in his arms, limp and cold. 

“richie, please wake up,” eddie cries, blinking back terrified tears. richie’s mouth moves, just a little bit, the inhalation of breath and eddie lets out the air in his own lungs, relieved. 

richie’s eyes flutter open, dazed and hazy, but they’re his normal brown and eddie wants to weep tears of joy because he’s alive he’s alive he’s okay

he’s shocked then when richie smiles at him and his teeth are covered in blood. his chest rises and falls shakily and he makes no move to get up. 

“can’t… feel m’ legs,” richie says, breath whistling between his barely open lips. eddie’s breath is punched out of him. the world narrows, past concrete walls dripping with water and blood, focusing solely on richie’s face. 

“what?” he asks, wind rushing in his ears as he tries to understand. he’s still got richie’s face in his hands and he runs his fingers down over his ears to clutch the back of his head, moving so richie’s head is pillowed in his lap, up off this dirty floor. 

it’s like his question makes richie realize what he said, take it all in, and now richie’s panicking. eddie can tell by the way his chest starts to rise and fall fast, like he’s hyperventilating, and god the shock is going to kill him before the Spider can, eddie realizes. 

“no, no, you’re okay,” eddie tries to soothe but he can’t keep the panic and fear out of his own voice. 

he feels bev slide down next to him, her hair brushing his face as she reaches over to take one of richie’s hands and squeeze it between both of her own. eddie doesn’t acknowledge her presence, too focused on making sure richie keeps taking steady, deep breaths. 

“rich,” he hears from behind him and turns away from richie’s face, pinpoint in the darkness, and sees bill balancing on ben’s shoulder. “we gotta finish the job, richie,” his voice is shredded, tongue bloody and raw from Its phantom grip and it seems like it pains him to talk. 

“gonna… have to… go on… without me, big bill,” richie forces out, slow and hoarse. eddie sees the moment bill realizes what’s going on, sees richie’s head in eddie’s lap and the way his fingers are twitching in bev’s grip but his legs are still sprawled out awkwardly. 

there’s something in bill’s eyes– this fire that tells eddie he wants to stay and help but if he lets It get away he might actually fucking die. bill might kill himself if they fail again. richie sees it too, lets out a shaky sigh as bill bites his lip and makes to sink down to his knees next to richie. 

“go on, bill,” richie commands, turning his head to the side and into eddie’s thigh. “finish… what we started,” 

bill looks wrecked. ben has a hand around his waist and he brings the other up to press into bill’s chest, rubbing and steadying him as his head tips forward for just a moment, just a second to catch his breath and consider going on alone. 

“i’ll go with you,” ben says, quiet. he makes eye contact with bev over eddie’s shoulder. 

“me too,” she says, squeezing richie’s hand and placing it back on his own chest. “we’ll help,” 

“big bill…. haystack… and bevvie from the levvie,” richie says, almost delirious. there’s a smile on his face but eddie doesn’t like how manic it is, tinged with blood. “what a team,” 

“take care of him, eds,” bill says seriously, looking down at eddie. his eyes are piercing, like he’s looking into eddie’s soul and seeing him there, curled up with his knees to his chest and screaming into the night. he looks like he wants to soothe and get the fuck to work at the same time. 

“you know i will,” eddie answers, even though he knows the command was rhetorical. 

“we’ll be back soon,” bev promises and then they’re off, ben grabbing bev’s hand as bill steadies himself and breaks into a run, off into the tunnels after It. 

eddie tries to relax, brushing his fingers through richie’s dirty and matted hair. his heart is pumping loudly in his chest, with fear and anticipation and worry, and eddie thinks he might be having a heart attack because it hurts so fucking bad. he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm down, tries not to think about what they’ll do if bev and ben and bill never come back, if the Spider kills them without them knowing. he tries not to think about what they’ll do if they do come back, how they’re going to get richie the fuck out of these twisting tunnels without making his injuries worse or flat out fucking killing him. 

he shudders out a breath and it sounds so loud in the silence, only the sound of dripping water and richie’s own labored breath ringing out in the darkness. 

“tell me… a story, eds,” richie says, voice weak. 

“i’m no story teller,” eddie says but he’s already wracking his mind for something, something to take richie’s mind off of the static in his legs. he leans down and grabs richie’s hand with his own, intertwining their fingers as he brushes through richie’s hair with the other. 

