#bread sex trees

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

Entangled by Alix Klingenberg

[sluttyten]

Finding Home

Kinktober Day 5 | Jaehyun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: zombie apocalypse au, shower sex, thigh riding, handjob, choking, daddy kink, penetration

length: 7242

You’ve been on your own for too long.

Too long you’ve been your own source of survival against the zombies. Too long you’ve been hungry and thirsty.

But tonight, as you settle in to sleep in your chosen tree for the night, you spot a fire glow in the distance. Fire means people, people means food, and fire and people means that they’re fools that are going to draw zombies right to them. 

You slip quietly from the tree, making sure that your blades are secure before you set off towards the fire. 

You hear zombies moving through the trees, moaning and shuffling as they make for the firelight as well, but as you approach the site, you see why the people that set the fire are so confident. They’ve set up a barricade of stakes jutting outwards. Already a few zombies are caught in the trap, and as you hang back a safe distance, you watch one of the people inside the barrier walk around, knifing each captured zombie to end them.

Quietly, you scale a tree, perch yourself on a branch, and observe the camp below. 

There’s one central fire, two men, a horse and wagon loaded down with items. The one man continues walking around the perimeter, killing zombies when they throw themselves on the stakes. The other man sits at the fire, cooking their dinner, and the scent of sizzling sausages wafts up to you on the breeze, setting your stomach growling.

You wait, watching as the man at the perimeter returns to the fire. You watch them eat their fill, reminding you how empty your own belly is. They drink from their canteens, and you’re reminded how dry your mouth is. You wait, observing one man recline beside the fire, his head pillowed on his bag. The other walks away from the fire, taking a seat on a tree stump, and he looks out at the perimeter, occasionally getting up to kill a newly arrived zombie, which doesn’t happen nearly as often once the fire begins to die.

You wait until the one on guard slouches forward, his head propped up by his elbow on his knee. You wait until the faint sound of snoring carries up to you, and then you make your move. 

You have practice with stealth, and your feet are silent on the forest floor. You slip over the wall of stakes easily, and then you make for the glowing remains of the fire. They’d left half a sausage in the pan, and you’d seen one of them pull a bit of bread or something out of a box sitting a few feet from the fire.

Hunger runs deep into your bones, making you desperate enough to do this.

You first go to the box, quietly lifting the lid. There is a loaf of dry bread sitting right there beside two small apples. You grab the bread, tear off a chunk, and devour it, licking the crumbs from your filthy fingers as you pick up the canteen left by the one on guard duty. You drink a few mouthfuls of clean water, and then you tiptoe back to the fireside, searching the dark ground for the pan with the half sausage. 

You crouch, hands brushing in front of you. The dim glow of the fire isn’t enough to help you distinguish the pan from the ground, but it is enough that when you come face to face with the man sleeping beside the fire, you startle. 

He’s not asleep anymore.

You yelp as he lunges. One of you kicks something metallic with a loud clang, probably the pan, but you don’t have the chance to mourn the potential loss of your dinner because the man is wrestling you, trying to get his hands on you, to pin you down, to wrap his hands around your throat. You struggle, hitting and kicking, rolling over him just to have him flip you over again.

He pins you to the ground, hands firm on you, body heavy.

You’ve been on your own for too long. You haven’t felt the touch of another person in two years.

Your arms are caught above your head, his hips weigh yours down. Is it any wonder that you moan a little? You don’t even mind the sharp prick as he suddenly pulls a knife, pressing it threateningly beneath your chin.

“Jaehyun?” The perimeter guard runs up, and a moment later, the light of the fire grows again. You twist your head towards it, just able to make out the sight of the perimeter guard crouched beside the fire, blowing on the growing flames, a flint in one hand. 

He’s handsome, you realize, now that you’re this close. His hair is grown down to his chin, dark black. He’s younger than you’d thought he’d be. For some reason you were picturing these two being older men in their forties maybe, but he can’t be any older than thirty years old, if even that.

And then you turn your wide-eyed gaze to the man that has you pinned. 

God, he’s possibly even more handsome. 

“Johnny, we have a thief on our hands,” the man above you says. “She was eating our bread, drinking our water.”

You whine. “I just wanted your sausage.”

Johnny over by the fire laughs. “Couldn’t think to ask nicely, dear? Jaehyun pulled a knife on you and everything.”

His hand on the knife twitches, he shifts his weight above you, and this time you whimper – not out of fear or pain, but purely out of arousal. The last time you felt a man’s touch was over two years ago, a night with your boyfriend about a week before the zombie virus hit. 

Jaehyun scoffs above you. “I could be wrong, Johnny, but I think she’s enjoying this.”

“Sorry,” you hiss, “it’s just been a while since a man’s had me in this position.”

Jaehyun smirks. “With a knife to your throat?”

You tilt your chin up a little. “No, with his dick digging into my belly. Get off.”

“Promise you won’t kill us if I let you up?” Jaehyun asks. “We’ll share our sausage with you.”

Again, Johnny laughs. 

A zombie snarls from the perimeter, and you look in that direction, twisting your head in time to see a large zombie collide with a stake, pushing himself halfway along it in his determination to reach the fire and the three of you. Johnny curses and gets to his feet, jogging over to drive his knife into the zombie’s skull.

Jaehyun rolls off of you and sits up, running his fingers through his hair. 

You wait a moment, keeping your eyes fixed on the gleam of his knife. He looks over at you again, then says, “You can sit up. I’m not going to hurt you. Here.” He reaches over, locating the pan with the half a sausage in it, luckily not overturned in the dirt. He passes it over to you. “Eat.”

You snatch it from him, quickly gobbling down the spicy, greasy cold sausage. It’s the best thing you’ve eaten in ages.

“Where did you come from?” Jaehyun asks, looking around the perimeter until he locates Johnny. “Are you by yourself?”

You nod, chewing the lump of sausage in your mouth. “About a year,” you say, and then you swallow and continue, “I’ve been on my own about a year. Bounced around a few groups there for a while in the beginning of all of this, but about a year ago I was separated from the rest when a fire broke out overnight. I’ve been on my own since then, making my way, looking for somewhere safe.”

Jaehyun stares at you for a long moment, and then says, “We’ve got somewhere safe. That’s where we’re heading, if you want to tag along.” He gestures at the wagon and the horse sleeping nearby. “We have supplies. You wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I’d like that.” You inhale the last bite of sausage. 

Johnny and Jaehyun switch after that. Jaehyun takes watch and Johnny dozes beside the fire. You occupy Jaehyun’s attention for a little while, answering his questions and asking some of your own about the experiences you’ve lived through since the start of the zombie virus. He tells you that he and Johnny have been friends for years, and they actually were separated when it all started, but found each other about five months in.

“I was shocked when I saw him sitting in the dining hall of our community. It was my first week there, and I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Jaehyun laughs softly, “I thought I had to be imagining him since I’d not see him at all in the past few days, but he’d been out on a scavenging mission all week. He and I make a great team, so we come out on scavenging missions together frequently.”

After a while, you doze off beside the fire.

When the first rays of morning light reach you, you jolt awake, fearing that it was all a dream or that worse yet they’ll have packed up and left you here alone. But Jaehyun’s standing a few feet away, fastening the harness on the horse. Johnny is waking up, walking off to piss near the edge of their campsite. 

And then you leave with them. 

It takes most of the day to travel to their community, and when you see the border fence and the guard tower of a prison, you begin to feel excited. This place looks safe. And it must be because there are a dozen guards that greet the three of you at the gate, and you’re not even mad when they separate you from Johnny and Jaehyun so you can be interrogated by the leader.

Their leader is a grizzly older man who looks like he’s definitely seen some shit. He asks you a million questions, and your answers must satisfy because before the sun sets, you’re being shown through the prison by an excited young man named Mark.

He shows you the dining hall, the gardens in the former recreation yard, the men's showers, the women's showers, the armory, and then Cell Blocks A-F where everyone sleeps. There are sixteen cells per block, eight on each of the two levels, plus they’ve managed to make bunk beds in the open area on the ground floor of each cell block. 

“But the last three Blocks, don’t go near them,” Mark warns you. “Zombies got through and they’ve infested them. We’ve done a few recovery missions in there to scavenge the bunks for the ground floors and some other stuff, but it’s way too dangerous for us to try to completely clear them out and live in them. There’s no way for us to refortify where they broke through. And stay away from the silo. No one goes there.”

Noted. 

Don’t go past Cell Block F, which should be easy since they’re all in a row. Don’t go to the silo, wherever that is. You don’t even see anything that looks like a silo when Mark takes you through the yard, which is just the big grassy area between the prison buildings and the border fence.

Mark shows you the laundry, where the women working push a set of clean linens and clean clothes into your arms, and then Mark finally shows you back through it all, taking you to Cell Block C, to an open bunk on the floor. 

It’s not much, but it’s better than anything you’ve had in a long time. It’s home.

You grow accustomed to the place over the next few days, learning the layout of the prison, learning names and faces of your new community. You’re given the job of helping out in the infirmary since you’d told the community leader that you’d been in nursing school when the world went to shit. Mostly, working in the infirmary means that you’re the back-up for the doctor this community’s lucky enough to have. You clean up scrapes, deliver medicine around the compound, watch the infirmary when the doctor is otherwise occupied.

You’re happy here.

You get to see Jaehyun a few more times in those early days, spotting him in the dining hall or in the mornings as you pass through Cell Block B, the one occupied exclusively by the guard, including those who run scavenging missions. He and Johnny have a cell up on the second level, and some mornings on your way to the infirmary, you catch sight of Jaehyun pushing back the curtain that covers the bars. 

“Jae and Johnny are great guys,” Mark tells you one afternoon. 

You don’t know if Mark just decided that the two of you would be friends or if the leader assigned him to keep an eye on you, but you’ve been hanging out with him pretty often lately. This afternoon, you’re sitting together on the roof of Block E, looking out at the guards doing drills in the yard. You’ve been watching the two handsome men that brought you here, the way they’re practicing hand-to-hand combat. 

“They’re gone a lot,” Mark continues, “Out traveling the countryside searching for supplies. But when they’re here, we see a lot of Johnny in the rec room, entertaining everyone. Jaehyun keeps a little more to himself though, reading in the prison’s library, running laps around the yard, or just in their cell, listening to music. Ten told me that Jaehyun found an old CD player on one of their trips, and now he just collects CDs when they’re out and gets batteries anywhere he can find them to keep it going.”

You sit up there on the roof a while longer, admiringly watching the men move down below you.

It’s a few days later when you wake at dawn. 

You change into the shorts and tank top you’d gotten from the community’s clothing bank, and you head out for the main entrance. Coincidentally, you reach it right as Jaehyun arrives; it’s definitely not because you’d been asking around for the past couple days, trying to figure out from others when exactly Jaehyun went on runs around the prison yard. 

“Hey,” Jaehyun grins, “What are you doing here?”

“I was thinking of going for a run this morning. What about you?” You start stretching your legs.

Jaehyun watches you, his smile remaining bright. “I take a few laps around the yard every morning. You’re welcome to run with me, if you want, if you think you can keep up.”

“I’ll have you know,” you say, “I have great stamina. I’ll be running laps around you.”

He laughs.

And he’s probably right to laugh. You’ve done plenty of running in the last two years, but not like getting up and jogging four miles every morning. 

That being said, you think you do a pretty good job of keeping up with Jaehyun. Several laps around the prison yard before you’re collapsing down into the grass, sweaty and out of breath. Jaehyun stretches out in the grass beside you, his shirtless chest gleaming in the bright morning light, his shirt dangling from one hand. 

You want to roll over, to put yourself closer to him, to lick at the sweat on his chest, to press your body against his. God. You’re horny and generally deprived of human contact; you feel like you might cum if he so much as brushes his fingers against yours right now.

You resist your urges, but only barely. And you manage to not cream your panties when Jaehyun offers you his hand to pull you up to your feet. You just walk alongside him on the way to the dining hall for breakfast, then spend your entire eight minute shower fantasizing about his muscles.

Each dawn after that, you find yourself at the main entrance, meeting Jaehyun to go for a run. Each morning, you feel your ability to resist your urges growing smaller and smaller. 

One evening while you’re finishing up in the infirmary, there’s a knock on the open doorway, and you turn to see Jaehyun standing there. His hair is pushed back from his handsome face. He’s wearing a leather jacket that really just reminds you of motorcycle-riding bad boy fantasies you had when you were younger, and you want to just grab him by the front of that jacket and drag him against you. 

But you don’t because there’s a patient sitting in one of the three infirmary beds, and she might not appreciate the show. 

“Hey, Johnny and I are leaving again in the morning,” Jaehyun says, leaning against the doorway. “I just figured I should let you know so you’re not waiting for me in the morning.”

Your heart sinks in your chest. 

“We’ll be gone just two days. Tomorrow, then back the night after,” he says quickly. “Don’t wander off, and try not to miss me too much.”

You immediately roll your eyes. “You? No. Johnny? Absolutely, I’m going to miss him so much. Who else is going to harass me about practicing my knife skills?”

The past few evenings, you’ve stood in the recreation yard with Mark, Johnny, and Jaehyun learning knife-throwing and hand-to-hand combat. You blame Mark because he’d helpfully told them about how you’d been intently watching their training in the yard that day, and you’d made the excuse of just wanting to learn combat yourself.

“Ah, well, I’m gonna miss you,” Jaehyun says. “Goodnight.”

And then he’s stepped out of the doorway, and by the time you get around the doctor’s desk and to the door, Jaehyun has disappeared down the hallway, out of sight.

Those two days are nerve-wracking. It doesn’t help that the doctor gave you the second day off because you’d been so uselessly distracted the first day they were gone. You walk around the compound on that second day after breakfast. You find the prison library, which you’d not really visited before. You take a stroll through the administration building of the prison, which mostly sits unused now even though it was one of the first buildings they cleared out when the community settled in the prison.

You walk and explore all day until you find yourself late in the afternoon entering a section of the prison that you don’t recognize. It’s a large compound, so that’s not really all that strange to find somewhere you don’t know. 

You don’t think anything of it as you brush aside debris on your way down a hallway, as you reach a doorway that’s locked from your side. You flip the lock, open the door, and step inside. There’s nothing special about this place, you think, as you walk in. You can’t quite tell what it is. It’s got rounded walls, no windows. There are overturned chairs and metal tables, and as you start walking along the left-hand curve of the room, you realize that the ceiling in the center of the space is caving in a little, allowing in some sunlight and dripping from the brief rainshow that happened earlier in the day.

The holes in the middle of the ceiling provide just enough light that you can see there’s a railing to your right as you move around the room, and you walk towards it, trying to look over the edge to see what this place is. 

To your surprise, the floor just keeps going. Down and down and down, so far down you can’t see the bottom. And you realize that the floor you’re standing on slopes gently downwards, and as you follow along the path with your eyes, it spirals downward with dark squares set along the path. 

Suddenly you realize where you must be.

The tall cylindrical shape of this place burrows underground, which is why you’d never seen it when you looked around the compound. But the shape of it, the lack of windows….

You shuffle away from the edge, backing towards the door, but you don’t see the chair tipped over on the ground behind you until it’s too late.

You crash over it, falling backwards. The sound echoes, magnified tenfold in the space with its thick metal walls built to hold maximum security prisoners.

You’re in the silo. 

The shuffling, dragging footsteps sound suddenly too loud and too close when they start up. You hear moans and clamor from down below as well. 

What was it that Mark said about this place on your first day? 

“No one goes there.” He’d grimaced when he said it, you remember that now. 

You try to push to your feet, but your foot is tangled in the legs of the chair, and a dark shadow is looming above you, the reek of rot hanging around it.

You scream, tearing your foot free, and in the same move you kick the chair forward, shoving it into the legs of the zombie above you. You hear it collapse as you roll onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself upright and ignoring the ache in your ankle. Another zombie emerges out of the shadow, and you reach for the knife you always keep sheathed at your waist. You swing, connecting with soft flesh, and the creature dies with a low groan.

Squishy hands grasp your wrist. The sweet stench of rot fills your nose, and you scream again, kicking out at the zombie that has hold of you. 

You need some light. You can’t see them, can’t see where they’re coming from. You keep trying to move backwards, but you bump into something, hear the ragged, garbled sounds of something trying to make noise that no longer has the ability to vocalize. You swing your knife again, feel the blade sink into soft flesh, past bone. 

They keep coming, and the light coming in through the caving in roof isn’t really enough. You can only just make out the hulking, limping shapes of the zombies as they move towards you, as you scramble backwards toward the door that you’d left open. You pray that none of them have passed through the door, that they’ve been too preoccupied with their chase of you to notice that their escape to the all-you-can-eat buffet in the rest of the prison is open.

Again and again you swing your knife, slashing through the air at anything that gets close, anything that touches you.

You feel the spray of zombie gore, the disgusting dribble of them on your skin, on your clothes. You can’t think too hard about it, though, too focused on trying to make it to the door, which you can no longer really see, only heading towards where you remember it being.

And then there’s a voice distantly, frantically calling your name.

“I’m here!” You yell back, shoving your elbow into the face of a zombie, taking a stab at another that leers at you through the darkness, its half-rotted teeth catching just faintly the light from the holes in the ceiling. Your knife sinks into its eye, and you shove it away with your foot. 

Behind you, the door into the silo bangs open. Maybe it had swung back shut after you came through.

Light floods into the room, revealing the horde of zombies trying to push their way up the narrow spiral path. Arms are outstretched, faces rotting off. Some of them wear the uniforms of prison guards, others the tattered remnants of the prisoners' jumpsuits. It doesn’t matter what they look like or what they’re wearing to you as you kick one in the face as it crawls along the floor; your foot goes through his face, coming out slimy, and you slide as you take a step back. 

Jaehyun’s voice fills your ears, shouting your name as he races into the room. 

He’s brought a spear with him, and he lunges forward, kebabing three zombies at once. You stab another. Jaehyun pulls the spear back, swinging it around and smashing the butt of the spear into the head of a prison guard zombie. It stumbles backwards, knocking down a few behind it.

“Come on!” Jaehyun barks, and then he’s grabbing your hand, running for the door as it slowly swings back shut.

Jaehyun catches it just before it closes, throwing it back open to push you through ahead of him, and then he’s coming through, grabbing the handle of the door to slam it shut. He flips the lock into place, and it’s only now that you see the keycard pads beside the door marked with SILO - Restricted Access.

A zombie slams into the other side of the door. 

You take a step back.

Another bang from the door. 

“Is that going to hold them now?” You ask.

Jaehyun turns to you, his face so full of emotion that you can’t separate exactly which emotions he’s feeling. “Who knows, but let’s go. We at least need to get out of this building.” He takes your hand again, and drags you back along the hallway that led here. He curses as he goes, spitting out a complex series of curse words followed by, “What the hell were you thinking going in there?”

Does he really think you went in there on purpose? “I was just looking around! I didn’t know where I was.”

Your foot is still covered in gore from kicking in that zombie’s head, and your gait is lopsided because of it. Your foot slides each time it hits the ground running, and you hold tighter to Jaehyun’s hand because of it. You want to stop, just for a second, long enough to kick off your shoe so you can run properly.

Far behind you, you still hear the banging on the door, the groan of metal. Neither you or Jaehyun says a thing as you make your way to the heavy duty door that had been propped open on your way in. You didn’t do that, and honestly, it kinda seems like maybe if they don’t want people going in the SILO, then they should leave the heavy duty security door at the entrance of the SILO’s attached building permanently shut. 

As you run through it, Jaehyun pauses only long enough to shove it shut, and you’re already on your way, running across the stretch of the yard that runs between the SILO’s building and the rest of the compound. You’ve got a stitch growing in your side, making it hard to breathe. Your ankle is throbbing, your fingers tingle from how tightly Jaehyun is holding your hand, pulling you along the buildings aiming for Cell Block F, which is the closest.

“I told you not to wander off!” Jaehyun yells, still running, still halfway dragging you. “Shit!”

“Sorry, Dad!” You snap at him, lacing your fingers tighter through his and putting on a burst of speed to keep up with him. “Next time I’ll ask your permission before I leave the cell block, if you want to act like my parent.”

Jaehyun spins around, pushing you back up against the wall of the building. “This was exactly what I was worried about! I told Johnny that I had a feeling you would get into trouble while we were away. And looks like I was right.”

“You’re so wise, Jaehyun. So smart and better than me. Gosh, Dad, maybe you should hire a babysitter next time you leave,” you spit the words out, laying the sarcasm on thick.

Jaehyun presses you harder into the wall. “I didn’t say that.”

You attempt to push him back, and when that doesn’t work, you snarl. “Get off of me! I can take care of myself. I had that handled until you burst in. I don’t need you ranting at me all pissed off, acting like I’m a kid, like I need you to take care of me. Newsflash! I was doing just fine for a year and a half before I met you. So thanks, Dad, but no thanks.”

This time, Jaehyun’s hand flies to your throat, pushing your head back against the wall too. You’re pinned between him and the wall completely as he growls, “Call me Dad one more time. I dare you.”

“Oh, sorry,” you put on a sweet tone, cooing, “Daddy.”

Jaehyun snaps, his mouth crushing against yours between one breath and the next. 

You rejoice in the last of his restraint melting away, as he kisses you, his mouth working against yours, tongue teasing the split in your lips until you’re opening up for him. You whimper when your tongues touch, when Jaehyun shifts his hand on your throat to angle your head for him. His other hand slides up into your hair.

He pauses, lips freezing against yours.

“No,” you whine as he pulls back. “Jaehyun.”

He’s looking at his hand in your hair when you open your eyes, and the look on his face has your stomach sinking. He looks disgusted, and you wonder if reality caught up with him and he realized he didn’t want to be kissing you, if he’s disgusted by you.

“You have a little bit of zombie in your hair,” Jaehyun mumbles, pulling his hand out of your hair and flicking it to dislodge the gunk on his fingers. “As much as I would love to continue making out with you against this wall uninterrupted, maybe you should shower first.”

Oddly, a wave of relief passes through you. You laugh. “You know, typically, if a guy stopped kissing me to tell me to take a shower, I’d be super offended.”

“Oh, shit,” Jaehyun laughs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shrug. “It’s understandable. But, Jaehyun, about what we were arguing about, I know I shouldn’t have wandered off to a place I didn’t know what it was. That’s my mistake, I wasn’t thinking. But shouldn’t there be a little more security around the place? I didn’t even realize that was the SILO Mark warned me away from until it was too late.” 

He nods. “You’re right. I’ll talk to our leader about it tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you in the shower.”

The guards at the entrance give you a weird look when you and Jaehyun walk inside. Jaehyun doesn’t let go of your hand when he stops to talk with the guards, when he explains to them that you’d accidentally entered the SILO, that you’d stirred up the horde inside. His thumb brushes continuously over your knuckles while he talks with them, and when he’s finally done with that, he leads you along to the showers.

The showers are typical prison showers – one big room with showerheads protruding from the wall, drains in the floor. No privacy. 

“You can wait outside, you know.” You say as Jaehyun stands just inside the women’s shower room. “I don’t think there are any zombies in here.” 

“No, but who knows what trouble you might find if I don’t keep an eye on you.” Jaehyun folds his arms and rests back against the wall. “Go on.”

You maintain eye contact with Jaehyun as you unbutton your pants, as you push them down your legs and leave them piled on the floor. You hold his gaze as you reach for the hem of your shirt, as you drag it up your body, tugging it over your head. It hits the floor too. You back away, still staring at Jaehyun, loving the way that he’s not looking away either. You turn away only when you reach the wall to turn on the shower, keeping your back to him as you unfasten your bra, tossing it back towards your clothes. And then you shimmy your panties down, kicking them away once they fall to the floor.

You glance back over your shoulder at Jaehyun.

He’s blushing adorably there beside the doorway, but still he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

“Fuck, don’t move. Hold on.” Jaehyun turns, quickly slipping out through the doorway. You hear his footsteps racing down the hallway outside the shower room. 

“What the hell?” You groan, slumping against the wall. “Why’d he have to leave?”

You reach for the shampoo dispenser set in the wall, and while he’s gone you work on washing your hair, rinsing and scrubbing out whatever the fuck piece of zombie was in your hair. You’ve just finished with that when you hear racing footsteps returning. You look back towards the doorway over your shoulder, watching the way Jaehyun skids into view.

He’s holding a change of clothes for you in his hands, and when he walks inside the room now he doesn’t stop there at the doorway. He walks in, dropping the clothes on a bench against the wall, and he keeps coming. You turn towards him, facing him for the first time like this, showing him every part of you.

Jaehyun sheds his jacket as he comes towards you, drags his shirt over his head, and he doesn’t quite get around to pushing his pants down before he’s right there in front of you. He presses you back against the wall, the spray of the shower pouring over both of you as he reconnects his lips with yours, picking up where you’d left off outside.

The rub of his wet jeans against your skin is oddly arousing, but not as much as the feel of his hand sliding up your side, his palm reaching your breast, his thumb passing over your nipple. You moan into the kiss, bringing both of your hands up to his shoulders. 

“Jaehyun,” you sigh, pulling back to breathe, but his teeth catch your bottom lip, and you sink back in. 

His thigh presses between yours, the rough denim sliding against your skin, nudging up against your pussy. “Say it for me again, baby.” He kisses you, sucks on your bottom lip. 

You don’t have to wonder what he means, you somehow just know. “Daddy,” you whimper, digging your nails in against his shoulders. “Oh, daddy.” 

You roll your hips against his thigh, thrilling at the buzz that spreads through you when you glide your clit over the denim. Jaehyun’s thumb draws circles around your sensitive nipple, and finally his other hand rises to your neglected breast. He teases both nipples while you grind against his thigh.

“That’s right, baby,” Jaehyun presses his forehead to yours, “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted to rile me up, to get me to push you up against a wall, maybe treat you a little rough?” He pinches your nipples right then, twisting them too. “Ever since that night we met, when you were squirming and whining while I had you pinned to the ground, this is what you wanted?”

You jolt forward to kiss him again, but Jaehyun pulls his head back.

“Ah, ah. This is something you should’ve learned that first night, baby. You need to learn to ask nicely for what you want.” Jaehyun brings one hand up from your chest, curling it against your throat to keep your head pinned as he leans in, hovering his lips tantalizingly above yours. “Ask daddy nicely for a kiss.”

You circle your hips against his thigh, gasping sharply. “Daddy, please. Kiss me?”

He presses his lips to yours only briefly, and then leans back again, his hand still on your throat to keep you from following. To make matters worse, he drops his other hand from your tit, dropping it to your hip.

You moan desperately, wanting him back. Needing his touch, more than just his thigh between your legs.

“Baby, if you don’t use your words, how do I know what you want?” Jaehyun pats your hip lightly. “And if you just keep rubbing yourself on my thigh like this, am I supposed to think that you want anything else?”

You whine, rocking your hips forward right as Jaehyun grinds his thigh up between your legs. His thumb presses just right against your throat too, and you see stars in the most delightful way. 

“Let’s see how long you can last, baby,” Jaehyun leans close, running his lips along your jaw, tongue flicking out to lick up the water beading down your face from the shower’s spray. “Can you cum from just riding my thigh? Or can you wait for daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you gasp, “I can last.”

He looks doubtful, but you’ve told him before, you have great stamina. Although, this is your first sexual contact since before the apocalypse happened, so who knows, you might snap in a second and cum on his jeans.

Your hands slide against Jaehyun’s damp skin, the shower sending rivulets of water down his chest, soaking into the waistband of his underwear and jeans. “I want to touch you, too, Jaehyun. Let me help you feel good, too, daddy.”

You graze your mouth against his, leaning as much into his hand at your throat as you dare. Jaehyun smiles, pressing you back against the wall, but he does nothing to stop you from sliding your hand over his abdomen, down into his pants. 

Jaehyun’s eyes simply flutter shut, a pink blush growing high in his cheeks and his ears as you wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock, and you ease his growing erection free of his pants. It seems ridiculous that he’s still half clothed, but you can’t be too irritated by that development since it truly feels so good to grind against the denim, that buzz inside your belly increasing with each pass of your hips. 

He kisses you again, crushing his lips to yours, tongue sliding against yours as you both moan while you ride his thigh and jerk your hand along his length. His hand flexes on your hip. You dig your nails into his back, tightening your hand on his cock on the upstroke. Jaehyun is filling out in your hand, cock swelling and lengthening as all his blood flows south. 

The shower is tapering off, the timer that allows only fifteen minutes at a time running out. 

Neither of you pays the water much attention, too lost in each other. Although, without the water, the sounds of your gasping breaths, Jaehyun’s low moans, the slick movement of your hand along his cock, all those sounds are extra-loud in the tile room.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaehyun moans when you bring your hand to just massage the tip of his cock. His mouth drops down to your shoulder, pinching your skin between his teeth, and his hand tightens against your throat. You want to moan, loving the way that that feels, but you can’t get the sound out, too busy rocking your hips desperately against Jaehyun’s thigh, chasing the feeling that’s brimming in your belly.

Jaehyun falls back, pulling his hands and his thigh away, putting a couple feet’s distance between you and him. 

Your legs feel like they can barely hold you, and just as you’re about to give in to the wobbly feeling of your knees, Jaehyun throws himself back at you. You welcome his mouth on yours again, his hands reattaching to your body, pulling you against him instead of pushing you into the wall. His hands slide along your back, your ass, back up to your shoulders, diving into your hair. He kisses you frantically, hungrily, groaning into the kiss as he grinds his erection against your belly. 

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” you sing praises of his name, kissing him right back, running your hands along his chest and his neck, brushing your fingers over the blushing hot tips of his ears. “Daddy, please, I need you inside me.”

He ruts against your belly a few more times, and then Jaehyun releases you again only long enough to spin you around, long enough to shove his pants down, and he drags you right back in against him.

His arms wrap around your belly, hands rising to your tits. Jaehyun’s mouth fits against your throat, kissing the places where his hand had squeezed earlier, and he thrusts forward against your ass, between your thighs, sliding through your wetness until finally his cock curves up and slides home, sinking into your pussy like it’s right where he belongs.

“Ah, Jae,” you sigh, dropping your head back against his shoulder. He presses you forward against the tile wall, your chest and his hands trapped there as he fucks into you. Your moans echo loudly around the room, the wet sound of your bodies connecting, and Jaehyun’s sounds of pleasure too. “Jaehyun, yes, yes!”

“What’s that, baby? Whose cock is making you feel so good?” Jaehyun’s lips are against your ear, breaths coming out sharp and broken, moans and grunts rumbling from deep in his chest as he thrusts into you repeatedly, hurriedly, chasing after his pleasure.

You know he’s almost there, and you’re not far behind. “You, daddy! Yes, your cock is amazing. I’m gonna cum, daddy.” 

Jaehyun bites down on your shoulder as he cums, rolling his hips forward so deep as he shoots into you, filling you with his white-hot seed. Hips twitching, grinding into you, Jaehyun slides one of his hands up to your chin, turning your head to the side, and his other hand moves down from your chest to your belly, lower still until he reaches your clit. He rocks shallowly into you, stroking his fingers over your clit, and in the moment before he kisses you, Jaehyun murmurs in a breathy voice, “Come on, baby, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes.

Jaehyun holds you through your orgasm, fingers on your clit, his cock still pulsing inside you, rocking into you while you tremble in his arms. He kisses you softly, carrying you both through the high of your first real, amazing orgasm in two goddamned years.

You stay like that, kissing softly, bodies moving together slowly for quite a while until things slow down even more, and then stop. Your heart is still racing when Jaehyun pulls out of you, and you’re so satisfied and loose-limbed right now that you don’t think you’d be able to do a damned thing even if a whole horde of zombies burst into the room right now. 

“I told you I had good stamina,” you gasp, tilting your forehead against the wall. “Better than you.”

Jaehyun scoffs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “We’ll test out one of your kinks next time, see which of us lasts longer then.”

You smile, twisting around to face him, and you twine your arms over his shoulders. “Bet it’s still me, daddy.”

Jaehyun pulls back, lifting his lips just out of your reach. “Being a little bratty, aren’t you?” His hand slides down to your ass, and he spanks you lightly. “Don’t make me send you to bed tonight without any dinner.”

You grin. “Oh, please, daddy, send me to bed early. I’d rather eat your sausage than anything else, anyway.”

Jaehyun throws his head back, laughing with his whole chest, his nose crinkling, dimples showing. He laughs until he’s wiping away tears from his eyes, and the whole time all you can do is smile at him and think that you’re ridiculously and completely in love with him. You can’t remember the last time you were as happy as you are right now, here with Jaehyun.

A month ago, you’d just been looking for dinner when you snuck into a stranger’s campsite, and instead you’d found Jaehyun, found love, found home.

a/n: this is like the fifth draft of jaehyun zombie au which is why it's going out so late today. I couldn't decide on the plot until rather late in the day unfortunately. But I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it!

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[strongheartneteyam]

We are just animals.

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x female!human!reader

CW: "light" non con, dubious consent, voyeurism, neteyam jerking off to reader touching herself, descriptions of masturbation, kinda mean/dark neteyam, belly bulge, rough sex, semi public sex, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, size kink, size difference, exophilia, dominant neteyam, sub reader, primal play [hunter/prey] (if you squint), doggy position

Synopsis: Neteyam is on his rut period and he's struggling to deal with the fact that masturbation doesn't really seem to help anymore when it comes to easing his strong urges. But when he finds a human girl alone in the middle of the forest, that seems to be the solution he was desperately longing for.

Slightly proofread. I'm running on 4 hours of sleep, a cup of strong coffee with no sugar and only one slice of whole grain bread rn (and I'm in a hurry to go out lol) so be gentle with me 🥲☕ love you guys <3

✶

Pretty girl, full of virtue and youthfulness

The forest's flowers and songs I love

Hey, pretty young girl

What are you doing in the forest alone, so far from all beings?

Omnos (Eluveitie)

✶

Neteyam had been extremely frustrated and moody lately. He had been aloof and impatient with people, even with his family, these past days, which is so not like him. But the Omatikaya people tried to understand and cut him some slack since they knew he was going through his rut and he didn't exactly have a partner to help him ease that itch right then.

Neteyam tossed back and fourth on his mat at eclipse and he couldn't get restful nights of sleep as he would wake up in the middle of the dark hours with such a strong urge to mate that he felt like it would drive him insane. It was so incredibly troubling. He found no other way to deal with it than being the quietest he could be while stroking his erect cock, desperately trying to get some release. But Eywa... it was never enough. No. What he needed was to cum inside a good inviting cunt.

•

One day Neteyam was walking through the forest, looking for good branches so he could gather an enough amount of them to light up the bonfire for that day's communal meal time at eclipse.

He was in a place in the forest that was far enough of the Omatikaya huts for it to be somehow private, as private as a forest could be. There was always a risk of people being around, of course.

He almost couldn't believe his eyes when he caught you pleasuring yourself as you laid on the grass with your eyes closed, your small delicate human fingers rubbing your wet clit, his nostrils getting filled with the delicious scent of your juices (that he just knew tasted delicious too). Neteyam knew he had found the girl that would help him get some release from his madness inducing urges that were bothering him all the time in this rut.

You were just the perfect prey. So small, fragile and soft. His cock got hard as a rock just thinking about sinking himself deep inside your ekxìn (tight) pussy.

So, Neteyam hid behind a tree and uncovered his cock, pushing his loincloth to the side as quickly as he possibly could as he did not want to spend one more second watching that delicious scene that was you shoving your small fingers inside of your tiny pussy without pleasuring himself to it.

You were so lost in your pleasure haze that you didn't even think someone could be watching you.

But then, suddenly, you stopped what you were doing when you heard a muffled moan of pleasure.

Fuck! Was someone around you?! It couldn't be! But, damn, you knew it was risky to masturbate in the middle of the forest. You just thought you could get lucky and not be seen. Somehow... Yeah. That sounded stupid and you knew it.

You almost panicked when you realized Neteyam was looking at you with a predatory look in his golden eyes, behind a tree near where you were. When you looked down and realized he was touching himself while gazing at you, your mouth fell slightly open.

But your startled face only seemed to make the desire inside him grow even stronger.

Neteyam saw the way your eyes betrayed your shyness just as the way your blood rushed to your cheeks, while you closed your legs fast, pressing your sweet soft thighs against one another but he also had heard from some friends how you had a crazy crush on him. So, he took that as a good sign, something that only meant you were just embarassed you got caught touching yourself and not that you didn't want him too.

"Don't let me interrupt you. It's beautiful. I wanna keep watching you, paskalin." (sweet berry)

"What-" It was hard to talk as you were nervous as hell "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing more natural than an Omatikaya in the forest" He smirked "What are you doing here, sevin tawtute?" (pretty human)

You shut your mouth at that. You couldn't think of a good enough answer.

"You saw me..." your cheeks burned with embarrassment "I was touching myself, OK? Are you gonna judge me? You were doing the same. And looking at me while doing it. You sure are bold." You tried to be confident and overpower him with your argument but it was obviously failing

"Who told you to be touching your pretty pussy in the middle of the forest? Didn't you think someone could catch you?" He said in a mean tone but his na'vi accent only got your already soaked pussy even wetter. The way he rolled the "L" letter... oh my Eywa...

"Of course I thought it could happen. But I hoped no one would. I certainly did not expect you to be creeping around and jerking off while watching me. Pervert." You snapped back

"Cut the crap. I don't need any complications right now, tawtute. I know you have a crush on me and all I want is to cum inside of you. So, tell me. Do you want me? Yes or no. It's simple." Neteyam said impatiently

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!" You tried to hide your feelings but it was useless

Neteyam walked to you, took you with ease from the grass you were laying on and put you over his shoulder. You shaked your legs incessantly in protest.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go, now, Neteyam! Arghhh!" Your shouting only sounded funny to his na'vi ears

Neteyam pressed your body against the nearest large Pandoran tree in front of you two and you could feel his big bulge pressing against your ass as he was lifting you with his blue hands under your arms, your legs hanging in the air, leaving you with the feeling of being helpless at the time.

"I'm gonna say it again and for the last time. Yes or no?"

Your heart beat fast inside your chest as you moved your head back and fourth slightly, telling him that, yes, you did want him to fuck you.

"Yes... Yes, damn it... I want you." You confessed

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear." He stated

Neteyam put you down on the ground again. You stood up but your legs felt weak with anticipation and some fear.

He undid the way the long string of his loincloth was wrapped around his tail to get rid of that piece of clothing that was getting on his way and making it harder for him to just fuck you dumb already.

You just couldn't stop staring at his cock, the way it was huge and all covered in his precum because of the way he had been stroking it while watching you. To know Neteyam's cock was glistening with precum like that because of you made a tight knot form in the lower part of your belly.

"Now, on your knees." He ordered

You swiftly obeyed him. Neteyam had you around his finger. You had dreamed about what it would feel like to have him inside of you for so long. You had always lusted over him when you saw his muscles on display when he practiced his archery on the Omatikaya mainland. But it seemed like he had never noticed you like that before. You thought that perhaps you just didn't spark any interest in him. But maybe you were wrong.

"Now this dripping tawtute pussy is mine! Let me finish the job." Neteyam stated "You'll feel so full with this na'vi cock. You'll see." He smirked in a perverted way

Neteyam walked until he got behind you, got on his knees too and forced you forward just so you would be on all fours for him.

He pressed his swollen tip against your entrance and you whimpered at how good just that felt. You couldn't wait for what was coming.

When you least expected it, he pushed his cock in a quick motion inside of you, burying all of its length inside of you. As your pussy was dripping wet, it wasn't as hard to fit as you thought it would be. You let out a cry of sheer, strong pleasure.

Neteyam covered your mouth with his huge blue hand to prevent you from being too loud but your muffled moans still echoed slightly around the both of you as he pushed his hard big cock roughly inside of your soaked pussy, his hips crashing against your butt and making your soft flesh jiggle which only turned him on even more. He just thought human girls were so hot because of how soft and delicate they were. He was surely loving to squeeze your soft stomach while his hand rested right above your belly button, where the huge bulge his cock was causing on you could be seen.

"Great Mother, your pussy feels too fucking good, yawntutsyìp..." (darling)

Neteyam kept fucking you as deeply as he could, hurting the tip of your womb just enough to make you feel a masochist type of pleasure burning inside of you. At this pace, you suspected you were gonna cream around his cock soon enough.

What if someone came and saw the both of you fucking like that? Oh, God...

But you had to admit that - despite of how wrong that felt - if anything, the being wrong part of it only turned you on more.

"Gonna cum loads inside this ekxìn pussy, tawtute. Did you know I'm on my rut period? I'm needing to release all this cum trapped inside my balls somewhere, baby. They're so heavy." Neteyam whispered in your ear. His words were so dirty but so enticing.

Many hard delicious thrusts later you felt his thick load of cum filling you up to the brim. The feeling was amazing.

After he composed himself and got his breath back again, he said:

"You are a perfect cum slut. You're mine now, tawtute. My mate."

✶

Taglist:

@yeosxxx

[andypantsx3]

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑖𝑖

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother,steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 5.7k | chapter 3 of 4

Then

“I want to climb trees, this is so boring,” Touya complained, face down on the sofa.

You flung a piece of plastic pizza at him, laughing when it bounced off his back. Touya turned to give you the evil eye, daggers in his gaze.

“Keigo and Rumi will be here soon, can you just wait?” you asked.

On your other side, Shouto made an unhappy grunt, leaning out from behind you to give Touya a narrow-eyed little gaze. “Y/N is busy. Do not interrupt,” he said primly.

Touya grunted. “Y/N isn’t yours, you little shit. Y/N is my friend.”

Shouto puffed up next to you, little hand gripping your shirt. “Y/N is mine, Touya.” His mismatched gaze was intense where it fixed on his older brother, like he was trying to set him on fire with his eyeballs.

You shifted in between them with years of long practice, blocking their line of sight. Brothers.

“I really want to play house, if only someone would stop arguing and play with me,” you said, making sure to sound extra pathetic. That always got Shouto.

As expected, he immediately abandoned Touya, patting you as if to reassure you. “Of course I will play with you, Y/N,” he pronounced solemnly, like he was declaring some oath of office.

You snorted, turning back to Shouto’s kitchen playset with him. It had been Touya’s first, several years ago when you first visited the Todoroki house. Back then he still deigned to play with it, bossing you around like the alpha of the house, though you didn’t quite think he was going to grow up as one. Then you’d gotten too old for it, preferring video games or board games or ranging around the neighborhood, up to little good.

Today was a rare day that Keigo was permitted to come out and run around the neighborhood with you, but you had to wait for him to get here first with Rumi. And so you’d allowed Shouto to drag you over to the kitchen set while you waited, he its final owner.

“What shall I make you, Mr. Todoroki?” you asked Shouto, shifting the little plastic frying pan around on the wooden stove top. “I make a mean sliced banana. Or a sandwich, or chicken.”

Shouto moved to sit next to you, peering at his options. “I want to make it with you.”

You smiled. “You don’t want me to cook it for you?”

Shouto shook that mop of scarlet and white hair. “I want to do it together.”

You laughed. “Alright, then how about you cut up the veggies for our sides and our sandwich, and I’ll cook the chicken.”

Shouto laid out a myriad of plastic vegetables on the counter, levering his plastic knife through the velcro in their center with great concentration. You tried not to reach out and pinch his cheek for how cute he was. You didn’t understand how Touya got so annoyed with all his younger siblings when they were this sweet.

You got to work frying your plastic pile of chicken, laying it out on fake plates across the carpet when you were done. Shouto carefully placed the sliced vegetables next to it, and then the two of you bent over the pieces of a sandwich, layering in the plastic onion, tomato, lettuce, and bread.

“Shall we make you up a plate, Touya?” you asked. Touya just flashed you a rude gesture from the couch.

“This is only for you,” Shouto insisted, pushing your plate at you. You grinned down at him, passing over the fake cutlery.

“Well thank you, chef Shouto. I am honored to be worthy enough of your cooking,” you said.

Shouto’s little cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed. He pretended to take a bite out of his sandwich, and then a swig out of his fake bottle of milk.

“So, how was work?” he asked, out of nowhere.

You blinked at him, then startled into another laugh. Oh, so he wanted to play real house, like you were married. So funny.

You pretended to take a thoughtful bite of your own meal. “Very busy and tiring,” you said. “I couldn’t wait to come home.”

Shouto scooted a little bit closer to you, pushing some of his fake veggies at you, their velcro innards rolling. “You need to eat a lot to keep your energy,” he pronounced. “Until I can make enough money that you do not have to work so hard.”

You grinned. So he thought he was going to be the breadwinner, huh? Not super traditional for an omega, but times were changing. You couldn’t imagine an alpha who wouldn’t want to provide for sweet little Shouto, though, so that was something he and his life mate were going to have to negotiate.

“We’re already rich, idiot,” Touya said from the couch. “Mom said we all have an inheritance.”

Shouto’s eyebrow twitched, like he was annoyed Touya was intruding on this private domestic discussion.

“Then you can have my inheritance,” he insisted to you, though you knew he had absolutely no idea what that meant.

You pretended to think on this.

“What if I use some of it to open my bookstore, and then pay you back the profits?” you asked.

Touya thought your dream of a bookstore was stupid, so you anticipated his annoyed grunt from the couch. But you still liked the idea of it. Ever since you were little, you’d wanted to own one of the brick-faced shops right along the waterfront, somewhere you could walk to from your house. You’d pile it high with thousands of books and plants and string-lights and have all your friends come over after hours to hang out.

You didn’t want to leave your hometown like so many people did. You wanted to make a home right here on the coast, where you could watch over your mom and hang out with Shouto and Touya and Keigo and Rumi.

Though these days you’d become aware that starting a business required upfront money first. Hopefully you would figure out how to get some by the time you graduated highschool. But the Todoroki inheritance would work nicely for your fantasy bookstore.

“You do not have to pay me back the profits,” Shouto insisted. “If we are married.”

You laughed. “Right, right. Then they’re our profits.”

“This is sickening,” Touya said, his voice muffled into a pillow.

You wiggled your eyebrows at Shouto, considering saying something that would bait Touya, but then the doorbell rang. Touya shot up off the couch, rushing over to let in his saviors.

“Looks like Keigo and Rumi are here,” you told Shouto. “Thank you for a delicious dinner.”

Some tiny flicker crossed Shouto’s serious little face, something like annoyance, which you so rarely saw on him. “I want to make it together again.”

You nodded, patting his fluff of multicolored hair. “Yeah, we’ll do it again. Next time we’ll even do dessert, okay?”

Shouto looked momentarily appeased. “And you’ll eat it all. So you have energy.”

You laughed, yanking on one of the strands of his hair fondly. “Absolutely. You take such good care of me, Shouto.”

A pleased little smile turned the corner of his mouth. He placed a hand on your knee as you heard Keigo and Rumi spill into the house, the rustle of Rumi and Touya immediately tussling.

“I will take good care of you always,” Shouto said seriously. “You have my word.”

“I trust it,” you said. And you knew he meant it.

Todoroki Shouto was such a sweet boy, and he was going to make someone a very good not-pretend husband one day. You waved to him as Rumi looped a nut-brown arm over your neck, pulling you outside.

These days, you’d been aware that life was not going to be as stable as you’d always assumed it would be as you grew up. But you hoped you’d still be around to see Shouto grow up too, married and happy like that with his own real life partner some day.

You wondered where you would be when that finally happened.

Now

The next few days proved a test of your resolution to be normal about Shouto.

Everywhere you went, it seemed like Shouto was there—or maybe you were the problem, finding yourself drawn to wherever he was.

You took meals at the Todoroki house a couple more times, eating them out of house and home like you had as a teen—Shouto always stopping by too to eat something on his way on or off a shift. Twice your morning runs had taken you by the fire station, only to see a pair of mismatched eyes tracking you curiously from the engine bay, burning hot on your back as you quickly scurried away, feeling insane.

Shouto joined Touya when he met you and Rumi and Keigo for drinks one evening, Touya looking just as chagrined to have his baby brother tagging along as he had when you were kids.

“Shouto-duty,” he’d growled, the same as when you were little and he was charged with Shouto’s care. Shouto’s face had gone carefully blank, the paragon of innocence, and you’d laughed as he angled himself into the booth across from you.

Of course you’d quickly shut up when he’d pressed his calf up against yours, his long legs unfurling under the table. You’d quickly jerked your leg aside to make space for him, but he stretched out further, an ankle pressing to yours. He didn’t seem to mind, although it made your face warm for some reason.

Shouto had been good company, and had patiently endured Rumi’s hair ruffling and Keigo’s incessant teasing. He’d even walked you home at the end of the evening, like a protective alpha, even though you were not an omega and could damn well take care of yourself. And he’d lingered as you’d unlocked the door, smiling his tiny, careful little smile, and looking almost like he was waiting for something.

You’d bitten out a strangled good night and quickly barricaded yourself inside the house, lest you do something stupid.

That had the unfortunate effect of making you feel even more like a girl returning home from a date, however, and your mother had been almost beside herself with glee when she’d caught a hint of Shouto’s scent as you’d jerked the door closed behind you.

“An alpha?” she’d prompted again, abandoning her soap opera to lean over the couch arm eagerly.

“It’s just Shouto,” you’d explained hastily, waving your arms, a little loose with the drinks you’d had. “It’s not anything.”

Your mother’s eyebrows had gone up. “I thought he was your child bride.”

You hissed, shushing her, casting a stricken glance at the open window. You hoped Shouto had turned around immediately and gotten out of hearing range or you were going to have to kill your own mother.

“He is like my orderly, helping me off the shuttle back into the retirement home,” you said, turning and emphatically shedding your jacket and shoes, effectively ending the conversation.

But that hadn’t been the end of it. You’d seen Shouto a million times more since then, culminating in a final sighting the night before the run.

You’d ducked out to the grocery, intent on gathering up a day’s worth of supplies for the run. For most people it was over within a few hours—omegas had a thirty minute head start but usually went no further than a mile out, the ritual no longer the strict test of a mate it might have been back before things like showers and wifi and nine-to-fives were invented. But you always went to the coast, a hike of at least an hour or two, and you needed to stay up your tree for at least a few more while the more daring omegas who’d come out around you were summarily hunted down and properly bedded.

With the hike back accounted for, it usually took up most of the day, and you’d long learned your time was best spent with a book, a few bottles of water, and several snacks on hand.

You recognized Shouto’s distinctive mop of hair and broad shoulders as soon as you turned onto the produce aisle. He’d seemed somehow to sense you already—though betas were notoriously harder to scent than omegas—mismatched eyes already pinned to you as you rounded the corner.

You startled, your basket jerking in your grip.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, sidling up to him.

Shouto watched you approach, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Y/N,” he intoned, peering curiously into your basket. A long-fingered, elegant hand reached out to touch the snacks you’d gathered there, everything but the apple you’d been targeting when you’d turned into this aisle.

“For the run?” Shouto guessed, eyes darting back up to catch yours.

You could feel your face flushing in acknowledgement of the ridiculousness of your participation. “Yes,” you said, dredging up a grin. You were happy to see him. “With any luck, and a heaping dollop of guilt, hopefully my last ever. I’m going all out.”

Something flickered behind Shouto’s eyes, a sort of glint you’d never seen before. For some reason the hair on the back of your neck raised. Maybe an alpha thing.

“With any luck,” he repeated, his voice rich, strangely deep.

You wiggled your basket of snacks at him. “What about you? Making preparations for the big day?”

Shouto’s eyes followed the basket as you dropped it back down to your side. “Yes. I was hoping to make something, for after.”

Your eyebrows shot up, a wave of helpless affection for him rising in you. “For your life mate? To take them home to?”

Shouto nodded, his scarlet and white strands falling into his eyes. He was so, so good.

You couldn’t help but reach out and pinch him, right on his rib cage. “You are too pure to be related to your family.”

Shouto blinked, eyelashes fluttering. His gaze was a little darker where it caught yours again. “I would not be so sure.”

You took a step back, slightly startled by this assertion. Another flush heated your cheeks, and you pinched him again for good measure. “Respect your elders’ opinions, brat.”

Shouto’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, catching your fingers in his before you could do too much damage. Your heart hammered to a stop in your chest, your hand suddenly burning beneath his.

“Let me make you something,” he said, his tone dipping low again.

A surprised breath escaped you. “Like lunch? For tomorrow?”

Shouto watched you for a long moment before answering. “That, as well.”

“Oh, then you meant like, for dinner tonight?” You frowned, wracking your brain for his meaning, and coming up short.

That wry little smile played about Shouto’s mouth again. “Yes, dinner tonight, too.”

You squinted at him, unclear what he was trying to do here. “Touya says you’re a shit cook and that’s why you come eat all Rei’s cooking.”

Shouto’s face went pointedly blank. “I am passable.”

“I’ve heard conflicting reports.”

“Then perhaps you can help me.” Shouto’s fingers curled around yours more tightly. “I will purchase, and you direct the operation.”

Your mind suddenly flickered back, catching the wisp of an afternoon years ago, bent over Shouto’s fake plastic cookware, a tiny, round-faced Shouto insisting he’d provide for you. Cooking together, you directing Shouto to cut the plastic veggies along their velcro strips while you diligently fried your plastic chicken. Your heart swelled.

“In the interest of you not food poisoning your life mate your first night together, I’m willing to show you a thing or two,” you said, peering up at him, feeling slightly giddy.

Shouto’s mouth quirked. “I will watch carefully.”

You grinned. “Alright. What are we thinking for meals then?”

It turned out Shouto already had a plan in mind—fried chicken karaage, with marinated vegetable sides, and for lunch some jam-packed wanpaku sandwiches to keep your energy up out in the preserve tomorrow. He made a second pass through the snack aisle, seeming to pull in doubles or triples of everything you’d collected in your basket so far. Then he even snuck in two pieces of chocolate cake in the bakery section, crowned with little dollops of fresh whipped cream.

Shouto dumped your entire basket into his as well, holding you off with a strong arm when you made a grab for it, and ignored your protests all the way through checkout.

“Shouto, that’s my lunch, I should pay,” you insisted, getting a little hot in the face again when he was easily able to fend you off with one arm despite your genuine efforts. God, that was—you needed to not think about that.

“I once promised to take good care of you,” Shouto said, leading the way out of the store. You followed, realizing you had no idea where he lived now.

“You were a baby. You also promised me your entire inheritance,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Plus starting tomorrow you are going to have a life mate to provide for.”

Shouto turned to look down at you, eyes dragging down your face. “I will.”

“Okay then we’re agreed,” you said, digging around in your bag for his change. Shouto’s stride lengthened, however, like he was trying to dodge you. You hurried after him, swearing like Touya, and found yourself all but chasing him towards the waterfront, suddenly freezing when Shouto turned onto one of the shop-lined streets, stopping just before a familiar little brick building.

“Shouto—you live above this?” you asked, creeping forward to look in through the window.

The shop stood empty, as it had the day you’d graduated high school, but you could see it was well-maintained, new flooring installed in a warm light wood and windows shined to crystal clarity. “I used to be obsessed with this place, this is where I thought my bookshop was going to be!” you said, unsure if you were talking to Shouto or yourself.

The soft clink of Shouto’s key paused in the door. “I know,” he said. “I remember you telling me.”

You turned back to him, smiling. “That was a million years ago and you were like, barely out of the womb.”

Shouto’s eyes pinned you with an alarming intensity, grey and blue points burning through you. “I remember everything you have ever told me.”

Your breath wooshed out of you, leaving you startlingly vulnerable. You desperately scrambled for verbal cover. “I—you are so full of it. You weren’t even speaking words yet when I met you.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked again, and he gestured you inside. You followed behind him, trying not to admire the way his broad shoulders filled up the breadth of the stairwell, the way his thighs bunched in his jeans as he took the stairs.

No. That way lay danger.

Shouto’s apartment had the same lovely blonde wood across the floors as the shop downstairs, and a huge bay window overlooking the coast where you imagined you could see the sun come up over the water in the mornings. The rest of the apartment was modern in style, though strangely minimalist, as though Shouto hadn’t filled it with very many of his own things.

“My life mate will need room,” he explained, unloading the groceries on the counter.

Your heart twisted at that, and you purposefully set about drinking in your fill of Shouto’s space before someone else filled it in for him. You admired the large, cushiony couch, chosen as if Shouto had imagined a thousand nights cuddled up on it with someone else, what appeared to be a super old but working fireplace, and the neatly arranged rows of hanging copper pots, which you could tell almost never got used.

It smelled like him, his alpha scent everywhere, like sweet campfire smoke on a cold breeze. It made you want to curl up in here and never leave.

“It’s amazing, Shouto. Your mate is going to just die over this,” you said, totally charmed.

You tried hard to ignore the little tinge of jealousy souring your gut.

Shouto’s gaze flashed up to yours, his long fingers arranging the groceries neatly on his countertops. “I would prefer if no one died,” he said solemnly.

You laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“I had hoped you would like it,” Shouto said, something pleased in his deep tone.

“I love it. You’ll have to invite me back over next time I’m in town,” you said.

Shouto’s fingers hesitated over a tomato, and a small, shy sort of smile pulled at his mouth as he peered down at it. “Perhaps even sooner.”

You blinked, mystified. You weren’t going to have time before you left for the city again, not with the run tomorrow, and definitely not if Shouto spent the traditional several days curled up here with his life mate afterwards.

“Yeah sometime,” you said vaguely, trying not to think too hard on it.

You had sort of enjoyed being Shouto’s favorite when you were kids, your time and attention prioritized even above Touya’s. But Shouto was all grown up now and it was time for him to have a new favorite—you probably hadn’t been his since you’d graduated and disappeared into the city to generate parental support money. It had been years.

“Anyway let’s get this stuff prepped, sous-chef Shouto,” you said, coming around the counter to his side. “I’m thinking the old plan of attack—you slice the veggies, I’ll fry the chicken?”

Shouto’s mouth pulled in a wider smile than you’d seen in a long time, a heart-stoppingly handsome flash of white. You gripped the counter carefully.

“I’d like that,” he said.

He set himself up with a knife and a cutting board, and set you up with a few small bowls for breading, flour, and egg. You noticed he sliced his vegetables a little more dexterously than the velcro veggies of years past—though certainly not expertly. The two of you worked in easy tandem as you whisked the egg, then laid all your chicken pieces out as you waited for the pot on the stove to warm.

The peace was only broken when Shouto suddenly leaned over you, bringing with him a puff of that delicious campfire scent. Your breath reflexively seized in your lungs as you froze, hyperaware of him as his hand went to the side of your hip. He gently pulled you out of range of one of his drawers, moving you like you were an expected piece of his kitchen—like his life mate he was long-used to dancing around, pressing close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

Something like electricity spiked across all of your nerve endings. You tried not to shiver with the feeling of Shouto’s soft exhale over your shoulder, the heavy weight of his hand on your hip as he slid open one of his drawers.

It took you a few moments to recover enough that you realized he’d been pulling out plastic wrap. He hadn’t been curled over your back just for the intimacy of it—god, you were such a fucking creep.

You peeled yourself out of Shouto’s hands and beat a hasty retreat to his fridge, scrounging around for the ingredients you’d need to make the vegetable seasonings. The warm kabocha and fried chicken were going to make perfect leftovers for Shouto and his mate to scarf down after a windy run along the coast tomorrow.

Maybe you’d try to make something similar when you made it back to your mom’s tomorrow. Although, come to think of it, you didn’t really want to be reminded of Shouto stuffed up back here with someone else.

A frown pulled at your mouth, and you pinched your thigh, gathering yourself back together. What Shouto did with his own life mate was none of your business. You needed to remember that.

When Shouto finished cutting up the vegetables you helped him arrange everything into two enormous sandwiches, then covered in plastic wrap and stowed in his fridge to set. He watched you carefully as you fried the chicken, hovering closely behind you like a tall, handsome shadow. You fought against some strange impulse to lean back against his chest, watching the chicken burble in the oil with an intense focus. Shouto didn’t seem to mind the sudden quiet, smiling a small half-smile when you turned back to him.

When it seemed ready, you fished the chicken out, setting it on paper towels to absorb the excess. Shouto followed you, taking hold of your face as you turned back to him.

You froze for the second time, pulse racing, as his fingers came up to brush along your cheek, just under your eye. The touch was gentle but firm, and his gaze swept over you assessingly. He seemed to linger for a long moment—until he came away with flour across his thumb.

A weird sense of disappointment twisted your gut as Shouto looked it over. How embarrassing.

“Oh, thanks,” you managed to say, swiping at your face yourself.

Shouto’s mouth quirked softly. “As I said, I did once promise to take care of you.”

Your face went warmer, and you deliberately did not think about how much you liked that. The only person taking care of you was you, and it was going to have to be that way for the foreseeable future. Flour was only flour.

“Again, you were a baby. You needed taking care of more than me,” you accused.

Shouto shifted closer, an intent look settling over his features. “I am not a child any longer.”

That much was upsettingly clear these days. But that was beside the point.

“Neither of us are,” you agreed. “And I assure you, other than the occasional flour mishap, I am excellent at taking care of myself now. You on the other hand, with all these unused pots…”

Shouto’s eyes lingered on your face. To your horror he absently brought his thumb to his mouth, tongue barely flicking out to lick the flour—and that ended the discussion immediately.

Your face immediately flamed, overcome with shit you absolutely should not be thinking, and you shooed him away to fetch plates. Shouto let himself be shooed, looking contemplative.

When he returned with plates, you busied yourself serving up two large portions of rice, followed by crispy golden fried chicken, cucumber salad, and soft, steaming kabocha. It all looked excellent, if you did say so yourself, practically Michelin-starred compared to the plastic meal you’d made together all those years ago.

Shouto led you over to the coffee table and you both took positions on the floor, your back against his couch.

“This reminds me so much of when we were little,” you said, grinning. “Except the couch is mercifully devoid of any complaining.”

The indent at the side of Shouto’s mouth deepened. “I prefer the lack of Touya as well.”

You laughed, biting into your chicken, pleased when it tasted as good as it looked. Hopefully Shouto’s life mate was going to love it. Shouto looked like he liked it too, his long eyelashes fluttering over the tops of his cheekbones as he chewed. Your stomach flipped.

“So how was work?” you asked Shouto, flipping the script on him from when he was younger.

An electric blue eye cut sideways towards you, like he remembered too.

“Very busy and tiring,” he repeated, almost an exact parroting of your words, if you remembered correctly. “I could not wait to come home.”

“You really do remember a lot,” you said, impressed.

Shouto took a mouthful of squash, chewing neatly. Was it normal to look that pretty when eating?

“As I said,” he said, something slightly smug in his voice.

You rolled your eyes—Todorokis—and took your own mouthful of food, chewing thoughtfully.

“You’re so similar and yet so different,” you informed him when you’d finished. “I’m sad I missed you graduating school, and the academy. You’ve really grown up into an amazing person, Sho.”

Shouto’s chopsticks wavered over his plate, and a pink flush stained his cheeks.

“I had always wanted you to think so, when we were younger,” he said slowly, eyes fixed on his plate.

You smiled. “You were so cute. I was always going to think so. Even when I thought you were going to grow up an omega and had no idea what career you might have wanted. You were just good, I think.”

The tip of Shouto’s ear went red, almost matching the left side of his hair.

You couldn’t help but continue, warmed by how much the praise clearly meant to him. “Touya was my best friend but I liked spending the time with you, even though you were that much younger. I am sorry I haven’t been able to stick around and spend more of it with you.”

Shouto took a deliberate bite of rice, like he was calming himself.

“Your job in the city,” he said, when he finished. “Do you like it?”

You shook your head, snorting. “It’s fine. If I had a say I’d be running that storefront just below us, but my job is at least guaranteed money for mom. I don’t mind, though I do regret not coming back here enough.”

Shouto seemed to take a moment to think on this. “But you would quit it, if you could,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think so. But like I said, it’s not so bad. And it’s pretty good money for a single income if I do say so myself.”

Shouto turned to watch you. “It would be easier if you had your life mate,” he said.

You paused, considering the weight of this statement. “Well yeah. But as you know, not everyone finds theirs. And as a beta I’m sort of stuck waiting for my life mate to find me—I’ve sometimes wondered if any of those alphas I hid up a tree from were actually it, all those years ago. But something tells me no. So I’m doing my own thing in the meantime.”

“Do you hope to find your life mate, this time?” Shouto asked, pinning you with an intense look. He’d abandoned his food it seemed, watching you with singular focus. It was slightly unnerving.

You wondered how best to answer without making him pity you.

“I’ve always hoped, but I’ve never counted on it,” you said. “But one thing is for certain—I wouldn’t accept just anyone. I’m not going to end up like my parents did.”

Shouto’s fingers shifted on the table top, and he seemed to be holding them out to you. You carefully placed your hand in his, gratified when his hand closed over yours, thumb smoothing your skin.

“You are not,” Shouto said, sounding sure. “You will have a life mate who has cared for you and will care for you his whole life.”

He sounded like he meant it. He was so sweet all these years later.

You flushed, embarrassed by his declaration. “Okay. I’ll—trust you on that.”

Shouto looked satisfied, letting your hand go so you could return to your food. You both scarfed down the rest of your meals, like the two of you were storing up enough energy for tomorrow, and then Shouto pressed a slice of chocolate cake on you, too, insistent.

He watched you eat it with the supervisory focus of a mother—or an alpha with his omega, a thought that you immediately put back out of mind.

You let him feed you too much, happy for the extra time in his company, laughing and chatting and reliving shared memories. You insisted on helping him with the dishes, too, washing everything as he packed up the leftovers, and then sorted out your prepared sandwich and the snacks he’d purchased for you. He didn’t let you out of his sight even as he did so, moving in front of you to block your access to your bag when you remembered you owed him money.

Shouto kept hold of it on the way to the door, too, so you couldn’t dig out cash and fling it before running out—he really did know too much about you after all these years.

Once he surrendered your bag to you, he leaned forward, fingers finding the side of your face again, cupping it and turning it up to his.

You went perfectly, embarrassingly still in his hold, breath coming short. His thumb smoothed across your cheek, and a private little smile pulled at his mouth.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised, his tone rich and dark, like the chocolate cake you’d just had.

You barely resisted a shiver, having to manually kickstart your lungs again, breathing in and out deliberately.

“Only if your life mate goes so far,” you said. “I hope for your sake they keep things easy.”

Shouto’s smile widened a bit. “They will not.”

You tried not to be too irritated at whoever it was. Only an idiot would make it so hard for an alpha like Todoroki Shouto.

“Well then, good luck,” you told him. “I’ll be on the lookout for you from my tree. And I’ll have snacks if you need them.” You rattled your bag.

Shouto’s eyes roved over your face, something warm in his gaze. “You will see me,” he said. “Though I do not plan to need any luck.”

Okay that was—he was not allowed to be that confident. That damn omega had no idea how lucky they were.

It took everything you had to wrench yourself away from him, only the knowledge that he was meant for someone else carrying you away. You made yourself salute him, smiling. Then you bid him good night, promising to text him when you got in, and scurried off to your mother’s house, trying to put yourself on the right track again.

You scolded yourself as you readied for bed, dropping a kiss on your mother’s head as you passed her asleep on the couch. You would not be a weenie about this. You were, at least, glad that Shouto was going to find his happiness tomorrow.

Even if you envied them even more tonight after seeing the life Shouto had built for them to share. Even if you wished, despite all odds, that you could find a life mate to share yours, too.

[broodingheroine]

list of weird things I want to hear in a case file in tmagp:

baker (or just a person making their own bread) getting progressively more paranoid about the bubbles in their sourdough starter being sentient

teenager on some sort of social media talking about how the clothes pile on their chair looks at them in the dark

very cliche tree branch shadow tapping on someone's window in the middle of the night but it's actually an evil tree

I want more haunted theaters. It can never be overdone.

musician finds the one out of tune key on their piano deeply disconcerting to the point of obsession

someone gets a splinter and can't quite seem to get it out..... they keep digging for hours

avalanche. being stuck under the snow and not being able to tell which way is up.

story of someone who got stuck in an office building all alone and couldn't find the exit but there's just enough details similar to the oiar building that it freaks someone out.

worm sex part 2: electric boogaloo

someone with frost bite who couldn't stop rubbing their arms even though the skin was getting shredded from the ice particles :) flesh

everytime someone gets their picture taken, even if it's a candid, the result is them staring dead into the lense. even if they were turned the opposite direction when it was taken. they avoid cameras now.

someone's voice cannot be recorded and they start to question whether or not they're real.

furbiez.

someone who realizes everyone they've ever known has forgotten them. kind of an inverse not!them where they're the only one who knows themselves.

apartment complex finds body in their water tank, people had been drinking corpse water, one of the tenants obsesses over it and starts putting more bodies in the tank to get the ✨️flavor✨️ back.

love induced cannibalism and I want that shit genuinely romanticized. like i want it portrayed as if it's the most reasonable thing on earth to consume your loved ones.

time loop. except the person in the time loop is there so long they get desensitized and start just having fun with it. the time it finally stops looping is when they've done the most heinous thing they could think of and then they have to live with it.

might add more if they occur to me

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 2,187

> **A/N:** AHHHHHH this is my first character fic, and only the second one I've ever been brave enough to post! I also had to post this on mobile because my browser was being wild so sorry for any formatting issues!