“once upon a time,” he starts, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, “there was a knight who rode the fastest horse in the land, a steed he named Silver,” 

“are you… ripping off… the Lone Ranger?” richie jokes and eddie lets out a wet laugh, trying not to drip tears down over richie’s face. 

“beep beep, richie,” eddie says. 

he closes his eyes and tries to get lost in a story, richie’s hand in his, as their friends finish their destiny. 

send me prompts/headcanons/requests!

[butchgwenwhyvar]

Theychel Headcanons that @A-not-so-amazing-disaster and I thought up one morning on the PJO discord server Rachel teaching both Thalia and Reyna how to paint, until Thalia starts a paint war and they end up laughing like the dorks they are. -If anyone messes with any of the three the others would totally kick ass -Reyna braiding Rachel and Thalia's hair -They have sleepovers all th etime Thalia doing their makeup And Rachel doing body paint, they would have awesome halloweens I think Rachel would be the movie nerd, since she has the most experience with the "mortal" world, while Thalia would be the music nerd Them dragging the others to what they respectively nerd out to Omg imagine Reyna draggin them to a horse race yes! and Reyna spent so much time with Circe that she would know how to give some awesome massages they know each other so well that they know what kind of sented candles the others like smelling while having a massage -imagine them having a night in just relaxing with popcorn, movies, massages and just being with the other They met when the giant war ends, Reyna was in the camp for a while, Rachel would also be there and they bond while reconstructing evrything broken, and just laughing in the bonfire. Then Thalia comes with all the hunters of Artemis (and Reyna thinks she's super cute since they met in BoO) and they start having conversations with each other all the time, and after becoming best friends, they start to slowly fall in love? Then they get sent on this batshit insane quest when the Oracle is working again, and stop at a McDonald's. Thalia starts throwing chips at them, and it ends in a full scale food fight and then it clicks. They go on a road trip later on, Thalia cannot drive and they get pulled over. Then Reyna drives. Reyna is the kind of person who goes 5 miles above the speed limit and swears at every moving thing. Rachel is filming this and also films Thalia losing the map out of the window (and Thalia jumping out of the car to retrieve it). Reyna being nostalgic and telling them stories about Skippy. And then Thalia tells them stories about some of the hunters during the Titan War, and Rachel tells them stories about the battle of Manhattan. They end up crying in their tent over all the lost demigods, and making plans to start a museum so no one forgets what they did. Rachel would talk about her new prophecies maybe? Like when she haves an inkling that something will happen? And Thalia and Reyna help her figure everything out And Reyna and Thalia teaching Rachel how to fight. I think Rachel would also be awesome at the bow or throwing knives? You need to have a good aim to hit a titan with a hairbrush. And then Thalia and Reyna sparr together and Rachel checks them both out. I think Thalia would claim she would fight every monster in existence to comfort her girlfriends. And like Thalia and Rachel always get in a daze when they see Reyna talking about something she's really passionate about? since she doesn't always show her emotions they love to see her eyes light up with emotion Yes! And Reyna listening to Thalia nerd out to bands Because it's no lie that Thalia likes green day (Look at the Titans Curse at the school dance). Yeah, imagine her having a breakdown over some band splitting up and Rachel and Reyna comforting her while they all sing together? Reyna would give the best presents. She always knows exactly what to get for them. And you physically cannot surprise Rachel. Thalia would shop the last day and freak out, then has a stroke of genius and gives them something really good (Rachel and Reyna won't let her live down the chocolate shampoo ever). Thalia would steal Reyna and Rachel's shampoos' all the time. Rachel would do a painting of them all laughing for the holidays. Them wearing matching bracelets. The matching ugly Christmas sweaters. Yes! And them having the shirts (If lost return to Rachel) ( I don't want her, give her to Reyna) (I'm Reyna). Or Reyna has Keep Them on the back. Annabeth laughs her ass off when she sees it. And Thalia falls out of bed a lot because she has a side and Rachel kicks. Rachel makes so much mess. She leaves her drawing everywhere, Reyna trips over them at night and Thalia just puts a camera to record everytime Reyna falls (it has happened 49 times) But Reyna