The sound of senseless fucking had never seemed to bother you. Easy to filter out, truthfully, and not as traveling as one would think it to be. No, there are many things worse, like for instance the smell. One never takes into account the smell of sex, much less the smell of alcohol fueled, desperate, old haggard men driving the last of their life-force into some disinterested cunny eager to make a coin. Eager to spend a coin, as well.

That's where you came in. Whores work up quite an appetite, one you are all too happy to satisfy, no pun intended. You'd been with Sylvi for years, after you'd run from your family in the dead of night, afraid of the life they'd planned for you.

"Everybody must eat," Sylvi sighed the night she met you, disinterested. "If you will not fuck, you will feed. We earn our keep around these parts, you'll do well to learn quickly."

That was the start of a very standoffish, albeit maternal, relationship. Sylvi had never truly cared for your company, but she cared for you, and that was more than many could say, and more than you could say of any kin. She had taken you in, given you shelter among her girls, and had asked very little of you, knowing your past. She'd seen you into young womanhood, and taught you all you wished to know about life. She was not coddling, nor cruel. She was just what you needed, and it seemed many shared the sentiment.

You were in a daydream as you went about your nightly tasks. The brothel would be closing in a few hours, the girls would need food, and you had really set into it, working quick and messily, spinning and turning about in an attempt to do too many things at once.

Just as you'd turned from the broth and made way to the oven, a wall had manifested itself and blocked your passage. No, not really a wall. Moreso a tree, in it's slender and sharp way. The branches had reached out to hold you, wrapping around your waist and breaking you from your reverie. Suddenly before you was a bare chest, pale in color and smooth like silk. He was taught with muscle, cut like marble. The kind of statue kings pay fortunes for, just to place in their hallway and walk past every morning.

"Sir, no one is meant in the kitchens." You had spoken before you'd had the chance to understand what you were saying, turning from him and back towards your oven to retrieve the loaves. "You'll need to return back to the brothel, Sylvi will not have men in her kitchen."

"'Twas Sylvi that sent me. I've come for wine." The voice was quiet, but in a way that made the ears strain to hear him, instead of drown him out.

Wine? Why would he not stop at the many*tables he'd have to pass to get here?You'd thought. This man must have ill intentions.

Slowly grabbing your bread knife, you turned your head to the side to face the intruder.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

"My Prince! " The sound of metal rang through the room as you dropped the blade unto the table to turn fully towards him. "My sincerest apologies, my prince! Please forgive me, I had no idea!" You did your best curtsy, and prayed to the Seven that he wouldn't find me impertinent, and would be in a forgiving mood. What you'd just done could be viewed as treason, an attempt on the prince's life.

In the state he was in, which you had noticed, you surmised he just might be in a forgiving mood. He was nude from head to toe, his brow beaded from heat and, hopefully, exertion. The hook of his nose looked sharper as his purple eye followed it to look down at you. He was beautiful, almost overly so. It could only have been Prince Aemond, the eye patch gave him away, even though you'd never seen him before, you'd be a fool not to know the stories of the one-eyed prince. And you'd known him to be a rather fond client of Sylvi's, as she boasted often to the other girls at dinner.

His presence there in your safe haven was unnerving, and once again the sounds of debauchery were drowned out, but now it was as if he'd sucked the noise from the room. He was too tall for the room, it was not made for him. What would a kitchen made for a God even look like? The very notion to build such a thing seemed almost blasphemous to you. He was looking at you like you didn't even exist, almost through you. His stare was too deep for that of a stranger, but perhaps he had to look so intensely because his lack of an eye.

He finally cleared his throat, as if it would've pained him to repeat himself.

"The wine, yes. We are a humble establishment, so you will have to be forgiving with our selection. I'll have our best sent to you at once!" And with that, he let out a low hum and left you to your duties.

You'd quickly managed a carafe and two goblets, and sent it through with a boy, with strict instructions to deliver it to the prince. You'd have delivered it yourself, but as you did not know where he was, and did not have the time searching the brothel for him, you'd relented to send it through a lord's boy, and hope he was competent enough to manage it.

As the sounds died out from the front of the house, you'd began shuffling out with bowls of broth and loaves for the girl. They took it gratefully, each dropping two coins in your hands and sitting to eat, sharing small talk and whatever gossip they had learned from their clients.

"Ser Lannister had quite a bit to share tonight. He speaks of war. Do you know what war means?" Lauryn spoke excitedly.

"Rapers." Another girl, Cate called from farther away, monotone. "Foreign men coming into the city in siege, taking over the villages."

"It means more clients, Cate." Sylvi's voice quickly silenced the small talk, as she walked to the table and sat, ready to be served her complimentary meal. Her place at the table, as always, was already set, and she reached for her wine immediately. "War means the king calls for more men. They leave their wives, and with no one to warm their bed, they come to us."

"Precisely." Lauryn agreed readily. "If war comes, I welcome it. I don't give a shit who sits the throne, as long as the crown prospers enough to put gold in my pocket." She lifted her goblet, a smirk on her face at her own clever musing.

"I'll drink to that." Another girl called from the back, which caused an rupture of quiet laughter through the room.

As you passed to fill an empty cup, Sylvi grabbed you arm, and pulled you in close enough to whisper.

"I require a moment with you." At your confirming nod, she raised from her seat and left to her room. You were quick to follow, leaving the carafe with the girls, who took it readily and saluted your departure.

Once in her lavish rooms, Sylvi sat at her vanity and peered at you through the mirror, an air of drama filled the room and caused you to rock on your toes in an attempt to soothe yourself.

"I see you've met the Prince."

Oh. You'd thought surely this would be a serious conversation, but as you had spoken so few words to the man, you could not see how possibly she could have taken issue with your conversation. Unless the prince had told her about your grabbing the knife, in which you were in deep shit.

"Yes, ma'am." You sat in an armchair and folded your hands in your lap. "He came to ask for wine, and I had some sent with a squire, I believe."

"He seemed to take a liking to you." She brushed off your words just as she now did her hair, her lips pressed into a tight line that betrayed her nonchalant tone. "He asked for you, the next time he graced us with his patronage."

Your throat tightened and your stomach lurched. This can't be. Your conversations were short, and you had nearly insulted him, and then only half obeyed his order by sending someone in your stead with the wine. Perhaps he hoped for a moment alone so he could punish you for your insolence. Perhaps he was just playing at a joke, and Sylvi had taken it for more than he had meant it. Though he did not seem to you a joking type, and Sylvi seemed sure in her words.

Would she sell you to the prince? It hardly seemed as though you would be in a position to refuse, should he insist on a private meeting with you. But perhaps Sylvi had a sway with the prince that others did not.

"I...don't understand, ma'am. I do not-"

"Of course, I told him you were not that type of girl." She reassured. "He listens to me, you know. I'm one of the only he bears his heart to." Her voice took on a dreamier tone. "I'm the only woman he's known."

"I had no idea." I spoke distantly, still reeling at the idea of being asked for personally, and by a man of such high standing.

"What did you say to him? When he came to the kitchens. I sent him for wine, and he comes back without wine, and with a sudden interest in you" She turns around now, her eyes appraising and scrutinizing.

"I did not say anything, ma'am. I had mistaken him for a mere lord at first, I told him to leave. And then he ordered the wine, and I told him it would be done! I promise, there was nothing untoward, and no advances."

You spoke at a mile a minute to plead your case. It was clear this woman had an attachment to the prince, and you would not give the impression that you were there to threaten it. Sylvi was a kind woman, but a burn so scalding might just scorch her heart enough to cast you out.

"I swear it to you, ma'am. I've no interest in the prince, and he none in me. If anything, he only wishes to punish me privately for the way I behaved before I knew he was the prince." She nodded at your words.

"Nonetheless, I let him know you were not available. He did not take the refusal well, but such is his way. Dragons are not used to the word 'no'." She readjusted and smiled at you. "It's nothing to worry at, my dear. Just go about your duties, and do not speak to the prince again. He'll forget you in time." You nodded and stood to leave.

"Thank you. You've done such a kindness for me, and I owe you my life. I would never make such a slight against you, please know that." Her dismissing nod and small tired smile was enough for you to turn and take your leave.

The women had filled their bellies of wine and broth, and some began to make way to their beds, others staying around to gossip. You approached the lingering girls, grabbing a loaf from the table and sitting on a chair to eat.

"So, will you?" Lauryn, who still remained, asked you, as if the incomplete question was all you needed to know. When you only responded with a questioning look, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Will you fuck him? Everyone here heard the prince and Sylvi's clash. He wanted you. He begged for you!" The other girls began giggling and wiggling their eyebrows at you. "It drove her mad! He doesn't want her anymore."

"Not wanting Sylvi is one thing, but wanting you is another." Another girl, Maria, a Dornish delicacy, played with her hair as she spoke with a natural coolness. "If you don't want to, of course you shouldn't, but you should consider it. A prince would pay handsomely, perhaps even enough for you to move on."

"I would not do that to Sylvi, I would not do it at all. I wouldn't even know how, I'm not versed in the...fetishes of men."

"She told him such, but he would not hear it. He asked for an exception to be made, perhaps a private arrangement. If anything, it seemed to appeal to him more, knowing you were still untouched." Lauryn jumped back in, eager to return back to her teasing.

"I would only lay with a man I chose. I did not have the option before I left home, but I do now, and I will choose myself who I bed." And with that, you stood to leave, retiring to your room for the night.

[prettiestgrlinthemorguexo]

Can I request an Lucifer Morningstar x fem reader??

This like came up in my mind recently and I’m going feral over it

So Reader is Adams third wife that he had begged again to god to make him another wife (this is way before the exterminators fight with the devils when reader was created) and with that god made reader to be his wife that is different from both lilith and Eve, when reader was visiting The garden of Eden, she met lucifer who was on his way to do a meeting with the angels about the populations or the updates(idk you can do something like that) and lucifer was strolling through Eden again like going through a flashback when it all happened until he met reader who was sitting down underneath that same tree where he met Eve

Lucifer found reader enchanting and alluring since she was more beautiful then his ex wife, and soon had an urge to seduce reader like he did to adams other ex wives as lucifer held an apple to reader to tempt her with free will, reader was hesitant and tempted but asked lucifer “what did you do to make adams ex wives to leave him for you?” (She wasn’t told how adams ex wives fucked lucifer but she does know about the free will but what happened to Eve since she knew about the whole story about lucifer and lilith) it made lucifer smirk and told reader “would you like to know?”

(I’m sorry but like I’ve been thinking so much about it🤭🤭🤭)

Third times a charm (Lucifer Morningstar x Adam’s wife! Reader)

Legit love this idea, this a smut for obvi reasons

At this point, Adam just needs to stop because no one wants him also this takes place like 2 year-ish after Lilith left Lucifer

This is not proofread!!!

Also I’m not christen so I don’t know everything about Christianity. So I’m going off of Hazbin hotel and how I interpret the things I do know from the Bible

Reader is female in this

Warnings: smut, P n V sex, oral sex (reader reserving), reader is a virgin (Adam doesn’t get pussy) , dom! Lucifer, outside/public sex, Y/N is suggested to have big thighs, Lucifer comforting reader, Mentions of blood

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

No ones POV

After Lilith and Eve both falling for Lucifer’s tricks, Adam begged for a new wife. God obliged gave them one more, he named her Y/N, they had H/C hair and the most beautiful E/C eyes. They were a few form of beauty never seem before, oftenly considered the ‘beautiful one’ of Adams wives by the head angels. You lived with Adam, but due to Adam off doing heavens know what, she spent most of her time in the place it all started…the garden of Eden.

Y/N was told about how Lucifer ‘bewitched’ Lilith and eve to betray God and Adam and the heavens itself, but was never really known why they did, why did they choose Lucifer? It was a question they asked herself quite often.

On one summers day while Adam was off doing what Y/N could only assume to be ‘work’, she was once again in the garden. Y/N couldn’t explain why they like the garden so much but they felt so drawn to it. On this day, Y/N wasn’t the only one in the garden. This was one of the days the Angels were meeting with the king of hell himself, Lucifer.

Lucifer had to attend another meeting due to the population still not going down as much as the Angels hoped. He truly didn’t want to attend such a meeting, but he had to. To avoid the meeting as long as possible he decided to take a walk in the a Garden of Eden, this garden help a special place in Lucifer’s mind, where he met he ex wife Lilith and where evil was created when Eve eating the fruit of wisdom.

Today he chose to visit that very tree, the large tree where everything happened. As the walked through the greenery he way the opening where the tree sat but there was something else, someone else. They’re laid a woman lying in the shade of under the large apple tree wearing a white angelic bread, her beautiful H/L H/C they laid against the bed of grass. Her facial features were gorgeous, things he’s never seen before. She had E/C eyes. Everything about her was enchanting, as he was admiring her the noticed something on her finger, a gold wedding band with a large “A” ingrained on it…she was Adam’s wife.

Lucifer was surprised by the knowledge, when had Adam gotten a new wife? God actually gave him another after what happened to the last two? Lucifer remembering the every tree she lied under. Lucifer idea came to his head, why not keep up the streak of stealing away Adams wife? Lucifer moved swiftly over to the tree taking one of the hanging apples before appearing infront of the woman.

Though Y/N eyes were closed enjoyed the sounds of the garden, they felt an unfamiliar presence around her. She shot her eyes E/C open to see a pale man with blonde hair, we wore a white suit with red detailing along with the snake along his hat,then they notice this hand, he was holding a apple.

Y/N nearly shot up from her previous position, she knew who this was…it was Lucifer. She’s hear stories of the fallen angel, but has never seen his face before but she knew it was him. “Hello my dear.” He said with a smile was he stepped closer to her. She didn’t looked scared more intrigued than anything, which he wasn’t expecting considering the stories told of him by the angels. “Did God not give you a voice dear?” He asked seeming more of a joke. “No,” she said to this, her eyes not leaving his face, “I have one..”

He leaned down get on one knee infront of her, “then why don’t you use it? You could be free…” his clawed hand that held the red apple extend to her, the red apple begging to be taken. She stared at the apple debating it for a moment before her eyes moved back to his, “I have a question for you..” she asked him, she seemed so unmoved by the chance at free will. It caught him a little off guard, “she is truly different..” the thought to himself. “Ask away Dove? What on your mind?” He ask the woman curious what question could be more important then free will.

“What did you do to make Adam’s first to wives to leave him for you?” She asked him, curious

Lucifer smug smile feel into a shocking look, did she not know about what happened? Is Heaven really hiding this from her? Then it hit Lucifer, what a better way to teach then show her. He let the apple drop to the ground as he crawled over to her, moving between her legs, he moves one of his under her chin tilting it to him.

“Would you like to know? I could show you..” he said to her in a low voice.

She looked at him a little shocked, what was this feeling? Y/N had never help this before, she felt hot. “Yes..” she said to him, he smile widen as he lead his face in more. “Are you sure..?” He asked again, in an almost teasing way. Y/N nodded their head, “I am…show me..” and with those words, Lucifer kissed them deep.

It caught Y/N off guard but quickly kissed back, wrapping their arms around this neck pulling him closer Lucifer was quick to move his free arm around your waist and pulled you in. Making her body press against his. The feeling her body pressed again his, Y/N couldn’t help but moan at this foreign feeling growing in her. Lucifer heard her moan, it was like a siren call to him. He took the hand that was on her cheek and moved it down under her dress, brushing his fingers over her clothed pussy.

The feeling of his actions made Y/N jump at the feeling, she’s never felt this, it sent an aching feeling into her cover, it felt as if her body was begging for more. Lucifer pulled away from the kiss, a smile string of saliva connecting them. Her face was flushed, a perfect shade of red. Lucifer pressed against her pussy again feeling a wet pool form, almost like on command she let out another moan, her nail’s scratching the nape of his neck.

Lucifer smiled at her reaction, before moving down. “Let me help you with this…” he said in a low voice full of lust, his voice alone enchanting her. Lucifer spread her legs wider and lifted her dress up, revealing her stomach and clothed pussy. Y/N gasp at the action, a little embarrassed and how relieved she is. Lucifer kissed her stomach as they removed their panties, revealing their soaking wet cunt. Y/N watched him as he kissed down her stomach before pulling away, his eyes moving up to look at hers before back to her pussy.

Lucifer moved her thighs onto his shoulder, knocking off his hat, allowing him full access into to her, before he could react to her lower body being lifted up, Lucifer licked her wet folds. Y/N gasp letting out a moan at the feeling of this long tongue lick her. Lucifer let out a groan, she was he best thing he’s ever tasted, he was quick to move in closer, his mouth pressed against her wet cunt, eating her out like it was his last meal. Y/N couldn’t help but become a moaning mess quickly, the feeling was so foreign but it was the best feeling she’d felt her whole life, she wanted, no, she needed more.

Her hand reaching down and tangled her finger in his blonde hair, pushing his head in. It caught him off guard but he loved seeing her so eager. Lucifer happily fulfilled her wish for move , he slipped his tongue in her as he continued to eat. Y/N felt a pit form inside her, she needed it to go away, he needed to make it go away. “Fuck..please!” Y/N moaned out louder. Lucifer could tell she was close by the feeling of her tightening around his long tongue, he groan at the feeling, feeling his pants tighten up. His groans send a vibration into her.

Y/N clinched her thighs around his head, moaning as the vibration. She felt like she was about to release something that she didn’t even know of. After a few more swift motions of Lucifer, Y/N felt the pit release, she let out a loud moan, she attempted to muffle it out by covering her mouth. Lucifer moaned and slurped up all her juices, it was the perfect taste.

Y/N felt like she was floating, this feeling was so knew but she never wanted it to stop. After he sucked her dry, Lucifer pulled away his chin glistening with her juices. When Lucifer go back onto his knees, he stayed between her now shaking legs, he looked at her flushed face, her eyes clouded with the new pleasure. To him she looked perfectly, he was quick to kiss her deep, yet every passionately. Y/N was quick to kiss back softly playing with his hair. While they kissed, Lucifer was quick to undo this belt. Before he could finish undoing his pants, he pulled away hovering over her.

“Are you ready..?” Lucifer asked softly. Y/N nodded their head eagerly, “Please…I need this..” she said through heavy breaths. Lucifer smiled as he undid his pants pulling them down. His cock springing to life. Y/N gasp softly, mesmerized. Lucifer moved in closer in, when he did Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt him pressing his tip against her entrance, she shivered at the feeling.

After a moment Lucifer slowly entered her stretching her out. She gasped loudly moaning, she felt the sting of him stretching her out. She felt tears peak the corners of her eyes. Noticing this Lucifer stayed still, moving his face down to place butterfly kisses on her face, moving his hand to her cheek holding her kissing away her tears. “It’s ok dove..” he whispered in her ear and he continued his assault of kisses. “Just tell me when to continue, ok..?” He said softly to her, she nodded her head and held him close as he continued to kiss her face, wishing sweet nothing in Y/N’s ear.

After a few minutes, she whispered to him “you can continue..” she said quietly. Lucifer nodded his head as he continued to push in, she whinned a little but it wasn’t as painful as before. Soon he was all the way in, all 8 inches. He was still for a moment looking into Y/N eyes, waiting for her permission to move, Y/N nodded. With the affirming nod of approval, Lucifer pulled nearly all the way our all the way out and slammed back in, making Y/N throw her head pack and moan loudly. It was a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Lucifer couldn’t help but moan himself, Y/N was so tight it was a knee feeling to him. He loved him. As he slowly continued his thrust, Y/N could held but moan into Lucifer’s neck. This feeling was new to Y/N and they didn’t want it to end. “Please!” Y/N moaned out to him between this thrust, “more please..” Lucifer smiled at his words as he sped up with his thrust. “Fuck..” Lucifer moaned out as he held her tight. There body’s pressed against each other, Y/N nails were dug into his back nearly tearing his suit jacket, Y/N could feel the pit reforming in her as a fast past, Lucifer could feel it too.

Lucifer could feel him release building up, and it was only getting closer as he felt her squeeze around him. He could only let out groans as he digs his nails through her dress, piecing her skin, drawing blood. Y/N’s head was thrown back they felt like they were about to release. “Please!!” Y/N’s nearly screamed out to him. Lucifer smiled obeying her orders, speeding up for her and his own release. Her blood began to slowly stain her white dress, after a few more thrust Y/N let out a moan as they came again, coating his cock with them. Her body was shaking as he continued to thrust. Feeling the tight wetness, he came into her, painting her wall white. After he was done he clasped onto her, both panting heavily.

Y/N was a shaking mess, Arms wrapped around him tight, almost as if she let go they’d both disappear. “Are you already little dove..?” He asked soft to her. His cock still buried inside her still. “I feel great..” she said softly, nuzzling into him. “Good..” he said quietly kissing her cheek, “now you know why Adams first two wives left him..” Y/N looked at him her E/C filled with wonder and questions. “What does that mean for me.” Lucifer let out a small laugh. “That means your mine now sweetheart..”

Tag list

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight @pooplyface1423 @purplethree @dog55teeth

[wordsarelife]

"why are you always flirting in near death situations?" With Mattheo and bestie reader or girlfriend reader please. I love your imagined so much and this is my first time requesting 🥺

—willow

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: mattheo has a brilliant idea for a date.. not

warnings: mentions of sex, a bit suggestive but no actual smut

notes: this was so fun to write anon, thank you!! please send more of these asks in the future! at the moment i mostly enjoy writing for mattheo or theo (or theo and belle -> from my fic call it what you want)

"this was the stupidest idea ever" you mumbled walking next to mattheo "you really outdid yourself this time"

"isn't it romantic?" he gestured in the air around you

you looked around confused "horrifying is more the word i would use"

"don't be so negative all the time" mattheo outstretched his arm and intertwined your fingers "this is the perfect spot for a quickie" he smirked

"you disgust me" you rolled your eyes, while still watching around you uncertain. mattheo had dragged you outside for a walk. in the forbidden forest. at night. "you really are pushing your luck"

"ahh" mattheo almost made a noise that sounded like a giggle "you wouldn't leave me"

"go on with that behaviour and you'll find out" you smiled sarcastically. mattheo relaxed when you squeezed his hand "can we please go back now?" you muttered

"are you scared?" mattheo laughed

"of course not" you shook your head "i just don't want to explain why my boyfriend disappeared"

"are you planning to murder me?"

"no body, no crime" you shrugged

"yeah.." mattheo trailed off and you grew suspicious

"matty?" you asked

"huh?"

"you do know where we are... right?"

"pfff" mattheo looked behind you "of course" he raised his arm to point in a general direction "there's that thing back there"

"you have no idea" you sighed, more to yourself than to him

"i was busy looking at you"

"don't do this right now" you breathed "this is just great" you turned around, trying to find a hint of the way that would lead you back to the castle "did you never read hansel and gretel?"

"what?" he asked flabbergasted

"the muggle tale about the siblings getting lost in the forest, who find their way back using bread crumbs" you got a bit heated and started speaking louder

"no?" mattheo replied offended "why would i?"

"because we are in the exact same position as they were, aren't we? where are our bread crumbs?"

"i'm not sure what you mean, the kitchen has been closed for hours" he said confused

"i'm not talking about actual bread crumbs" you replied frustrated while messaging the space between your eyebrows.

"ooh, yeah.. i understand what you mean" matty nodded and for a short second you had the hope that he put a bit of planning into this idiotic idea "whatever the equivalent of bread crumbs is.. i did not bring it" mattheo admitted and shrank under your gaze

"did you bring anything? a map at least?"

"ehh.. no"

"what was your plan exactly, matty?" you crossed your arms

"well" mattheo said, scratching his neck "my plan was to come here and have sex behind a tree. yeah.. that was it"

"do you ever think with your head?"

"not about you, no"

"okay" you tried to calm yourself down "i'm gonna get us out of here"

"i'm so proud to have such a brilliant girlfriend"

"flattering won't get you anywhere tonight, baby" even though his strategy didn't work, mattheo was glad that you didn't seem as angry as before

"sure" he nodded "what are we gonna do"

"first we're--" you paused, suddenly noticing something that send a shiver down your spine

"baby?" mattheo asked, confused why you had suddenly stopped talking "is everything alright?"

"no" you shook your head, before you grabbed his arms, gently turning him around so he could see what you did

"shit" mattheo said as he noticed the webs and the signs, that had warnings of spiders plastered all over them

"this is my worst nightmare" you panicked. there was nothing, really nothing in the world you were more scared of than spiders. mattheo knew that. his eyes softened as he noticed you shaking and grabbing at his hand.

"don't worry" mattheo whispered to calm you down, suddenly remembering something very important "i did bring a map" he took out a parchment and held it in your direction. theo had been as impressed as you by mattheo's stupid idea, so he had drawn a map, just to make sure you both would survive the night. "theo coulnd't talk me out of it, but he gave me this"

"i need to tell theo that i love him" you said relieved. theo's handwriting was neat, so you had no problem to read what he had drawn.

"this kinda turns me off, baby"

you send mattheo a look. "you better be kidding. why are you even turned on in the first place?"

"you look so hot in that dress" mattheo smiled "my pretty lady" he kissed you on the neck longingly

"why are you always flirting in near death situations?" you asked, impressed how he was still able to concentrate on sex while you were literally surrounded by possible danger

"we're not dying, are we?"

"i suppose?"

"i will never not get turned on by you as long as i can breath"

"matty" you giggled as he sucked on your sweet spot "i'm not gonna have sex with you right now and definitely not here"

"too bad" mattheo acted disappointed "how about my room? i'll get rid of theo"

"don't you think he already did enough for us tonight?" you asked, raising theo's map "we can go to my room" you sighed "but get us out of here first"

"yes ma'am"

[satorusugurugurl]

Tangled Up With You

Summary: You’re the personal guard of the prince of the kingdom. So to protect him and his magical healing hair. but he’s also charged you with keeping his bed warm as well.

Pairing: Prince!Geto Suguru x Guard!AFAB!Reader

Warning: Fantasy AU! Long hair Suguru, magic hair that glows, fluff, sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Kinktober day Nineteen: Tangled!AU! Tangled is like one of my favorite movies! So of course I had a major blast writing this! Also I need Pascal!Gojo 😩💚

You were panting as you ran, looking over your shoulder; you made sure no one was following you. Your leather and light armor made it nearly impossible to stay silent, but you hoped you were far enough that he wouldn't hear you. Your pulse raced as you darted down an empty corridor through the kitchens. Once in the darkness, you slammed yourself against the darkest part of the wall. You were inhaling and exhaling through your nose as you covered your mouth, attempting to silence your breathing as voices echoed off in the distance.

“You can't run forever!” Captain Nanami barked out, making you sink further down. “You might as well come out now! Face my anger now!”

“Damn, she’s fast!” Haibara chimed in, and the clincking armor sounded like a ticking time bomb to you. “But don't you think making her do combat training is a bit harsh just for—”

“Do you want to join her?” Silence. “That’s what I thought. Now help me find her!”

Why were you so stupid!? Of course, Nanami just happened to catch you slacking off and eating his sweet bread! The autumn breeze had been so nice, and the sweet smell of bread was so tempting! And for once in your entire time of being a guard within the castle walls, you decided to give yourself a break. A break that included you taking off your palace cloak, laying down underneath one of the autumn trees, and snacking on Nanami’s favorite bread. A friend you didn’t realize was the last loaf of the day, and he has been saving it for when he got outside of his shift.

It didn’t help that your fellow guards knew this fact and refused to tell you about it. They were always tired of being on their commander's radar and decided that it was your turn! A turn you didn’t even want to partake in!

But here you were, hiding in the darkest corridor on the palace grounds from your commanding officer, who wanted to give you hand-to-hand combat training with him. A lesson thought you would do practically anything to avoid getting out of. All you needed to do was avoid him for the rest of the day. If you managed to do that and get back to the barracks, you could get up early tomorrow morning and call him at two loaves of his favorite bread to make up for your mistake.

That is if you manage to get through the rest of the day without getting caught.

The clinking armor grew louder, and you felt your heart rate spike with each step. Your life was starting to flash before your eyes as you listened to Nanami approaching closer and closer. There was nothing you could do aside from praying to the gods and goddesses to show you mercy!

“Hi, Nanami.” A familiar cheerful voice rang from above you. “What are you doing?” You glanced up, finding Prince Geto Suguru leaning outside the window of his tower.

The clanking of armor came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, good evening, your highness! I’m looking for my second in command! You haven’t seen her, have you?” The prince hummed, and you tilted your head up, praying he wouldn’t see you. Much to your horror, pretty lilac-hued eyes met your gaze as he smiled, his dark bands flowing in the cool breeze. You acted quickly, shaking your head back and forth in a silent plea for him not to tell Nanami.

With a dramatic eye roll, your prince pointed the opposite way. “Her favorite flowers are blooming soon. I bet she’s in the gardens. I would have joined her, but I’m still brushing my hair.” You thought that maybe, just maybe, Nanami wouldn’t have listened and continued down his path hunting you.

“Ah! Thank you, your highness!”

You blinked, watching as bother Nanami and Haibara headed off to the garden on the other side of the castle. You waited there for an eternity before a sigh of relief finally passed through your lips. Winning a whole-hearted laugh from the man above you.

“Oh my gods! That was a close one!”

“What did you do to invoke the wrath of the Nanami Kento?”

Long, black, silky hair was thrown out the window, swaying in front of you. This was a drill the two of you had. “I didn’t mean to piss off!” You wrapped your hand around his hair as he began climbing, pressing your feet against the wall of the tower. “Honest to the gods, his bread was just sitting there in the office, and I didn’t think you would mind sharing!” you grunted as you hoisted yourself up on the windowsill, scooting in until you could hop into his room.

“Okay, and you know, Nanami. Bread to him is one of his only joys in life.” Suguru laughed, returning to his bed, where he picked up a brush and ran it through his magical hair.

“Maybe I was just being optimistic.” Without another word, you took the brush away from your prince and began brushing it for him.

Suguru hummed softly, shutting his eyes as you gently worked through his hair, all seventy feet of it. Both of you enjoyed quiet moments like this. Where he whisked away to the court to help with an ill villager or paraded like a peacock for princesses, and you weren’t stuck escorting him when both of you would rather be with each other. Suguru was blessed with magic hair that could heal injuries, illnesses, and many other ailments people may have. Because of this, people were always trying to cut his hair off, not knowing that by doing so, his hair would lose all magical attributes.

That’s why you and the rest of your squads are in charge of keeping him safe.

But being his guard has led you to get to know each other more personally, and your relationship became less of a protector and more of a partner. Suguru wanted to be with you, but you both decided it would be best to keep it a secret for now. He would toss his hair out the window, and you would climb it to ensure no one saw you sneaking into his bed chambers.

You could hear the gossip that would arise from this if anyone found out about your relationship. People would say that you were just some lonely guard, deflowering their prince, making him unworthy and unfit for marriage, which wasn’t at all what you were doing. You had fallen for the prince you were sworn to protect. He was handsome, kind, and intelligent. It would’ve been practically impossible for you not to develop these kinds of feelings for him. You would hate for anyone to get the wrong idea that you were just out for his body, to bed him and leave. That wasn’t the case at all!

It all happened, which was a bonus for falling in love with him.

Typically, you tried your damnedest to keep your mind yourself along with your hands. But as he let out a breath as you began, twisting the long hair into a braid, your mind began to wander elsewhere. You could see his broad shoulders and muscles strained with his tunic. He didn’t have to do anything, and you wanted him so badly.

It was something he could see in your face as he glanced at you from the mirror. “Princess?” He purred, tilting his head as you fastened the braid with a hair tie on your wrist. “You keep undressing me with your eyes. If you want something, you should just outwardly say it.” He smirked, watching as you sputtered and flushed as you looked towards the ceiling, trying to find an excuse as to why you were practically eye fucking him when he hadn’t done anything.

“I wasn’t undressing you!” The look on his face, combined with how he slowly turned his head to look back at you and his expression, told you he did not believe you. “Okay, maybe I was.”

He grabs your wrist, pulling you to lie on the bed with him. “Does my favorite guard want me?” You watched as he hovered about you, long fingers unfastening the belts that held your armor in place.

“I do—but what about your friend?”

“My friend?” Your armor is swiftly removed and placed on the ground beside his bed. He slides his hands up your shirt, tugging that off next. “I can assure you, my cock is eager to see your pretty pussy again.”

Anyone that would look at the Prince would not assume he used that kind of language, but in reality, he was just a horny, filthy-mouthed man. This only deepened the attraction you had for him. You off on it when he talks to you like this.

“As much as I want that to happen,” you purr, running your hands down his chest. “I’m talking about your other friend.”

“Satoru?” As you referred to his pet chameleon, he chimed in amusement, thickening his voice. “Shoko took him in for a check-up.” More clothing was discarded and tossed around the room as the braid you had done on his hair fell over one of his shoulders. “Besides, he hogs up all your time and is here with me.” You grinned at the thought of the white chameleon with a bright, so cerulean. “So call me selfish, but I want you all to myself.”

“Well, luckily for you, I want you to. I need to repay you for saving my life.”

The rest of your clothes are thrown off until you’re both completely naked. Suguru pushes himself between your legs, his hands resting on either side of your head as he kisses you gently. “You do, which is sort of funny because aren’t you the one supposed to be protecting me?”

“I like switching things up sometimes, Sugu.”

“That's one of the many reasons I’m falling for you.”

Before you can linger too long on his words, Suguru leans forward, kissing you softly. His hands moved to rest on your hips. The head of his cock gently began pushing the tip of his cock past your slickened folds and inside of you. Your lips parted slightly as you inhaled sharply, feeling him stretch you open with his thick member. Suguru pressed his forehead against yours as he continued to slide himself inside of you. The two of you panted lips inches from one another as Suguru slowly began rolling his hips.

“Suguru,” you whined, tilting your head back, allowing him to trail kisses and nibbles along your sensitive, heated flesh. That feels so good.” He chuckled against your skin, pulling away to look into your eyes.

“Yeah, it always feels good.” He moaned out with a charming smile before thrusting deeper inside you, “I’m going to make you feel so good that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. That was how I could selfishly keep you all to myself.”

The thought of spending the day with him, without your titles, had you clamping down, causing him to groan in pleasure, “That sounds magical; I wa-holy fuck!” Suguru silenced you by slamming into you fast and hard, cutting off the rest of your words.

“I’d make you mine in every sense. But that’s going to have to wait for a bit. “Because as much as I love hearing you talk, I want to hear your moan instead.,” he growled softly into your ear,

“Well, what are you waiting for then? Make me moan.” You leaned up, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and nibbling on it.

The two of you moved together, finding a rhythm that felt best for both of you. A position where your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, desperately trying to pull him deeper inside of you. His hands massaged your breasts, twisting your right nipple between his thumb and index finger as he took your left nipple in his mouth until it stood at attention for him. All the while, his cock plunged in and out of your pussy, causing you to gasp out his name.

Suguru’s fingers tangled in your hair as he slammed his lips on yours. Kissing you as hips picked up, moving at a faster pace, “Princess, fuck gods-” he nipped at your bottom lip, “I want you so much.” he pulled away, looking down at you, pausing his thrusts to stare down at you. You just stared at him, chest rapidly heaving with lust; the two of you were covered in a thin layer of sweat sheen off two of you in the dying light of the sunset. “You’re so beautiful,” his thumbs massaged the dips of your hips. You are the only Princess I want.” His thrusts became deeper as he stared into your eyes. “Because I love you.” Your heart nearly stopped as your cheeks burned even as you looked at Suguru in shock. He didn't need to say more or explain himself; he kept going, spilling out the truth. “Princess, I’m so in love with you.”

“Suguru,” your heart raced as you stared into his violet eyes. “I-I—” You reached up, stroking his cheek. “I’m in love with you too. I don't care if we come from different nobility. All I care about is loving you.”

“Princess,” the prince moved to pull you up to sit in his lap so he could kiss you eagerly. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” He kissed your cheeks as he thrust up inside of you lazily. I knew I would be in good hands from the moment I first saw you.”

“Haaah,” you exhaled as you rocked against him, “I took my bow seriously, but I, fuck, first saw you smile. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to control myself.”

“All I think about is you. From the start of my day, you’re the first thing on my mind. And you’re the last thing on my mind when I sleep at night.” The dark-haired man grabbed your hips, making you rock faster.

“Nnngh! Sugu!” You cried out as his cock brushed right against your g-spot, causing a familiar tightening in your abdomen, “I’m getting close.” you whispered against his lips.

Dark strands of his hair clung to his forehead as he nodded, feeling that same ache in his belly, “I can feel you squeezing down on me,” He furrowed his eyebrows together before biting down on his lip as he slammed you back down on to the bed, “I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

The handsome and seemingly sweet prince lifted your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you. Your breath caught in your throat as you gripped his forearms, leaving a crescent moon indent in his skin. He winced at the slight pain, but his paste didn’t falter. The head of his cock continued brushing against your g-spot with each thrust before pushing further to kiss your cervix. Your entire body felt like it was on fire as your toes curled and your back arched as he pushed you closer to the end of your orgasm. Sensing you close, Suguru’s left hand that was gripping your hip trailed down your lower stomach, pushing down on it gently while his thumb brushed over your clit, sending you over the edge.

“I’m cumming! Sugu fuck!” You screamed back, arching off the mattress as you came all over his cock, moaning like a mistress of the night, “Yes, right there!” You thrashed your head side to side as Suguru thrust faster inside of you, chasing his orgasm.

“Princess, I’m gon-gonna cum!” He growled, thrusting as deep as he could before spilling himself inside of you, “Princess!” Suguri growled, burying his face in the crook of your neck and biting down on it as he continued to thrust, milking his cock inside of you.

Both of your bodies trembled against each other as you came down from orgasmic bliss. He took deep breaths as he trailed kisses along your neck and shoulder. Your legs continued to shake as he wrapped his arms around you, brushing your hair back out of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?”

“Huh?”

“AI meant every word.” Suguru lies down on his back, pulling you close to his side.“I don’t want to meet any other princesses or be introduced to other nobility. Because I just want you. And I will make a point to tell that to my father tomorrow. You are the woman I want to spend my life with.”

You swear to the gods above that you could start crying at his sweet words. “I know.” And you did know he was telling me the whole truth that he didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. But for him to reiterate those words when your minds were clear meant the entire world to you. “I don't think he’ll be happy about that thought.” Suguru scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“He can kiss my ass for all I care.” His pretty violet eyes narrowed, and he softly smiled. “You are going to be the person I marry.”

“I want to marry you too.” You hummed, trying to set up to stay alert, your training kicking in. Because not only was he the prince, but he was also the man he had fallen in love with. Suguru, of course, felt your muscles tightening.

“It’s okay. For once, you relax. I’ll protect you tonight.” At his words, your body began to relax. “There you go, get some sleep.”His lips brushed over your forehead. “I’ll protect you from this night until I draw my final breath.” Suguru hummed as your head was on his chest. You hummed as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close to his body. The two of you fell asleep soundly and safely inside each other's arms.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[wardenparker]

Baked in Soulmates

Pero Tovar x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 14.5k Warnings: Fluff, random historical factoids, flirting, grumpy-sunshine dynamic, discussion of past lovers/lives, talking about sex, food/alcohol consumption, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex. Summary: After having a premonition about him many decades ago, Peor Tovar finally walks into your bakery and turns your world inside out. Notes: Inspired by and based upon The Smell of Fresh Bread - a Writer Wednesday that Keri did some time ago, which has long been one of my favorite Pero pieces ever. It's a great way to bring Spooktober to an end! 🧡 As always, I apologize for any errors I might have missed in proofreading.

It was a rare day that saw you sitting at the table in the staff sitting room with nothing to do, and today unfortunately was no exception. While the cook took her time with the menus and the pantry and fussing at the scullery maids, you put in the long and diligent hours of a baker all for the benefit of this one great house.

It worked well for you, or at least it had in the past, to come into a large house like this and cook here for as many years as you can remain inconspicuous before finding an excuse to move on. It's easier that way. There are fewer explanations to give.

At least in this house there are more like you.

Kneading the dough for buns that will be studded with dried fruit and candied peel to be slathered with butter at tea, you hum quietly to yourself and focus on the rhythm of the work. Baking has been your steady companion through every lifetime you've lived and every country you've passed through, keeping you steady even when your magic became erratic or the treacherous uphill march of immortality weighed too heavily on your shoulders. A soft hum and the steady pace of kneading dough will keep you moving forward. They always have before.

“Ohhhh they are wanting their tea early.” Sally comes bursting into the kitchen, flustered and annoyed. “They are wanting it at three instead of four.” She huffs as she rushes over to the large cabinet. “And the mister wants another cup of coffee now that he has let the last one get too cold.”

"And he'll not perish during the five minutes that it takes to make," you hum pleasantly, not looking up from your work. The young housemaid seems always to be in a tizzy and you're far too old at this point to get worked up about anything so generally small. "Tea at three is just fine. Everything will be ready in time."

“Are you sure?” She hates when they change things around, believing that the house should run like a clock and it shouldn’t change.

"I will work a little faster, that is all." And there may be a dash of magic in the teacakes if necessary, just to make sure they rise in time. The family need never know.

“You are magical.” She heaves a sigh of relief, always put at ease by your unflappability. “It is always when he decides to come home.”

“If I had a shilling for every time a man made plans needlessly complicated, I would be rich as Croesus,” you hum, almost dismissively, but laugh to put Sally at ease. The fact is, you are fairly rich. But the wealth accumulated over centuries of immortality must be carefully parceled out. “There is no need to get worked up just because the master is in a tizzy.”

“You are right.” She sighs again and rolls her shoulders as she waits for the pot to boil. “As you usually are.”

“With age comes wisdom, my dear.” Though you look no older than thirty, the young housemaid has no idea how much wisdom you truly have.

“I suppose that is true.” She huffs slightly and starts to set up the sugar and milk for the coffee.

Down the hall, the servants’ door opens, letting in a gust of autumn wind that carries the scent of crisp leaves and the apple trees in the garden. It wafts in the scent of the wood fire from the next room over and picking up the muted notes of lingering from the cup of tea you had made for yourself which is now growing cold on the work table nearby.

It also carries, somehow, the crisp, atmospheric smell of stardust.

And within seconds your mind is engulfed with entirely another scene altogether.

Cardamom, cinnamon and rosemary scent the air along with the yeasty smell of fresh bread. A man opens the door. Dark, scarred with eyes that are brooding and seemingly holding a thousand years worth of secrets. Even in the unfamiliar and very informal dress, his stance is one of a solider. This is a man who has seen war and is on guard from unseen enemies lurking around every corner. Dark hair, short and practical, is unstyled and accompanied by facial hair that is not in fashion during this time. “Buenas—”

An entirely different, sharp and acidic, unpleasant smell pulls you from the vision. In just a moment you've gone from standing at your work table to lying on the stone floor of the kitchen, with Sally wailing and fretting in the background and the caretaker kneeling over you with a stern frown painted on his face.

Smelling salts have been useful for centuries, but that does not mean the smell of them has improved any.

"I'm alright." Your voice is hoarse though, and weak, and the man looks less than impressed. Under the cover of Sally's wails, you are able to murmur the truth to the warlock surveying you for injury. "It was a vision. I'm alright."

“A vision?” He frowns and helps you sit up. “Do you need to go to your room to write it down?” He asks quietly.

"I ought to." You nod, scrubbing your temples with your fingers and feeling them sticky against your skin. "But the dough..." That dough needs to be finished kneading and rested if tea is going to be served early today.

“I can finish it.” You have shown him how many times and he knows how important it is to write down specifics while they are fresh in your mind.

"Cover it in the bowl and put it by the stove when you're done?" It's no small thing to offer to finish your chore for you, and you're grateful for the kindness. "I'll just go and freshen up," you say a little louder, hoping to quell some of Sally's vocal worrying with reassurance.

Helping you to your feet, he snorts and waves Sally away. “Take the coffee where it belongs.” He orders, even though he had no authority in the house, he is tired of listening to her caterwauling.

“Thank you.” Touching his arm gently, you give the man a nod. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Smirking slightly, he sweeps his cap off his head and bows. “Anything for you, my lady.” He intones playfully and winks at you before turning to take an extra apron off the hook and wash his hands.

******

Life in that house was good. The family was reasonably kind, they paid as well as they could, and the company you had kept then was amiable. The caretaker had been kind enough and gentle enough that when he had confessed love for you, you had gone to his arms and to his bed for more years than you had expected. But as always, you had needed to move on.

Sometime in the early 1950s you had made it back to America for the second time, and found work in a bakery in the North End of the city run by an Italian family. The focaccia you made there was different than the type the cobbler's wife in Rome had taught you to make, but only out of necessity. That cobbler's wife and that Rome were nearly six hundred years gone by then.

Here, you told the family employing you that you were a widow and supplied stories of the caretaker whenever pressed for details of your late husband. They assumed that he had died in the war. You did not contradict them.

And then one day the scent of warm spices and a new vision of the dark man with his scared eye came to you, and you learned his name.

Pero Tovar.

******

The bell above the door tinkles, letting you know that someone has come in. A necessity when you are so often in the back with your ovens. “Buenas Dias.” Pero has learned that manners are necessary in this time, if you want to have people not refuse your coin. Even if it is a small plastic card. “I need a loaf of whatever smells so good.” He grunts, slapping his card down on the counter, belly rumbling.

The visions had not many sense for many years. Of course the familiarity of a bakery was something you could understand. A customer. A sale. But the little rectangle in his hand did not begin to make sense until plastic and credit cards became realities. But all the visions of your past had eventually come true, so the faith you have in your magic had brought you to today. To the loaves of bread leaving your oven and being set lovingly on wire racks. The lingering, mingling smells of cardamom, cinnamon, rosemary, and yeast mixing with autumn air and your customary tea.

To the man walking through the door of your shop.

The loaf you had handed him in your second vision was what most bakers called artisan now. An old world thing with wheat germ and oats and none of the processed white flour that was most popular in the modern world. This was bread that smelled of dirt-floored cottages and honey – more precious than gold – being stored in clay pots and bargained over. This bread smells of home, and through your vision you had felt the same would be true for him.

So you took it from your racks and savored the scent, placing it on a trencher with jam and butter, and handed it to him to enjoy. When he tried to pay, you only gently refused. "For you, Pero Tovar, there is no charge." You tell him, enjoying a private smile and his shock all at once. "Eat and remember."

“How do you know my name?” Pero had been drawn here by the smells of the past. The scent of time forgotten. Pulling from him the core memories that have almost been forgotten until they are recalled. Sitting unused and dusty like a book on an abandoned library shelf. In the time he came from, books were more rare than gold, now people carelessly toss them aside when they don’t care for the words written inside them.

"I have known your name for a long time." You can't say just how long. Not yet. There are still many things to learn about the man from your visions. "Sit," you encourage, nudging the plate toward him again. "Remember. Enjoy."

He doesn’t question you, he doesn’t attack you. Despite this time’s view on weapons, Pero still does not walk around unarmed. He could have a knife at your throat in an instant. Instead, he sits at a small table and tears apart the bread with his hands like he would have when he was on his first set of years.

It is a satisfying sight, you have to admit that much. Raw enthusiasm is in short supply in this modern age. To see someone devour the food that you prepare is an enormous part of why you have continued to bake century after century. In continues to be a challenge to feed all of the hungry people in the world, but you do your part. And this one man is included in that number.

For more than a century, this man's face has held a place in your mind, so you stop at his table to put a cup of coffee at his place as well. Let him enjoy himself, you think, and offer him a smile when you put down the mug.

Pero pauses, glancing up at you and then back down at the steaming cup of coffee. “Gracias.” He murmurs after a moment and picks it up. It doesn’t appear to have all the sweet creams and syrups that they have in this era and for some reason, he’s disappointed by that. Although it would be more than what he had drank when he was riding towards the East and selling his sword.

"Come back after sunset," you tell him, and walk away again to greet the new customers who have come through the door.

He frowns at the comment, wondering what he will need to come back for. How you know his name, he had checked his credit card. The name is on the back, so you didn’t get it from there. He is suspicious, but that just means he will come back.

******

It’s not that your shop strictly closes at sunset, but as the proprietor and only employee, you have the luxury of making your day what you like. From sunrise to sunset you sell breads and sweets and coffee and tea to your customers, and luxuriate in the ability to do as you please. If someone upsets you or is rude? You can simply turn them away. If they are kind and lovely? They can have their treats for free. The only person keeping track is you.

Tonight, like every night, you bundle up your unsold things to be picked up by the young lady who works for the village, and she distributes them amongst the poor and the hungry at night as she makes sure that each and every one has a roof over their head and a warm place to sleep. This, you have already decided, is the person from this life you will be leaving a great deal of money to when you must disappear and move on. You always choose one, and this time it will be her.

It is in this state, humming yourself as you load up paper bags with bread at the end of the day, that Pero Tovar finds you once more.

This time, the bell does not alert you to his presence, he had manage to slip inside without disturbing it. “How do you know my name?” He asks, watching as you look up from your task.

“Good evening, Señor Tovar,” you murmur politely, undisturbed and unperturbed when you look up.

It makes him frown even more when you aren’t surprised by his presence. “You seem to know me, but I would remember meeting you.”

“Would you?” That is what surprises you, and you look up to find him watching you carefully.

He doesn’t know what game you are playing, but he is starting to get frustrated. “Who are you?” He demands again.

You supply your first name easily enough, and finish depositing the bread loaves and sweets into bags. Everything except the small white cardboard box on your counter. That is marked with his name and tied up in string. “I’m like you are.” You tell him calmly.

He highly doubts that. “A bastard?” He snorts, purposefully misunderstanding. “You seem too sweet for that.”

“Actually?” You chuckle a little. “Yes. I am. But I meant that I am older than I look. As you are.”

"I'm thirty-eight." At least that's what it says on his driver's license. This lifetime at least. "Do you think you know me from somewhere?" He demands, wondering what you are playing at.

“I would sooner believe you to be five hundred and thirty-eight.” Your visions never specified too much about him, but the aura of magic he held around him had some of the same hallmarks as yours. Namely, enchantments and immortality. “We have never met, but I have seen you before.”

His jaw tightens and Pero growls dangerously, stepping closer to you. "You are mad, witch." He hisses, shaken to his very core that you might know of his plight even though he much older than your claim.

“Perhaps.” You actually laugh a little. “But at least you are right about one thing. I am a witch.”

That confuses him, making him furrow his brow together and frown. Looking around the kitchen to see if there something to explain all of this.

“Come and sit down.” That feels like the right thing to do, and you motion to one of the tables close by. “If you would like me to, I will tell you what I know.”

He watches you for a moment, gauging you before he moves over to the table and pulls out a chair and sits.

"You know that magic is real." Coming to sit down with him, you bring two cups of coffee to give you both something to do with your hands. He had frowned at his cup earlier when you set it down, so this time you had added a touch of caramel and vanilla to the hot steamed milk to see if he liked that better. "We have both been touched by it in different ways. But both of us have been given immortality. Whether that is a blessing or a curse depends on the day."

“How old are you?” He demands after a moment, leaning over and staring at you with an intensity that would make a mere mortal uneasy.

"That would be a rude question to ask a lady in any century, but fortunately for you it is a moot point." An amused smile curls your lips as you sit back and sip your coffee. "I do not know. When I was born they did not keep track of birthdays so studiously."

“What is the earliest century you remember?” He asks instead, aware that it is only because of his own parents he had been aware of his age before his trip to the Wall.

Thinking back as much as you can, you sip your coffee in silent thought for long moments before finally being able to answer. "I remember the news that Charlamagne had been crowned emperor." You tell him. "I was a child, and a messenger came to our village. But life went on as usual, unaffected by the change in man who supposedly ruled us."

“How did you come to live this long then?” You are older than he is, but a good four hundred years. His eyes are wide and curious, never meeting another than has been cursed with walking the earth without end.

"I tended to a dying witch," you tell him, sitting forward again at the table with your cup in your hands. "She was very powerful. The woman who taught us all and who raised us up to the goddess. It was an honor to tend to her even in her painful last moments. And she blessed each of us with a gift. The other girls were older than me. One she wished eternal kindness on, that she and her family would always be good to each other. To the other she gave an endless curiosity of spirit. That girl died within the year from eating things she should not, which I do not think was the intention of the gift." You shrug slightly, having thought of these other girls so often that it no longer brings you sadness to think of them so long ago. "When it came time to give me a blessing, she was in the throes of more pain, and she wished to the goddess that I should never know the pain of death that she endured in that moment."

“So you never find the peace of eternal slumber.” Pero leans back, still confused as to how you could have known about him. His own existence is a curiosity that he has never been able to explain despite the theories. Witches no longer hold the same fear that they might have centuries ago. He has seen too many gods and people fall through the ages.

“I understand it is possible.” But you shrug your shoulders. “But it would require enchanted items that seem to no longer exist.”

Pero nods. “So how do you know about me?” He asks. “Have you been watching me?” He thought he had been more careful. It was hard to cover his tracks with the scar on his face, but he had used prosthetics a few of the lives he has lived and explains the scarring away as the boons of war. He had tried hard to keep from being photographed, but now it was impossible.

"No." You sip your coffee again and nudge his cup toward him, encouraging him to do the same. "I have visions. And I had some of you."

“Visions?” In his entire life, Pero Tovar has never had a vision. He has memories, often coming to him while he sleeps in the form of dreams - or nightmares, but never visions. He picks up the cup and examines it for a moment before taking a sip and his eyes light up in delight at the sweetness.

Sweet things for this man, apparently. That will be easy enough to achieve. "My senses tingle. Smells become more acute and I can hear the songs in the wind. Then my mind's eye fogs over and I see..." Describing this is easier now, since the advent of new technologies. "As though I were watching a film, made from my own point of view. I see the future."

“So you saw me walk into your shop.” Pero reasons. “Any knowing my name?”

"The older I get, the more intense my visions are," you explain. "Centuries ago, they were more frequent and far less detailed. Now? I will rarely have more than one every few decades. But they are much more intense. More detailed. They instill knowledge in me instead of simply showing me an image."

Pero cannot say that he would envy a gift like that. It would put him on edge more than he normally is. “Why would you have visions of me?” He questions that part, taking another sip of his coffee.

“That,” you tell him, having the last sip of your coffee. “Is what I do not know.”

Your answer simultaneously makes him unease and relaxes him at the same time. Unsure of why he believes you, but he does. “I don’t know why I still walk the earth.” He admits quietly. “I had long believed it to be because of the Tao Tei, but no one else from those battles still roam.”

“Tao Tei?” The term isn’t one you’re familiar with, which is surprising. You’re familiar with quite a lot.

He looks out the window the modern streets and huffs to himself slightly. “Demons, aliens, monsters.” He shakes his head. “I still don’t know exactly what they are, but they were ferocious.”

“So they were creatures.” At that, you nod again and lean forward on the table. “That is most likely why I have not heard of them. Unless you can eat them or milk them I have had little interest. My many lifetimes have been spent mostly in a bustling kitchen.”

"They were in the far East. The Nameless order worked hard to keep word of them from spreading." Pero explains. "It is not like now. The word traveled so much slower than now."

“I miss it,” you admit without shame. “Things are so fleeting these days.”

"Some days I would have talked to no one but my horse.” Pero snorts, “now having a horse is rare.”

“I do like my bicycle.” That makes you grin. The bicycle you had bought while living in Boston in the 1950s is vintage now, but you learned to repair and care for it yourself. The basket on the front was long ago replaced with one of your own making as well. “But horses are wonderful companions.”

"So you have just been waiting for me to show up?" He asks, still trying to wrap his head around the idea that you know him. Even if this is the first real conversation you have had.

“More or less.” You agree. “Since 1909. Or really, since I bought this shop. I walked in the front door here about ten years ago and realized it was the bakery from the visions, so I got a job here and bought it when the previous owners decided to retire.”

He nods and looks around. “Looks like it is a nice place to live one of the many lives we experience.” He compliments. “Have you always been a baker?”

"Most of the time." He is entirely right. The two of you have lived countless lifetimes. Endless choices of where to go and who to be. But you have mostly kept to what makes you happy. "In different parts of the world, in different ways, and always learning new things. Have you always been a warrior?"

“Always.” He nods. “Although it is harder to do these days.” He admits. “Private security is more about using technology now than brute skill.”

"I imagine your sword is in far less demand these days." In fact you can't think of a single way he could use it outside of sport and discipline, which is a shame. A talented swordsman is a gloriously indulgent sight to watch. "Have you tried any of the new martial arts?"

He sighs, “all of them.” He admits. “But the MMA shit is boring.”

"Pobrecito," you tease, chuckling a little at his dismay. "You should fight fires, then. Use your strength and immortality for something valiant. Just to try it out."

“Fires.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I will scare the little girls hiding under their beds while the wallpaper burns.”

"Or inspire beautiful women to open their legs in gratitude." Standing from the table, you take the two empty coffee cups and round the nearby counter to rinse them and set them in the dishwasher.

“I have not taken a wife in many years.” Pero admits, looking down at his hands. “I do not wish to bury another.”

"Surely that does not mean you cannot enjoy a warm bed from time to time?" When you reemerge from behind the counter, you sit down again, sensing that there is plenty more talk to be had. "The last time I married was 1810, but that has not kept me from pleasure."

He chuckles. “I did not say that.” You have a modern take for one so old, but he doesn’t mind that. “It is hard to not feel dirty.” He snorts. “They are all so young.”

"Well that is true enough." And well worth sharing a laugh over. For there are very few in the world as old as the two of you. "There is not much to be done about an equal age, though. The community of immortals in the world is quite small, and always on the move. For reasons you understand all too well."

“Community?” Pero frowns, his head jerking up and he looks at you in confusion. “There are more?”

"I have met thirteen others, over the centuries." You tell him, nodding. "Mostly witches or warlocks, but also some who were enchanted at random, like you were. Mostly we acknowledge each other, share a few stories, and then go our separate ways."

“You are the first I have met.” Pero tells you. “I have always believed I was alone.” It had been a lonely existence, but he had felt like it was his punishment, or reward, for what happened at that wall. Although he could never explain why William lived out his life as expected and died an old man.

"There are many theories. About what could eventually kill us, or what can weaken us." Theories that you had been over time and time again with the few other immortals that you had come across. "Apparently it is possible for us to die. But...not easy."

“You mean being stabbed, blown up, crashing, or drowning would not do it?” He asks sarcastically, ticking off the ways he should have died many times over. He had come out with little more than a scratch.

"Apparently." Your head cocks to one side, wondering how he will take this. "It is more like a fairy story. Where true love restores us to our mortality."

Pero chuckles. “I have loved many times, bruja.” He reminds you. “Yet there is still no grey in my hair or beard.”

"True love." You correct him. "Not just love. I have loved more times than I can count. Endless, depths of the oceans of love. But supposedly the truest love our hearts can feel...that is what is supposed to do it."

Pero frowns, digesting your words and trying to understand them. “You are speaking of soulmates.” He murmurs. “Those do not exist.”

"Until today, you believed you were the lone immortal in the world." The reminder is stark, but not unkind. "Who is to say soulmates do not also exist?"

Pero sighs and nods, having to concede that fact. “You are right.” He grunts. “But if I had not found them in nine hundred years, then I fear I have none.” He smirks and huffs to himself. “My soul is long rotten.”

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not." There is really no way to know. No way to open up one's heart or soul and read the name written there in destiny's hand. "I suppose we can only wait and see."

He shakes his head and stands. “Then I guess that your vision has been fulfilled.” He feels oddly disheartened by that, but his face is set.

"Has it?" You do not rise from your seat, but watch him intently. "My vision could have had any of ten thousand meanings. But all I know is that we were destined to meet. I should hate for it to only be one time."

“Perhaps it will not be.” Pero nods to you and then glances at the door. “The darkness settles.” He reminds you. “You should go home, bruja.”

"Come again at closing time, if you would like to talk more." This time you do rise from the table. There are bags to gather and things to distribute to the needy. "I am always here. In this lifetime, anyway."

Pero nods and he’s unsure if he should offer to walk you home, but he reasons that you have been taking care of yourself for far longer than any other woman walking alone at night. “Gracias.” He murmurs before he disappears through the door as silently as he came.

“Buenas noches,” you murmur to his back, watching the swift and sleek way he retreats. Pero Tovar must have been an admirable opponent in his warring days.

*****

It takes an entire week for Pero to come back. He had been purposely avoiding that side of the village so he didn’t drop in. Doing research and trying to learn everything he can about you. Your digital footprint is good and the way you have set up your ‘lives’ is admirable. Now he wants to talk to you again.

His stealth is admirable, but you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye as you wipe down the counters. The last guest has left for the night and the village girl has come and gone for the bags of leftovers already. “Good evening, Pero Tovar.”

He almost asks how you knew he was here, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer to you. “You have lived under the radar.” He says. “It was hard to find your trail at first.”

“But you have been successful now?” Finishing up your cleaning, you take your apron off and toss it in the small hamper you keep under the counter to accumulate washing. Every few days you take your towels and aprons home from the bakery to wash and dry at home. The ritual is soothing.

“As far back as 1841.” He admits. “The trail is harder to follow any farther back. Records are not as good from before as they are now.”

"1841..." You think back, trying to remember where you were an who you were then. "That was...Greece, wasn't it? Did you find employment records from the hotel?"

“Your marriage record.” Pero shakes his head. “But before then, it seems like you had just arrived from somewhere else.”

"From here," you tell him, smiling nostalgically. "From Spain. I was living in a fishing village on the Portuguese border. I met a Greek merchant who begged me to come away with him and..." Trailing off, you shrug your shoulders a little but never stop smiling. "It sounded like a grand, romantic adventure. Cristos was a good man, and I worked at a hotel in the islands for a long time."

Your voice takes on a soft, dreamy quality and for a moment, Pero is jealous of the Cristos you speak of. It must have been a grand romance. “I was in America during that time.”

"Oh?" You're interested in anything he is willing to share about himself. Unlike him, you did not go digging into his past. More hopeful that he would return to share with you when he was ready. "What did you do there?"

“Went west.” He had found the rough and Wild West fascinating and had enjoyed the hard journey. Remembering vividly blazing that trail to the East, so it was only fitting that he also went West.

"You were a cowboy." That image of him is actually fairly charming, morphing the smile on your lips slightly but not at all dimming it. "It must have been easy to blend in. With so many Spanish speakers all over the west back then."

“The language has changed so much over the years.” He snorts, knowing you are well aware of that fact. “There were a lot of Germans there too.”

"Did you sell your sword there as well?" It would have been guns by that point, far more often than swords, but your question is the same. Was he a warrior in that time too?

“Homesteader.” Pero shakes his head. “Started a ranch. But there was plenty of gunfights.”

"You actually settled down?" That surprises you, but you nod. It's impressive that a man so restless seems to have found moments of tranquility in this long life. "That must have been a welcome change."

“It was nice.” Pero frowns slightly, remembering the last wife he had taken. He had buried her on that ranch. Her and the baby who had also died in childbirth. “It wasn’t going to last though.”

"Not everything does," you say, but before you can stop yourself, you chuckle a little. "Except us."

“The only good thing is that I’ve not started aching like people complain about as they grow old.” Pero rolls his eyes. “Besides the normal middle-aged aches.”

You laugh again. "I count it as one of my truest blessings that I was given my immortality before the aches and pains set in."

“And that bone cracking doctor is amazing.” Pero groans, rolling his eyes slightly. “In my original time, he would have had all the riches in the world riding with a group.”

"A chiropractor?" Once again, your laugh rings through the shop. He is straight forward and honest, despite being suspicious and grumpy, and it makes you smile unexpectedly. "I would not have thought of that myself, but you're perfectly right."

He likes the sound of your laugh, his own grin quick and broad before his face slides back into that normally fearsome set. “I know I am.”

Letting your laughter linger in the air, you lean on the counter between you and consider him. The things you have wondered in the last week - and in the century before that - are running wild in your mind again. "I'm glad you came back."

“Not sure why.” He steps closer and tilts his head. “For you or for me.”

“Handsome and hungry,” you tell him with another laugh. “That’s my favorite kind of man.”

He lifts a brow, surprised that you would find him handsome. “Your bread is very good.” He admits. “I might have dreamed about it.”

“If you think my bread is good,” you hum, tucking a pleased smile into the corner of your mouth. “You should try my pastries.”

He glances towards the empty cases. “I will have to try them sometime.” He is hungry, but it seems like that has something that has never gone away despite the availability of food now compared to in the past.

“Or…” Noticing the expression on his lips and the hunger in his eyes, you tilt your head. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I was going to find food and I ended up here.” He had been trying to avoid coming to you for another day, but his feet had other ideas.

“We could…eat together?”

He obviously hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t sound bad. Often he eat alone and it would be nice to have someone sitting across from him. Perhaps a beautiful woman would help others not be so wary of him.

“Tovar?” Brooding and silent seems to be his way, but you asked a question that deserves an answer.

“What?” He frowns in confusion and realizes that he has not answered you. “Sí.” He nods. “Yes. What do you want to eat?”

“Do you like seafood?” You had made friends with a family that runs a restaurant on the nearby cliff overlooking the ocean. It is beautiful and the food is stunning. “I know a place.”

“I like food.” Pero jokes dryly, smirking slightly when you grin.

“We can walk.” Motioning toward the door, you excuse yourself for just long enough to disappear, grab your purse, and reappear again.

Pero watches as you step outside the shop after him and carefully locks up. Silently guarding you even though he’s not needed in that capacity.

“Down to the cliffs.” You tell him, wondering if he is accompanying you out of curiosity or out of boredom. Either way, it’s at least nice to spend time with someone like you. “This way.” Almost as soon as you say it, you head out through the village streets toward the promise of a warm meal and a cold drink.

Pero isn’t familiar with the town, if he’s honest. He doesn’t explore much, but he watches as you confidently saunter off down the road.

The walk takes only a few minutes, but when you arrive it is to the comforting smells of fresh food and the warmth of friendly smiles. You ask to be seated outside, enjoying the last sunset and thanking the owner when she lights the candle on your table to ward off the nighttime despite there being plenty of other light sources nearby. Your table on the edge of the patio is away from the others, giving you privacy to talk, and you have a feeling the owner might have mistakenly believed you to be on a date this evening.

Pero chooses the seat that gives him the view of the patio and anyone approaching, but he’s not so unmannered that he doesn’t pull out your chair for you, even if he doesn’t wait for you to sit to walk around to his own.

“The women these days must think you’re very gallant.” Gallant and grumpy, you think to yourself, smiling again. That is surely how his latest conquests describe him.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he sits down, watching the movement behind you before he picks up the napkin and drops it in his lap. “Don’t know.” He admits. “I never ask.”

“Not out for romantic companionship in this lifetime?” Even if it’s not marriage, having a companion is always possible.

"I've had one." Pero shrugs slightly. "She wanted kids and I cannot give them to her."

“Cannot or will not?” It is a bold question, you admit, but immortality does not take away a person’s ability to have children. Not as far as you know, anyway.

"It is the same answer." Pero shrugs. "I would not want to watch my child grow old and die. I could not bear it. Not after losing -" He sighs. "It is better that I not populate the earth."

“People like us…we lose everyone eventually.” That is an unavoidable truth, though also undesirable. “I’m sorry for the ones you lost.”

"You have lost others too." He points out, glancing at the waiter when he pours out wine and he lifts a brow. "Come here enough they know what you drink?" He asks you.

“Yes.” There is no shame in that, and you thank the waiter with a smile. “Do you know what you want to eat?” You ask Pero, though neither of you has looked at the menu very much.

"Food." He snorts, and looks around at the other tables as if he can just pick something from their plates that looks good. "What do you get?"

“Either the grilled octopus or the spicy bacalao.” Over the centuries you have tried almost every kind of food possible. Seafood dishes truly are some of your favourites, though. “Or scallops. Really, everything is good here.”

He grunts and nods. “Sounds good.” He does open the menu to read through the options. It’s amusing that when he was riding with William, he could not read, now he reads in multiple languages. Including Chinese. Knowing the language would have been helpful back then.

The waiter departs to give you time to decide, and when he returns a few minutes later you order your usual octopus and Pero opts for a prawns dish that sounded good to him. It leaves you alone together again at your table to look out over the ocean and you sigh happily at the comforting scent of salt air.

You like it here, that is obvious and Pero stares as you unabashedly, curious to your thoughts.

"What is it you want to ask me?" There must be something. You are no longer so insecure that you would be confused as to why a man would stare at you. There is nothing on your face. No food stuck in your teeth. He is simply curious.

“You do not feel it?” Pero asks finally, unable to refrain. “You seem so relaxed.”

"I do feel relaxed," you agree, smiling as the wind wraps around your shoulders. A hug from the earth that you happily appreciate. "People and places come and go, but the wind and the ocean? They are as permanent as we are."