films whenever Thalia loses her keys and has to climb in the back window which Rachel leaves open for times like this (They refuse to lend her their keys because she needs to learn). Rachel would also be a cuddler, and the first time they sleep together Reyna blushes like crazy because hole fuck???? these two girls are so cute and they are willingly hugging me? And nightmares don't really happen that often anymore, they feel safe. Rachel makes sure the house always smells like lavenders. They get a dog, and it hops on the bed with them. And Reyna keeps complaining "Why do we have a dog? Aren't Aurum and Argentum enough?" Thalia always replies that they are cold and she needs warmth. But the dog and Reyna can be found asleep on the couch when Thalia and Rachel get home one night. Yes, at first she would be like "Ew, puppy" but then she falls in love with the dog. Thalia always has cold hands and feet, she likes to creep on Rachel and scare her. And so whenever Thalia has random splotches of paint on her Reyna knows she tried that again. Rachel on a natural reaction hits people and has accidentally given Thalia a black eye. Multiple times. Reyna just sighs, but melts at the cuteness of them. Reyna tickles Thalia Thalia is super ticklish, especially on her feet. She gives the cutest laugh when tickled, and it seems like happiness just radiates from her And then Reyna kisses her girlfriends and drags them to bed because those two would stay up till seven am if they're not made to sleep. Reyna first fell in love with her laugh. And her eyes. I was about to add that! She would always feel her stomach make turns when Thalia looked at her in the eye Neither Rachel or Reyna can reject her puppy face. ~~Theychel watching Voltron together~~ YES! Rachel loves Pidge, and jokes about Reyna being Shiro, and Thalia being Keith. Thalia emotionally connects with Keith, all while Reyna facepalms. They quote the show. They have meme wars about the show. Everyone is so confused on why they keep shouting ; I say Vol, you say? Vol...tron? Or: We had a bonding moment! I cradled you in my arms! Nope don't remember didn't happen. Rachel totally makes fan art. Thalia ships Shallura and Reyna ships Hidge. They want to have a cat after watching the show. But the dog (ironically called Rover) hates cats. Rachel ships Klance with her life. Rachel pretends to talk to the dog about robots and the dog just watches her confused. They have marathons. They all don't mind about Sha/Ladin but they don't ship it. I think they would take Lance as their meme son, and would explode laughing with his terrible attempts at flirting. They cuddle while watching, of course. Thalia says: fuck demigods, I want to be an altean. And Rachel spits out her coke a d mutters you are. And they cry so hard during crystal venom and the last two episodes. They have casual existential crisis about waiting. As they are dorks, they probably (definitely) have their own headcanons. Rachel is face down on the floor muttering about Pidges family. Tumblr mom Rachel sees the season 2 trailor first and the others find out when she spams their chat group with things like *"Shiro no"* and *"Why would you do this"* Reyna loves the Keith and Shiro being step-brothers, because it reminds her of her and Hylla. They would probably (definitely) freak out about the trailer. Thalia uses a lot of slang in her texts and it confuses Reyna Rachel watchs amused how Reyna scolds Thals about proper grammar Reyna Percy brotp where he lets her keep her phone at his mom's place so this way she always has a way of talking to her gfs. Yes! Percy and Annabeth ship them 3 so hard, Percy offers them blue cookies And when Thalia and Percy start fighting, it's up to Rachel to break them up Omg ~~Reyna lowkey wants to see who'll win~~ Reyna makes bets, all while cheering for her gf BUT THINK ABOUT WHEN REYNA AND RACHEL DIE AND THALIA IS STILL INMORTAL ;-; Thalia going to the funerals Crying so much ~~Thalia being upset about her dead girlfriends and goes all out and accidently dies in battle~~ And being reminded of everything they did together. And if both of them died in battle Thalia would probably spend ages tracking down the monster and killing it, but she gets killed instead (they would meet in the underworld, having an awesome time in Elysium and when Rachel and Reyna see Thalia enter they just bear hug the shit out of her ~~Nico telling them that if they want to do *that*, he knows a spare room they could use~~) And everyone is looking for Thalia and they find her body in a laistrygonian giants lair and everyone knows exactly what happened. (Sorry if this doesn't read very well, I'm on my phone and it's dying) (Also for those who find these in discord, I changed the order around a bit so it sounded better because we kept talking over each other)