Pero frowns and leans back, unable to understand why you would not feel it. He looks around and sighs before he picks up his wine glass.

"You pout when you don't get your way." The observation makes you hum in amusement. In some ways even this man with his hundreds of years is still very much a boy. "What ought I to be feeling, Tovar?"

“I do not pout.” He grumbles. “You really do not feel the vibration in the air? The pull?” He doesn’t understand it, but he does feel it. He’s drawn to you. “It feels like the air is dancing right now.” It makes him uneasy because the only time he’s ever felt that was when he was in danger but there is no danger here. Confusing him even more.

"Like...electricity." You nod slightly, but tilt your head slightly as you look at him. "I thought that was simply my magic. But if you can feel it too..." Truthfully, you had thought it was your magic's response to your intense attraction to him. But if he can feel it too, it must be much more than that.

“So you do feel it?” He leans in, eyes wide. “It is your magic then? You are that powerful? You pulled me to you?”

"If it is my magic..." Shifting forward in your seat slightly lets you talk a little more freely. Even at a table that is slightly isolated you have lived through too many witch hunts to simply go around shouting about magic. "Then it is doing something I have never felt before."

That makes him frown even more. If you don’t know what it is doing, he has no hope of having the question answered. “If?” He catches that. “What else could it be?”

"Are you sure you want the answer to that?" He will not believe you, you can predict that now. That the other thing you could liken this feeling to is one that was described to you three centuries ago by a couple in the islands of the Caribbean.

He rolls his eyes and purses his lips. “I wouldn’t have asked the question.” He reminds you.

"Fine then." You wave one hand as if to say he asked for it. "I have heard of this sensation once before. Centuries ago. From a pair of soulmates."

Brows pulling together, he takes his time to connect what you are saying. Then the dark orbs are blowing wide and he jerks back to look around quickly again. “You are saying—?”

"It is possible." Anything in the world is possible, after all. Long life has taught you that. "But I do not suggest we go testing the theory by getting into danger."

“What does danger have to do with soulmates?” He asks, frowning again.

"The chance that immortals bonding with their soulmates restores their mortality is...very high," you remind him quietly.

Clarity shines in his eyes and he leans back again. “But we don’t know if that’s what it is.” He hums, picking up his wine again. “We will not test it though.”

"Two meetings do not constitute a connection." And that is all you have had, despite the fact that your vision had stretched over decades and you had dreamt many times of those things your magic revealed to you. "But I agree. We will not test it."

“Soulmates.” He whispers, as if he is trying it on. He looks over at you again and licks his lips. “How would we know? For certain?”

"There are a few tests – magical ones – that could be tried." Their origins all seem dubious to you, or they require ingredients for potions that are unavailable in this new and modern world. They are less than ideal. "Or there is a more...primal test."

“Primal test?” He wonders if it is some kind of blood ceremony or something.

You smirk, hearing in his voice that he expects you to say something deeply mystical or esoteric. "We could have sex," you clarify, pronouncing every syllable.

You are enjoying teasing him. He can tell, but his body is too busy agreeing with your suggestion to care. “We could.” He growls, hands curling on the table as his entire being shifts into something much more dangerous.

"You are interested." It doesn't even need to be a question. His body language makes that clear, and your lips turn up in a smile all over again. "Good."

“You are a beautiful woman.” He reminds you bluntly. “I am old, not dead. My cock still stirs.”

"I'm very glad to hear it." Feeling more confident and looking forward to the night, you shift in your seat to sit a bit taller and survey the man before you unabashedly. "It would be a pity to waste such an enticing man."

It has been a long time since a woman has called him enticing. Instead of preening, like the young boys seem to do now, he lets you look your fill.

"Are you the sort of man who needs to be in your own space?" It is now a negotiation of sorts, but you are happy to be able to study him while you talk and wait for your dinner.

He huffs, amused by that idea, and shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a space that I considered my own.” He points out. “We are both nomads.”

“True. But some people feel the need to exert control wherever possible.” Satisfied that he is not one of those men, you sit back again. “Think of it as asking ‘your place or mine’.”

“Your place.” He decides immediately. “If you want to kick me out, it’s easier.” He doesn’t also say that it will be later in the night and not safe for you to go home alone, not wanting to seem sexist.

“My place.” Your smile is crooked and calm, intrigued and anticipatory. “Good.”

He wonders why that is good, but he shrugs it off, his eyes shifting behind you to see the waiter bringing the food.

You give the waiter warm thanks when your plates are set down, and look back to Pero with interest as the two of you begin to eat. “Tell me a story,” you request, wanting to know more about the man now that you will be spending at least one night together. After all, he has never met anyone like you and you have never met anyone specifically like him. Who else could you share your life stories with in the same way?

Pero frowns slightly and decides that you should hear a story from his original lifeline. "There was this bastard I knew." He begins, the gruffness of his voice is belied by the glimmer of fond remembrance in his eyes. "William Garin. He was a pain in my ass. Getting me into scrapes and saving my ass on the battle field. But I saved his life more." He adds. "He heard about this mystical black powder the Chinese had. And he convinced me to go in search of it. The weapon of our dreams."

Garin is obviously not Spanish, nor is William, and the time spent as a warrior connects dots in your mind. Dots that most in this day and age would find unsavory, but you know better. Survival was harder back then. “You were mercenaries together?”

"Sí." He nods, happy that he does not have to explain every detail to you. "We had fought together for this lord and when he was done with us, we had managed to not kill each other, so we rode together."

“A friend you don’t wish to run through is exceptionally valuable when the sword is already in your hand.” Mercenaries were never long on friendships, as you recall. Which makes it doubly impressive that the men stayed together. “So you went to China together?”

"We collected a group of men." He continues, looking down at the wine and the water at his plate. "All of us desperate for the powder for our own selfish reasons, but we were foolish enough to believe that we could obtain it."

“Fools sometimes have great success,” you point out, sipping from your wine glass. “But I think your luck was not so good, judging from the expression on your face.”

"Twelve of us started out." He nods. "Two of us made it to the Wall."

“The Great Wall?” It is still great today and in nowhere near the splendorous condition that he must have seen it in then.

Pero nods. “Some were killed by bandits, some from disease.” He huffs. “One poor bastard broke his back when his horse fell on him.”

“An unfortunate fate for anyone, bannered soldier or freed lance.” You nod slightly, not wanting to make light of his brethren’s fate but knowing that happened to many.

“The last three died the night before we reached the wall.” He stares at his wine before he takes a large gulp of it. “Eaten by the Tao Tei, though we did not know that at the time. Ripped away from the fire in the blink of an eye while we were resting from running from bandits. Will and I survived together and he took the creatures hand when it had come for us.”

“What became of your brother?” It sounds like he was far more than simply a brother in arms. Pero is likely to have tracked his entire life and legacy.

“When we left the Wall, after the Tao Tei had been defeated, he left his heart behind.” Pero frowns slightly. “After three months, we turned back and he return to his general.”

It’s sweet, or perhaps bittersweet, but you off him a soft smile of understanding. Laced with curiosity, of course. “An unusual love, or an unusual general?” You ask gently.

“She was ferocious.” He chuckles, understanding your meaning and appreciating the tact. “She brought out a side of him I didn’t understand at the time.” He admits. “He was better because of her, the best version of himself.”

“That is what soulmates do, they say.” Satisfied that you haven’t offended him or the memory of his friend, you settle back into your meal. “Did you stay long with them?”

“Until their third child was born.” He hums. “It had become obvious to me that they were aging but for some reason I was not.” He frowns slightly. “I went to a monastery to search for answers and when I returned, my friend was on his deathbed, old and feeble.”

“You were there for his joys and returned to show him your love at the end.” That is honorable. Commendable, even. “That is more than many friends can say they have done.”

“He deserved it.” He shrugs as if it was not much. It was the least he could do in his mind after so many years. “After they were buried together, she had passed the year before, I started my path alone. Never meeting anyone like myself until now.”

"Perhaps it is a sign?" If he even believes in them. As likely as not, he thinks them child’s play.

“Perhaps.” He takes his wine and finishes the rest of it. “It has been a long time since I have seen any signs of anything beyond this existence.”

“I cannot claim to know anything of what lies beyond.” How could you? “But this life is valuable despite being infinite.”

“It is getting harder with technology.” He admits.

“Avoiding being photographed is difficult.” It is a hazard, if you’re honest, which is why you have stayed out of the big cities for decades. “I stay out of cities and tourist traps now. We have to be so careful.”

“Especially with my scar.” He gestures towards his face. “I have thought about surgery but who knows if it would work?”

You consider him carefully for a moment, letting a smirk turn up one corner of your lips. “It might be a pity to lose,” you tell him finally. “The effect is rather dashing.”

His brow lifts, the one affected by the scar and he hums. “You like a more….rugged appearance on a man, hermosa?”

“I do.” And you are old enough and have had enough lovers to know that you do have a preference. “It is not necessary, I would say. But certainly my preference.”

“Then I am pleasing to your eye?” He asks, smirking slightly. He might not be a vain man, but he does enjoy when a woman wants him.

Far be it from you to deny a truth, especially when it is one you have already confirmed. He has let you look your fill during this meal, after all. “I would not be taking you home with me if you were not,” you confirm, and let you smirk grow a little wider.

“Depended on how desperate you might be.” Pero jokes dryly. “Thought I do not believe you have had much trouble warming your bed over the centuries.”

“More than you might think,” you admit, but shrug. “I thank you for the compliment, though.”

“You are a beautiful woman.” He grunts. “Interesting too.”

“More compliments?” Your face blossoms into a teasing, playful grin. “Since I am sure you do not hand them out meaninglessly, I am even more glad.”

“Tell me about yourself.” He asks, wanting to know more about this witch who had known he was somehow coming into your life. “You ever been wrong with your visions?”

“In the early days.” You nod to that, willing to admit that you had needed much training to learn to wield your power effectively. “I have honed my skills. Learned how to tell when things are important. Listened to the way the visions sing to me. I have been wrong before, but not in many centuries.”

He nods. “And you knew that I would come to you, but not exactly when.”

“Because I do not presume to know everything from the visions anymore. Early on, we are so eager to know all. We cannot abide mystery. But now?” You wave one hand dismissively, picking up another forkful of your meal. “The universe will tell me what I am to know when it decides I am ready.”

“It is not like you do not possess the time.” He snorts, finding comfort in your ideology and he picks up his own fork. “Your bread is probably the best I have had in years.” He compliments. “I dreamed of it last night.”

“Is that all you dreamed of?” You doubt it, much to your own amusement, and are not ashamed of what your own dreams have consisted of since meeting the mercenary.

“No.” He admits easily, a ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips. “It was hardly decent.”

“Good.” The way your thighs clench in anticipation is no accident, but all he sees is the pleased expression on your face and perhaps the fire in your eyes. “Then it matched my own.”

“Then tell me what you want.” He demands. “I am sure you have expectations after being here so long and seeing how sex progresses.”

“We have both been here a very long time, Tovar,” you remind him with a wry chuckle. Your meal is finished and your wine as well, so you sit back in your seat and inhale the ocean breeze. “We will take pleasure in each other until we are exhausted, we will sleep curled in the same bed, and when we wake tomorrow we will indulge again if it pleases us to do so.”

“You are very sure of yourself.” He chuckles, not minding the idea of your evening at all. “It is a trait I admire in a woman.”

"If I was certain of myself, I would plan beyond tomorrow morning," you tell him, valuing honesty more than pretense in this moment. The meal is ending and the next steps you take together may change everything. That is what you are unsure of. "But I don't presume to know your mind. Only my own."

“You know it well.” Even though it would not be considered the newer custom of a date, Pero pulls out his wallet to pay for the meal you shared.

It's gentlemanly of him, and after hundreds of years walking this earth you have both accumulated fortune enough to always keep food in your bellies, so you simply thank him for the gesture. You will make him breakfast in the morning before he decides to be on his way, and that will be payment in kind. There is a sort of uncertainty in your bones about how this coupling will turn out – not because you doubt that you will find pleasure but because Tovar seems prone to run from anything he perceives as comfort.

Wiping his mouth one last time, Pero stands and he waits for you to get up as well. “Then let us go find our pleasure with each other.” He offers.

Your home, like everything else in this village, is close enough to walk to. There is no soft sweetness of hand holding or stolen looks, but instead a sort of comfort of knowing what is to come. He walks closer to the street, shielding you from anything that might splash or come too close. When you make it to your door, though, the air of anticipation seems to tighten around both of you and you suddenly become hyper aware of how close he is standing as you turn your key in the lock.

“You can change your mind.” It’s not that he is trying to get you to send him home, but he always prefers to know there is no doubts when he takes a woman to bed.

"I don't want to change my mind." You push open your front door and step back, letting him enter first if he wants to. "You can as well. If that is what you want."

“I would regret it for a thousand years if I left now.” Pero shakes his head and steps into your house.

"Considering we may well live that long, I would hate for you to live with that feeling." You step in behind him and close the door, deciding to throw the lock closed because he is a warrior of many lifetimes and will be on high alert if the house isn't secure.

He hums in approval, sure that after so many years walking this earth you can protect yourself, but no one openly invites the bear into their home. He looks around, finding your private space to be an extension of the bakery you run. Warm and inviting, although he recognizes the antiques that must be collections from your past lives.

"Look around if you like." Shedding your bag and jacket, you don't mind that the space is a little untidy and obviously lived in. This new fascination with making a home look as if no one lives in it is maddening. "Would you like another drink?"

"I am good." He declines as he start to poke around shamelessly. Picking up trinkets and examining them. If he had been the Pero from years ago, he would thinking of stealing from you. Now, he just admires them before setting them back down as he learns more about you from what you keep in your home.

"Do you have a favorite?" As he shuffles through the shelves and collections of keepsakes from your past lives, you smile softly to actually be able to share them with someone who understands.

“Why did you keep this?” The flower is dried, encased in resin and obviously of some importance to you.

"Because I promised the little girl that gave it to me that I would keep it forever." You tell him honestly, stepping into the living room to gaze on the dried wildflower bud. "When the plague came through the village we were in, almost everyone died. She could not have been more than ten years old, but I promised her I would nurse her parents while they died, and she gave me a flower in thanks before her grandmother took her and they fled the village together. The flower was for my kindness, and I took the promise that I made to her very seriously."

“Hopefully the girl had a good life.” It was doubtful, times were hard back then, but it was the best he could hope for anyone.

“Hopefully.” Not having been able to find her later on, you could not say for sure. But she was a sweet little girl and you liked to imagine she found happiness of some sort or other as a woman.

“Your home is very cozy.” The word sounds rough on his tongue, but you don’t seem to mind his gruffness.

"I see no reason not to surround myself with things that bring me joy." You extend your hand, wondering if he will take it and how that will finally feel. You have wondered about his touch for more than a hundred years. "That includes people."

Pero stares at your hand for a moment, then he reaches out. The scars on the back of his hands have faded over the millennia, but he can still see each one. He watches his fingers touch your palm and slide over your skin.

In modern times, they talk about electricity between people. Between a couple coming together. But in the centuries past that spark of new passion was always what happened before an all-consuming fire. The calluses on both of your hands seem to slide over each other with ease, letting your fingers lace together and making your breath catch in a way it hasn't in centuries.

And all at once desire seems to banish every other thought from your mind.

His eyes widen slightly, feeling tug deep in his belly, lighting a hunger in his loins that has long been dormant. Even though he had told himself he would let you control the pace of the night; he is dragging you close. Already obsessed with the next step that you would take. A kiss.

It’s as if you fuse together instantly, that kiss being the mere byproduct of your union into one being. Arms wrap around each other as fiercely tongues entwine, the kiss already deepened into something hungry and exploratory as soon as your lips met.

Once he’s tasted you, Pero is ravenous. Growling as he slides his tongue against yours and holds the back of your head, tilting you like the heroine in a romance novel. The need pouring through him into the flick of his tongue against yours and the groans he is feeding into you.

Every inch of your body is alight with need, and while the fingers of one hand sink into his hair to tug sharply as much as to keep him near, your other hand explores. His frame is even broader than you expected, shoulders and arms thick with corded muscle. You are pliant under every demand of his kiss, returning his moans with enthusiasm even as you start to blindly feel what lies ahead for your pleasure.

He does not know your little house, but he is learning your body. Caressing you with large, sweeping passes over your body. Listening for when your moans intensify. Wanting to memorize what brings you pleasure.

The little cottage only has one floor, though, making it easy to navigate blindly. You could not tear yourself from his embrace now even if you desired it — but the only thing you desire is to bring him with you as you slowly pull your intertwined bodies toward your bedroom.

He lets you guide him. Shuffling with you as you start to pull away. Not wanting there to be any space between you, he follows. Trusting you more than he has anyone in hundreds of years.

Out if the living room, across a small hallway, and through the doorway into your bedroom, you keep hold firm hold of him. Of the countless lovers you have had over the course of your overly-long life, none have set a fire in you that could compare to what you’re feeling right now — and the shocking thought that a soulmate might exist somewhere in the world for you narrows itself into an almost inevitable reality.

He’s never felt like this. Not even when he was a wet behind the ears whelp tumbling into bed with his first whore. The craving he has for you has burrowed under his skin and his fingers reach for the tie to your dress to strip it off your body.

Your hands work just as fast and thoroughly, pulling his sweater over his head despite having to part from him to do so. If you never breathe another breath that did not come from his mouth first, you would live another thousand happy years.

Modern clothing is both a gift and a curse. A gift because there is less of it, a curse because it was easier to just throw a woman’s skirts up and sink into her if she was not wearing drawers. Panties now are alluring but so restrictive. His fingers dig under the band and he shreds them in his haste to rid your body of the barrier between you.

If you felt any sort of restraint whatsoever, you might be amused by his eagerness, but it matches your own. It matches how frustrated you are to have to tear through the shirt under his sweater just to get to bare skin, then the belt and sticky zipper on his trousers to get to what you're craving. His cock is hard as stone – as desperately hard as you are wet – and you moan with a measure of uninhibited relief when you slip your hand inside his pants to discover he isn't wearing any sort of underwear. One less layer to have to tear off of him.

He would chuckle if he could breathe, but that is beyond him right now. Groaning when your fingers wrap around him, he bucks his hips forward and only takes his hands off you to strip down his pants and kick them off with his shoes.

Your bra is the last thing tossed aside, and you sigh into the feeling of his calloused hands kneading your flesh. He has made no mistake about appreciating a woman with curves, and in this moment you have never been more grateful for them. Any additional patch of skin for him to touch is worth praising.

"Beautiful." He growls, cupping and squeezing your tits, appreciating the lushness of your curves and the way you fit into his hands. It's as if you were created to slot into him perfectly.

“Enough to keep your hands full?” You huff a breathy laugh, already knowing the answer.

“You could be a little plumper.” Pero snorts, never denying a thicker figure is sexy. Back when he was younger; that meant you were well fed.

You grin, laughing with him, and tug him toward your bed without shame. “Then it is a good thing I am a baker.”

“Does that mean your cunt is sweet?” He teases, reaching out to brace his arms so he doesn’t collapse on you when you both fall into the bed. “Tastes like honey?”

“You’ll have to tell me.” The blankets are pushed aside immediately, letting you both tumble onto the mattress eagerly. “For the sake of your sweet tooth, I hope so.”

He flashes a predatory grin, eyes dark and full of mischief as he bites your chin. "Then let me have a taste."

"As much as you like," you assure him, sliding back to lie down amongst your pillows. "Until we are both satisfied."

He hums and attacks your mouth again, intoxicated by the taste of your lips and sure that the rest of you is equally addicting.

Every inch of you is plied with those hungry kisses. From your lips and jaw down the length of your neck, paying tribute at the temple of your breasts and growling into the soft flesh of your belly as he makes his way down. No detail is spared his voracious attention. No scar missed. No stretch mark unadored.

You are exquisite. A map of time, of experience. Random scars that have faded to non-existence. A lesser man wouldn’t even notice them, except Pero wears the same faded marks on his body. His tongue and teeth worship them until he has bitten each of your thighs and his shoulders are wedged between them, inhaling the musky, tangy scent of your sex like it’s a stimulant.

"I will go and get the honey jar if it will get your tongue inside me faster," you gripe, smirking at him even as your thighs bracket his head and his breath wafts over your cunt.

“Impatient witch.” Pero huffs, frowning so he doesn’t laugh. But he takes your lead and buries his tongue deep inside your walls, his prominent nose pressed against your clit.

"I will not apologize," you groan, sinking further into your mattress with a keening sound of bliss as he dives in with enthusiasm.

He wouldn’t expect you to. You are too brash for untruths. You are impatient and he groans into your folds as he sets about learning what makes your thighs quiver about his ears. It’s been years since he’s eaten a cunt with this much enthusiasm and he wants to prove that he can make you squeal.

Your fingers find his curls, tangling in the long strands and encouraging him to seek the deepest parts of you. It bows your back and makes your skin tingle, and you anchor yourself to him as he begins to build you up in pleasure right away. Every stroke of his tongue is magic, and you have experienced enough magic in your life to know that sensation deeply.

You respond so beautifully to him. Synchronizing your moans to the flick of his tongue or the nudge of his nose. Urging him on with breathless chants of pleasure that have him aching against the sheets he is grinding down against.

The pleasure is almost blinding, taking over all of your senses so that you forget everything in the world beyond him. His name is the only one one your lips, barely joined by breathless praises. A thousand lifetimes of practice have made him a skilled lover and you are glad to reap those rewards tonight.

You melt into him. Your cunt is better than honey but he laps at you continuously. Sampling the sweet nectar and pulling the gorgeous sounds out of you with a glee that is bordering on smug.

Time is as liquid as your body by the time you fall apart for him. All you know is that your world has narrowed to the man between your legs and that this is what you want more than anything in the world. You sob his name as he drinks down your release, fingers twisted both in his hair and in the bedsheets. The unapologetic ringing of bliss through the walls of your house seem to reverberate back to you, as if knowing that this pleasure should not be shared with anyone else.

Watching you shake apart is a privilege. One that he is determined to have. Again he curls his tongue around your clit to help you extend the fluttering of your walls. Obsessed with the way that you sob his name.

A satisfied sigh passes your lips when you can finally breathe again, and you open your eyes to find him staring hungrily up at you with his cheek resting on your thigh.

“Did I satisfy you?” He’s smug, because he knows he did, but he wants to hear you say it.

"Better than I expected you to," you promise him, not at all upset with how satisfied with himself he looks. He should be that satisfied. You certainly are. But you still shoot a grin back at him. "Now do it again. With your cock this time."

He snorts, taking the backhanded compliment and he leans in to nip your hip and starting to untangle his shoulders from your legs to crawl up your body.

"You wouldn't like a girl who fawned over you." That part of his personality is abundantly clear. Praise is good, but honest praise. Not when it is empty. "But I knew from the way you devoured me with your eyes at dinner that you could do it with your mouth, too."

He grunts, placated by your answer and his lips find yours again as he slides into your arms and wraps his arms around your back.

You’ll take the kiss as confirmation. As an agreement that you have learned him well in a very small space of time. And that is all you need to deliver the measure of passion back to him twofold.

You fit together so naturally. So easily. His body slots against yours with no discomfort, no need to adjust. His cock is pressed against your entrance and all he has to do is push forward to sink into you.

Gasping in unison, the sharp intake of breath turns to a shared, shuddering moan as he pushes inside you. Your arms wrap tight around him just as his hold you close, and the seemingly endless moment of just being joined is better than you ever remember feeling with any man before.

It’s not that it has been so long since Pero has filled a woman that has him groaning your name. It’s how perfect you feel. Transcending beyond physical into something almost primal, like you are his.

One long, breathless moment of amusement is needed before you search out his lips again, nipping the lower one and squeezing your cunt around his cock to spur him into moving. This blissful elation has mountains to climb before the night is over.

He grunts, twitching inside you because of your boldness. He likes a feisty woman, especially in bed. One that demands that her needs be met and met well. He pushes even deeper before he is dragging his cock back out, making sure that your walls feel him retreating to anticipate the next commanding thrust.

The rhythm you build together is damn near athletic with the amount of push and pull you give. Not quite right but all the way to the edge of wondering whether your creaking bed will give out before you decide you don’t care. He would be worth the collapsed furniture, this rough-hewn warrior with his heart of golden softness. And you wonder, in between moaning his name into the darkness, whether anyone has ever told him that before.

The mattress undeath you doesn't give him the leverage that he wants, that he needs to snap his hips forward and pull another beautiful cry from those lips of yours. Obsessed with how you take every demanding thrust and still seek more, he reaches up and grabs the headboard for better purchase. Growling your name while he rocks into you. "Fuck, you are perfect, bruja, taking my cock and begging for more. I'll give you everything you want and more." He pants, almost breathless, but determined to keep the brutal pace up. He had fought in hand to hand combat for hours, he can make you cum before he collapses in exhaustion.

Some lovers are sensuous, some are tender, some are eager or greedy. Pero matches the way you feel in this moment — the unbridled surety of what your want and need and crave — without question and with great enthusiasm. He is as hungry for a partner to be unrestrained with as you are. To find someone with whom you can remove your mask. The wet noise of slapping hips and growling of praise fills your senses like a drug and all you can think is how you want more.

Every thrust feels like he’s going to impale you. Hurt you. Your legs wrapped around his waist feel like they are the only thing keeping him from fucking up into your throat and still you cry for him. It’s the most beautiful, greedy sounds he’s ever heard and he wants more of them ringing in his ears. His lips kiss and his teeth bite along your neck, your jaw while he huffs and puffs, grunting his own pleasure into your skin.

Too much, not enough, absolutely perfect, overwhelming, and yet the most unbridled you’ve ever felt. It is everything. The first time you come apart for him it is like the explosion that heralds the beginning of a new world, tearing you apart from the inside out but only granting you a new and vital life force. Pero ends up on his back beneath you, trading places so that he can watch you ride him with greedy eyes and explore your body with calloused hands as you take more pleasure from him.

You are a witch. You’ve bewitched him. In awe of the sight of you, tits bouncing, head thrown back, you ride him like you are riding a horse across the desert. Every time you slam back down in his cock, his toes curls and his body lurches in pleasure under you. Hands filling with every inch of your flesh he can possess, growling and moaning like he is in pain, but it is pure pleasure bleeding those sounds from him.

It’s sunrise before you’re done with each other, collapsing into a pile of satisfied bodies and damp sheets. One of the best fringe benefits of immortality is the stamina and you fully abused that tonight.

“You have to work?” He asks, panting as he runs his hand down your sweaty spine and smirking tiredly when you shiver in response.

“I’m closed today.” You chuckle, breathy and light, deciding that taking a single day off from running the bakery won’t make a difference to the village. “There are more fun things to do at home.”

He chuckles. “Sí? Like what, bruja? Casting more spells over me?”

“Sí.” Laughing together, you hold him a little tighter, as though a whisper told you he might slip away. “Claro. Of course I will.”

He hums after a moment. “I have never felt that strongly before.” He admits after letting the silence settle between you and your breaths have slowed down. “That connected. Did you feel it too?”

“I did.” A small smile quirks at the corner of your lips. “I do feel it. Perhaps it is as they say.”

“Soulmates?” His eyes widen when he puts it together and his fingers twitch against the curve of your ass where he had been idly caressing. “You believe that is what we are?”

“Perhaps.” Your lips find his, brushing a reassuring kiss there while you still smile. “There is only one way to be certain.”

“How?” He kisses you back before he frowns slightly.

“Sleep, hermoso.” When he looks surprised you only laugh sweetly. “Sleep. And your bruja will cast into the shadows after some rest.”

“As long as you sleep with me.” Pero grunts, pulling you close again and closing his eyes even as the room becomes brighter with the coming day.

******

The sound of the cock crowing penetrates Pero’s sleep, making him grunt and curl around you a bit more as if to protect you from the coming day. “Too early.” He grumbles, although he knows that you must wake, pressing his lips to the warm skin of your neck where his face has been buried through the night.

“Ignore it.” You grumble back, shifting backward in a sleepy shuffle to burrow closer to him under the heavy wool blanket. You’ve only half woken up but you don’t want to leave this bed.

He grunts in agreement, holding you tight and his cock twitches when you press your ass against his crotch.

“Ready for more already, mi caballero?” Not that you’re surprised — you’re ready for him again too. You dreamt about it.

“Sí.” He growls quietly. “Your cunt is too good not to be craving every chance I get.”

"One night and you are already addicted?" You chuckle from somewhere low in your chest and roll over to face him, only to sit straight up in bed when you finally open your eyes.

Pero frowns slightly, feeling the rush of cool air when you pull the warmth of your body and the covers away from him. "Lay down."

"Pero." With your eyes darting around the room, you start to twist and look in every direction, turning a little more frantic with every change of direction. "Pero, look!"

He grunts, opening an eye cautiously and then he is opening the other, sitting up in the bed with a frown. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Flanders.” You practically gasp out the word, looking around in shock. “In a cottage on the river outside Gent…” Practically springing from the bed, you reach for the nearest blanket to wrap around yourself and go to the window.

The garden and meadow behind your little cottage look brighter and sweeter than you remember, but very much the same. It has been hundreds of years since you lived in the Flemish countryside yet here you are.

Swallowing a sharp gasp, you turn back from the color-stained glass window. “When do you say you were from?” You demand. “Originally, I mean?”

Pero frowns as he follows you, not bothering to find his breeches and he looks out the wavy glass. You must have been very well established to have glass. He tells you the year. “Why?”

You swallow thickly, disbelief coloring your features and all you can do is choke out a laugh. “Pero, look around you. We were in an entirely different cottage when we fell asleep.”

“I can see that.” He huffs. “I’m asking why you wanted to know what years I was originally walking through life.”

“Because…” You can feel your heartbeat pounding, adrenaline beating in your veins. “Because in your first walk of this earth, I was living here.”

He frowns, brow pinching together in thought. “Where are we?” He demands, thinking back to that time.

“Flanders. The country. I was already baking then…there is a tavern down the road where I made bread and cooked suppers and helped keep guests.” The awe and confusion on your face are so deeply etched into your skin that it feels like they go all the way into your bones. “For two immortals we should not be so cods walloped by the notion of time travel.”

“Because I have never woken up in a time different from which I fell asleep.” He reasons. “I was supposed to travel to Flanders.” He whispers. “After I left the wall. That was mine and Garin’s plan.”

“You were?” You wrap the blanket around yourself a little more tightly at this surprising news, as if it might bring on more unknown magic.

“Sí.” He frowns as he peers out the window at the sleepy little scene in front of him. It’s almost jarring, how quiet this time actually was. There is none of the low frequency noises that he had grown used to hearing in the modern world.

“I wonder…”

“Wonder?” He turns back to you, watching you as you contemplate this newest development in your lives. “What are you thinking, cariño?”

The term of endearment does not escape you, but rather it almost seems to confirm the thought that has cropped up in your mind. “I wonder if there is something in soulmates…being people who were supposed to meet?”

Pero, despite his humble beginnings at this time in history, is not stupid and he understands what you are saying. “So we have been brought back to the time we were supposed to meet and understand our connection?” He theorizes and looks around the cottage again. “You were unwed at this time?”

He has followed your train of thought exactly and you nod. “I was. When I came to this village, I presented myself as a widow. There was more freedom in it.”

“And I was to come and spend the winter here.” Pero muses. “A sexy widow would have been a very appealing way to spend the winter.”

"I would have welcomed you." He is as to your taste after hundreds of years as he would have been then, and you would have let him into your bed without hesitation. "We would have kept very warm that winter."

He chuckles and leans over, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. "Overheated." He promises. "Do you think we are here to stay?" He asks.

"It seems likely." Though you do frown, trying to think through the logistics in your mind. "We could travel. Make our way east. You could see your friend again."

"Does-- does this mean we are no longer immortal?" Pero asks, looking down at his hands and body. "Or does this mean we live these times again together?"

"I don't know." You murmur softly, placing your hands over his and gently squeezing. "But we will find out. Together."

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[lazyjellyfish300]

by the moon 🐺

Synopsis: the story of you, the daughter of a village baker and how you came to fall for the mysterious Atsuya Kusakabe who harbors a dark secret that plagues him every full moon. One problem: you're betrothed to Naoya Zenin who you do not love. 🌕

Banner/divider cred: @/saradika-graphics

Words: 9.3k (I can't believe it either tbh)

CW: x FEMALE! READER, MINORS DNI, SMUT, P IN V, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, MASTURBATION, CUNNILINGUS, SUI IDEATION MENTION, PET NAMES(PRINCESS, SWEETHEART, ETC) SOME HISTORICAL MISOGYNISTIC ATTITUDES, DARK CONTENT, DUB CON, POSSIBLE NON CON JUST IN CASE, IT'S NOT TOO CRAZY BUT PLSSSSS TAKE CARE IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE. INFIDELITY , BITING, WEREWOLF! KUSAKABE, KNOTTING, BREEDING, PREGNANCY, ROUGH SEX, SPIT, CUM, CREAMPIE, NAOYA SUCKS, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP WITH NAOYA, CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR, NEAR DROWNING, VIOLENCE, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, ANGST, FLUFF, NON GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF KILLING ANIMALS

A/N: for the amazing Monster Mash event hosted by the incredible @nanamiscocksleeve . Thank you sooooo much for having me!! 💕💕 HAPPY SPOOKY SEASON! 🎃👻 And ty to @actuallysaiyan for being my source of inspiration for my first go round writing werewolf smut. 💕😩

Snow in October was rare, yet the quiet beginnings of the unexpected snowfall began to dust the ground, the shimmery white blaring against the deep orange and green of the forest.

You tugged your blanket tighter around you as though you could sense the bitter chill directly through the frosted window of your new manor house, its unforgiving walls causing your mind to wander far off elsewhere during this same time of year, five years ago...

He was the first and only man you ever loved, and the way you met him was entirely by accident.

The riverside village you grew up in was quaint, surrounded by trees with the innumerable evergreens of the deep forest just on the outskirts.

Despite its charmed exterior, its inhabitants were gossipy, prone to mob mentality, and rather superstitious. One stray rumor quickly added kindling to the fire of another like a domino effect, leaving the poor victim scorched and shunned. And although you knew better, something about you always yearned for something greater outside the small minds of your town, the daughter of a mere baker.

Day after day, smoke and chatter filled the small streets as merchants hustled for a living. Farmers ushered livestock, fish were gutted, and business carried on as usual. Preparations were well underway for winter's timely arrival as the village made haste to meet this year's quota to avoid famine.

A large chunk would go to House Zenin, led by Naobito, the ruling Lord of the region who lived on the other side of the mountains. An early frost like this caused winter's kill to afflict the vast river and the population of fish, putting many livelihoods in jeopardy.

This unsettling pressure was tangible in your interactions with the locals, including your father who was more short tempered than usual as the orders for bread came in quicker than he could fulfill.

So, you did what you do best which is run away into the forest despite numerous warnings and disapproving nods from your neighbors not to wander off, especially during the heart of October when the full harvest moon's appearance would happen like clockwork. This would could give way for a completely new problem that plauged nightmares and local legends:

Lycanthropes.

This year in particular coincided with a blue moon.

The issue of a werewolf had not haunted the village in hundreds of years. Though, with this blue moon on the horizon, it only fanned the flames of unrest, villagers insisting the Gods must be angry due to this year's scarcity and were sending a werewolf as penance for their grievances.

However, some took this opportunity to indulge in the fascination behind the supernatural and trade old stories around the fire during the harvest festivities, hearty drunken laughs echoing from the bitter ale.

You supposed, as you thought to yourself as you sauntered through the expanse of the forest floor along the twig laden paths, that coming face to face with a werewolf wouldn't be all that terrifying.

Who's to say those beasts weren't capable of feelings or just as fearful of humans as they were of them? You thought it thrilling to run underneath the moon and be chased by such a creature. A creature that ran on two legs like a man with claws and sharp teeth, big and strong. Easily overpowering you. Something oddly alluring about the primality, the taboo behind the uncertainty of what he'd do to you when he caught you. You, his helpless prey he'd rip out every corner of the forest that concealed your sweet, sweet scent away from him...

But all of these things, you surmised, would land you directly in the village looney bin had anyone else accessed your thoughts.

As you wander, you don't realize you're being watched until your observer makes himself known.

"Village is that way, miss."

You whirl around, eyes widened when you're greeted with the stern gaze of a young man who was weathered and rugged like someone much older, eyes a shade of brown that competed with the intensity of the bark of trees that surrounded you. Bushy brows that almost met in the middle, dark spiky hair, and a sharp jawline that framed his handsome face.

"I'm sorry -I'm..." You hesitate. The first rule not to wander in the forest, already broken, soon to break the second of not speaking to strangers as well.

"I'm not looking for the village..."

Atsuya Kusakabe tilts his head. You were like a lost fawn. A dead one if your survival skills and sense of judgement were truly as poor as his prior observations of you led him to believe.

"Do I know you?" You prod, eyes searching his face attempting to jog your memory. "Wait, I think I know you..."

Kusakabe looks away, trudging silently towards his cottage that was tucked further down the path, towing a wooden cart with fishing tools and you stumbling behind him.

"You're...are you....you're the Kusakabe boy?"

You had heard rumors of the scorned family, who, many years ago were banished after the mother was thought to be a witch. The fate of her young son remained unknown, until now.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of one particularly long scar that adorned his forearm. He takes notice and unfurls his sleeve down in response.

"Ya really shouldn't be out here. If ya turn back now, you'll be home before sunset." He shoots an annoyed look at you when he realizes he won't be rid of you so easily. "Seriously, you're not concerned about your safety at all?"

"I am, I just—"

"Jus' what?"

You shrug. "I like being in the forest. It's better in here than it is out there."

"Really, a girl who likes being in the woods?" Kusakabe's eyes narrow as you approach the small cottage together.

"Yeah. I mean it's not so far fetched. My dad's insufferable. The villagers are annoying. The girls my age want nothing to do with me and the boys my age are all painfully rude and arrogant. It's much better in here where I can be alone."

"Well, get used to it, princess. In here is no place for someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"Yes, you. You're delicate." His eyes briefly appraise you again.

"I'm not made of glass."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

Kusakabe scoffs. "You're one of those proper girls. Ya know the ones that spend all their time reading books? The pretty ones that always get married off to some rich bastard Lord an' have a bunch of babies."

You couldn't help but remain stuck on the fact that he called you pretty as he turned his back to you, stowing the cart in a shed adjacent to his cottage.

"Well, you're wrong about that. I'm not getting married to any Lord." You straighten up.

"Right, we'll see about that." Kusakabe leans boredly against the shed.

Silence persists for a moment and you try to think of a way to prolong this encounter.

"You're a fisherman?"

"Ya."

"Where do you fish? I've never seen you at the river." You lean on your hip, eyes trained on his.

"I don't go to that river." Kusakabe folds his arms.

"Why?"

He clears his throat, his family history flashing briefly in his mind. "For reasons..." The pause in his voice contains an indiscernible pain behind it. "I go to the lake on the other side of the forest."

"There's a lake?" Your curiosity is piqued.

"Ya? Ya never seen it?"

"Well, maybe you can show me one day?"

"Not a chance, miss." A smile tugs at his lips after thinking for a moment longer. "Okay.... Maybe. But I wouldn't be doing all this for free."

You think carefully. "How about some bread? And in exchange you show me the lake and the ins and outs of the forest I don't know about."

Kusakabe's stomach inevitably grumbles. It had been so long since he tasted bread, having been exiled from the village so long ago. Such things were a luxury to him. He can't help but agree.

"Deal." He notices the sun beginning to dip in the sky. "But seriously, get going, princess. Night's just gonna get darker." He reaches for a lantern that sits on the gate in front of the cottage. "I'll walk with ya."

You walk together, chatting the whole way while he silently listened, fighting to disguise the faint ghost of amusement on his face as you incessantly speak, recounting stories from your childhood, what you ate yesterday, your theories on how the universe came to exist while he escorts you to the forest's edge.

"Well, here ya are, miss. Have a g'night."

"Goodnight, Atsuya."

He smiles, his name was warm when it fell from your lips. His first pleasant interaction with someone his age for the first time in years. He can't shake you from his thoughts that night as he wanders away in silence.

And so, this became a routine. Every afternoon after your studies, you'd run off into the woods until sunset, winding and finding your way back to Kusakabe, greeting him cheerfully with a biscuit or roll. Talking for hours and hours about everything and anything, this blossoming friendship between you two. He couldn't place it, but something about the promise of you jovially running down the path to see him every day became his motivation to let his feet hit the floor in the mornings.

Your father begins to notice, becoming more cold and harsh than usual.

"I don't know what you're up to, but it needs to stop, missy, you hear me?" He scolds you one evening.

"Winter is coming and you're off galavanting in the woods like usual. If you put half as much effort into lazing off as you did making yourself more suitable for marriage, then perhaps we wouldn't find ourselves on the brink of bankruptcy."

You went to bed that night with tears in your eyes, relentlessly tossing and turning as sleep evaded you. Marriage wasn't for you. Or at least your father's idea of it. Loveless and transactional, selling you off to the highest bidder.

You got up in a rush and promptly put on your cloak, off to the woods once again to see Kusakabe despite your better judgement.

Unknown to you, your father hired a group of young men from the village watch guard to keep an eye on you. You despised them and their leader just so happened to be Naoya Zenin, son of the renowned Lord Naobito.

You heard rumors that you were one of the prime choices among the young ladies in the village to be his bethrothed, but everything about him made your skin crawl.

He was rich and handsome on the outside, but the ugly innards of his heart overrode those two things completely. Callous and cruel with a particular sadistic liking for torture, you vowed to stay as far away from him as distance would allow.

The feeling that Kusakabe gave you compared to him was night and day.

Naoya snickered from his tent as he watched your candle disappear into a clearing, nodding for two of his accomplices to follow.

"Let's see where the little brat is off to this time."

"If we're lucky, we'll get to watch her get eaten by something."

Naoya chuckled darkly, "Now, that's no way to talk about my future bride." A smirk painting his loathsome face as he watched you scurry into the night.

-----

"Kusa!"

Kusakabe jolts awake inside his small cottage, heart pounding in his chest when he sees a small flame outside his window, answering you with a wave of disbelief mixed with excitement.

"Hey! The hell're ya doing out here..?"

"I had to see you."

Kusakabe nods and immediately brings you inside, glancing cautiously in both directions. The darkened silence of the forest putting him at ease as he closed the door behind him.

"My father's driving me crazy..." You sigh as you strip your cloak off, landing in a heap beside the modest fireplace and planting yourself onto the rocking chair beside it.

Kusakabe realizes this is the first time the entirety of your beauty became revealed to him, the shadows from the fire painting an air about you that was rather bewitching. No sooner does the thought enter his mind than he banishes it completely.

"Tell me 'bout it."

"He wants me to get married." You tell him with a sigh. "He doesn't care if I'm happy or not. I feel like my whole life is being decided for me and it's so, so unfair..."

Your lip trembles and Kusakabe has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms. The surgence of his feelings he had been in denial about for some time making themselves apparent at last when he lays eyes on your precious tears.

"Hey..."

Your soul flares alight when he crouches down next to you, a supportive hand resting on your thigh. You twitch slightly and Kusakabe waits, thinking perhaps he was too forward, but then you do something that surprises him and you collapse into his chest entirely with a broken sob.

"Kusa...Kusa...hold me..."

Kusakabe raises his hands in surprise but then melts completely as he pulls you into his lap and into a protective carry against his chest.

It was only now that you realized how truly strong he was. He sets you gently down on his bed just on the other side of the room, rocking you back and forth, his brow furrowing as he squeezed you a little tighter.

"M'here, m'here.... m'holding you angel, I've got ya..s'okay....s'okay..."

Your quiet cries dissolve into hiccups as you stare over Kusakabe's shoulder, calmness starting to settle in, realizing being wrapped up in his arms was where you wanted to be all the time.

"Shh..." Kusakabe closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of holding you at last. Warmth traded between you both with every passing moment.

He pulls away for a moment, keeping both of his large hands on your arms, running them up and down slowly and searching your face before he brings a careful hand to your face. The right, followed by the left as he gently swipes at the wetness under your eyes.

A loud hiccup exits your chest and he can't help but smile at the adorable sound.

"Feel a little better now, sweetheart?"

"I *hic* ....sort of..." You sniffle.

"Hey, s'alright..." He murmurs. You notice his lips part a little bit as he takes in your features, an irresistible warmth that starts to creep up between you two that made the air undeniably foggy.

He whispers your name, "...tell me somethin'.."

"Yes?" You straighten your back. "Yes, Atsuya?"

He hesitates, then abruptly decides to take the leap. "You...ya like me, right?"

You give him a mildly confused look.."Of course I like you.."

"No, goddamn it, I mean..." He chuckles and looks at the floor in tired defeat. "Sorry, princess. Language. I mean..." He lifts his brown eyes with a sigh, boring into your own. The softest manner he has looked at you dead on the entire time you've known him.

"I mean..." He says gently. "I mean do ya like me, princess? Do ya feel somethin special f'me?"

You have forgotten how to breathe, but this feeling of being breathless was not one you would come to regret. The heat in your face becoming very noticeable to you the longer you gazed at his beauty. This remarkable young man you didn't realize you were in love with until he had the courage to say it out loud.

"If ya do...I mean, like I do for you, then...then you could stay here." He straightens up, the initial fear of confession over with and a fire lit under him as he continued. "I would take care of ya. I could be a good husband to ya, princess. Wouldn't let anything happen to ya.. keep ya safe..."

He brings his face even closer. "And I'd love you for all of my days..." He cups your cheeks. "I'd even ask your father's permission. So what if he hates me. Couldn't live knowin that I didn't at least try for ya."

"Atsuya..."

He sighs, closing his eyes as he gently kisses your forehead. "Please..." Before he carefully presses it against his own, bringing both of your clutched hands to his chest. "Please, tell me ya do, I—"

But he can't speak for the face of a goddess is staring back at him as you blindly lean forward and capture his parted lips in a delicate first kiss.

His hands automatically pull you even closer to him, clutching you against his chest like salvation as he kissed you tenderly in that small cottage in front of the cackling fire.

----

The group of men look nervously at Naoya beside them in the bushes outside, who's watching the whole thing and keeping eerily silent. But they don't have to guess to know he's absolutely seething.

"My...my Lord...." one of them steps cautiously closer before Nayoa snarls and knocks him aside, snatching the torch away from him and striding towards the cottage in a blackout fury, aiming it at the roof.

"My Lord, wait!!!" One of the guard's eyes goes wide when the moon outside begins to peek through the cloud cover.

Inside, Kusakabe's head jerks up in alarm, pulling you closer to his chest when he hears a yell outside his window, cursing when a flicker of moonlight begins to leak through the windows.

Oh no...

He gravely underestimated how soon the phases would arrive on the calendar. The sclera of his eyes begin to darken, before they become bloodshot, his eyes becoming intense and golden.

"Kusa...?" You look up at him in worry, horror painting your face as you see the distressing look on his face, his face twisting into something sinister.

"Princess, listen..." He fights to keep his voice gentle, it's still the one you know, the one that belongs to your darling beloved. You cling to him in worry.

"Atsuya, what is happening...?"

"Ya need to go—"

You yelp as he hastily sweeps you into his arms, running with you towards the back door, the smell of smoke telling you the cottage was on fire.

Suddenly, his whole body feels alarmingly hot, your eyes widening terror when purple and green veins begin to darken under his skin, the muscley sinew bulging, the sickening sound of flesh tightening and nauseating crackle of bones being broken. The veins in his neck throb as patches of thick hair begin to sprout all along his face and arms, his elongating claws pricking and drawing blood which you scream in pain as they knick your skin before he shoves you out into the harsh cold of the night.

"Run..." He chokes out. The last trace of the real Atsuya you fell in love with before he slams the door closed.

You stare in utter disbelief at the cottage, the burst of orange from the fire and shattering glass pulling you out of your state of shock.

"Kusa..." You murmur, darting towards the front of the cottage, utter dread settling over your entire body when you see Naoya and his group of men, throwing rocks and more lit torches on horseback, taunting and yelling in diabolical glee.

"NAOYA...STOP!! PLEASE!!"

You sprint towards where he's standing, laughing at the misfortune. "Don't hurt him!!!"

He sneers at the sight of you. "Get back, you whore. Toji, restrain her."

You yell in protest as the dark man's strong hands lock you against his chest as you kick and squeal to no avail, heart sinking and crying out in anguish when the roof of the cottage collapses, setting the surrounding trees on fire in uncontrolled blaze while the men cheered.

"Atsuya..." You feel a tangible pain of inconceivable heartbreak with a sear in your chest unlike anything you've ever experienced as you could only assume that poor boy was dead. All because of you.

"You...you FUCKING BASTARD!!!!" The grip Toji has on you has loosened just momentarily for you to barrel straight at Naoya, attacking his face, his arms, chest, torso, anywhere you could reach as you tore and ferociously clawed at him like a madwoman.

His anger turns on like a deadly switch as he growls loudly and seizes your arms while you cry out in a mixture of grief, fear, and pain as he overpowers you swiftly and knocks you to the ground, only before his assault began to worsen in a feral rage as he struck you repeatedly in the face.

Before he can strike you again, you shut your eyes as your consciousness teetered on the edge before a blood curdling scream rattles your bones. You open your foggy eyes, the group of men slowly backing away and turning to run away in fear. You weren't sure what you saw, but it could not be anything other than the largest wolf you've ever seen.

Only it wasn't quite a wolf. It stood on its two hind legs, towering ovover a shrieking Naoya as it mauled him relentlessly, the unmistakable squelch of breaking flesh and fleeting drips of blood staining the forest floor.

You hear the yells of men behind you rallying together, charging the beast. He turned his head, yellow eyes and teeth coated in foaming saliva and broken chunks of Naoya's flesh as he snarled wildly at them with the face of your deepest nightmare before you lost consciousness.

-----

That was five autumns ago. You felt tears brim with longing as you gazed out of the window of your lonely bedroom. The harsh bitter cold of outside seemed more compassionate than the firelit halls of your new home as you were slowly ripped out of your daydreams and faced the reality of being betrothed to a man you did not love.

"Woman, look at me when I am speaking to you."

You turn slowly, eyes sullen with defeat as you look up at the scowling face of Naoya, which was now deeply scarred from that fateful night you were just recollecting.

"Yes, my Lord."

"It's about time you addressed me with some respect." He tsks. "You were off in the woods again last night. If you come home at an unreasonable hour again, I will revoke your permission to ride in the evenings altogether. Have I made myself clear?"

Oh, last night.

You usually took your rides in the afternoons. But as the wedding drew near, the haunting of Kusakabe's memory became more unbearable. So, you started taking them at night, riding horseback to the forest's edge under that old tree you and him would lay under all those years ago just overlooking the vast lake, hoping that the moonlight would somehow bring him back to you.

This miserable existence as the forced betrothed to this disdainful man had caused you to check out entirely. Not caring if the hour was late and he found you out. Sometimes, you dared to think death would more kind if the Gods would not let you be with the man you truly loved.

Maybe that night he really did perish and you were chasing a ghost after all this time.

"Yes, my Lord."

He leans over you with gritted teeth. "You will do well to learn your place. We've only days until our wedding and you will honor me. Is that clear?"

When he sees that faraway expression in your eyes, he boils underneath with jealousy. The look of a woman whose heart lies somewhere else.

"That thing is dead. Do you not remember, foolish girl? I killed it this harvest. Its head now rots on a spike outside these very walls."

You did remember. How could you forget the revenge tour Naoya set out on as soon as he healed from the werewolf attack? Scouring the forest with his men and hunting packs of wolves to near extinction you were sure.

He would do everything within his power to make absolute certain that Atsuya wouldn't live to hurt him or steal what rightfully belonged to him ever again, dashing all of your deadened hopes that he would come back for you.

But, when Naoya paraded his last kill in the streets you felt in your heart that it was not really the head of your lost love.

Naoya would sooner switch places with the beast and put his own head on display before he would ever admit it, but, deep down, part of him trembled in fear that Kusakabe still lived and would come for revenge of his own.

Naoya brings you to his eye level. "That so-called love of yours is not coming back. He's dead."

You tremble and you feel your blood run cold as it seems he relishes in your fear and his dominance over you.

"You will give and submit yourself to me fully, whether you want to or not." Naoya's yellow eyes flicker away from you before one last warning. Tears finally spill out of yours with the deafening sound of the oak door slamming shut.

----

The ground breezes past you at the speed of light as you descend deeper and deeper into the forest, the wind biting your cheeks. Thoughts of Kusakabe fills your head as the salty tears blur your vision causing you to momentarily lose your balance, hands tightening the reins as you encourage your horse, faster and faster, akin to your boiling frustration that you knew wouldn't last much longer.

You tread even farther than you've gone before and chart your course to the other side of the vast lake, now putting yourself with more than a few hours journey away from the village. Not that you'd be returning.

When you arrive at the lake overlook, you bring your horse to a halt, breathing out slowly as the peaceful sight of the dark water grounded you. A distant rumble of thunder echoes throughout the valley and the winds pick up, gently sloshing the waves. Determined, you get down, shedding your cloak and boots, walking to the edge of the black sand, as you take in the oranges, reds, and greens of the autumn drenched forest around it and the ashen clouds hanging overhead painting the world almost a grey blue. How fitting to be surrounded by heaven one final time.

You rock back and forth on your toes lightly to settle your mind. You think of him, of Atsuya Kusakabe. Using his face and the distant memory of his rough voice to slowly guide you to fight off the piercing cold of the water around your ankles, then your shins, thighs, and torso.

Living together in your happy place away from where anyone could touch you as your frantic breaths stilled from the chill and you floated on your back on the mild current. Not giving a damn if he was a werewolf or not. Living freely without shame in love. Maybe raising up a family of your own. Belly swollen with his pups. Dreaming of their little faces that bore a mixture of you and him.

All of this, the fleeting enchantment of the forest, the biting murky tides pulling you further and further from the shore, and Atsuya Kusakabe's name uttered from your lips as you close your eyes, unaware of a looming wave before it swallowed you in one gulp.

----

The soothing heat radiating from a small cackling fireplace greets you as you slowly open your eyes. You're groggy, cold, fingers pruny, and damp hair. Your nose and throat feel on fire and your chest aches. A cough rattles from deep inside and you sit up quickly, heaving as you bend over, discovering you're clad in a long sleeved nightgown with several quilts wrapped around you. You feel dizzy and a numb pounding in your head makes itself known.

"Hey, careful. Don't move too quickly all at once, princess."

You whip your head at the voice which you surely thought was from the grave.

"Atsuya....?"

Those oakey brown eyes were just as deep as the day you met him. He stood there, rugged and tall. The years had weathered his appearance even more, but certainly not in a bad way. His hands were more calloused, gruff complexion more tanned with the evidence of working regularly in the sun and crafting his survival in the rough terrain, unshaven stubble along his square jaw. A man.

You stared at him as though he was made of glass. A facade of fog and smoke. You reached out to touch him and he brought his hand to meet your own. "Yeah, it's me..." The wrinkles by his eyes more apparent as he bestows you a caring smile, guiding a small wooden bowl into your palm. "Here, drink this. It'll help with any pain you're experiencing."

Your bewildered expression remained, still unsure if you were dreaming, dead, or somewhere in between. Finally, you look down at the soup with a reluctant approach.

"S'perfectly safe, princess." Kusakabe reassures. "It's chicken broth."

That pet name shudders through you and you recognize it really is him. You rise up quickly and throw your arms around him, almost spilling the broth.

"Jesus!" Atsuya tenses, sets down the bowl, then relaxes as he greets your hug with his own, one of his hands gently holding the back of your neck as he allowed his face to become buried in your hair.

"I thought you were dead..." You whisper as a tear leaks out of your eye followed quickly by another.

He grips you tighter in response. "I missed ya too, beautiful..."

"How...how did you come to live here? What happened that night? The last night that I saw you?" You pull away for a moment and look into his eyes, running your palms over his cheeks. "Why didn't you come back...?"

Atsuya sighs deeply, leaning into your touch and gently removing your hands from his cheeks, enveloping them in his own. "I wanted to..." He closes his eyes momentarily then opens them, his expression more serious. "But first of all, why'd ya come out here by yourself...? The hell were ya doin' on the lake during a storm like that?" His voice is stern but it trembles at his last question.

You take a step back, caught off guard by his question. "I..." You turn away from him completely. "It's..." You hesitate, trying to stop tears welling in your eyes. "I don't really know. I was upset and I just needed to get away..couldn't bear it anymore. Just wanted to feel something." You bring a shaky hand to your face to swipe at the increasing wetness. "Part of me thought you were dead. I was grieving that. But I don't understand why you didn't at least come back to say goodbye. Letting me think the worst when you were here this whole time."

His heart shatters, his guilt the consequence of his cowardice. But he knew he was only trying to watch out for you, as well as himself. He had no desire to worsen relations between him and the village that cast him out.

Even worse if they obtained knowledge of his true secret. One that he was hoping you didn't fully piece together that fateful night. He couldn't love you if he were a dead man after all.

"I heard 'bout the engagement." He said solemnly. Silence drags the moments between you until it's indiscernible how much as passed. He looks at you, trying to muster up a little more lightness to the conversation and change the subject slightly. "Decided ta be somebody's wife after all, huh princess?"

You huff out a little air. "Was hardly my choice." You cross the room back to the chair he sat you in, bringing the quilts back over you and cupping your hands around the warm broth. Kusakabe takes the stool in front of you. "Lord Naoya Zenin can choose any woman he wants for his bride. The wedding is in three days."

A bolt of jealousy courses through Atsuya followed shortly after with a seethe of silent anger at the mention of your fiance. Not realizing it was to him. "Oh..." He clears his throat, trying and failing to disguise his obvious disdain. "Didn't know that..." He looks at you. "Well, congrats, princess. Hope you're happy with him...."

You look at him with that obvious look of love that said the opposite, but you realize you'll have to fake it until you make it. "Thanks, Kusa."

He knows you well enough to know when you're putting on a facade, but right now, he just wants it to feel like old times again when you and him could speak for hours.

"Well, how's palace life, princess? Now that you're a real life princess?"

You giggle, looking down. "Hardly a princess. A Lady, if we're being technical. The beds are nice and the food is better but nobody warns you how boring the Lord's council meetings are."

"Oh?" Atsuya smirks and leans forward on his elbows, making himself more comfortable. His forearms and generous biceps you notice flex slightly as he props his chin on his fists. "Tell me all 'bout it."

And several hours have now escaped as you chatted away by the low fire. You updated him on life as a soon to be member of the ruling class, telling him all about your education, music, teaching him a few phrases in Latin and other local dialects you picked up from your time as a pupil. You discuss again your theories on everything and he soaks all of it up like water to a parched man.

Now it seems like the passage of five years has become irrelevant as this reconnection between you both made it feel like you never left. Darkness is now fully descended upon the forest. You look out the window, realizing Naoya surely would be on his way, scouring the forest when your horse wandered back to the manor without its rider. You could only imagine the the unforgiving consequences he would inflict on you this time for your defiance.

Atsuya senses the shift in your energy, like there was unrest in your soul that was troubling you. He hesitates but then asks quickly without thinking too deeply about it.

"Are ya really happy with him, princess?"

"Hmm? Oh I'm. Well I'm..." You clear your throat before taking a distracting sip of your broth.

"I spared my father and I from the streets. My happiness and personal satisfaction really come secondary to all of that."

Kusakabe's thick eyebrows raise at this new maturity and attitude in you, but he waited as you continued.

"...In addition our land will have a new Lady to rule alongside her Lord and provide him with successors. It is vital to the Zenin clan."

He looks at you, longing brimming in his expression. "But you're not in love with him?"

Alarmed he could apparently read your mind, your lips part. For a moment as you gaze at one another, the space between you feels very thin. Just like it did that night five years ago when you felt the warmth of his lips for the first time.

But, the fear of being branded a whore for dabbling with someone other than your betrothed before your wedding kept you silent.

"Is he good to ya?" Atsuya asks softly. "Does he make ya feel like I could?"

"He...takes care of me, yes."

"But he puts his hands on ya."

You blink rapidly in defense, resisting the urge to cry again. "M-many lords do when it comes to their lady. It's within their right."

"Yeah, but that don't make it right..." Kusakabe says a little irritably.

"Perhaps I should go."

"No." Kusakabe insists, a little harshly at first, then resumes his gentle tone. "S'well past dark now, princess. You're on the other side of the lake. Ya wouldn't reach home til an hour before dawn."

The knowledge he bears of the creatures of the night eats at the back of his mind. "Ya don't know what's lurking out there. Trust me, you're much safer here til the morning."

"No, Kusa please? I'll be alright..." Exhaustion from your near drowning has overwhelmed your body at this point, your eyelids fight to stay open but your fear of your fiance's wrath is still very present in your mind.

"Really, I don't want Naoya to come looking for me out here. I don't want him to hurt you again. I fear what he'll do if he finds out I came here..I can't put you in that kind of danger again, Kusa."

He scoffs. "Your stupid fiancee can't hurt me, princess. And he won't hurt ya. I won't let him, sweetheart."

"Kusa..."

Kusakabe pauses then trembles. His body on fire. He's sensing the changes that are taking place in the clouds in the night sky outside the window. He needs to get you asleep. Now. As soon as possible for your own safety.

He knows it's selfish to keep you here but he doesn't care. Fate brought you back to him and he'd be damned if he let it take you away from him again. Especially to someone as evil as Naoya. The slowly appearing moonlight outside is working against him and he must act quickly

"L-look, princess. Just sleep here til the morning alright? We'll figure somethin out." He looks anxiously at the window then back at you as he manages a coaxing look. "C'mon, let's get ya to bed."

Before you can say otherwise he brings you to his chest, the firmness and warmth of his body all the persuasion you needed to just let him take care of you.

He takes you into another room in his new cottage which is noticeably nicer than his old one, setting you on the bed with a gentle creak and bringing the covers under your chin. The exhaustion works itself quickly into your system and your eyelids become overpowered immediately.

"Kusa, you aren't gonna sleep too?"

Kusakabe smiles, leaning a hand on your forehead. "Course I will, princess. M'just makin sure you fall asleep first."

The moon juts from behind the clouds even more and he swallows nervously. "If ya wake up and notice I'm not here, I'm probably just out getting wood for the fire, okay? Don't panic and whatever ya do, just go back to sleep, alright sweetheart? Promise?"

"Mmmm... mhmmm....." But you're already in dreamland.

He eyes you tenderly one more time, standing up slowly and walking towards the bedroom door, shutting it gently before he crosses swiftly to the threshold. He almost sprints outside before he disappears into the bushes with a pained cry shortly followed by snarls and a haunting howl that rattled through the evergreens.

------

Hours later, a breeze from the wind in the dead of night brushes the cracked window in Kusakabe's bedroom open ever so slightly causing you to slowly rouse from your deep slumber.

The comfort of being where you longed to be for all these years at last rendered you particularly safe and content, so much that the faintest ember of desire began to tingle between your thighs.

You bit your lip, unable to resist the allure brought on by the lingering haze of sleep and the scent of Kusakabe that was everywhere in your surroundings, in his bed.

Your hand slowly snakes down your body, softly gripping your breasts and tweaking your nipples on the way down as you arch your back. You sigh and dig the crown of your head into his pillow, rolling your clit. The air is disturbed quietly by your little pants, your eyes prying open as the arousal gently leaks into a gradual flood. You notice your lover is gone, but remembering his words, you stay where you are. The way your aching pussy is begging for your attention more and more and the smell of him on the pillows immersing you like the real thing is too good not to follow through.

"Atsuya....oh, fuck....fuck me so good, Atsuya..."

You've done this many times, envisioning him so often fucking you for the first time. Only honorable young women kept their virginities intact, reserving them for their wedding nights. According to plan you'd be forced to give yours to Naoya, but you still dreamed of Kusakabe anyway.

Hopeful that one day Atsuya would be the one to make you cum with a shudder of his name. The first man to roam his eyes all over your naked body. Thinking about the sweet agonizing stretch of his cock that quickly bowed to sinful deliciousness while you moaned to make yourself all his.

His pretty drunk little cock slut who was just an innocent virgin before now underneath him in his bed, stretching herself all out on his thick cock who belonged to him and him only. His pussy to cum in and breed.

Your fingers could only take you so far. You moaned sweetly, gathering the pearly slick and working it into your clit, back in, and out.

"Kusa...mmmfuck I love your cock so much....so much, baby..."

You lock down that heavenly spot, shutting your eyes as you see his face so clear as day above you in your mind, his parted lips and sweaty face as he fucked you with everything he had. His heavy, sweaty cock so long and thick and veiny. Fuckkkkk, his hairy body and chest. Picturing him raising your legs and folding you up while his cock had you creaming all around the base as he hit that deep spot inside over and over with filthy precision before you finally snapped and cried out with your glossy juices permanently staining his sheets.

-----

The sweet, sweet honeyed scent of your pussy hits Kusakabe like a train. Immediate sex pollen as it winds its way into his enhanced nostrils and settles deep in his core, his aching werewolf cock and balls swelling with his seed.

Must breed. Must have you tonight. Make you pregnant by the morning so your piece of shit fiance can't have you. Ruin you permanently for anyone else because when a werewolf finds his mate, only death could stand in the way of what destiny declared to be all his.

The moonlight continued to flood the floor of the forest as he sped past the trees in a blacked out lustful haze. Your pussy: wet, silky and soaked in slick the forefront of his mind.

You scream as he bursts into the bedroom, gathering the sheets all around and clawing your way up the headboard at the sight of the nightmare with yellow eyes.

You tremble and shake as cold sweat pops up on your forehead, your poor heart about to give out as it absolutely pounds in your chest, echoing in your eardrums. Absolutely expecting this moment to be your last on Earth before Atsuya would come back to find your mangled bloody body and guts strewn all over his bed like a horror scene.

But, the beast is calm. He edges towards you slowly, a clawed hand reaching out as you felt his warm leathery palm lock around the meat of your calf as you softly whimper.

"P-please....please..."

In one fell swoop, he drags you to the edge of the bed, spreading you wide open, claws like scissors as they shred your nightgown completely. You yelp as the cold air hits your naked body, leaving your nipples pointed and bumpy. You squirm to get away only before he immediately dives into the glistening mess that was still sticky between your thighs. You cry out from the stimulation that hits you like a rock. His rough, hot breath against you, you hear him groan as his large oversized tongue flattens against your clit, recognizing the low tone of your sweet Atsuya.

"Kusa...?" You whisper.

He grunts almost to say yes, too drunk off the immediate taste of your free flowing nectar he had only dreamed and fucked his fist full of cum to for all those years.

"Ffuck...Kusa? Kusa.....ohhhh..." You stared down at him between your legs with wide eyes and jaw open in shock. God, this shouldn't feel that fucking good. This was hundreds of times better than your fingers.

But why, why was your brain firing up your arousal even so as this fearsome thing stared up at you?

He was so hairy and wolflike but his body bore resemblance to a man. Buff and strong and solid as a rock. It intrigued you, it enthralled you. It felt wrong but God the way he was eating your pussy like he had been long deprived, this feeling of utter euphoria felt so fucking right.

If this was what real sex felt like then you'd let him fuck you all the time.

You go slack and grind against the large meaty wet muscle in his mouth sighing breathlessly as he stroked you with it again and again.

"S'right, baby...give yourself to me..." He rasps in between generous licks.

"Atsuya..."

"Fuck, I dreamed of this....fucked my fist s'many goddamn times to this..." He grunts, his claws knicking the insides of your thighs, making you cry slightly in pain.

"S'okay, s'okay... you'll be strong f'me, won't ya, princess?" He lifts his head from your pussy and licks all along the tiny puncture marks, his wolfy drool oddly soothing as he relishes the sweet metallic taste of your blood. "Gonna breed you once you're ready f'me..."

"Atsuya....oh, God..." You run your fingers in his hair and hold on for dear life as he dives right back in. "Kusa...Kusa, r-right there...right there, baby please!!"

His low growls and thick poky hair on his chin tickle your inner thighs as he plunges his tongue even deeper, your tight little hole loosening up for him under all his heavenly treatment. His tongue could almost pass for three of your fingers on its own, gasping as you feel yourself bloom open around him, silky walls coaxing his tongue deeper as he fucked you with it, determined to wring out your second orgasm tonight and his first with you all into his insatiable mouth.

"Don't stop, please don't stop...Kusa, baby..." You tremble and gasp, thighs trembling around his wolfy ears. He pulls away, and you see his monstrous face in all his glory clearly through the moonlight for the first time, sharp canines and the fur around his chiseled chin all drenched and covered in your shiny slick.

"My Atsuya..."

"My beautiful mate..." He whispers, locking your legs around his waist. Between the v lines covered in dark brownish auburn fur, you see his pulsating cock and the biggest breeder balls you've ever seen, the size making you simultaneously tremble and drool. "You're ready to take me..."

"Kusa, please I've never done this..." Your lovely eyes meet his ravenous ones. A swell to his ego rises and his eyes darken, confirming his suspicion that no man had you before. And none ever would except him.

"Oh don't worry, you'll take me, darlin. Trust me, jus' relax..."

The bulbous, swollen tip rubs at your folds. You coo sweetly at this and he decides to tease it a little again, eager to stuff you but realizing he likes it when you get all whiny and desperate when you gush around his cock.

"Yeah? Feel good?" He mutters gruffly, drool dripping down his fangs as he glides his cock in between your loose dripping lips, his throbbing shaft now coated in a new shine of your dribbling juices as he moves and strokes it up and down, the veins of his girth softly nuzzling and prodding at your puffy wet clit with every careful swipe.

"So good...Kusa...so good, baby....mmmm I love it so much..." You moan as you begin to squeeze and knead your breasts.

You're getting greedy. He realizes he needs to do it now, needs to bury his cock deep inside you if he wants this to work and get you pregnant. Wafts of your evident ovulation and heat inhaling through his nose as he begins to push his cock against your entrance.

You mewl and whine as you feel him absolutely stretch you out to new limits. He draws his hips slowly back, letting the back and forth motion spread the built up slick around his cock to act as lube.

"Kusa, I c-can't...so big...you're too big..."

He brings the rough pad of his thumb to your clit, some sweet relief shooting up your spine like electricity and arching your back again allowing him to push his cock even farther inside your deep pussy.

He chuckles. "Haah, really, princess? Lookit how much of me's inside your pretty pussy already..."

He smirks wickedly as he brings a clawed hand to an emerging bulge in your belly, which you realize with eyes widening is the outline of his cock, a feeling of ecstasy sparking between your thighs again when he harshly presses on it, pressure going to your clit which makes you drip around him even more again.

"There..." He licks his lips as a wolfish grin slowly spreads across his face when his meaty cock is nice and fully sheathed inside your squishy cunt, an experimental thrust of his hips elicting breathy pleas from you.

He thrusts deeply, and picks a rapid pace. Every movement intentional, deliberate and intense. Not an inch of him spared from you as he really lets you feel him, stuffs you nice and full with every mouthwatering ridge, vein, dimple and curve of his wolfy cock.

"So warm n'tight.... Shit.... n' it's all f'me..." He growls possessively. "Tell me you're mine. M'the only one that's gonna fuck this pussy, breed ya with my pups n' these...." He cups your breasts, flicking your nipples, the sharp edge of his claws poking your perky buds ever so lightly. "These will be nice n full of milk, my milk...."

"Fuck, I'm all yours, sweetheart... Just wanna give you babies..." You sputter as you feel yourself go dumb on his cock. "Please fuck me, ruin me so nobody can have me, Atsuya..."

"Fuck..."

He snarls and his grip on your thighs is near bruising before he folds them up, now slamming ferally into you in mating press, his heavy balls smacking against your anus. The depth you found him inside you at this angle really put you to the test. But, you were determined to take him, determined to let him make you a mommy and breed you full so Naoya couldn't have you. Be his pretty little cum dump and fill you, fuck you and love you anytime he wanted.

God, you would let him do anything to you.

"M'gonna...m'gonna..." You feel like you're about to see heaven as he pummels into you even faster, shooting thick spurts of cum inside your virgin womb. He bites down on your shoulder and you scream then sigh as you feel his cock twitching madly inside you as his balls emptied. The volume of his cum was so excessive that it leaked out in gobs of creamy silver white, running down your pussy in filthy trails and staining both your pubes with the sticky substance.

Atsuya sloppily licks your shoulder where he bit as he jolts intermittently a few times, making sure what amount of his cum did land inside you went deep enough, his seed surely working quickly already to make you pregnant.

"Mine...mine, mine, mine mine....all fuckin' mine..." The mantra works him up, gets him excited as he begins to pump inside you again.

"Kusa..." You groan from the building ache, but bite your lip and lay your head back on the pillow when he brings his thumb right back to your clit, activating that tried and true spot he discovered earlier.

Something strange happens. You feel his cock harshly throb inside, pulsating against your walls in a way that almost felt like he was vibrating inside you.

"Baby....that-fuck..." You grit your teeth as the sensation spreads like a shockwave against your body. "Kusa...?"

He smirks, moving his long fingers up and down your ribs, sliding underneath your back and gripping the plush of your ass, using it to firmly shove you down on his cock, causing the lewd mixture of cum, saliva, slick, and blood to squelch out of you a little bit with a dirty wet plap.

You cry out and he captures your chin in his fingers, forcing you to look at him. The head of his cock swells immensely, making you feel impossibly full like you're going to be split open. Your eyes widen in horror as you claw at his arms. He nearly crushes you against his chest, grunting as he moves a little bit inside you to provide you with more friction to ease the ache.

"S'okay...s'okay, s'okay. Let it happen baby, fuck just let it happen, gonna make you mine for good, now. Fuck jus, jus, relax, baby, yeah?" He spits on your clit, the area where you're connected an almost unrecognizable sopping mess covered in both your fluids. He rubs your clit again, which works to loosen you up a bit again, however it's bordering on overstimulation.

Sensing your discomfort, he sucks on your breasts, giving you deep, slow thrusts into the practically ocean of cum inside you as the knot nears completion in its formation, doing what he can to distract you from the ache.

He was taking care of you, his beautiful new mate. This had to happen for the ritual to be complete. You were the first human he had ever knotted in, and he wanted to savor every moment since you would be his last.

You sob, nearly passing out from the overwhelming mixture of pleasure, pain, and elation unlike anything you've ever processed in your life. You go limp in his arms, and he runs a hand, bigger than your face over your cheek, smiling when you blink up at him in a daze through your lovely lashes.

"Did so good, my darlin', so good..." He kisses your sweat covered forehead and looks down, attempting to withdraw his cock from the cum plug he built up around your connected bodies, but it remained cemented in place, the knotting complete.

"Atsuya....my love..." You coo weakly.

Warmth floods him from the inside as he pulls you into a loving kiss.

"You're mine now for good, princess..."

----

Your horse was found wandering in distress in the woods the next morning. Naoya set his men out on a blind hunt in fury, determined to find you and drag you home where you would be whipped to unconsciousness, and then Atsuya made an example out of and executed publicly in the streets.

However, he never found such luck. Your soaked cloak and discarded boots were found floating in the lake and his discouraged men called off the search when they believed you were long buried in a watery grave.

----

Months later in the dead of winter, you hugged and stroked your swelling belly, calling your sweet Atsuya over to put a hand over yours where you could feel his two pups kicking inside you.

You looked at him with love stricken eyes as he prepared you some vegetable soup. This was bliss. Tucked in your little cottage deep in the woods far away where nobody could hurt you. Spending your days doing what you loved and taking care of your little dwelling, then being doted on and adored and loved and fucked in the evenings by your werewolf husband.

Rumors had reached you that Naoya never did take a bride, having been murdered in the streets by his own men when they became fed up with his self serving ways. Either way, it didn't matter, but this piece of knowledge that your abuser met his well deserved fate eased any remaining unrest in your soul.

This permitted you to continue in your sphere of eternity in those darkened woods with Atsuya Kusakabe by your side.

[themodernwitchsguide]

altars for greek gods (pt.2)

this post includes zeus, hera, poseidon, hestia, hephaestus, dionysus, ares, demeter, and athena. for part 1 including hades, persephone, artemis, apollo, aphrodite, hermes, and hekate click here, for the titans and protogenoi click here.

keep in mind that this is largely UPG, new age stuff, and historically accurate offerings to the gods include meat, wine, grain (specifically barley), honey, and incense (myrrh and frankincense).

colors can be used for candles, banners, decor, whatever you want

ZEUS

Colors: white, blue, and grey for association with the heavens, yellow and black for association with storms. gold because he's the King of the Gods

Offerings: rain water, oak, olives/olive branches/olive leaves, vervain, cinnamon, laurel. images of himself or lightning bolts are particularly recommended for Zeus

Crystals: diamonds, gold (i think pyrite, aka fool's gold, would be offensive), turquoise, lapis lazuli, celestite, iron/steel, any quartz

Animals: eagle, bull

POSEIDON

Colors: blue and white for association with the seas, gray for association with storms, brown for association with the earth/earthquakes

Offerings: coffee, mint, ocean water, salt, seashells

Crystals: coral, petoskey stone, abalone, opal (especially water opal), blue calcite, aquamarine

Animals: horse, bull, dolphin, hippocampus

HERA

Colors: red, pink and white for association with love and marriage. gold because she's the Queen of the Gods.

Offerings: iris, rose, patchouli, coconut, cypress, maple, peacock feathers, pomegranate

Crystals: pearls, garnet, citrine, diamonds, lapis lazuli, topaz, opal, moonstone, rose quartz

Animals: peacock, cuckoo, cow

HESTIA

Colors: red, orange, and yellow for association with fire, brown or white for the hearth/home.

Offerings: tea/coffee (especially if you drink it with her), pine, bread, cider, apples, anything on fire, cinnamon

Crystals: amber, jade, garnet, ruby, carnelian, sunstone, amethyst, honey calcite

Animals: donkey, pig, crane

HEPHAESTUS

Colors: red, orange, and yellow for association with fire, metallics for association with metalworking.

Offerings: spicy things, hot beverages, handmade things, dragon's blood incense, seashells, anything on fire

Crystals: metals, fire opal, honey calcite, obsidian, hematite, carnelian

Animals: donkey, dog, crane

DIONYSUS

Colors: purple and green for association with grapes/wine, leopard/tiger print for his holy animals

Offerings: grapes (or any derivative), alcohol, cinnamon, ivy, pinecones. there's a particular emphasis on non-physical offerings with dionysus, like playing music, partying or sex/masturbation

Crystals: grape agate, leopard jasper, crazy lace agate, tiger's eye, garnet, rose or rutilated quartz, amethyst, jade

Animals: panther/leopard, tiger, bull, serpent, dolphin

ARES

Colors: red and purple for association with war

Offerings: spicy things, yarrow, chocolate, basil, cinnamon

Crystals: bloodstone, garnet, red jasper, smokey quartz, black tourmaline, hematite, metals, obsidian, carnelian

Animals: eagle owl, barn owl, poisonous snakes, boar, vulture

DEMETER

Colors: green, brown, and yellow for association with the earth/harvest. black for her ruthlessness

Offerings: oats and grain, anything baked, flowers, spices (like cinnamon or cloves, allspice is good too), leaves that have begun to change colors for fall, mint, poppy

Crystals: jade, tree/moss agate, carnelian, amber, aventurine, rutilated quartz

Animals: serpent, farm animals (especially pig), gecko, turtle-dove

ATHENA

Colors: white and grey/silver for association with wisdom. red for association with war

Offerings: anything handmade, olives/olive oil/olive branches/olive leaves, snake shed, cedar, cypress, cinnamon

Crystals: metals, celestite, fluorite, lapis lazuli, bloodstone, obsidian, iolite

Animals: snakes and owls

[julietsbody]

ultraviolence

words : 2,261

tags : gun kink , fucked with a gun , predator / prey , reader has a prey kink , peacekeeper ! snow , light sadism , size difference , size kink , obsessive behavior , power play , creampies , orgasm delay / denial

a/n : idk what came over me whilst writing this im gonna be so honest…. semi inspired by Cherienymphe‘s “everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer” fic!!! its so good

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!!! ( divider by pommecita )

snow barely had any empathy for people, let alone any districts. he was a man who fell into poverty himself, but he got out of it, he was a capitol and he’s friends with those that come from the highest statuses. normally people felt pity for those in the districts, they scavenged for food, or proper clothing. not snow, he thought it was a game to watch them snatch up fresh bread and run like their lives depend on it. because it does, they survive, they live another day and satisfy their hungers, if they get caught, they’ll be dead in seconds— especially if coriolanus catches them. 

he liked the power he had, the fact that he could do almost anything he desired and get away with it because the districts had been committing a crime anyway, he just stopped them from doing it any more. he liked that they would cower underneath him, beg for their lives, he liked that he had the power to give them a simple warning, to let them off the hook, but he never did. 

not until now. 

he found himself chasing yet another bunny, heavy boots padding behind your thin, poorly made shoes. 

something about the adrenaline rushing through your veins had a heat developing in between your legs, like it was a primal reaction, an animalistic urge. he nearly noticed in the way your steps staggered, but that could be lack of spacial awareness, which he noted that you had. you were so busy running in straight lines you didn’t even bother to juke him or to hide. 

easy prey, aren’t you? 

he thought that at first, until your steps suddenly changed, turning to the right. 

and you had disappeared between the greens and tall trees, his wild eyes raced around the all too silent forest. he tuts, a low taunt, “where are you, bunny?” 

his voice came out sing - songy, having your breathing shake from the tree you hid behind, your thighs pressed together. 

how was a hunt so intimate, so sexual? 

“why are you hiding from me, bunny?” his voice is softer, as if he’s pouting. 

you hear his boots snap twigs with ease, crush leaves into fragile pieces, dip through mud. he was getting closer, like a wolf stalking it’s prey, like he knew where you hid. you tried to hold your breath, to keep yourself hidden, but it was no use. he rounded the corner, and you ran into a sprint again, nearly dropping the bread you had taken. 

if you hadn’t dropped it then, you were sure to now. 

his arms took you into a threatening hold, at first pushing you into a tree, then slamming you against the floor when you wriggled at his grasp. his panting breath, your fearful whines, the begging that sat on your tongue silently, it was as if sex had been happening even with your clothes on. your tears well with tears at being slammed on the hard ground, and he feels the fabric of his pants tighten at the sight. 

“please,” here comes the begging, music to his ears, “it’s my first time stealing, i’ve never done this before—“ 

“is that so?” his head cocks to the side, holding down your wriggling hands, “i’m sure i’ve seen you before, doll.” 

“you must be mistaken,” your puffy lips part, breath heaving as you try to pull away from him. 

it doesn’t work, he just simply holds you down, he easily could with one hand if he wanted to, “are you calling me a liar?” 

it was embarrassing, truly, being so turned on by the way his voice deepened with firmness, by the way he held you down with such ease, “of course not, i would never—“ 

“you just did, though,” his tone is biting, typically he doesn’t let conversations last this long, but something about you was different. his eyes catch on to the way your thighs are rubbing together, not in a way to try to free yourself from him, but where you crave friction. “my, my, what do we have here?” 

his hand taps against your thigh, pulling up the hem of your dress, his eyes land on yours, waiting for confirmation. 

you immediately nod, it’s so quick, impatient, he adores it. 

his long fingers lace around both of your wrists whilst the other pries your thighs apart, noticing the way fluids soil your panties. 

“how cute,” he observes out loud, allowing his hunger to show in the way he nearly rips your panties apart whilst harshly tugging the, down, watching how your legs immediately fall apart into a spread, panties hanging off your ankle for dear life. you were so desperate, you were willing to do this in the woods, present yourself to a peacekeeper just because you had gotten horny merely off a chase. 

his hand smoothes against your right inner thigh, feeling goosebumps form in prickles, and the way you shiver underneath each touch. his hand is large against your cunt, a single finger moving through it to feel the wetness, your hips immediately buck, desperate for more. 

his chuckle is soon silenced by his hand raising to his mouth, just so he can taste your slick. 

removing it with a pop, a curt smile tugs at his lips, sweet, like honey. 

his hand smoothes down your inner thigh again, and you realize he’s teasing you, “officer—“

his thumb is threateningly close to your cunt, “hm?” 

“touch me,” you breathe out, “please.” 

how funny is it that the last time you said please to him you were begging for your life? 

“like this?” his eyebrow quirks, pad of his thumb moving to swipe against your clit, your back arches ever so slightly. 

the whine that emits from you is far too loud for his liking, so he hushes you with gentle shhs, thumb rubbing slow circles on the bundle of nerves. 

“you don’t want people to hear us, hm?” he hums, “to find out you’re letting a peacekeeper touch you in such ways, truly scandalous.” 

he can imagine it being front page of the district newspaper, girl caught fucking peacekeeper in woods! 

your fingers twitch in his grasp, finding his movements far too slow, and he finds your movements and whines far too annoying. 

he moves to plunge a finger into your cunt, making your whines hush to whimpers, unintelligible words. 

“real impatient, aren’t you?” his finger moves slow at first, watching the way your hips move against it in response, “maybe i should just put you in your place.” 

he removes his finger, watching the way you desperately clench around nothing. his hand moves to grab his machine gun, which he had ditched as soon as he threw you to the floor, he finally releases your wrists, you have a chance to run if you wanted to, but you didn’t— because you didn’t want to run, because the fear that filled you when he aimed his gun at you had even more of your fluids escaping the oyster between your legs. 

he moves to cock it, taking it off the safety. 

“fully loaded,” he reminds you, but also seems to be reminding himself. 

he seems to believe you don’t believe him in the way you look up at him through glossy eyes, and he moves to aim his gun at a nearby tree, one to your right, directly behind you. and he shot, birds cawed as they flew away from the loud shots, he noticed how you flinched, immediately moving to the safety of his grasp, and he only smiled, how adorable that you find safety in the man who had enough power to kill you in seconds. 

he hushes your fears, not reassuring anything about your safety as he moves the gun tip your legs back apart, one of his hands leaving it as he wraps it around your wrists once more, holding you back down in a missionary position. the hand on his gun was less steady now, finger tight against the trigger, it had you biting your lip. he traces along your inner thigh with the tip of the gun, “you’re gonna be a good girl, right?” 

he watches you immediately nod, so eager, “yes, yes, officer.” 

his gun passes a trail down to your cunt, pressing against your clit, he could shoot right now, the finger on the trigger was so tight, so unsupported. he could slip once and shoot directly into you, something about that thrilled you more, made your hips buck against the gun, practically riding the weapon. he admires your desperation, the way your face twists with pleasure as you move against the cool material that built the gun. 

he eventually pulls the tip of the gun down, until it’s at your entrance. 

he watches your eyes widen as the metal dips inside of you, spreading you open with ease. 

your hands flail in his tight hold, “it hurts— officer, wait—“ 

“hm?” he pauses for a mere second, “sweet bunny, you can take it.” 

the pain soon subdues to pleasure as he begins moving the gun again, pumping it in and out of you and coating the black of the weapon with your milky slick. whimpers of pain soon become moans of pleasure, the tears that had built a gloss over your eyes dipping down your cheeks as your eyes close, hips bucking against the weapon. 

“easy, bunny, easy,” his voice is strained, like seeing you cry awakens something within him, when your hips stop moving against his gun he continues to pump it, faster this time, “good girl, gonna cum all over my gun?” 

you nod, more tears escaping as the thrill of your possible death and the pleasure from the weapon that may cause it becomes all too much. a deep groan vibrates from his chest at the sight of you crying, lips parting to continue, “that’s it, good, good.” 

it’s as if you crying is enough to have him reaching his climax already, as if seeing you cry felt like jerking off. 

the gun widens the more it goes into you, stretching you until you’ll be nothing but a gaping mess from his gun when he’s done. 

so filthy, to be easily stretched out by something that has killed many, how terribly cruel of you, to be cumming on it. 

and the man who had done it is merely watching, admiring you like this was an art gallery, and you were the center piece. he notices the way you near your orgasm, as your hips can’t help but grind down on the gun, moans escaping past your nearly bitten to bleeding lips. and you start calling out to him, “officer, officer, please— can i cum— please.” 

a mere plead, and if snow was a good man, he would say yes, but he wasn’t one. 

“no, bunny, you ran from me,” his finger slides against the trigger, staring at you with a new tint glossing over his eyes, “do you think you deserve to cum?” 

“yes, i need to, i want—“ your breath quickens, mindlessly grinding down onto the gun. 

“no,” he pulls the gun out, depraving you of every wish. he notices the way you whimper, thighs pressing together and rubbing in desire to form friction. there was none, and soon he was tossing his gun to the side, tugging his pants and boxers down ever so slightly to free his cock, then prying your legs apart once more. 

he carefully moves himself between your legs, his hand around your wrists finally freeing them, admiring the red ring he left from how tight his grip was. the same hand moved to fall against your throat, fingertips dipping in to your delicate skin as he guides his dick to your entrance, carefully pushing into you. he feels you tense underneath him at the feeling of him filling you once more, the length and girth enough to reach your intestines, you were sure of it. 

once he bottoms out, he notices the way a bulge appears at your pelvis, popping up against the skin then falling to a settle with each thrust. his other hand moves to your mouth, his fingers spreading your pillow lips apart, your salty taste pressing against your own tongue. 

“taste yourself, bunny, so sweet, hm?” he grunts with each thrust, practically manhandling you with each snap of his hips, fingers dipping down your throat. he watches your eyes roll back, mumbling pleas for the satisfaction of your orgasm to finally come, your bodily fluids sticking to his pelvis and his dick, your walls pulsed around him, drooling onto his cock. 

he nears his climax almost immediately, nose scrunching slightly, “cum, cum for me, sweet bunny.” 

“officer—“ your back arches off the earthy ground as you finally reach your climax, moans vibrating against his flesh and he continues to thrust, riding out your orgasm, overstimulating you until he’s practically fucking you dumb. eventually, he bottoms out, pumping you nearly full of his cum. he moves his hand from your mouth, sticky from your saliva, and takes your panties off your ankle, pulling out and plugging your hole with your own panties. just so you don’t lose any of his cum. 

“there, now you can walk around with my cum inside of you, how sweet.” he takes his hands off of you, moving to tuck his softening dick away and standing. 

he offers your limp body a wink, swiping up his gun, and following up with a, “don’t let me catch you again, doll.” 

[tropes-and-tales]

Of Every Kinnë Tre

(Pero Tovar x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (death); smut (dubious consent, maybe, but I don't know if medieval times cared much for intoxicated sex acts; loss of virginity; oblique talk of sex; fingering, PiV, unprotected), 18+ only.

Word Count: 8370

AN:  This was originally requested by @justreblogginfics!

AN2: The title of this is taken from an anonymous medieval love poem called, in modern English, "Of Every Kind of Tree."

AN3: Tropes is playing fast and loose with historical fact here (and geography, and linguistics, etc. etc).

Pero Tovar never counted marriage as something written into his fate.

Starvation?  Possibly.  Plague?  There was a chance.  Death in war or battle or in a misunderstanding on the road to China and back?

All too certain.

But marriage?  Never.

Until it was foisted on him, quite unexpectedly, as he made his way back to Europa from his trials at the Great Wall.

-----

Tales from Pero Tovar’s time were largely passed down through the oral tradition:  great speakers and orators stood in front of captive audiences, or ordinary men and women sat around fires and told stories to while away the dark hours, the cold hours.  To brighten their lives.

These stories usually began like this:

Lo!  We have heard of the glory of the Spear-Danes’ achievements!

Or

Harken, my brethren, while I tell you the tale of Igor, son of Svyatoslav.

Or

Pwyll Prince of Dyved was lord of the seven Cantrevs of Dyved; and once upon a time he was at Narberth his chief palace…

So we will begin our tale the same way, as the people of Pero’s time would have told it:  around the fire, in the deep of winter’s cold—for it is a love story, and love is most appreciated when the days are short and the nights are long.

-----

Gather, friends, as I tell the tale of Pero Tovar, an orphan in want of a heel of bread, who became a sell-sword in want of coin, who became a lord who possessed the greatest treasure of all.

Pero was born in Galicia, and his entry into our world was what harried his dear mother into the next.  Motherless, the babe Pero was given to a cousin to care for him, though she had her own children and gave Pero only the remainder of anything she had.  Pero’s father, a brute of a blacksmith, was dispatched by a horse’s kick to the head when Pero was just a boy, and so he found himself an orphan.

The cousin’s house was meanly built, and the cousin’s husband was a miser who counted every peseta thrice before tucking it away in the pouch he always kept on his person.  Pero was often cold, more often hungry, and when he reached the age of ten, he heard of a boy’s army that was forming to retake the Holy Land for the Christians.

Pero ran away from the cousin’s house, and while he never made it to Levant, he found that he had a talent for survival in the rough company of sell-swords, and it became his life for the next decades.

Unlike his fellow sell-swords, though, Pero had a talent for saving his coin.  His compatriots caroused, whored, drank themselves stupid the moment a coin crossed their palm. 

Pero?  Perhaps he had learned a lesson from the cousin’s miserly husband.  He held his coin, he spent little beyond the care of himself and his horse, and he saved.  He had an idea to leave his life as a sell-sword before he lost it, to retire to some quiet green place and toil in the earth for whatever years remained to him. 

To this end, he kept his coin safe with a certain prior in a certain priory.  For a portion of what Pero earned, the prior tucked away the rest and guarded it, kept it protected in an iron box secured with a cunning lock that only he had the key to.

Pero saw much of God’s earth and beyond:  into the Emirate of Mosul, the Buyid Emirate, where leagues of golden sand stretched beyond one’s vision, and where a lush green paradise could be found over the next rise.  Then Sena, Bagan, the Kingdom of Bali—where he could not fathom the tongues in which they spoke, but where work could be found, as it seemed men across all lands always needed swords for coin.  Then further east where the Song Dynasty ruled, and here Pero faced monsters from Revelation and survived.

With the coin he earned from fighting beasts, Pero calculated that he had enough now to retire from this life.  He could find a patch of land and till it.  He could hitch his warhorse to a plow and plant seeds that would sustain him, and when it was time for him to die, he could lay down in the furrows and pass with the blue firmament over his head.

-----

When Pero returned to the priory to collect his accumulated wealth, however, he found that disaster had struck.

The old prior, a gentle and pious man, had died, and his successor was the son of a bishop, a wastrel and spendthrift whose first order of business had been to set an inventory of the prior’s wealth. This inventory included the iron box where Pero's savings where stored.

The new prior's second order of business was to take that wealth and spend it on sinful pursuits.

Which meant Pero found himself with little beyond the payment from the Song people, a handful of treasures from his journeys, and a stretch of long years in front of him where he’d have to continue selling his sword to survive.

-----

Which was how Pero found himself outside of the Holy Roman Empire, to the east where the people spoke Latin but with a thick tongue, where many kept with the old gods and customs, and where the borders changed every fortnight as men grappled for land, consolidated their holding of scattered tribes and strongholds into what would pass for a kingdom or duchy further west.

Pero took work that winter, guarding the storehouse of a league of merchants who strove to protect their wares from both marauders and quarreling nobles alike.  In this way, Pero came to understand the local tongue and customs, and he learned of the Princeling named Radomil, whose eldest half-brother had just died.

“They say Radomil murdered his kin as he slept,” spat one man in a tavern.  “Just as he slayed his own father, years before.”

Another man lifted his hand, two fingers forked to ward off the Devil.  “There will be hard times ahead, should he gain control.”

In this way, by keeping his head down and his ears open, Pero came to learn of the cowardly murderous Prince Radomil, now King. He came to learn that the people feared what this murderous king may do to his half-sister.

In some way that Pero would never learn, though, King Radomil came to learn of him in turn, and within a score of days, Pero found himself summoned to the squat stone fortress for an audience with the new King.

-----

The proposal was simple, once it was put to Pero in a tongue he could grasp better.

King Radomil wanted to see his half-sister wed.  A kindness, it was said, in light of her recent loss.   She was a widow with a small babe, and King Radomil in his infinite love and benevolence, saw fit to arrange such a match. Pero had been measured and found just such a match.

Pero, always blunt, asked, “why me?”

The King’s advisor talked at length, and though Pero was not especially versed in court intrigue, he knew enough of flattery and lies when he heard it. 

“You are a noble man,” the advisor said, bowing his head at Pero.  “We have it on good authority that you are descended from the family of Alfonso el Monje, King of León.  Ancient blood proves out, despite your meager circumstances now.”

When Pero tried to argue and claim that he was from Galicia, son of a drunkard blacksmith, the advisor waved him away.

“We have priests who have studied your lineage and found it to not be so,” he said.

It was only later that evening that another advisor, an older man with a bald pate but a long beard set Pero straight in hushed tones and darting glances.

“The King cannot kill his sister,” he told Pero.  “She is beloved by the people, and the killing of a woman would unravel his already tenuous hold on the region.”

“Why kill her at all?”  Pero remembered that the sister was a widow, and he imagined an old woman, hunched back, white hair tucked under a veil.  He could not fathom the risk she posed, but then again, he was in unfamiliar lands.

“She is a tool that others would use.  Her father the King was beloved as well, and her mother had an ancient claim to royalty in her own right.  The Princess could be snatched up by a rival for the throne, and her blood could bolster any claim.  But if her brother the King could marry her off to a nobody, no one else could claim her.”

Pero remembered a certain game from his journey to the east, a way for the idle to while away the hours.  It was war in miniature, a board with pieces, and while he watched it played many times, Pero never quite grasped how to win at shatranj.  But he knew enough to recognize it now.

“Marrying her to me would remove her from the field,” Pero replied, understanding at last. 

The old advisor nodded.  “And it would keep her alive.  Consider it seriously, Tovar.  You would save not just her life but the life of her babe, and you would come out of it a wealthy man.  You could claim her inheritance that her mother the Queen left her.”

“What inheritance?”

The old advisor glanced into the shadows, then said, “on her mother’s side, she is nobility.  There is a handsome manor far from here, further north, that belongs to the Princess.  It would be yours, should you marry her.”

In this way, Pero Tovar came to be married.

-----

The marriage took place on a rainy evening, and the ceremonies were doubled:  one performed in the Latin rite by a priest in a grease-stained cassock, the other performed by a wise-man of the local custom.  The latter, it must be said, was more boisterous—it involved winding a cord around the hand of the Princess and Pero’s, linking the two together in the eyes of the local gods.  Then, to seal it, a feast where Pero and the Princess fed each other and gave each other drink.  The drink was a local concoction, dark plum spirits that went down easier with each subsequent sip.

The Princess only took a mouthful when Pero held the cup to her mouth.

Pero took deep swallows and drained the cup when she held it to his.

Then there was dancing, and the dancing led to the great hall spinning, and from the spinning Pero found himself being carried away, up and floating away from the music, borne by the king’s men.  When he turned his head, he saw the Princess - his wife - being borne away beside him, the newlyweds floating, and he did not realize—as she did—that this was the bedding ceremony.

How could Pero know?  He had never laid with a woman before.

*****

You understood your circumstances.

You have always understood your circumstances.

Your mother died when you were young.  Too young to make any memories of her beyond a general impression of loveliness, of gentleness before the fever took her and your unborn sister to the underworld.  Your father remarried soon after, and he had a son with your stepmother, but she was a scheming woman, grasping, and your circumstances were clear forever after.

Your father, at least, lived long enough to marry you off to an ally.  Your first husband had been much older, silver in his beard, but kind.  Extraordinarily kind, in fact, and you wondered sometimes if your father knew he had given you to a man who made you a woman gently, who made you a mother to his daughter just as gently, and who died from an ague only last summer.

It was the only time he hurt you, dying as he did. 

Your second husband?  Well, you understood your circumstances.  You knew it was a farce, a noble lineage hung on the shoulders of a sell-sword.  You knew your brother’s motives when he and his advisors found you and informed you of your impending marriage.  You knew it would keep you safe, being tucked away with some rough peasant, but as you observed this Tovar—his rough looks, his rougher manner—you wondered if death would perhaps be a kinder fate.

-----

Like your first marriage, you did not properly meet your intended until the ceremonies themselves.

Unlike your first marriage, this Tovar did not seem to understand the potency of the rakija.  Unless he was a drunkard as well as a sell-sword.

Like your first marriage, you did not properly exchange a word beyond the ceremonies until you were locked in the chamber for the bedding ceremony.

Unlike your first marriage, this Tovar did not say, as your first husband had, “please trust in me, little princess.  I will do you no harm.”

Instead, this Tovar stared at you, swayed on his feet, and mumbled, “fuck, how did this happen?”

Your first marriage, you left your bedding ceremony with far more pleasure than pain—the former a revelation that your body could produce such sensations, and the latter just a faint ache between your legs.

Your second marriage, you left your bedding ceremony with neither pleasure nor pain.  You left it with confusion, at first, then understanding, then a bemusement that would one day cede to love.

This Tovar understood enough to undress himself.  He shed the embroidered surcoat, the fine-woven shirt, the doe-skin trousers.  The linen smallclothes.  He stood before you unabashed, naked, swaying still on his feet.  His manhood stood to proud attention, and you studied him.  He was not unappealing, you thought, so long as he didn’t spew from the drink.

But he made no further move, and you lifted your hands to undress yourself too.  You lifted away the headdress sewn with seed pearls and small gems.  The outer robe, heavy with brocade.  The inner dress, the woolen slippers, then the shift, and you stood as proudly as you could but felt a shyness overtake you, so you wrapped your arm around yourself and hid what you could.

Perhaps you misunderstood the sell-sword, though.  A man, you thought, would take what was his, but this Tovar only stared at you—his cock twitching—and he made no further move. 

“Perhaps,” you said, tentative.  “We could lie down on the bed?”

He nodded and gestured for you to lead.  You stretched out on the coverlet, but when he joined you, he only laid beside you, like two corpses in the tomb.  The moment grew long, and there was no noise other than each of you breathing and the distant merriment of the wedding feast in the great hall.

“Tovar, we must…you must bed me for it to be legal,” you finally told him.  Quietly, though.  He was drunk, and you knew enough of men to know that drunkenness made them violent.  And at your words, he shook his head and turned to face you, and his expression was dark.

“Pero,” he whispered harshly.  “My given name is Pero.”

“P-Pero.”  You didn’t mean to stammer, but his face was like a thundercloud, like the storm god that men worshiped here—

Saying his name made his expression soften in an instant, though.  The thunderhead passed, and his face was like dawn’s light. 

“My mother named me Pero,” he explained.  “Tovar is what my father gave me.”

“Your mother…is she kind?”

“She is dead.”

“Oh.”  You bit your lip and studied him; the darkness was edging back into his expression, so you added, “mine is dead too.”

“Mine died in my birthing.”

“Mine died when I was young, as she birthed my sister.”  You paused, added, “she died too.”

Pero’s eyes had a glassy quality to them, whether it be the drink or the sorrow of his mother, so you reminded him, just as gently, that the bedding ceremony needed to be complete before your brother the Usurper would let you both leave.  Before he returned your young daughter to you and let the three of you leave for your mother’s homeland.

To aid Pero, you reached out a hand to him, thinking you could lead him to you, but he misunderstood.  He took your hand in his, much like at the wedding ceremony, and he raised it to his mouth.  His mustache tickled against your skin as he pressed wet kisses to the back of it, to your wrist, to the inside of your forearm.

His kisses were sloppy, like a child playing at love.  You thought it was the drink.

Little by little, you led him, or tried to.  An hour passed, you judged from where the tall tapers burned in their pewter holders.  Each moment saw the man get nowhere closer to consummating the thing; he only pressed his mouth to your hands and arms, and when he got breathless, which was often, he gazed over at you.  Sometimes he touched your face with his calloused fingertips, and once he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in your unbound hair, but the time passed, and you felt your daughter—your freedom, your life—slipping away bit by bit.

“For the love of the gods, man,” you finally snapped.  “Finish the thing!”

It made Pero rear back his head from where he nuzzled against you, and his expression was not thunderous so much as baleful.

“It is uncharted waters,” he muttered.

“The terrain from one woman to another is much the same, I imagine,” you retorted, then you reached for him in earnest, took him by his shoulder and urged him to climb onto you, which he did, clumsily.  It felt so much the same, though, the warm touch of another’s body against yours, and the first real flower of desire bloomed in you.

“Perhaps,” you thought, “this may be a successful marriage.”

But Pero seemed confused still, still too addled by the strong plum brandy, and he moved awkwardly, muttered near your ear that he could map the hillocks and dales of this territory, but was unsure of the way home—

“Here,” you breathed into his ear, and your hand found where he strained, hot and heavy and ready to join to you.  You took him by the root and tried to lead him to you, but your touch alone made him groan against your neck, made him mutter some word you didn’t know, and then you felt him go rigid above you.

Your second bedding ceremony, then:  your new husband’s slack weight against you, his spend, hastily given from the mere touch of your palm, cooling against your hip.

Still, it was enough for your brother the Usurper and his flock of advisors in their dusty, moth-eaten robes.  The usual inspection of the bedchamber come morning, the usual sly smiles and off-hand jokes…and then you were away, your daughter restored to your arms and your new husband—and his aching head—off to the lands of your mother.

-----

“What is her name?” Pero asked, startling you out of your thoughts.  When you glanced at him, he nodded at your daughter dozing against your side.

“Vesna,” you replied.  “It means ‘dawn.’”

He stared at you both for a long moment, this woman and her daughter that he got at a bargain. 

“Her father…was he a good man?”

You nodded.  “He was.”

“How did he die?”

You turned away and looked at the landscape from the narrow window of the carriage.  “A fever took him. 

“You cared for him?”

You nodded again.  “I did.”

Pero made a noise at that, a grumble at the back of his throat that you couldn’t discern the meaning of.  “Why did you care for him?”

“Why would you ask?”  It was an impossible question to answer anyway, how you cared for your first husband and why.  Because he was strong and wise, but gentle in equal measure.  That he sat in council with your father, then your elder brother, his face stern and grave, then returned home and played with your daughter, pulled faces and allowed her to ride him as a pony, her small chubby fists tugging at his hair.

Pero must have heard the edge in your voice, because he answered softly, “I only hope to model my behavior on his own.”  He paused.  “I’ve never had a wife.  I should like to do well by you.”

Vesna grumbled in her sleep and turned deeper in your side before she settled.  “Will you do well by her too, Tovar?”

“Pero,” he corrected you gently.  “And I would.  I would be a father to her, and I would have her call me father as I would call her daughter.”

You laughed, the bitterness heavy in your mouth.  “Sweet words, until you have a child of your own.  Once you have your own blood, you’ll seek to cast her away.”

The man scowled but shook his head.  “You have the wrong of it, wife.”

“I’ve yet to meet a person in a second marriage to do otherwise.”

“But you’ve met me,” he snapped.  “And I am not your father’s second wife, nor her treacherous son.”  His face softened, that ebb and flow of darkness that you recognized now from your wedding night.  “I am just a blacksmith’s son, an orphan in my own right.  I would not make an orphan of her, no matter what you think.”

He sounded so injured, stung from your accusation that you nodded at his words, then reached across the carriage and laid a soft hand on his arm. 

“Peace, Pero,” you replied.  “I meant no harm.”

“No one would blame you if you did.  But I will prove you wrong, with both her—” Here, he jerked his chin in the direction of your sleeping daughter.  “And with our own children.  My hands may have slain many men, but I would cradle any child of yours, or any child of ours, as softly as a bird’s egg.”

You could not help the smile.  “You have a gift of language, husband.”

He smiled back, though it looked uncertain, like he was unfamiliar with the motion of lifting his lips into the expression.

“Perhaps you already carry my child,” he said, a bit shyly.  His gaze drifted to your belly under its thick woolen cloak.  “Perhaps I bred you on our wedding night.”

You could not help the laugh this time.  “I think not.”

At that, his smile fled.  “Why not?”

“Because…”  You watched him, uncertain.  Perhaps he had been so drunk he didn’t realize.  “Because you did not…complete the act.”

“I did!”

You shook your head.  “Pero, you drank so much, I trust you must not remember, but you did not.”

“I…”  He hesitated, glanced at Vesna to see that she was still fast asleep.  He dropped his voice to a rough whisper.  “Wife, I spilled my seed.  I remember as much.  The King’s advisors confirmed as much.”

“You did, but outside of me.  Not inside.”

You realized it far too late, but you would be forgiven for never considering it.  How many men had you ever known to enter their marriages as virgins?  Especially a sell-sword who had traveled the world, who had likely been tempted by women of all shades and hues, of all sizes and temperaments.

You realized it when Pero, your husband, looked at you.  Bewildered, he asked, “does not that count, wife?”

-----

“I do not understand how you could not know,” you told him that evening.  You were lodged in a lord’s house, a friend of your late father, and Vesna had been tucked into her cot in an adjoining room.

“I did not.”  Pero sat on the edge of the bed, his arms crossed.  He looked much like a petulant child, not unlike Vesna when she was in a sulk. 

“But you are a grown man, and you’ve kept rough company.”

“I have fought with rough company and traveled with rough company, but I’ve never fucked with rough company.”

You winced at the crude word for it.  “You have never laid with even a woman for coin?  Not once?  Or some sweetheart, back in León?”

“Galicia,” he muttered.  “And no.  I fled home before I could grow hair on my balls, and I held my coin too dear to waste it on pretend love.”

“And you never traveled with a woman, perhaps?  You were never tempted in the rough travel to curl up with a woman—”

“The only women that ever traveled with us were whores and wives.  I would not waste my coin on the first and I would not waste my life on the second.”

You were unsure how to proceed.  True, your marriage was not consummated, but that hardly registered with you.  You did not know this Pero Tovar, in truth, beyond the handful of days you had spent together on the road.  You knew little—just the few conversations, but it was more of his actions that spoke to who he was.

There was a moment early in the journey, just a half day’s ride out, that he had caught Vesna when her little boot caught in the carriage step.  How Pero had swept her up, some fatherly instinct that made it a game for the little girl, a moment to pretend she was flying instead of stumbling.

When you fell asleep and woke to find his cloak tucked around you.

When you entered an unproven tavern for a late meal, how Pero had stood between you and Vesna and the rest of the room, like a loyal cur protecting its flock.

He was rough in his ways, but there was a gentleness to him, and it was as much what he didn’t do—he got drunk on your wedding night and had been as gentle as a lamb.  And now, this line of questioning that frustrated him—he only sat and sulked with his arms crossed, when many men would strike you for being so blunt with his discomfort.

Pero Tovar, you wondered, could perhaps simply be a gentle man who fell into a rough life, and shouldn’t you foster that gentleness, now that he was yours?

“Husband, will you let me show you?” you asked quietly, and when his eyes found yours, you smiled at him.  You held out your hands, and after a moment of hesitation, he took them in his own.  His calloused hands, only recently washed of all the blood they had spilled.

“Please, wife,” he replied.  “Please do.”

-----

The first time that night, it was much like the bedding ceremony:  the moment your hand found Pero’s cock, he groaned, then erupted in your palm.

This time, though, he was sober enough to know what had happened.

“Shit!” he hissed, and he rolled away from you.  You sensed that this was a defining moment in your marriage, the entire enterprise teetering on a knife’s edge.  Fall one way, a life of stilted exchanges, closed-off conversations, miscommunications.  Fall the other way?

“Pero, please.”  You took a cloth from near the bed and wiped your hand, then reached for his deflated manhood.  You wiped him off gently, and you smiled to feel the answering twitch to it, even so soon afterwards.

“The gods did not make us like dogs, rutting in the street, with only one chance in a while,” you whispered to him.  “We can rest and try again, as many times as we like.”

“Did your other husband spill like a boy?” he asked, his voice an angry growl.  You sensed better the way this may fall, how Pero seemed to compare himself to your first husband and found himself wanting.

“My other husband had been married before,” you replied.  You set the soiled cloth aside, and you laid your hand on the side of Pero’s face so you could look him in the eyes.  He avoided your gaze, so you sighed and stroked his hair back from his face, ran your thumb over his bristly cheek.  And Pero, cur that he was, turned into your touch despite his low mood.

“I was not my husband’s first wife,” you explained.  “He and his first wife had many years together, until she died from a wasting disease.  But he was patient with me, and he taught me, just as I will be patient with you.  Just as I will teach you.”

“It is a poor husband who must be taught by his wife.”

You hummed thoughtful at that, then leaned forward to press your lips to his.  You let your breasts brush over his bare arm, and you took in the sharp inhale he made at the touch.

“Such a poor husband,” you chanced to tease.  “Yet such fun in the teaching, hmm?”

“Did I marry a princess or a temptress?” he grumbled back, but there was a teasing tone to his voice. 

“Perhaps you should take her counsel and decide for yourself.”

Pero turned onto his side and faced you, and his eyes finally sought yours.  “I would be a good husband to you,” he said.  “I would be a man who could give you pleasure.”

“Would you be humble enough for your wife to teach you then?”

He nodded, and his eyes grew darker with desire.

“Consider me humble.  Consider me your pupil.”  His voice fell to a lower register, and it sent a frisson of heat through you.

-----

Your lessons, as you came to call them, were strenuously applied and practiced until the pupil became a master in his own right.

You taught him the pleasure of simple touch:  of feather-light strokes and firm grasping, of where to caress and where to lightly pinch, where to soothe and where to worry. 

You taught him how to use his mouth—such a sulking, pouting mouth with such full lips, and with such a wicked tongue.  You taught him how to suckle and lick, how to lap against which parts of you, and you taught him how to kiss with more skill and finesse than that first night together.

You taught him too how to receive the pleasure you could give him beyond the mating.  You used your own hands and mouth in turn, and by the time he strained against you again, his cock ruddy and leaking from its broad tip, Pero was a panting, pleading mess.

“Please, wife,” he cried against your shoulder as you stroked him, then stopped, then stroked him again.  “Please, show me—”

“Here.”  You took his hand and led him to the place between your thighs, let him feel where he should seat himself.  “Just here, husband.”

“It is slippery, your cunt,” he whispered, his voice wracked with awe.  His blunt finger prodded at you, slipped inside, and his groan was a twin to your own.

“It m-makes the joining easier.” 

Pero slid more of his finger inside you, then pulled it out, then sunk it back in.  A preview, you supposed, from your eager pupil.  You moaned again when he added a second finger, and you felt his eyes on you, peering down at you.

“Does that give you pleasure?” he asked without a bit of guile.

You nodded.  It did.

He furrowed his brow.  “I would mount you now, but I may spill too soon.”

“I would not care a whit, Pero.  We have the time to master it together.”

He nodded, then pulled his fingers from you.  He made to climb between your legs, and you parted them for him, spread yourself wide to fit him in the cradle of your hips.  When he lowered himself, you felt his cock brush against you, and he reached down to grasp himself.

It only took him two tries.  Just as you opened your mouth to guide him, he found your entrance, and then he pushed into you, the searing heat of him finally inside you.  Pero groaned to feel you, but he did not spill—he stilled once he was buried in your depths, and he lifted his head to gaze down at you.  The look on his face was somewhere between stupefaction and bliss, and you imagined you looked much the same.

“There,” you told him, brushing your fingertips over the planes of his handsome face.  “Now we are wed, husband.”

*****

In this way, Pero Tovar became a man in love, who was loved in turn by his wife.  Their journey to her mother’s homeland lost much of its earlier speed, and it took them far longer to arrive.  Their servants—the carriage driver, the footman, the guards and lady’s maid, and child’s nurse—could guess the reason for their delay.  After all, Pero and his wife were newlyweds, and they often stayed abed until late in the morning, though no one supposed they slept.

In this way, Pero Tovar came to be a father, the seed planted on that journey quickening in his wife’s belly months later.  The daughter that followed thereafter, and the sons that came after that, and then a final daughter who looked so much like her father that despite the name her parents chose for her, she was forever known as Peročka.

True to his word, Pero never treated little Vesna as anything other than his own child. It had to be said that when the girl was grown and married off to a boy in a nearby city, Pero was the one who openly wept at the loss of her.

In the tales of this time, once the dragon is slain or the kingdom regained or the treasure earned, the tale ends.  And so should ours, except to remind that Pero Tovar had traveled the known world only to end up with a treasure beyond compare in his wife and the family they created together.  He never found the life he sought for himself—that spot of green land, dirt to furrow, plants to coax into life.  Instead, he found a better life with a wife and children, with a community of people who came to value his wisdom…though he did end up with a garden where he tended to a grove of small plum trees and distilled their sweet fruits into a brandy that young men often toasted with on their wedding days.

If there is a lesson to Pero Tovar’s story, then, it’s this:  sometimes the life we desire is not the life we need.

And to add that when his wife died from a wasting disease when only a bit of silver threaded through her hair, Pero spared no expense in building her the finest stone crypt to hold her bones.  He had her dressed in the gown she wore to marry him so long ago.  In her hair, he tucked the small jade and enamel comb that had somehow survived his journey from the Far East when he fought monsters in another life entirely.  As was the custom in his adopted home, his children and grandchildren took hawthorn branches—in full bloom, as his beloved wife died in spring—and laid them in the crypt with her.

And to add too, when Pero himself died from a fever years later, his children and grandchildren dressed him in his finest tunic and opened the crypt so he could be laid beside his beloved.  As was the custom, they took hawthorn branches —laden with red berries, as he died in the autumn—and laid them in the crypt with him.

And to add finally, Vesna, by then a mother in her own right, reached into the crypt and adjusted the two bodies so that their hands were clasped in their eternal rest.  How could she do otherwise?  They had loved each other fiercely in this life, and she prayed to the gods that they would do so in the next life too.  Her mother and her father both, and she did not hide the tears that fell as her brothers and husband slid the heavy stone lid in place, sealing both Pero and his beloved in their shared tomb.

*****

He only has a single evening, and the surfeit of options in D.C. paralyzes him with choice.  The Phillips Collection?  The Renwick Gallery?  Or the National Gallery of Art?

He mentions it to Ruiz, who laughs and says, “c’mon, man.  The National Gallery, obviously.”

“I’d like something a little more off the beaten path,” Marcus replies.

Ruiz studies him, thinks on it.  Finally says, “you know, I know a woman over there.  She’s curating this huge exhibit that’s coming out next year.  You want something unique, why don’t I set you up?”

“The exhibit isn’t even up yet?”

Ruiz waves him off.  “Nah, but it might be fun to see how the sausage is made, right?”

-----

Which is how FBI Agent Marcus Pike comes to meet you.  Ruiz is on your bar trivia team (he’s your ace in the hole on sports trivia), and when he calls with a favor, the call on speaker between Ruiz and Marcus, you happily agree to show him around your budding exhibit.

“It’s called ‘Stronger than Death,’” you tell him after you hold your hand out to shake.  “After the Thomas Mann quote.  ‘It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.’  Which is cheesy, admittedly, but it’s my first big solo exhibit I’m pulling together, and it’s the culmination of years of research and work.”

Marcus smiles.  “I don’t think it’s cheesy at all.”

“Tell Tony that.”

“Eh, Ruiz is just jaded.”  Marcus follows you into the storage area where some crates have already been unloaded and unpacked.  “Tell me about this exhibit.  Ruiz said it already has a lot of buzz.”

If Marcus thought your smile was lovely when you introduced yourself, he finds it utterly beautiful now, because you are passionate about your exhibit.  An intersection of art and architecture and history, across time and distance, focused on the two most human emotions, you explain:  love and grief.

“No matter when or where, it’s the two constants, you know?”  You gesture widely, taking in the breadth of the crates, but even further too:  the breadth of human history across the globe.  “If you’re talking about humans in fourteenth century Iran or Berber tribes in the twelfth century or a Lutheran and Catholic couple during the heart of reformation, the story is the same.  The details change, but the love is the same, and the grief when death comes is the same.”

“So the exhibit is…”  Marcus trails off, and you take a deep breath. You’ve gone breathless in your explanation, a fact that charms him. Then you continue.  Your exhibit is everything that encompasses that central idea of grief when love is ended by death, and how grief is an outpouring of that endless love.  You have everything from big pieces to ephemera.  There’s Victorian memorial photography.  There’s a gravestone from a Catholic cemetery that edged against a Protestant one, the stone bridging the two graves because neither church allowed the couple to be buried together.  There’s a letter found in a grave from the 1500’s in Korea, where the woman pours out her grief and love for her husband who is buried there. 

You show him the artifacts already unpacked and catalogued.  You hand him a pair of cotton gloves and allow him to touch some of the sturdier pieces, and you’ve pulled him into your wavelength because as he touches each piece, he feels weak in the knees, heavy with kinship he feels with strangers separated from him by centuries and thousands of miles.

“Here’s an interesting piece,” you tell him, and you lead him to a smaller crate that’s been opened, its packing material piled in a small snowdrift around the box.  On the table beside it, there’s a smaller box.  You open it and pull out a delicate-looking piece, and Marcus holds out his palm, flat.  You lay it there, and he studies it in the light.

“Jade?”

You hum in agreement.  “And enamel.  It’s consistent with craftsmanship from the Song Dynasty.”

Marcus reaches back through his memory to his eastern histories and civilizations course.  “Is that…. eleven hundred A.D.?”

“In part.  It lasted over three hundred years.”

Marcus peers at it closer.  “It’s amazingly preserved.”

“It was found in a grave in Latvia last year.”

He looks at you in surprise.  “Seriously?  How?”

“Trade wasn’t unheard of then, east from west.  It was far more popular in the Holy Roman Empire, though.  This part of Latvia was rural in that period.  A collection of city-states and loosely-stitched tribes.”

“The comb must have been buried later then.”

You shake your head and take the comb from him, lie it gently back in its box.  “That’s the story.  It was buried around the year one thousand A.D.  Archeologists found the grave five years ago.  A bunch of kids were riding dirt bikes around the countryside in Latvia.  One kid hits something, goes flying.  It turns out it was a stone, but when they look at it, it’s carved.  Too square, right?  Has markings on it.  It turns out, it’s this perfectly preserved medieval town.  The archeologists did all their digging and carbon testing.  They are still digging, honestly.  But it looks like through soil samples, the best theory is that a tributary to the Daugava flooded at some point in twelve-hundred A.D and buried the entire place.”

“I never heard about it.”

You snort.  “Yeah, a rare well-preserved medieval village will never hit the front page when there’s war and political scandals.”

You reach for a large envelope on the table and open it.  You pull out a sheaf of photos, high resolution, and Marcus sees the link between the delicate jade comb and the overall theme of your exhibit.

The photos show the grave, a carved stone tomb that the river mud preserved for nearly a thousand years.  It is simple by today’s standards, but Marcus can guess the care and expense of it.  There are flowers and trees carved into the lid of it, a flat-faced woman who was probably a saint or local goddess to the time.

Then the photos cede to shots inside the opened grave.  Again, the river buried the village and preserved it for Marcus and you to stare at it now:  the pair of skeletons, on their sides and facing each other, their empty eye sockets seeming to stare at each other, the tiny bones of their hands a jumble as they were clearly buried together.

“They died together,” Marcus muses.  “Plague, maybe?”

You shrug.  “Who can say?  But if it’s plague, it was several years apart.  That’s why I’m putting them in the eastern corner of my exhibit.  The archeologists spent a lot of time on this tomb, since it’s such a rare find.  The skeleton on the left was a woman, roughly forty years old when she died.  She was buried with the comb, and the archeologists found hawthorn branches with her.”

You tap the other side of the photo.  “This one was a man, died around his sixties.  Also buried with hawthorn branches.”

“So, how do we know they were buried at different times?”

“That’s the punchline.  Archeologists found flower petals on her branches, but berries on his.  They were buried at different times of the year, at least.  Which means that the tomb was reopened to put the latter one in, and they were turned to face each other.  Their hands were clasped together.  It’s significant, especially when records seem to indicate that many burials of that time and place were cremations.”

Marcus turns to the next photo, a closeup of the hands.  Sure enough, he can see the dusty, dried remnants of blossoms, the wizened berries.  His eyes drift to their hands, the delicate bones a jumble to where he could not tell who’s belonged to which skeleton.

“Can you imagine the love they must have had for each other?  First to build such an elaborate tomb for such a rural area that likely lacked craftsmen of this caliber.  To choose to bury instead of cremating.  And then to reopen the tomb and place the second body in, to turn them towards each other instead of facing up to face heaven or down to face the underworld.  The jade comb is only a device to open the story, but the real story is the most common one across time.  It’s love, and grief when the love is ended by death.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his voice low.  “Sad, but beautiful.”

“We’ll never know their names, you know?  We’ll never know what they looked like, or even really what language they spoke.  If they had children or what they did.  But we know…”  You pause, take a breath.  “We know they loved each other, and they died but the proof of that love can be witnessed by us a millennium later.  And here we are with smart phones and airplanes and dating apps, but if you boil us down, we are just the same as them.  Exactly the same.”

What can Marcus say to that?  He agrees with you completely.  When your voice cracks on the word exactly, his own throat grows a lump in it.  He’s always been a romantic anyway, but the scope and scale of this project makes him feel like he could easily be pushed into tearing up too. 

“This exhibit is going to be amazing,” he finally tells you.  “Honestly.  People are going to love it.”

You grin at him, and your eyes are a little glazed with tears, but Marcus wonders what would push you to take such an interest in this topic.  Many curators home in on a much narrower niche, but yours is universal, so broad it could be sloppy or unfocused.  But you seem to be taking a broad cross-section of artifacts, an attentive lens at different times and places and cultures.

“Thanks, Marcus.  I appreciate it.”  You turn and slide the photographs back into their envelope.  “Ruiz didn’t say much about why you wanted to check this out.”

Marcus follows you out of the storeroom.  “I didn’t, really.  I’m only in town for the evening.  I fly out in the morning.”

“Where to?”

“Texas.  I live there.  I’m just in town for an interview.”

You lead him back to your office where his coat is stashed, and you hand it to him.  You grab your own, grab your purse, and lock up.  Together, you walk out of the building and into the evening.  D.C. glitters: it must have rained while you were inside, and the lights sparkle on the wet pavement and buildings.  You walk together for a few blocks, chatting amiably.

“Ruiz said you were FBI too?”

“Yeah, I’m in the Art Squad.”

You laugh.  “Art Squad.  I love it.  You armed with an FBI-issued oil pastel?”

When Marcus starts to explain that he investigates stolen art and artifacts, you elbow him gently and cut him off.  “I was teasing.  I know what you do.”

He chuckles, shakes his head.  He can feel his face flush a bit.  “Anyway, there’s an open position here, and I thought it might be a good move, career-wise.”  He pauses.  “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Texas to D.C.  It could be a fun move.”

He agrees, but before he can stop himself, he’s talking about Teresa, how he has fallen in love, how he has a ring picked out and an idea of proposing—and you listen to it, nodding sympathetically, cooing when he sings Teresa’s virtues.  Agreeing when he says his life is finally shaping out the way he always wanted:  career and love, both moving forward in wonderful ways.

“That’s really great,” you reply.  “I’m happy for you.”

He feels slightly asshole-ish, rambling about his life.  He asks, more charitably, “what about you?  Married?”

You laugh, a dry single ‘ha.’  “No.”

“Boyfriend?  Girlfriend?”

“No.”  You glance at him.  “Let’s just say I’m married to my work and leave it at that.”

He lifts his palms in surrender and in apology.  “Fair.  I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.”  You pause.  “But Teresa sounds great, and you’re lovely, so when the two of you come to D.C., look me up and you’ll give you both a private tour, okay?”

Marcus smiles at the thought of him and Teresa together in the capitol, hand in hand at your wonderful exhibit.  “Deal.”

You stop in your tracks and point at the intersection.  “I’m this way.  It was really nice to meet you, Marcus.”

He holds out his hand and you take it.  “Thank you so much.  You have no idea how much I enjoyed it.”

“For one of Ruiz’s buddies?  Anytime.  And for real—you and your girl.  Private tour, on me.”

The private tour, obviously, will never happen with Marcus and Teresa.  Marcus will move to D.C. and Teresa will never follow.  He’ll go through a dark period that he assumes will last the rest of his life, but it hardly lasts at all because by then, the city is plastered with advertisements for your exhibit, which is as big as Marcus predicted.

The private tour will happen with just Marcus, and it will hit different to see it laid out with the lighting, the flow, the signage.

It will hit different considering his recent breakup and recent heartache.

It will hit different when he shakes your hand again, when he takes in your soft, steady voice as you explain every artifact, as you offer him that lovely smile that turns beautiful as you talk about your work.

And it will hit different as you lead him through the history of love and grief, the history of what makes him no different from, say, a man who lived and loved and died a thousand years earlier.  A man, perhaps, who thought his life would venture into one direction but instead went in another:  how the life he desired was not the life he needed, but how it ended in love all the same.

In that way, Marcus and Pero, separated by a millennium are the same.

[voxmortuus]

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Count Vronsky x F!Reader!Wife ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Anna Karenina ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 2k ✧*̥˚ PROMPT: *̥˚✧ This was given to me by the lovely @bettytaylorversion || I would love to request a hc for him in a honeymoon with fem!reader, like pure and utter fluff and romance 🔥💘 ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧ Passionate Sex | Unprotected P-i-V | Cream pie | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I hope this brings you some joy. ✧*̥˚ DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ TIME PASSER DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @voxmortuus ✧*̥˚ IMAGE CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @peachyspaceslvt ✧*̥˚ ATJ TAGLIST: *̥˚✧ @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It was a beautiful ceremony, everyone who was anyone was there, but now, it was just time for you and your beloved to be alone. To learn and explore each other. To enjoy the company of the one you will be spending the rest of your life with. Today, it was a beautiful day. The air was warm, but not overly hot, there were large fluffy clouds in the crystal blue sky, and the sun was shining bright. Alexei had decided he was going to take you to a private place, a place where no one was going to bother you. A small little country house just outside of town. Well, today Alexei had plans. These plans were special, and you weren't allowed to know these plans. He had vanished outside leaving you to ponder on your thoughts.

You were sitting in the kitchen, you sip on a cup of tea. Your thoughts were simple, yet nothing overly complex, what would your life be like? He had no issue getting your attention, you found him alluring, attractive, intelligent, suave, and charming, and you found him to be a wonderful conversationalist. Sitting there, your mind drifts in a wonderful daydream of how your life will all work out, what will it become? Jumping a moment when he comes back to the house, you look up at him and smile. Reaching for your hand he kisses it softly and looks over your face.

"I have a beautiful day planned. Shall we?" He asked.

Nodding you were eager. You watched him grab the picnic basket on the outside of the door as you headed toward the docking out back of the home. You look at him and tilt your head.

"You really did plan today out? It really is a beautiful day for something like this." You stated softly looking up toward the sky as you got closer to the private dock.

When you both approached it, he stepped into the small boat, placed the basket down, and held his hand up to help you in, to make sure you were getting into the boat safely. The boat swayed and you got a little nervous, but you knew you were safe. Once you had settled looking around, you smiled sweetly, this was going to be an absolutely beautiful day. Placing your hands in your lap you look over his features as he untied the small boat and pushed it away from the dock.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

You nod eagerly and bite your lip, curious as to where he was taking you. This waterway was large, trees draped over it with beautiful pink and white flowers, vibrant green leaves, and swans, everywhere, it was beyond breathtaking. As he rowed the boat, it moved gracefully in the water, the sounds of nature all around you. You can't help but smile.

"This is beyond beautiful." You smile softly.

"Nothing short of the best for you. Would you like to feed them?" He asked.

"Can I?" You ask eagerly.

He reaches into the basket and hands you a bag of bread pieces. "Here love."

Taking the bag you look inside upon opening the bag. You smile wide before tossing some out into the water. The fish below and the swans above move to get what you had tossed. A soft giggle escapes you as you watch them. Turning back to your new husband you smile softly.

"This is absolutely beautiful. I cannot express this enough." you search his face.

Leaning forward he kisses you softly, running a thumb across your lower lip. "You're absolutely beautiful." He smiles.

Flushing softly you glance down before looking back up at him and searching his face. Licking your lips you tilted your head softly. You feel this warm feeling, this warmth of the sun shining through the branches of the trees. It really was out of some sort of fairytale.

"What other plans do you have today?" You asked him.

"Well, how about I go show you." He smiles taking the oars and carefully working his way through the water to the other side of the large lake. You look over him and wonder when he had the time to do this, but he was up far earlier than you were. You smile softly and continue to look around at everything as he works his way through the water and you continue to feed the fish and birds with the crumbles of bread.

When he gets to the other side he moves past you to get out and pull the boat to the shore and helps you out. Looking around it was a meadow-like opening. There were no trails toward the location he was taking you, a small path from the shore to this small opening that was surrounded by flowers of the season, birds chirping, and a soft subtle breeze. It was beautiful, just like everything else. It was a lot to take in but at the same time, it wasn't.

He opens a blanket he pulls from the basket, and paces it on the earth's floor. He looks up to you and holds out his hand for you to take. Biting your lip softly you chuckle and nod joining him on the blanket. Leaning against him you look out on nature and smile. It truly was a vision of your dreams.

He wraps his arms around you and leans in and kisses your neck. "You smell delicious. Is that a new perfume?" he asks you.

"It is. I'm surprised you noticed." You chuckle softly.

"Of course I noticed. I also noticed you are not wearing anything under your dress." He smiled softly.

"Oh, is that so?" You chuckle.

"That is very much so." He smiled as he reaches down and hikes your dress up a bit.

"Are you wanting to do that here?" You ask him.

"Well, why not? There's no one else here, just us… What do you say Mrs. Vronsky?" He smiles looking down at you.

"Well, when you put it that way." You chuckle and turn to look at him you put your arms around him as he moves to have you straddling his lap.

"Oh, you like hearing Mrs. Vronsky don't you?" He chuckles.

Nodding your head you smile and lean in and kiss him sweetly and deeply. He keeps you close as he moves his hands up your back and presses you close to him as he moves to nip at your neck as his lips trail down and he moves to open your dress a bit more so he can kiss your chest. Now and then his gaze looks up as he watches you carefully. Your jaw slacks a bit, feeling his lips on your flesh like that is utterly intoxicating. You bite your lip and let out a soft whimper, your body trembles softly. This feeling made your body feel warm and even a little dewy between the legs.

He grips at you, his hands moving under your dress and sliding it up to move it off of your frame placing it next to you both, your nimble fingers move to undo the buttons of his shirt and slide it off him and place it by your dress. Looking over him you smile, your fingers move against his chest before you move your hands to the back of his neck and slide your hands up into his hair, as he leans into your hands and nails a bit as they scrape against his scalp you move your hips ever so slightly. He looks over at you and smiles.

"I want to be inside you." He whispers against your lips as he kisses you deeply.

"Then be inside me." You whisper back.

Feeling him free himself as his hard flesh presses against the front of you, he rubs the tip of his cock against your opening before he lowers you onto him. You drop your head to rest against this shoulder and let out a soft moan.

"Oh, Alexei." You whimper.

His jaw clenches a moment as you wrap your slick velvet-like walls around his sensitive flesh. Growling a moment as he buries his face into your neck.

"You feel so good.." He tells you.

"You feel good." You state back as he helps guide you over his hard member.

You begin to moan a little more feeling him fill you, feeling yourself stretch around his hard cock as you glide along him. Your head moves to hang back as your hands press into his shoulders as you bounce at a steady pace. His hands wander your form, feeling your flesh under his grip, it was soft, it was moldable. He watched your face, the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. He looked down at you as you pressed yourself down on him. He liked watching the way it looked, how you took all of him like you were made for him.

Moving you to your back, he looked down at you, your hair fanning out as he leaned forward and began to thrust at a quicker pace, the sounds of you both echoed and rolled off the flower petals. He pressed deeper into you, causing you to moan louder, causing you to grip at his sides, your nails dragging across his back, leaving little red welts of love across his flesh.

Dipping down he captured your lips against his, as he moved to grab your hands enterlacing your fingers with his as he moves them above your head, with each thrust you both move against each other, and your moans pass your lips and dance across his. Your tongue finds his as it dances an intimate dance with his, your moans still escaping into him as he thrusts faster into you, but with each thrust, it is soft, with care, with a tenderness of the moment.

He moves from you, kneeling, watching the way he slips in and out of you, watching the way you coat him with a shiny coating of your juices coating his cock, you moan softly your back arches, your flesh against the contrast of the earth was beautiful, it was something he was going to have a forever memory about.

Lifting your hips to his own he growled softly as he continued to thrust picking up the pace as you roll your hips, your breathing picks up hearing his growls, you aren't able to contain yourself. Gripping at the grass above your head and your body bounces with each thrust he gives. Your moans are mere screams. From the grass to your breasts as he thrusts harder coming to a finish for you both he looks down at you and searches you.

"Finish with me." He states.

"Then don't stop… I am so close." You state.

"Of course not, Love." He smirks as he picks up his pace a little more.

His thumb finds your swollen sensitive bud and he begins to rub it the feeling causes you to scream in pure euphoria and tremble as you were not able to control yourself. Your legs are trembling and your walls begin to spasm against him as if milking him for his seed. He growls and moans loudly as he presses himself deep within you and he buries himself and ribbons of hot finish coat your walls.

After a few more twitches of his member, he looks down at you and smiles softly as he slowly pulls from you and moves to lay by your side. He tucks some hair behind your ear and smiles.

"Now, Mrs. Vronsky, you do know that this is likely to happen often on our honeymoon correct?" He chuckles.

Breathily you look at him. "I sure hope so. Mr. Vronsky."

He just stays there, admiring you, reaching into the basket to feed you grapes, admiring your body, you were absolutely beautiful to him, he couldn't stop staring at you. He didn't want to. Ever. Forever his. Forever yours.

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten