#but also it’s taking too long to get comments on ao3 and is rapidly getting buried so here I am mentioning it

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

At This Hour

Jonathan Levy x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 24: On the counter

Summary: You look after Ava while Jonathan goes out on a date.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and being so lovely! <3

Warnings: neighbour!reader, mentions of the reader liking horror films/Terrifier, reader also has a cat, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2554

Jonathan knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But he just can’t help himself. 

The date had been a bad one, pointless in fact. He should have ducked out after the first ten minutes, no five. 

But he’d stayed and now it was nearly twelve fucking am by the time he got home. He should really go to bed. Get some sleep. 

Instead, he was talking to you, and drinking coffee. Oh, three am him was going to be pissed.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” Jonathan pushes his glasses higher. “Please, you got to let me give you some money.”

You shake your head, raising your hand, “Oh, no, no, no, you letting me pinch your netflix and amazon password for the last four months is more than enough.”

He chuckles, fiddling with his mug, “Yeah, but that’s just being neighbourly.” 

You scoff. “It is not, Jonathan.” 

Your friendship had started about seven months ago, when Jonathan had taken in a grand total of eight parcels from fedex on your, and your roommates, behalf in one day.

After collecting them, you’d apologised profusely, and baked him a banana cake. Panicking when you gave it to him that a, you didn’t actually know if he was allergic to anything, and b, that he actually liked bananas. 

Luckily he did.

Your friendship had grown when his car wouldn’t start one morning, and you’d given him a lift to work on your moped and picked him up after. Plus you’d got your friend’s cousin’s, uncle’s ex-colleague to have a look at his car and sort out the problem. 

He’d bought you lunch and looked after your cat if you had to go out of town. You watched his daughter if he had to work late on the days he had her. 

Originally, this hadn’t been his weekend to have Ava, hence why he had a date. A very, very bad date. 

“Come on,” he smiled at you, that horrible brilliantly blinding smile that leaves you weak at the knees, “usually you’re just with her for what, forty five minutes? An hour, this was nearly four.” 

You giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t just politely leave.”

“I am a man of faults.” 

You laugh harder, “Look, I like Ava, we watched a series of R rated horror films and I made sure she ate her weight in sugar without brushing her teeth.” 

He grins. “I’m sure I would have had a better time with you guys here.”

You shrug, “Well, you can join us next time. We’re going to watch Terrifier.” You tease.

“Ugh,” he shudders, “Don’t tell me you like those kinds of films?” 

You can’t stop from smiling at his dramatic reaction. “What? You don’t?” 

He pulls a face and you giggle.

“They’re fun!”

“They are not.” He takes a sip of his cooling coffee, trying to nurse it as long as he could.

“They are.”

“All blood and guts.” He screws up his face, putting it on a bit for you.

“But the prosthetics! Plus it’s not real.” You say playfully. 

“Freaky.” He shakes his head. “Too much for my old heart.” 

You snort. “Jonathan.”

“What?” He smiles.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” 

“You just want me to tell you how young you are.” You rest your chin on your hand as you look at him.

He pauses and then nods rapidly, “I do actually, and you have to, it’s the social contract.” 

You giggle, “Well, I’m not.” 

“That's unfair.” He says in mock outrage, making you laugh harder. 

“Fine,” you hold up your hands, “You’re very handsome.” 

He pauses, looking at you for a moment. “I said you had to tell me I was young, not beautiful.” He teases, expecting you to throw a comment back at him immediately. 

But instead, you pause. For a moment, it’s almost funny how you freeze. 

“I…” You swallow, your mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“It’s okay,” he quickly covers, “I’m just teasing, it’s fine.” 

You smile weakly, your skin burning. You get up quickly, nearly knocking your mug over in the process. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sorry, I, erm,” you pick up your mug, and then his, “Let me, erm, I’ll put them in the dishwasher.” 

You turn before he even has a chance to say anything, rushing over to the other side of the kitchen, putting the mugs on the counter.

Jonathan stands quickly, calling your name, “Hey, it’s fine, really. Don’t worry,” anxiety cuts into his chest, leaving his ribs bare. He walks behind you, accidentally bumping into you as you turn. 

“Sorry,” he grabs your arm to steady you and himself, his heart thudding so hard in his temples he’s sure he’s going to burst a blood vessel. 

You glance at his eyes nervously, breathing hard. “I…”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He says softly. He should put his hand down, stop touching your arm. “I was just teasing.” 

You nod, “I know, I… I’m sorry.” Your insides squirm a little, trying to find a way out to escape this awkwardness. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, leaning a fraction closer. “It’s always nice when someone beautiful calls you handsome.”

Your brain glitches, static for a moment, rebooting.  

“Beautiful?” You repeat.

“Beautiful.” His mouth says before he has any say in the matter. “And kind, and funny, and wond-”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him deeply. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back against the counter.

It takes him a moment to catch up with his body, to figure out this is actually real, not some well used fantasy he plays out behind his eyes in the shower. 

You pull lightly at his hair, moaning softly when he licks into your mouth and pushes his legs between yours. He rocks against you, his cock quickly hardening in his trousers as he presses against the seam of your jeans. 

Part of him wants to pull back, to not push things, to not rush. But the much louder voice in his head laments at how long he’s been holding back, how long he’s been thinking of you while touching himself with a lubed hand. 

You gasp as he kisses along your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks at your pulse point greedily. God, if he could just get you to make that noise one more time.

“Jonathan,” you moan softly, pressing yourself closer to him and pulling on his shoulders, needing to rid the fraction of space between you.

He growls, nipping at your neck and nearly coming on the spot when he hears how needily you call his name. “Can I take these off?” His words are nearly lost with how he sucks on your skin, barely able to move his mouth back more than a centimetre. He pulls at your top, your trousers and you nod hastily. 

His groan at your confirmation makes you shiver. He practically tears your clothing from you, pushing and pulling the material away as if it personally offended him, before he hikes your right leg up around his waist and urges you up onto the counter. 

He sucks your breasts into his mouth greedily, quickly going from one to another, like a child in a toy store unable to choose his favourite. While he presses his thumb to your clit and strokes his fore and middle fingers through your folds. 

He groans deeply at the wetness he finds, rocking against you as he pushes inside. 

You gasp, biting down on your lip to keep yourself vaguely quiet as you cling onto his shoulders with one hand and the counter with the other. 

He strokes gently, pressing rhythmically against your walls as he toys with your clit and you sob, practically clinging onto him for dear life.

Pleasure builds dizzyingly fast in your belly, threatening to pull you down with every stroke. You moan in his ear, lightheaded, just about gathering yourself together to whimper his name. You weren’t prepared for this utter onslaught, for him to be so determined to pull you apart piece by piece. 

Spikes of sensation buzz along your skin, twisting and building. 

“You’re going to make me come,” you sob, shocked at how quickly your body is ready to fall apart. 

“Fuck yes,” he growls, sinking his teeth into your collar bone before he licks up your neck back to your lips. It’s hot and wet and messy, his tongue in your mouth to quiet your sobs  as you pulse and gasp, coming violently around his fingers. 

You shake in his grip, breaking the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder. He works you through it, stroking and pumping until you feel like liquid in his hands. 

“God,” he groans, kissing your forehead and breathing hard. He takes his fingers out of you slowly and shoves them in his mouth, moaning wantonly at the taste. 

When you manage to pull back a fraction to look at him, you can see his glasses have steamed up. You giggle and he grins around his fingers, taking them out with a pop to kiss you. 

You run your hands through his hair, shivering as he presses close once more. 

“Do you?” He starts at the same moment you speak - “Can I?”

He chuckles, nodding for you to go first. 

“Take these off.” You mutter, pulling at his jumper. He moves back a fraction, letting you pull it over his head and snorting when his glasses get caught in the neckline. He whips them off, placing them on the side, his curls wild. 

Jonathan bites his lip as you unbuckle his jeans, helping you by undoing his fly.

“Can I fuck you?” He groans, kissing your cheek and jaw, each glide of his tongue makes your body sing. 

“Please.” 

He growls, barely pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs before he’s taking his heavy cock in hand and pumping himself a few times. 

You take a cheeky look down and bite your lip. 

He grins, “Like what you see?” 

The line would make you giggle in any other situation, but now your mouth is watering. You nod rapidly. 

“Oh,” he chuckles, spitting in his hand, “So that’s what makes you lost for words, I get it.” He smears his saliva over the head of his cock before he presses closer, guiding the tip to your folds. 

“You’re really-” You whine, gasping as he notches at your entrance and just glides inside. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body bucking unthinkingly as he pushes deeper. 

He groans deeply, sighing like this is his first drink of water after a long hot day. He slides his hands to your inner thighs, spreading you wider as he eases in.

“Jonathan,” you gasp.

“I know, I know, fuck, you’re so tight.” He lightly rocks his hip, sheathing himself in the last few inches. 

You whine, licking into his mouth when he kisses you hungrily. He thrusts experimentally, easing out a fraction before he pushes back in. 

“How do you like it?” He mutters against your lips, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. 

“I don’t mind,” you manage to say, your voice barely there. 

He snorts, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist again as he takes hold of your hips in a firm grip. “Tell me if you want something.” He groans, pulling out and then plunging back in. “Want to make you come again.” 

You nearly shriek, throwing your head back and managing, somehow, to keep your voice muffled as he sets a brutal pace. 

He bucks into you rapidly, shaking the cutlery on the drainer by the sink with every deep thrust. The toaster jumps with every buck of his hips into yours. The sound of your slick echoing as you coat his cock.

“You look so fucking hot when you come,” he groans. “So fucking wet.” He pounds into you, sweat beading in his hairline, the way you grab at him and whine setting his blood ablaze. 

His pubic bone smacks against your clit with every thrust, his cock rolling against your walls and pushing impossibly deeper. 

Something in you wants to break, needs to snap and flood out as he keeps rhythm, your body moving in time with his desperately. 

You bite at his neck, sucking a love bite into his skin and shivering when he tenses and growls. He pulls you back a fraction with one hand on your jaw, his eyes so dark, and licks into your mouth like you hold the secrets of the universe. 

You whimper, so needy for anything he’ll give - and he’ll give you everything. 

Pleasure pulses in your core, makes your pussy flutter and you’re so close you can taste the sweetness on your tongue. 

“Jonathan!”

“You gonna come on my cock? Gonna make a nice creamy mess?” He groans, his balls tightening. “Want to feel you, please.” 

You gasp, sobbing silently as your orgasm is ripped from you. Pleasure explodes along your nerves, wiping out any other thought as he drowns you and revives you in the same instant. 

“Shit.” Jonathan’s hips stutter, his mouth open as your walls squeeze and suck him deeper, milking him for every single drop. He comes with a deep groan, emptying rope after rope of hot, thick cum inside. 

He clings onto you as he finishes, hazy for a moment with the strength of his orgasm. 

You breathe hard, he can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

Lightly he sucks on your neck, licking the salt from your skin. He kisses your temple. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week.” You tease, exhausted, and he chuckles.

“I’ll wait on you hand and foot while you recover.” He smiles when you look up at him, stroking your cheek as he kisses you softly, reverently. 

“Honestly, was that alright?” He mutters, a pang of worry settling under his ribs.

You snort, and kiss him deeply, stroking your fingers through his beard. “Fucking amazing.” 

He grins. “Do you want to do it again sometime? Maybe in a bed after I’ve bought you dinner? I’ll even watch that Terrifier film with you.” 

You giggle and nod. “I’d like that.” 

He tries to help you down, but you end up helping him. His jeans have twisted around his calves and he nearly falls to a heap on the floor. 

“My hero,” he mutters as you pull them off and kiss his thigh. “We’re lucky Ava didn’t wake up when we were… can you imagine me falling over is the thing that actually wakes her? She’ll need therapy for years after seeing her dad naked on the kitchen floor with his jeans around his ankles.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to stop your fit of laughter and he grins as he helps you back to your feet.

“I love hearing you laugh.” He lightly touches your cheek. “Do you want to take a shower?” He gives you a cheeky smile. “With me? You can stay over… if you want, I mean. No pressure.” 

You smile and nod. “I’d like a shower. With you. And sleep over.” 

He grins, wrapping his arms around you. 

Thank you for reading!

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[blackkatmagic]

Can I ask why you're so strongly against emojis as comments?

So there are...two parts to this answer. One is in the frame of like...my brain interprets someone dropping an emoji as basically the equivalent of a like. "I was here, but I didn't like what you created enough to say anything about it." And I get that, truly. But due to physical and mental health things in my recent life, writing has been hard. Getting that kind of response is super disheartening, even if I know logically that most people don't see emoji comments the same way I do.

The other part is that I'm old. I've been in fandom for a long time - I was on email lists writing ST fanfic, and then in weird subgroup forums where you were only allowed to write certain things the mods felt were "canon-supported", and then finally on more mainstream sites like ffnet and AO3. Fandom's always been a community for me, right from the first. I would not still be writing if it hadn't been for the handful of fans who were exceptionally kind and encouraging to a nerdy German girl who wrote in bad English and had weird ideas for plotlines and talked too much. They were the people who kept me going, having conversations with me and leaving kind comments on objectively bad fics and getting jazzed about the same things as me.

In fandom as a whole, emoji comments are a very new phenomenon. I've gone back to look, and they only started becoming common about two years ago. And now, before I asked people not to leave them, they were rapidly becoming the majority of the comments I received.

Again, I get why. It's an easy way to show appreciation. But it's also a complete lack of engagement. It means someone liked something! But as the writer you have no idea what. There's no community to it, just bland consumption of the content you're rolling out. No one is talking about fandom, they're just taking. And I see my hit counts. I know that's always happened, but it's getting to be more and more of a thing. Emoji spamming on every single chapter of a 70-chapter fic might feel, to the commenter, like they're being super supportive, but it's also less impactful for a writer and a fellow fan than a person who leaves one comment that says something they liked about the plot or the writing style or some neat flip on a canon trope.

So yeah. Basically it's a "get off my lawn" thing about how the youngsters in fandom have no appreciation for the effort artists and writers and the like put in, but. I don't think I'm wrong, given the way things are trending.

Anyway. Reblog things, comment on things, send people asks, interact with things if you want fandom to keep going, my dudes. Otherwise it's going to die out. And people dropping emojis instead of words 99 times out of 100 is a symptom of that.

[rogueddie]

Disabled Steve / Eddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🦻

give me a sign

findmeinthewychelm

It was sweet torture the way Steve was pining over him. Robin was sick of listening to him talk about Eddie, but she also hadn’t stopped him yet.

Words : 4,235 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

what would you trade the pain for (i'm not sure)

Library_of_Gage

Steve doesn't bother anyone with his chronic pain; it's something he'd rather keep to himself. And then it spikes in the Upside Down, in front of Eddie Munson, and Steve slowly starts to learn that, sometimes, sharing what hurts does help.

Words : 8,230 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Our Love is Shown in the Letting Go

Xxbottlecapxx

Steve’s mother comes home and has to deal with the fact that she has no idea who her son is, and maybe never will.

Words : 10,189 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Not Rated

AO3 : x

Who Am I to Say What Any of This Means?

IndigoFudge

Eddie’s eyebrows are raised. He’s speaking deliberately. “My first grade teacher set up a meeting with Wayne and told him she thought I had autism. So Wayne took me to the doctors and it turned out she was right.”

He is still looking at Steve. Oh. Steve’s been staring at him like an idiot for forty seconds instead of acknowledging this important, incredibly personal detail that he has just shared. Steve remembers eye contact––one, two, three––then answers. “That’s cool.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, carefully. “Have you ever been tested? Because I’ve been noticing… When I look at you, I kinda see some signs.”

Words : 7,371 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

she'll know me crazy, soothe me daily (better yet, she wouldn't care)

jewishrat420

Eddie doesn’t really cry about this anymore. He’s long since shed his own personal tears of pity, spent enough time mourning a different life. He’s accepted it, for the most part, doesn’t really give a shit about being normal or whatever. No one’s normal.

But this…Eddie’s not used to this. He’s never had someone hold his face in their hands, look him dead in the eyes and say, “Eddie Munson. For better or for worse, and fuck, I know this is worse, I want to know you.”

Words : 3,988 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

the beginning of a bad joke

alligator_writes

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

Words : 7,083 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

I Took The Good Times, I’ll Take The Bad Times (I Take You Just The Way You Are)

steddieeddie

In 1984, Eddie Munson told Steve he was going to marry him one day laying in the quiet confines of Steve’s room.

In 1985, they broke up. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because Steve thought they had to. They spent almost an entire year apart, hurting, wondering about what could have been.

In 1986, Steve Harrington was almost fatally injured in the final attack against The Upside Down, against Vecna. He spent seventy six days comatose, and then almost an entire year in the hospital learning how to be a person again. He learns how to open and close his hands, hold things, and how to feed himself again. Steve learns how to stand, how to walk, going from walker to cane by the time he is allowed to go home.

In 1987, he did just that. He goes home.

It was a slow process. Way slower than Steve wanted it to be, but it was worth it.

Sure, his hands were never going to work the same, there was constant pain in his arms and left leg, and he would never walk without a cane, but at least he’s alive.

He made it.

That was what mattered.

Words : 30,101 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi😊 i hope you're having a nice day!

Could i request a Larissa/21-22 Student reader(young teacher if you're not comfortable writing it with a student)fic with prompts 1 and 50 please? (Smut)

R have a big crush on Larissa. One night, she was walking past Larissa's room when she heard moans, she couln'd believe what she was hearing, she stopped and decided to take a peace of paper and write #50 on it with a 💋 with her lipstic (yea she's dumb like that), not writing her name and slip it under Larissa's door and ran back to her dorm. Larissa had no idea who could've wrote that and she was very embarassed that someone heard her..yk... The next day when Larissa walked past R in the hallway, she thought she saw a weird look in R's face and then she saw the lipstic, that lipstic, and it just clicked in her head. She always thought R was a bit of a tease with her but she never thought anything about it, but now.. Larissa decided to go to R's dorm, not knowing what she would do when she'll reach it. And what she heard throught that door, she thought that maybe she could pay R back for what R has done to her.😉 She openned the door slowly so R won't hear her and closed the door behind her, then she wispered #1. And then it would end up full of smuth, you can add as many kink as you want, even toys if you like, please?😊 (was this request too specific? I hope not😕)

Thank you if you decide to write it, i really love your fics and i really wanted to ask one too! And thank you even if you don't, for reading this!💋

A way too shy anon😅

i took some liberties with your request, i hope you don't mind! i made reader a 27yo phd student and it's a non-magical au! also..... i know i was probably expected to write a short, smutty thing, but before i knew it had a plot and it was 4000+ words whoopsie please don't hesitate to leave a comment on ao3, it makes my heart sing! <3

without further ado, enjoy some larissa x reader smut :) tags: car sex, mommy kink and idk how to tag adkjfshgd

You walk through the dark, empty corridor that leads to Professor Weems’ office. Most people have retired for the evening — it’s late, way too late for an official meeting, but given that lately you’ve been getting rather friendly, you hope she will excuse the informality. You know you will probably find her there, as she often works long into the night — and you really need her help with this chapter. The deadline for your PhD is rapidly approaching and you are still nowhere near done. 

She truly is a great mentor — always happy to meet with you and answer any questions you have, ready to spend hours going through your work and analysing materials you brought her. You somehow always end up spending a lot of time together — more often than not ending up in deep and heated discussions about various subjects (that sometimes relate to your work, and sometimes don’t) after you’ve finished discussing your thesis. You feel like you could talk to her the entire day without getting tired — she is remarkably intelligent, knowledgable on many subjects — her taste in art exquisite, and her takes are often unique. She always leaves you with several book recommendations (“Read this, darling, I am very curious what you will think about it,” she usually says and writes down a title or two, “read it when you find the time for it, of course — you have a thesis to write,” she winks — you somehow always find the time, sometimes sacrificing those few precious hours of sleep). 

Larissa Weems is also very, very attractive. She is an unusual looking woman — very tall, imposing, with platinum blonde hair and a peculiar fashion sense — she dresses like a movie star from the 1940s — but she is ridiculously charismatic, expressive, charming. Her laugh is contagious, her eyes bright and sparkling — you can’t be blamed for being absolutely enamoured with her.

You thought about asking her out once you get your PhD— age difference be damned. You are a 27 year old woman — you are free to do as you please. It’s just that, well — she is your mentor,  at least for now, and even if she wasn’t, she is just way out of your league. You don’t even know if she likes women, (probably not, knowing your luck) — and if she does, there is no way she would like you (even if you did have a very interesting discussion about sapphic undertones in The Marriage of Figaro — that scene between Susanna, Countess Rosina and Cherubino is rather… sexually charged — she seemed to share your opinion).

Lately, you feel your relationship has reached a deeper level — your meetings would almost always end in a nearby bar, where you’d relax with a glass of wine and continue your conversation late into the evening. Last time, she got slightly tipsy and became rather touchy-feely (she seems to be one of those people who are get very affectionate when drunk)— putting a hand on your shoulder, brushing against your leg under the table (then immediately apologising and pulling away), and when you got back to campus, she hugged you before parting ways. You can still recall very vividly how warm and soft she was and how she smelled faintly of sweet perfume and red wine. Since then you can’t stop imagining her touch — in very inappropriate ways. You try your hardest not to get too invested, though — she is your mentor, first and foremost. 

For all those reasons, you conclude she won’t be terribly upset at you if you barge into her office at this late hour. Worst case scenario, she tells you she’s too busy right now. 

You are just about to knock on her office door when something stops you dead in your tracks — a sound.

A moan.

You stand in front of the door. You hear nothing for a couple of seconds and almost knock again, certain you’ve imagined it (because why would anyone be moaning here at this hour?), but then you hear it once more.

It’s coming from her office. Is she with someone (your heart sinks at the thought, and you immediately scoff at yourself — as if you ever had a chance)? 

You know the appropriate thing would be to leave immediately, but something keeps you there, standing in front of the door, listening. 

The moans continue, and there is no doubt about it — that is her moaning, and there is no one else with her. It’s very clear what she is doing.

You should leave, but you stand there, frozen, listening. You don’t really want to go. 

Her moans sound heavenly — they send delicious jolts straight to your core. You can’t help but wish you were the one making her moan. 

Later, when you get back to your room, you don’t know what possessed you to do what you did. Might have been sleep deprivation, caffeine overdose, or lack of proper meals from days of working on your thesis non-stop, might be that she is the most attractive woman you have ever had the pleasure of knowing and her moans were just too much for your tired brain to handle — but you take a piece of paper out of your notebook and write a very inappropriate thing on it.

I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong — it's your moans.

You stare at the note for a couple of seconds. The moans coming from her office are getting louder — she must be getting close to… 

…your brain short-circuits at the thought.

Without thinking, you place a kiss on the piece of paper, leaving a coral-coloured lip-print on it. 

Inside her office, Professor Weems keens. 

You slip the paper underneath her door and run back to your room. 

You continue working through the night, falling asleep on your desk around 5am. You wake up at 8, and by then the whole episode feels like it might have been a fever dream.

You still need her help with the chapter, however, so you send her en email asking if she could squeeze you into her schedule today. You get an answer almost immediately.

I am terribly busy today, but I could see you during lunch break. We could eat out together and go over the chapter, if you’d like. Please send it to me beforehand so I can read through it and make notes! :-) 

Sent from my iPhone

(You find her boomer smileys very endearing.)

You try your best not to think about last night’s events. You are lucky she can’t recognise your handwriting, given that you always write everything on your laptop. 

You steal an hour of sleep, take a shower and put on some lipstick and mascara before leaving to meet her at cafeteria for lunch. If you’re lucky, you will succeed at pretending last night never happened.

You are not lucky.

You can’t stop staring at her mouth as she talks, as she chews her lunch, imagining all types of lewd sounds coming from it. It’s downright erotic, the way her lips move — no one should look that sexy chewing food.

“Darling? Are you with me?” she asks, making you snap out of your inappropriate daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit spacey today,” you answer, embarrassed, wondering if she caught onto your staring.

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten in the last couple of days, darling?”

“Uhm… in the last three days, I think I got about ten hours combined.”

“You really should take better care of yourself.”

“I know, but there’s just so much work to be done,” you sigh. “Is it supposed to be this hard to get your PhD?”

Professor Weems chuckles (the loveliest sound). “I’m sorry to inform you that it is — at least if you want to do it properly.”

“How was it for you? When you were getting your PhD, I mean? It’s hard for me to imagine you going around disheveled and sleep deprived. You always look so put together.”

“Ah, darling, it’s one of the perks of reaching a certain age — you can finally afford some of life’s little luxuries, such as sleeping six to eight hours a nigh. However, I absolutely did go around disheveled and sleep deprived. I was living off of caffeine and salted crackers — I was a rather pitiful sight. I’m glad I did it, but I’d never go back.”

“So you’re telling me life is easy in your forties?” you tease.

“I said easier, not easy. I do still get terribly stressed about things. I was rather stressed yesterday, as a matter of fact. I have so many things to do today, and I will be working late again.”

“And what do you do to relieve the stress?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know very well what she did yesterday to relieve the stress.

“Oh, this and that. Usually I watch something that takes my mind off work.”

(“Porn?” you think.)

“I think we should get going though, darling — lunch break is almost over. Let me just fix my makeup,” she says and pulls her signature red lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag. She fixes the edges of her lipstick expertly.

“Do you need to fix your lipstick, darling?” she asks, handling you the mirror.

“Oh, I might, actually. Thanks.”

Only when you’re done fixing your makeup and you hand the mirror back to her do you realise she has just watched you put on the same lipstick you used to leave a lip-print on that wildly inappropriate note you slipped under her door. 

You look at her, your stomach twisting with anxiety, searching for any sign of recognition on her face.

Her face is unreadable, but you wonder if she holds eye contact with you a little longer and a little more intensely than usual. You might just be imagining things, though — you are terribly sleep deprived.

“Thank you, darling,” she says, giving you a bright smile. “Shall we?”

The cafeteria door is a bit narrow, so you step back to let her pass first, but she puts a hand on your waist and gently pushes you past her. Your shoulder brushes against her as you do so. Being this close to her makes your heart beat faster and your limbs turn to jelly.

You look up at her (she is so tall). She’s smiling at you. It’s a bright, toothy smile that makes your insides melt and your brain become mush. 

“I will be working late tonight, so if you need any help you know where to find me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t wanna bother you.”

“I can spare an hour for my favourite PhD student.”

“Your only PhD student.”

“You should just accept the compliment, darling.” She squeezes your shoulder and winks. “Good luck with your research. Try to squeeze in an afternoon nap. Ta-ta!”

She turns around and walks in the direction of her office, leaving you standing in front of the cafeteria like an idiot. As she walks away, you stare at way her hips move in the tight skirt pencil skirt she’s wearing. After a couple of seconds, you realise your mouth is open, so you quickly close it before anyone notices you are behaving like a horny teenager. 

You slowly drag yourself to your room. As you sit down and start going through the notes she gave you during lunch, your thoughts keep drifting to her ass in that pencil skirt. You sigh.

This is going to be a long day.

By the time evening comes, you are nowhere near finished with the chapter that was giving you grief yesterday. You know what needs to be done and you have finally found the right source to support your argument, but you have a hard time concentrating, and that makes you work in an excruciatingly slow manner. Your thoughts are scattered and you keep thinking about the deadline that looms over your head. Stress and sleep deprivation are truly starting getting to you (it also doesn’t help that your thoughts keeps drifting to Professor Weems and her tight pencil skirt). You wonder if you should take a quick power nap, but you are so caffeinated and anxious you doubt you could sleep if you tried, despite being exhausted, so you continue to push through.

It’s around 9pm that you hear a knock on your door. Before you can react in any way, the door opens and Professor Weems is standing in your room.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, darling. I just wanted to check how you’re doing before I retire for the evening.”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I am nowhere near done with this chapter. I know what I need to do, it’s just that it’s going so painfully slowly.” You bury your head into your hands and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I’m being so whiny about this. I am just so stressed.”

Professor Weems approaches your desk and sits on it. Her thigh is just next to your head. You look up at her.

“Darling, you are working yourself too hard. I would tell you if I thought you are terribly behind with your research, but I honestly think you’ll make it. Don’t forget, I have to sign my name on your work — I would never lie to you about your progress to make you feel better — so trust me when I say you should let this go for tonight and come back to it when you’re less sleep-deprived.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, I am taking you out for a glass of wine. You should relax. It’s painful to watch you like this.”

You would never decline a glass of wine with Professor Weems, so before you know it you are sitting in that bar near campus having a glass of red wine (that turns into two and then into three glasses). The alcohol is getting to you, since you haven’t eaten that much today — you feel warm and fuzzy and slightly drunk.

Professor Weems seems to be getting tipsy as well, because she is getting very touchy with you again. She laughs at your stupid jokes (her laughter is one of your favourite things about her — loud and unabashed and melodious) and touches your shoulder often, sometimes letting her hand linger way longer than necessary. At some point in the evening her leg touches your own underneath the table.

She doesn’t move it, nor does she apologise. 

“You were right, Professor Weems, I did need this,” you say. “I’ve been feeling really out of it for the last couple of days.”

“Oh, I told you already, call me Larissa, darling. Professor Weems is so formal.”

“Are you big on formalities, Larissa?” you ask. You decide to try and push your luck — your confidence is not that high, but you are not an idiot. You are pretty certain she is flirting with you, unless you are completely delusional because of sleep deprivation. 

“Usually yes, but as you’ve probably already concluded by my taste in literature, I do think life would be terribly boring without letting the irrational, passionate streak in us win sometimes. As is the case in many literary classics — the plot simply couldn’t move forward without one of the characters disregarding propriety and doing something reckless and passionate.”

“I agree. I often wish I had the courage to do something like that in real life — my life would be so much more interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling. I do think you have what it takes.” She gives you a big, bright smile. “Oh, wait a second, darling, your lipstick is smudged. Here, let me.”

She leans forward and takes your chin in her hand, then brushes along the corner of your lip with her thumb. Her touch sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body hot with desire.

“That’s a lovely colour, darling. Coral suits you very well.”

She knows. She must know. 

She leans back into her seat. You decide to be bold.

“You know, I am still feeling a little bit tense. You said you like to watch something to relax — but I prefer more physical ways of relaxation. Do you have anything to recommend in that area?”

“Do give me an example, darling, what do you do to relax that’s physical?”

“Oh, I’m afraid what I do wouldn’t be appropriate to engage in at my workplace.”

There is a definite red tinge to Larissa’s cheeks.

“What’s life without a little excitement?”

“Very boring, I suppose.”

For a couple of seconds, there is silence. You are looking at each other, both of your cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol. The tension in the air is thick and heavy.

The next thing she says takes you by surprise. You didn’t expect her to be that forward.

“Tell me, darling, did it turn you on when you heard me yesterday?”

“I—” you open and close your mouth like a fish. You can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth — to hear her say something like that is something straight out of a wet dream, something that would only happen in your wildest fantasies. 

“I usually do it to relax — it’s a purely physical thing, but lately I have found myself thinking about you,” she continues. “Tell me, do you think of mewhen you touch yourself?”

You look her straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

You look at each other for a moment. Desire lingers in the air. She is first to break the silence. 

“Before this escalates any further, I want you to know that the last thing I’d want is to put you in a difficult situation or make you feel like you are obligated to do something. If you don’t want this, just say the word and we shall never mention it again.” 

She pauses. She seems nervous — you’ve never seen her nervous before.

“And please know that whatever you decide, it will not affect your thesis in any way. I would hate for you to be under the impression that this is transactional. I am genuinely interested in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, but I am ready to put that aside and prioritise our professional relationship if that is what you want.”

Your heart breaks as you decide to do the right thing.

“Maybe we should wait until I finish my thesis, and then… continue with this,” you say. “As much as I’d like to, it really wouldn’t be professional of us.”

“Of course. That would probably be best.”

She moves her leg under the table so that it’s no longer touching yours —- you can’t help but feel disappointed. There is a moment of awkward silence. She clears her throat. “We should probably go then, not let this escalate any further.”

“Yes,” you agree. “Let’s go.”

The walk to campus is silent and awkward. 

“It’s rather late,” you say. “I do hope buses still drive. The night lines are scarce in this part of town.”

“Oh, I can drive you home, if you want,” she says quickly. “I didn’t offer because I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I mean, if you want to. We will have to spend time a lot of time together until I finish my thesis, we might as well practice not being awkward around each other. Not that I wasn’t awkward before,” you say, attempting to lighten the mood. “You always made me nervous.”

She chuckles and the air seems less heavy. “I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“You’re not,” you say, but you don’t elaborate further (what you want to say is you look like a movie star, you are intelligent and absolutely brilliant and I am nervous because I have a huge crush on you — but that would be inappropriate given the circumstances).

The drive to your apartment is silent. The tension that built in the bar didn’t dissipate into thin air when you decided not to act on it — instead it intensified — it lingers around, hot and heavy, clouding your judgement, making you sweat even though it’s a chilly night.

She parks in a free spot just in front of your apartment building.

“I’m sorry, I acted very unprofessionally,” she starts. “As your mentor, I should have ignored your advances, but instead I flirted with you and encouraged you.”

Her red lips move in the most delicious way as she speaks, and you find yourself staring again. You remember the sound of her moans. It’s difficult to think about anything else.

“I feel terribly ashamed. I promise I will maintain a strictly professional demeanour from now o—”

You pull her into a bruising kiss. She squeaks (you find that adorable).

Pushing you away, she tries to be reasonable. “We shouldn’t,” she says.

“What’s life without a little excitement? What a novel without the protagonist disregarding propriety and pushing the plot forward?”

“I—”

“Please, Larissa, I believe you when you say my thesis won’t be affected. We are both adults. We want this. Tell me, do you want me?”

She looks at you. Desire dances in her eyes.

“Yes.”

That is all you need. 

You kiss her again, then climb over to her seat, somehow managing to straddle her lap. She abruptly pushes the car seat backwards to give you more room — you gasp in surprise and she swallows your gasp with a hungry kiss.

The way she kisses you is passionate, ravenous, desperate. You grind against each other, your hands are everywhere, and her skirt is already bunched up around her hips (the sight of her soft, white thighs in garters drives you crazy). It’s hot, it’s dirty, and it’s not something you thought a put together woman like herself would ever be caught dead doing.

“I never imagined you’d enjoy a dirty car fuck, Larissa,” you whisper into her ear as she kisses your neck. She bites it and you gasp. 

“And I never imagined you’d be such a naughty slut, grinding your pussy against my thigh, but here we are.” 

She makes even something that cheap and filthy sound delicious. It shouldn’t turn you on so much, but it does.

“Say that again,” you breathe out, continuing to grind against her thigh.

“You like it when mommy calls you a dirty slut, hm?” 

She grabs your hair with one hand and slides the other one down into your trousers, feeling your drenched underwear. 

“Mmm, fuck,” is the only thing you can say.

“So wet and needy for me already, darling?” she coos at you. “Tell me, did you imagine me doing this to you as you touch yourself, hm? Fucking you with my fingers, fast and hard, like a common whore?”

She slides her hand inside your underwear and pushes a finger into you, then, when she feels how wet you are, two. You whimper. She curls them and you cry out. “Say I’m mommy’s little whore. I want to hear it.”

“I— I’m mommy’s little whore, fuck—”

She starts fucking you, fast and hard, and there are no coherent thoughts left in your mind. She is grunting and groaning with you — it make you delirious with desire. You want to make her moan like she did last night.

You somehow manage to pull yourself together enough to bury your own hand between her soft thighs and feel her wetness. She moans as you circle her clit and her fingers lose their rhythm for a second, which allows you to put together a coherent sentence.

“Like that, mommy?” you breathe out. “Did you imagine this when you touched yourself yesterday?”

“Yes,” she whines, “please, don’t stop.”

You have no intention of stopping. You continue to circle her clit even as she starts to fuck you harder. Her moans are obscene and loud and for a second you remember that any passerby could see you, and probably hear you, but you don’t care. If anything, that turns you on even more.

What sends you over the edge is her orgasm. Her body tenses up, her moans become hoarser and strangled, and a combination of swearwords and moans mixed with your name leave her lips as she tips over the edge of ecstasy. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever witnessed. She tries to fuck you through her own orgasm, but she doesn’t manage to keep the relentless, steady pace she had set before. It doesn’t matter — you grind on her hand and cry out as you ride out intense waves of pleasure that make your limbs tingle.

She gently pulls her fingers out of you. You stay still for a while, wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, your faces buried in each other’s necks. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” you say after a while.

She nods against your shoulder. “It was.”

“Wanna do that again sometime… mommy?” you pull away, looking at her with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“If you call me that any time we aren’t fucking, I will end you.”

You laugh, and after a second she laughs as well. 

She is so pretty when she smiles — you love how those little lines around her eyes become more prominent.

“I should probably go, though. We are in the middle of the street and it’s like, 3am,” you say.

“Yes, you probably should.”

Before you go exit the car, you kiss goodnight. It’s the sweet and soft — it makes your heart flutter.

“Good night, darling,” she whispers as you get out of the car.

“Good night, Larissa,” you whisper as you watch her drive away.

As you brush your teeth, take a quick shower and get cozy in your bed, the only thing you can think about is Larissa. When you fall asleep, you dream of her sweet kisses. 

When you wake up in the morning, you feel well-rested for the first time in weeks.

[mrowmrowmrow9]

unfinished Crisis AU snippet

This is an unfinished fic built off of the last prompt fill I did (x). I haven't worked on it in a while and was considering it fully abandoned until @madeunmexico left a comment on ao3 asking to see the full story and now my interest has been renewed slightly? I give it like a 50/50 chance of being finished 😅 Anyways, here's what I had including the original microstory.

_

Barry. Kate. Kal. Fear on their faces. Blood on Oliver’s. Shadow demons hurtling towards them—

A familiar voice. “Kara.”

A harsh whisper, bordering on frantic. “Kara. Hey.”

She wakes up screaming, limbs flailing, fighting against the hands pulling at her and the arms wrapping around her middle.

“Shh. It's okay. It was just a dream. You’re okay.”

Kara gives up struggling and lets herself be held, choking on tears. She knows that voice, she does, but her mind dismisses the thought as soon as it forms. It can’t be him. Can’t be. She realizes for the first time that it isn’t nighttime, the reason everything’s dark is because her eyes are squeezed shut, so tightly it hurts. She opens them slowly, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light.

She’s in her apartment, wearing pajamas. That doesn’t make sense. What makes even less sense, if that’s possible, is that when Kara opens her eyes and raises her head and blinks to clear her vision so she can see who’s holding her, she’s met with a face that she’s only seen in dreams for the past two and a half years. 

Mon-El. 

When Kara sees him, she throws up. 

Actually throws up, for the first time in her adult life—super-speed has never been more helpful as she makes it to the bathroom just in time to hurl the contents of her stomach into the toilet. The person that looks like Mon-El and sounds like Mon-El and smells like Mon-El but cannot possibly be Mon-El comes running in after her. It’s too late to hold her hair back and she hears the faucet running instead.

“Here, do you want some water?”

She takes it automatically and drains the glass in one gulp, presses a hand to her head with a groan. Crisis. Oliver. The Monitor—she has to get her thoughts in order. How did she get here? Also very important: “What. What are you doing here?” she manages to get out.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I know it’s early, Rhonda’s girlfriend is in town and she asked me to trade shifts.” Possibly-Mon-El checks his watch. He’s fully dressed; he must have heard her from the kitchen before leaving the apartment. That he…seems to live in? Was staying in? Nothing makes sense. “Crap, I should probably get going. Unless you need me to stay?” He looks at her expectantly, those warm gray eyes filled with concern.

“No, you’re fine,” Kara says quickly and closes her eyes, her head throbbing. I meant, what are you doing in my apartment? In this century, for that matter? Whatever. The sooner he’s gone, the sooner she can figure out what the hell is going on.

“Alright.” He sighs, reaching out to gently brush her hair off her shoulder. “I hope the morning gets better. Let me know if you need anything—I think we still have some fruit salad left from yesterday. You said it helped with the nausea, right?”

She nods absently without registering his words, and watches him go. With some deliberate stalling while brushing her teeth, she manages to hide out in the bathroom until he leaves. But not without calling out “Love you!” through the door and Kara nearly has a heart attack. What kind of fucked-up dream could she be having? This cannot be real. It can’t be.

Her appetite eventually comes back, with it the realization that she’s seriously late for work, and as she grabs the container out of the fridge to bring with her the light glints off her left hand, catching her eye. 

Kara has always thought of herself as a reasonably intelligent person. This belief is somewhat shaken by the realization that it’s taken her this long to notice the engagement ring on her finger.

_

He doesn’t suspect anything. Why would he? She did seem oddly confused to see him, but dreams can be disorienting. Theirs certainly are—dying families, exploding planets, backstabbing allies. And that’s on top of everything…else.

He just hopes she’s happy. He hopes it’s nothing he did.

_

So, Nia’s clueless. Who isn’t? Still disoriented as all hell, Kara returns to the Catco building to find her coworkers exchanging tearful embraces. It looks like a middle-aged woman with curly hair whom Kara has never seen before in her life is leaving Catco for a job in Utah. At least, according to the conversation Kara listens in on in an attempt to figure out how to act normal.

Evidently she doesn’t do a very good job, because Nia frowns at her while she’s discreetly taking Brainy’s super-strength Advil and asks, “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Julie?”

“R-Right, yeah,” Kara stammers, heart pounding, and awkwardly makes her way over.

This Julie is clearly under the impression that she and Kara are close friends, judging by the tight, rose-scented embrace Kara’s enveloped in before she can blink.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Julie rushes over to the desk that must have been hers and pulls a large paper bag out from underneath it. “I know I’m going to miss the party, so I wanted to give you this before I leave. They’re not new, but they’re still in good shape and, well, we don’t really need them anymore—I thought you and Mike would appreciate some extras!” She hands the bag to Kara, smiling expectantly.

Kara doesn’t think she’s ever been more confused in her life. She takes the bag, because what else is there to do, and cautiously peers inside. 

Baby clothes. Little socks and hats and a onesie with little ducks on it—great Rao, why is her vision getting blurry? “W-What are these for?” Kara asks, almost demands really, frantically blinking the tears away.

Now it’s Julie’s turn to be confused. “Well…the baby, of course!”

The fucking what now? “Right…of course,” Kara says slowly, fumbling for the right thing to say. “That’s so generous, thank you.”

“No problem!” Julie smiles and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m really going to miss you, Kara.”

Kara watches her walk away, gaping openly.

One thing is clear: she needs to talk to J’onn. Immediately.

_

They’re out on the balcony together, standing a careful distance apart and it feels like old times in the worst way possible. 

On a masochistic impulse, Mon-El plays back a moment from only twenty-four hours earlier.

He’s drifting off to sleep in their bed, drowsy and content with Kara in his arms and his hand over her belly right where the baby grows and he thinks to himself, a life like this is too good to be true. And yet it is. He should have known better.

Three years ago Mon-El returned to the 21st century with a wife by his side and claimed he felt nothing for Kara. That couldn’t have been further from the truth, but now it’s the last thing she remembers of him. The irony.

She doesn’t remember how he came back for her, or rather refused to leave again, even as she told him he was being selfish. She doesn’t remember how he said, I know. But one of us has to be. And we both know it was only ever going to be me. She doesn’t remember how they found their way back to each other, how he asked her to marry him and she said yes and their happiness was so great they just had to share it, create their own little family. It sounds like a fairy tale to him now, and he realizes that maybe that’s all it ever was.

Mon-El blinks back the tears that arise at the thought, swallowing down the lump in his throat. It isn’t the time for that now. He’s already cried on Alex’s shoulder, had J’onn explain everything to him a hundred times over. Right now, an emotional response from him is not what Kara needs. “I went over and got my things from the apartment,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. “J’onn says I can stay with him for a while.”

“Okay.” Kara exhales. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to kick you out, I just—”

“No, it’s fine.” He meets her eyes and tries to muster some kind of half-smile. “It’s a lot, I get it.”

She nods, biting her lip, and the turns to him abruptly. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

Thank Rao.

He rethinks agreeing to go to the apartment almost as soon as the door closes behind him. Everywhere he looks is a reminder of their life together, the one that Kara doesn’t remember.

She wrings her hands together. “Before we talk about anything else, there’s something I need to know.”

Mon-El braces himself. “Okay.”

Kara draws in a deep breath, and then blurts out, “Do we have a child?”

There it is. “No,” he says carefully. “Not…yet. But…” He licks his lips and steps forward, gently setting a hand on her belly. He watches the realization dawn in her eyes.

“I’m…”

“Yeah.” He retracts his hand and lets it hang awkwardly at his side. “Twelve weeks.”

She puts a hand on the countertop as if to steady herself and says nothing, eyes wide.

“I’m…sorry I didn’t say anything before,” Mon-El adds helplessly, ducking his head to try and meet her gaze. “I wasn’t sure if you already knew, or if physical conditions even carried over for the Paragons, but then I remembered you threw up this morning so I just figured—”

“Shh—stop talking.” Kara holds a hand up, closing her eyes. 

He shuts up.

She breathes out, slowly. “I-I’m sorry.”

“…It’s okay,” he says awkwardly.

“I just, I need some time to…think.”

“Right. Yeah, of course.” Mon-El takes a step back, clears his throat. “I, um. I’ll go. We can…talk more tomorrow?”

Kara nods absently, staring past him like he isn’t even there.

He shuts the door behind himself, and manages to avoid breaking down until the elevator. Small victories.

[absurdthirst]

A Family for Christmastide {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 13k

Warnings: Fingering, selfishness, withdrawn consent, masturbation, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, bondage, cream pie, babies, breastfeeding, oral sex (male receiving), cum swallowing

Comments: Needing shelter for the winter, a Spaniard arrives on your doorstep. You offer him warmth, food and comfort in your bed as long as he pleasures you first.

A/N: We loved the idea of Pero not being skilled in anything but being a three pump chump and learning how to give head. And we had to make it Christmasy, because you know...reasons

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

Pero grunts when he gets another “no” from an innkeeper. It’s the eve before Christmas and he is searching for somewhere to stay before the snow falls. He wants somewhere to settle down for the winter, wait it out until he can continue on his journey to sell his sword. 

“Fuck.” He grunts when he is sent back out into the cold and he huffs, adjusting the satchel on his shoulder full of everything he has in the world. 

“My friend, there may be an option. A woman…she has a farm. She has no husband. She may require…assistance.” He hints and Pero grunts, knowing what the man is implying but you may allow him to stay for his coins…maybe his cock if he’s lucky. He follows the man’s directions and makes his way down the path, knocking on your door.

Stirring the soup hanging in the large pot over the hearth, you straighten when you hear the knock on the door. Groaning to yourself as you set the spoon down and prepare to rebuff another ‘suitor’ now that the temperatures are falling and men are starting to idle. You hate it, how they seem determined to get you - or rather, your land. Thinking they can marry you and take what is yours since it’s unheard of for a woman to not be protected by any man. You notice your basket of wood is low and decide that once you shoo away the eligible bachelor, you will fill it up before the sun sets. “What do you want?” You demand as you open the door. 

“Señora, buenas noches. I - my name is Pero Tovar-” 

You huff and slam the door in his face with a “I am not interested in a husband.” 

Pero frowns, knocking on the door again. “Señora-” He leans in to speak through the door, “I am not here to ask for your hand, I am here to ask for shelter. I have coins. I can assist before the snow falls. I simply ask for somewhere to stay for the winter.”

You stop short, tilting your head in surprise that he is not wanting to marry you. Turning back around, the door opens again and you watch his face relax in relief that you are willing to talk to him. The temperature is dropping rapidly and the inn must be full if he is here. Probably one of the villagers sent him. “Coins?” You ask, raising a brow. Coins would be nice, allow you to not rely on what you can grow and trap when you need costly material or if your harvests are bad. “Show me.”

Pero nods, untying the coin purse from his belt and he opens it to display the gold coins inside. “I have plenty for my keep, señora. I just need a warm place to sleep and I will be gone before the snow melts.” He promises, knowing you won’t want him hanging around.

You gauge his appearance. He’s a mercenary. A sell sword. Surprised that he did not decide to stay in a brothel, you wonder if it was too costly, you’ve heard some men grumble they are charging too much for a tumble. His armor is dirty, matching his hair and his unsightly beard, but he’s tall, broad. You bite your lip and open your door wider. “Come inside and we will talk, but I make no promises.”

Tovar nods once, knowing he is at your mercy but he’s not prepared to beg. He wipes off his boots as he walks inside your humble cottage, the fire immediately warming him and he groans at the smell of the soup you are cooking. It’s heaven and you know it judging by your swaying hips. You’re beautiful, undeniably so, but he will respect you and your home. This is not a brothel.

You turn, watching him assess your house. It’s not a greedy gaze as he looks over everything you have, so you feel better about letting him in your home. “Where are you from Pero Tovar?” You ask, gesturing for him to sit down. Before he can answer, there is another knock on the door, this one much more demanding and you groan as you hear your name called out. It’s Jacob, the stable master. He wants your lands and you, something you are less than keen to give him. “Fuck.” You hiss, rushing to the door and opening it to the tall, lanky man. “No, I will not marry you.” You greet him with the same answer you have given him everyday he has come pounding on your door.”

Pero watches you slam the door in the man’s face and he can’t help but chuckle at your feisty nature. You huff, turning back towards Pero, “now, where were we?” 

He shifts from one foot to the other, “we were discussing my staying here in exchange for coins.” He reminds you, curious about the reason why you slammed the door in the suitor’s face.

“Yes.” You nod and start walking back towards your soup. You know a hungry man when you see one and he’s practically drooling at the scent of the food. “Two of your gold coins.” You decide, reaching for a bowl and your spoon to start ladling it up. “As long as you don’t mind swinging an axe for fire wood or bringing some fresh meat to cook.” You fill the bowl to the brim and turn around to set it on the table and arch a brow at him. “Nights between my tights included.”

Pero is pleased at the first part until you finish your terms and he’s choking on his own spit. “Ex-excuse me señora, did you - I don’t - my coins are for your home, not for - not for that.” He flusters, knowing he wouldn’t take advantage of you when you are kindly offering to let him stay in your home and you aren’t married or a whore.

You hum, expecting the mercenary to jump at the chance to have a hot cunt. You shrug slightly. “Fine, if you don’t wish to bury your cock in a hot cunt, that is your own business.” You tell him bluntly, finding men prefer plainly speaking amongst themselves but are always shocked when a woman does it. “However, when you leave, I will tell the villagers that we married. Prevent the offers or demands or marriage everyday. You seem dangerous enough they will think twice about doubting it.”

Tovar rubs his hands on his leathers, shocked at how forward and blunt you are for a woman. “You wish to be married to me?” He frowns, confused by you. You don’t want to be married but you want sex and yet you want to be married to him. “Please explain, señora. I- I don’t not understand.” He swallows, looking down at the soup you placed in front of him. It smells delicious but he won’t eat until you explain.

“The men- they keep prodding me to marry them and I have no desire for it.” You move over to the bread and pick up the rest of the loaf you had baked two days ago to set it down on a plate in front of him as well. “They don’t want me- or just me. They want the land, they want to control what I have.” You roll your eyes and huff. “I am no maiden and I like sex. It feels good and I enjoy pleasure. So saying you are my husband will keep them from chasing me and while you are here, we can feel good together. When the snows melt, you can go on your way and continue to sell your sword.”

Shocked at your proposal, Pero stares at you, “you want to - you want me to stay and keep your heath burning and your cunt filled before I depart and you tell your villagers that I am your husband?” He asks and you nod, shrugging, “do you have a problem with that?” He shakes his head, “not at all. I am happy to serve.” He smiles, pleased at his luck. “I am yours for the winter, señora.” He winks, picking up the piece of bread and he digs in.

You get immense pleasure from the groans that he makes as he shovels food into his mouth. He’s a sloppy eater, but you account that to his lifestyle. There must be times where he feels like he must bolt his food down, so you turn and fill up your own bowl with soup and set it down across from him. “There is plenty more.” You assure him as he tears another hunk off the bread. “I will be baking more bread in the morning.”

“Señora-” Pero groans, “you are heaven sent.” He declares as he takes another bite of the bread before he shovels more soup into his mouth. He’s starving and he is enjoying this meal. He will eagerly give you his cock in exchange for more meals like this. It’s been so long since he had a home cooked meal that wasn’t in a tavern. “Why do you not wish to marry?” He asks, his own opinion being that every woman wanted to marry.

“Why would I?” You scoff slightly. “I marry and everything I have becomes his. In the eyes of the Church he could leave me in rags and beat me while he whores his days away at the brothels and there is nothing I can do.” You shake your head. “I do not wish to marry until a man comes along who can think of nothing but me.”

Tovar stares at you, your features are beautiful, especially in the moonlight, and he hums in agreement. “Men are incapable of keeping their cocks dry while away from their wife. It’s physically impossible.” He has no illusions of grandeur about being faithful to one’s wife but he also has a moral code. “That’s why I will not marry. I do not wish to see the disappointment on my wife’s face when she discovers I have been with another. I sell my sword. I travel. I cannot afford a wife, a home, a family. I am surviving and I will be punished in hell if I dragged an innocent woman into my life when she had expectations of me.”

“At least you are honest about it” You start to eat your food and look him over. Unable to really tell his features underneath all the hair, you want to offer him a bath but it is too late for that tonight. “However, I do not have to take a husband, so I will not.”

“I understand, señora. I will be your imaginary husband upon my departure.” He winks at you and you chuckle, tearing off another piece of bread. 

“It’s a deal. You may stay until the snow melts.” 

Tovar grins, pleased to hear he has a home for the winter, “if possible…tomorrow…I would like to bathe.”

“I will insist on it.” Thank God he is not the type to have a superstition about cleanliness. “Tonight I will pour a pitcher of water for you to clean up briefly and I will see how your tongue feels against my cunt before you fuck me.”

Pero shakes his head, “señora…I do not sample the cunt I am about to fuck. If you wish to have my cock, you shall have it but my tongue will remain my own.” He never licked the cunt of the whores he bought for the night and he shan’t start now.

Instead of frowning, you shrug. “Then I do not want your cock.” You tell him bluntly. “Most men last but a few moments and leave their women unsatisfied. I am not a woman you paid for pleasure, so none you shall have.” You tell him, spooning another mouthful of the soup into your mouth. Are you disappointed? Surely, but you are not going to play the whore and get nothing for yourself.

Pero sighs, “señora…I am unskilled in what you are asking. A man like me…I am not practiced in oral skills. It’s not what I’ve paid for. My first woman was a whore, she let me fuck her for thirty seconds and then she taught me how to control myself. I never tasted her cunt.” He confesses, knowing you won’t want him if he is unskilled.

“Do you think a woman is skilled the first time she takes a cock in her mouth or cunt?” You ask, amused by his confession. Sex is sloppy and can be fun, if you let it be. Enjoyable and addicting with the right person. “No matter, if you wish to not learn, that is your choice.”

Pero bites his lip, considering your words, and he sighs, “I would like to learn.” He admits,  “if you will have me.” He tells you, knowing it will be a long winter with just his fist when you are a beautiful woman offering him a warm bed and a warm cunt. Oral is hardly a deal breaker for him, he’s just unskilled.

“I will not push you to do anything you do not want.” You hum, but he shakes his head. It would be good for you to teach him something new. He could be very popular in the brothels. “However, if you use your mouth, you might find yourself not paying as much as your companions for a cunt each night.” You add, smirking slightly.

Pero nods, “that is true, hermosa.” He calls you beautiful because you are and his cock twitches at your smirk. “I will - I will earn my keep.” He promises with his own smirk before he picks up his bowl and slurps down the remainder of the broth.

The rest of the meal passes quickly, you get up and pour another bowl of soup for Pero. Setting down in front of him with a smile before you finish your own bowl. “You have a horse, I assume?” You ask, wanting to make sure the horse is taken care of. “I have room in the barn with the goat and chickens.”

“Sí Señora, I have a horse. I will place him in your stable before bedtime. You are a very good cook.” He compliments you, smiling before he digs into the next bowl. It’s been so long since he’s had a good meal and you are looking like an angel sent from heaven for him.

“Thank you.” You smile as you watch him for another moment. “I grow all the vegetables and herbs and the meat is one of my older hens.”

Pero hums, continuing to eat. When he’s finished, you take his bowl and he makes his way outside to handle his horse, ensuring the stallion is secure in the stable with feed. He comes back in with a shiver from the incoming storm to find you warming water for him.

“Tomorrow we will bring in more water for a proper bath but I know you wouldn’t want to bathe off in cold water.” You know you hate it and avoid it when possible unless the temperature is sweltering. “After you bathe, I can wash and mend any clothes that need repairing.” Once the snow blows in, you will need to find things to keep your mind and hands occupied. Most of your sewing happened during the winter months.

“Gracias señora.” He tells you with a soft smile, grateful to you for allowing him to be here and have this shelter during the harsh months ahead. Even if he has to pleasure you, it won’t be a hardship considering how beautiful you are. He strips off, uncaring of you seeing him since you will see him naked anyway.

You hum to yourself as you gather a crock of soap and rags for washing. He is broad, just like you expected. A hint of softness that you preferred over sinew and the scars that are scattered over his body speak to a harsh life lead spent in battles. You will clean up yourself but give him privacy to give himself a good scrubbing where necessary.

He can feel your eyes on him as he strips down, making him smirk before he grabs the rag, soaking it in the warm water as he scrubs off weeks of dirt from his skin. He groans at the feeling of freshness and wets the rag again, washing his cock and balls to ensure you would want to touch him. When he’s finished cleaning himself off, he walks into your bedroom to find you with a gown wrapped around you. “I’m clean, hermosa.”

You turn and look him over. “I see that you are.” You bite your lip as you take in the sight of his flaccid cock and watch him start to stir to life. Unwrapping the gown from your body, you toss it across a trunk to reveal that you are as nude as he is. Your own cleaning had been quicker, since it is a part of your nightly routine before bed and when you rise in the mornings. “I take it you are ready for your first lesson?”

Pero’s dark eyes trail along your body, biting his lip as he looks at you, admiring your breasts down to the curls between your legs. “Yes, señora.” His cock starts to harden at seeing you smirk and you pat the bed beside you. He shifts from one foot to the other before he confidently strides over to you, a smirk on his face as he hovers over you, leaning down to press his lips to yours, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth.

You shudder slightly, the hair from his beard tickling your skin but you don’t mind it. Tomorrow you will ask if he wants a trim and a shave. His tongue is insistent, making you think that it will feel good against your cunt. Reaching down, you wrap your hand around his hardening cock and squeeze him gently, making him groan into your mouth before you fondle his balls and feel how heavy they are.

Pero groans as you fondle him, his cock twitching and he reaches for your tit, squeezing it and pinching the nipple. “Hermosa.” He groans against your jaw while you continue to fondle him. He reaches for your waist, lifting you up onto the bed in the middle so he can spread your thighs. His cock is now hard and he grips it as he positions himself between your thighs.

“Wait.” Your thighs close and you are pushing him back and shaking your head. “I am not taking that cock until I’m ready.” You remind him. “I’m not a whore you’ve paid for a fuck.” You reach for his hand and guide it to the curls covering your sex. “Have you fingered a woman before?”

He huffs, “señora, I don’t - I want be inside of you.” He is impatient. It’s been a long time since he was inside of a hot cunt and he is eager to cum after so many months of his fist.

You nearly roll your eyes but manage to stop yourself. Deciding that flattery would be better to sue on this Spaniard rather than sarcasm. “I know you do, but your cock would hurt if I’m not ready.” You coo, biting your lip. “You have a large cock and it has been some time since I have taken a man.” 

Pero smirks at hearing he has a large cock. He concedes, trailing his hand along your thigh until he fingers your folds and he rubs your clit, knowing it’s pleasurable for women. His movements are awkward, unrehearsed since he is uneducated in female pleasure.

The man rubs your clit for nearly fifteen seconds before he is plunging two fingers into your cunt hard enough to make you gasp. It’s a frantic few pumps of his fingers, barely allowing your walls to stretch out to take them easier before he is pulling them free, shifting to his knees and grabbing his cock again. “No-” You shake your head, disappointed that he didn’t listen to what you wanted and is being selfish. “You can- this is not going to happen tonight obviously. You can take care of your pleasure because I will be taking care of mine.” You scoff as you move away from him and kick at his hip with your foot, pushing him away from you. 

Pero huffs in frustration but respects your decision. He shifts off of the bed, his cock now aching, and he walks over to the cot you set up for him in the corner of the room. Sitting down on it, he wraps his fingers around his cock, squeezing once before letting go. “I’m sorry señora. I am not - I am not trained for this.” He apologizes, knowing he should’ve let you lead.

You huff, annoyed and you shut your eyes. “Just fist your cock, Pero Tovar.” You tell him as you slide your own hand between your thighs, rubbing your clit and whimpering quietly when you find the perfect spot. “Tomorrow- we will- we will try to see if you- can listen.” You moan breathlessly, aware that you are pleasuring yourself while he is still awake as punishment for not being patient. 

Pero watches you, ashamed of his behavior as he starts to jerk his cock. Your cunt is glistening and he actually wants to taste you but that will have to wait until tomorrow. He grunts as he jerks his cock, groaning your name as he works himself towards his orgasm.

Your thighs shift and you hum as your hips start to roll up to meet your hand. "I could have- have stroked your cock while you did this." You pant out as you work your clit with your fingers. "Or when you licked my cunt- I could have- could have taken you in my mouth." You moan softly, feeling your folds get wetter.

“Mierda.” Pero curses himself for being so stupid and giving that up. He makes a promise to himself that he will learn how to pleasure you. He knows you’re a woman of your word and you will pleasure him. He simply has to give to you before you give to him. “Yo quiero - I want to learn, señora. Tomorrow - show - show me how to pleasure you.” He pleads, tightening his grip on his cock after he spits into his palm.

“You- you spit into your hand, to make it slicker.” You groan, “it is the same for when you pleasure a woman. Makes- makes it slick, wet. It hurts when you jerk your cock dry, does it- it not?” You ask, hoping to make him realize why it is important. “Im-imagine that pain inside you.” 

Tovar winces at the thought, understanding why you need to be prepared. “The - the whores I’ve fucked were already wet. I did not need to prepare them.” He explains, “you are not a whore, I promise…I will prepare you. However you require.” He vows, his dark eyes fixed on your cunt while you rub your clit.

“Good.” You open your eyes, looking down and finding him watching you. His hard cock is flushed and leaking, nearly purple as he pumps it in his fist. “We will- will spend many hours in bed this winter I think.” You predict, mouth opening and crying out in pleasure just a moment later. 

Pero hisses at your cry of pleasure, your thighs shaking and he hisses in response to the beautiful sound. “Fuck, hermosa.” He pumps his cock a few more times before he is spilling his seed onto the wooden floorboards and his fists.

You whine as you drag out your orgasm, chest heaving as your hips buck up. Watching the pearlescent cum spill over on his fingers in long spurts. Your fingers slow down and your hips shuffle back down to the bed as you pant. “Hmmmmm.” You sigh lazily as you pull your fingers from your cunt and lick them clean, used to your own taste. 

“Fuck.” Tovar groans as he works himself through his orgasm while you lick your fingers. He wants to bury his face in your cunt and taste for himself but he ruined his chance tonight. He has to make peace with that and accept his punishment. “Tomorrow.” He vows, finally releasing his cock and his hand is sticky from his seed.

Climbing off the bed, you pull your shift over your head and pull on your slippers before you grab some extra rags to set near the washbowl. “For you to clean up.” You murmur softly, striding past him to put the bar on the door and to have another dipper of water from the pail before you bank the fire. 

After working on cleaning himself up, Tovar cleans the floorboards and tosses the dirty rags in the corner with the others. He grabs his nightshirt and pulls it on, watching as you get into your bed and he follows suit on the cot in the corner. “Buenas noches, señora. Thank you for - for letting me stay.” He tells you before you nod, blowing out the candle by your bedside.

“Good night, Pero.” You murmur in response, wondering what he will look like under the mountain of hair he sports. “Tomorrow is a new day.” You hum in the darkness, quickly falling asleep after your orgasm.

****

When the sun shines into his eyes, Pero wakes with a groan. The cot is the nicest place he’s slept for months and he’s reluctant to get up but he also needs to earn his keep. After dressing, he finds you in the main living area at the fire. “Good morning hermosa, can I help?” He asks, knowing that today is a new day and he will make sure you are satisfied with him…in every way.

You look up from adding wood to the fire and smile. “Good morning.” You offer, standing and moving to the table where the bread you have kneaded is rising. “If you don’t mind checking the animals. I will drag the tub in and we can fill it.” The heavy wooden tube is leaning against the side of the house where you store it. It’s easier than trying to lift it onto the hook where your father had hung it. “I’ll chop wood while the bread bakes and the water heats up.” The leftover soup from last night and a bit of cheese is what’s for breakfast this morning.

Pero nods, “sí, señora.” Knowing better than to argue with you, he makes his way out to the table and he takes a seat, smiling at you as he picks up some cheese. “Would you like me to chop the wood?” He asks, wanting to help you however he can.

You smile and nod. “That would be most helpful.” You admit with a pleased look on your face as you slide the bread into the flat alcove of the hearth to bake . Turning, you sit down to your own bowl of soup sitting on the table. “Then it will just be getting the bath water warm and starting our meal to simmer all day.” You tilt your head to the side and watch him. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” You are surprised at his manners. He eats fast and hunched over his bowl but you had expected conversations consisting of grunts and huff words. It was rare to find a man who asked about more than his next meal or getting his cock wet. “I am glad you enjoyed the cot I set up. I was afraid your feet would hang off it.”

Chuckling, Pero sets the bowl down, “I was comfortable. Much more comfortable than the ground. And it’s warm. It’s more than a man like me could need.” He promises, breaking off some cheese. “We have much to do today señora, I shall get started.” He stands up after draining the bowl, and he makes his way outside to begin the chores you assigned him.

The snow has not fallen yet but there is the scent of it in the air. Humming as you go about your chores, it’s nice to have someone help, not leaving it all on your shoulders. Dragging the tub in while Pero is in the barn dealing with the livestock, you are lucky that a well was dug on your farm, your relatives making it convenient many years ago - especially since it is now just you. Gathering your buckets, you start drawing buckets of water to warm, also filling the barrel next to the door that is kept for easy access.

Pero feeds the livestock, ensuring the barn is secure and makes a few repairs before he heads back towards the cottage to cut wood. He gathers the logs first and sets them in a pile then he begins to chop, grunting and cursing when a log is being particularly difficult.

There is something to be said for watching a man work. His leathers are the first thing that come off, making you bite your lip at the broadness of his shoulders again. Picturing the sight that you had last night of him nude as the loaves of bread cool and you chop vegetables for the meat and vegetable pies you are planning for dinner tonight. He will probably eat an entire one himself. The buckets of water boil and you start to fill up the tub. It will take half the day, but it will still be hot by the time he gets done.

Pero wipes his brow after he places the logs on top of the other, stacking them until there is plenty. It’s hard work but he’s not unfamiliar with it, having done this as a young man for his parents before they passed and he left to sell his sword. He inhales deeply, the cool air hitting his cheeks and he looks back towards the cottage. You are a confusing woman, not wanting a husband to protect you, to breed you, but he understands. He is not conventional, he doesn’t want a wife, a child. He wants coins. A ruthless life perhaps but at least he’s honest with himself. After cleaning up the axe, he makes his way back into the house.

The Spaniard comes back inside just as you are pinching the crusts of the pies closed, also making some fruit pies for dessert. Those are already baking over the fire and you smile as you dust your floured hands off on your apron. “The water is almost ready.” You hustle over to take another large cauldron of steaming water and pour it into the large tub followed by another bucket of cooler water into the cauldron to heat. “Thank you. You are much faster at chopping wood than I am.”

Pero smiles, pleased you are happy with his performance and he watches you fill the tub. “Señora…would you mind cutting my hair?” He asks, knowing his locks are down to his shoulders and it’s too much. He needs it cut off so he can clean up properly.

Nodding, you pick up the shears you use to cut fabric from your sewing basket and motion towards him. “If you wish, I can cut your beard down as well.”

“Please, señora.” He nods and he sits down at the kitchen table, eager to get the scruff of his face and head. When you step closer, he inhales the scent of you and his cock twitches in his breeches, leathers discarded at the door from how overheated he was. He watches you as you start to trim his hair, unconcerned about the shears in your hand.

You run your fingers through his hair, chopping off great hunks of it so you can get the bulk off. You will go back and trim to clean it up. Furrowing your brow as his face starts to emerge from the curtain of hair, you find that he’s handsome and his mouth is almost delicate. “Hmmm.”

“Feels a lot better already.” He confesses, closing his eyes as you work on chopping off the matted locks he accumulated from months of traveling. “You are very kind. I’m surprised you haven’t been taken advantage of.” He confesses, looking up at you.

“Some have tried.” You admit, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “They came to regret it before they took their last breaths.” They had failed to realize that your parents raised you to be tough, to be able to protect yourself. It was their mistake.

Unable to stop himself, Pero smirks at your ballsy nature, the fighter is apparent and he admires it. Far too many women rely on a man to protect them but you are strong willed and feisty. He likes that. “Poor bastards.” He chuckles, admiring you.

“Indeed.” You smirk slightly before you start to trim up the hair more neatly. “I will let you decide what to do with your face.” You tell him. “But the hair will be easier to manage.”

Pero hums, “it feels better already. Thank you, hermosa.” He tells you with a soft smile and he squeezes your free hand. “Do you have a blade?” He asks, wanting to shave while he’s at it before he gets into the tub.

“I do.” You step over to the table and reach for the clean dagger that you had laying there. It’s sharp, sharp enough to cut a man’s throat if he is not careful. Flipping it over, you catch the blade in your hand and extend it to him, handle first.

Pero thanks you and begins to cut off the masses of beard that had grown during his time without a blade. He grunts, working it down until he can use the tip of the blade to work the smaller hair off of his cheeks. When he’s finished, he looks over at you and tilts his head, “how does it look?”

“Good.” He is attractive. His jaw is strong and sharp, fitting with the nose that hooks slightly. The scar over his left eye doesn’t detract from his appearance, instead adds to the image of a dangerous, powerful man. “If you were in a brothel, the women would be fighting over who gets to fuck you.”

He can’t help but blush, unused to such compliments, especially from a beautiful woman, and it enforces his decision to please you later. He smiles, “I’d like to think you might consider fighting over me.” He murmurs, coy despite his hardened demeanor.

“Hmmm, your cock is thick and girthy.” You hum, your hips swaying slightly as you have grabbed your broom and start sweeping away the hair to clean up. “Undress and get in the tub.” You order him. “Relax and scrub your body. There is more water heating to rinse off and I will pour more in if you need.”

He quickly strips off, leaving his clothes on the chair he sat on. With a groan, Pero sinks into the tub of hot water, leaning back against the wood and he relaxes for the first time in months. He closes his eyes, just savoring the warmth while you sweep up around him.

Smirking to yourself, you watch as the mercenary named Pero Tovar visibly melts in the bath tub. His arms are braced around the edges of the tub and his head rolled back, exposing his throat. You wonder when the man has really let go and unwound like he is doing now. Setting the broom in the corner, you move over to the jug of mead you have open and pour out a cup. Heaven knows you enjoy having a cup when you are soaking in your own bath.

When you prod him and offer him the mug, he groans in appreciation and thanks you before he takes a sip. “Eres un ángel.” He murmurs, relaxing even more and he’s in no rush to get out of the tub. He soaks for an hour, until his skin is prune-like, then he finally washes with the bar of soap you gave him.

The fruit pies are cooling on the table and you are pulling your own extra shift out to wash, the bucket for your clothes already filled will warm water and you dump the things that Pero had been wearing into it with a generous heap of your lye soap for laundry. It wasn’t like the soap you made for washing yourself with herbs and flowers mixed in, although his clothes would smell better than they currently do.

Pero watches you as you bend over, scrubbing his clothes, and he decides that he will give you pleasure tonight...however you want it. He smiles, finishing up his washing up before he stands, water dripping off of his body. "Do you have rags to dry off, hermosa?"

“I do.” Turning, you stare for a moment as the rivers of water cascade down his body. “I- I’ll get them for you.” You stand and hurry over to your truck, shaking your head at forgetting to get them for him earlier. “Here.”

He takes them, drying himself off and his cock twitches as he watches you bending over to wash the clothes. "Hermosa." He shifts to hover over you, not imposing, just there. When you look up, he hopes you see the lust in his eyes, "let me - I want to taste you."

You are surprised that he is being so open about wanting to try and you smirk in approval. “I am surprised that you don’t want to eat food before you eat cunt.” You hum teasingly. “Are you sure you want to learn before it is dark outside?” 

Pero nods, “I am eager to learn señora. We have many nights ahead of us with winter and I wish to know what makes you moan, I want to know your taste so we might prepare ourselves for being trapped in the cottage. I do not wish to be selfish. Show me.” He asks, reaching for your hand.

“Very charming answer.” You joke with a small smile. Nodding, you motion towards the bed. “Go wait, I must wash as well.” You will not have him eat unwashed cunt, especially since it is his first time. While you are moderately clean, it would not hurt to wash. 

Pero nods, making his way over to your cot and he sits down to wait for you to wash up. He is still naked, uncaring of his nudity as he patiently awaits your return from the tub. He knows what to do, the mechanics of it, but he’s never really experienced it first hand, always rushing to seek his own pleasure.

You don’t hurry, knowing that he will wait for as long as he needs to in order to be able to touch you. Using a clean rag, you wash every inch of your skin and make sure you wash your cunt. You want this to be a good experience for him. Drying off and foregoing getting dressed again, confidently moving about your home with no care for your nudity. During the summer, you often spent all night without clothes on.

Tovar looks up when you walk into the bedroom area of your cottage, his breath hitching at how utterly beautiful you are. His cock starts to harden but he ignores his arousal in favor of satisfying you. “Tell me what you desire, hermosa.” He demands, voice already raspy with lust.

You smile and step closer, making Pero’s thighs spread for you to stand between them. “First, I want to kiss you.” You murmur, leaning in and finding the lack of excess hair vastly pleasing compared to the kisses last night. “Then, I want you to suck on my breasts.”

Pero obeys with a nod, keeping his arms to his sides as he kisses you back, trying to keep his tongue less frantic than last night and just savor the feel of you in between his legs. His fingers twitch when your tongue tangles with his, languid and so very erotic compared to his selfish pecks while he’s undoing his breeches.

Your fingers tangle into his freshly washed and cut hair, making him groan into your mouth when you tug on it. His arms don’t come around you, so you let go of his hair and take his hands and place them on your tits before you sink your fingers into the curly strands again.

He eagerly squeezes your tits, groaning your name as you pull back for a moment until you press your lips to his again. He moans eagerly, squeezing the flesh until his fingers pinch each nipple, delighting in the gasp you push into his mouth which is soon leaving yours to trail kisses along your neck and down to your check. He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly, maybe a little too hard, but he’s eager to please.

You hiss slightly, tugging on his hair but you don’t stop him. Loving how his tongue rolls around your nipple, you imagine his tongue on your cunt.” “Fuck.” You moan when he pinches your nipple as he sucks on the other. “More”

He follows your orders, switching over to the other breast and he pinches the one he was sucking on, letting his teeth sink in for a moment before he soothes it with his tongue. His cock is hardening, now aching with need for you but he can’t be selfish, he owes you for letting him stay in your home.

“Yes.” You gasp, stomach clenching at the nip of his teeth. Your folds are already dampening but you are eager to feel his tongue. “Stop.” You insist quietly. “I want to lay down and have you eat my cunt.”

He groans, reluctantly pulls away from your breast and he leans back to look up at you, mouth glistening with his saliva, and he watches you as you make your way around the bed to lay down. He spins, kneeling on the bed and he groans when you spread your legs. “Tell me what you want.”

You aren’t shy about pulling your folds apart and exposing your engorged clit. “Here is where I find the most pleasure.” You tell him, circling it with your index finger. “I want you to lick it, suck in it, but don’t bite. You don’t like teeth on your cock, do you?”

He shakes his head, shifting to lay down on his stomach, and he looks up at you for a moment until he shifts closer, tentatively flicking his tongue over your bundle of nerves. Your answering moan spurs him on and he flicks his tongue over your clit again and again.

Again, your hands are in his hair, guiding you where you want him. He’s inexperienced, just like he had admitted to being, but the raw enthusiasm has your hips bucking up and your panted gasps turning into moans.

Following your orders, he sucks on your clit, his tongue then sliding down to circle your entrance and he hums at your tangy arousal, his hard cock pressed into the mattress. He grinds into it but knows he has to make you cum, he wants to make you cum. He slides his tongue up to suck on your clit, pursing his lips around the sensitive nerves.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, eyes closing in pleasure and your finger grip his hair tighter. “I- once we fuck, you can- the next time I’ll suck your cock while you do this.” You promise, imagining his moans into your cunt while your mouth is around him.

Now that makes Pero fucking ache to be inside of you, the thought of his face in your cunt while you suck his cock. He fucking loves that idea and tells you that without removing his mouth. Groaning into your folds, he continues licking and sucking, listening to your moans as he figures out what you like.

A shudder runs up your spine while Pero learns your cunt. The tell-tale sign of your body priming itself to come apart. You’re vocal, moaning and writhing under his hands as they grip your hips while you shamelessly roll your cunt against his mouth. “Pero- oh God, you- your mouth is- oh fuck!” You gasp, nearly choking on your breath when he sucks on your clit again and sends you over the edge and your entire body stiffens while your cunt pulses and soaks itself. 

He grunts into your mouth, swearing that hearing you fall apart is going to make him spill his seed onto your sheets but he manages to hold back, working you through your orgasm with harsh sucks. It becomes too much and you have to shove his head away but he still licks your hole to sample your cum. “Did you enjoy that, hermosa?” He asks, wanting to make sure he did that right.

“Yes.” You pants, closing your eyes and smiling up at the beams above your head lazily. “Feel how wet I am? You will feel so good sliding into my cunt now.”

“I can-?” He doesn’t want to push you as he shifts to kneel on the bed. His cock is hard, leaking, and almost purple at the head from how aroused he is. “Hermosa…how do you want me to fuck you?” He asks, letting you lead again.

Reaching down, you wrap your hand around his cock and the man in front of your growls. His hips buck forward and you give him a good, rough squeeze. “My legs on your hips. I want to see your face when you cum for the first time inside me.”

“Fuck. Do you- I need to pull out?” He assumes, knowing you wouldn’t want a child unless you have the same herbs the brothels provide their workers. He shifts closer, cock twitching in your grip.

“I have a brew that I make.” You promise him, knowing that you will start stepping pots of the herbs to prevent a child. “You do not have to spill your seed on my belly unless you wish to.”

“I want to. Just in case. I don’t want to leave you with child.” He murmurs, caressing your thigh as his dark eyes meet yours. He shuffles closer, batting your hand from his cock and he swipes the exposed head through your folds, making you squirm, and he chuckles before his groan escapes his lips as he starts to push inside of you.

Even as slick as you are, he is thick inside you. Making your walls yield to his stiff length as he breaks you open. Leaning forward, his arms brace on either side of your body as he slides into you, moving down to his elbows and stilling when his cock is pushed in as far as he can go. “Fuck.” You pant breathlessly.

“Fuck.” He echoes. Your cunt is so tight around him, it takes his breath away, and he groans when your walls flutter while they try to adjust to his girth. This is much better than last night with his fist, your slick cunt gripping him and it’s easier when he pulls his hips back then pushes back into you.

You know he is not going to last past a dozen thrusts. He has been used to nothing but his fist and before that it was whores in brothels who didn’t mind him finishing quickly. It was another reason why you insisted on pleasure before he fucked you. That way you were not left wanting and unsatisfied. “Fuck me.” You pant. “I want to see how you fuck.”

Your cunt is heaven, he knows that now, so when you tell him to fuck you, he clenches his jaw and rocks deep into you, grunting as he works his cock into you with deep, hard thrusts that push you up the cot.

Every thrust pushes a moan out of you. When he has some control, you will enjoy the heavy, frantic pace that he beats himself into your cunt. Now your legs just loosely wrap around his hips and you let him use you, deliberately clenching your walls around him.

Pero pants when you grip him, “mierda. Hermosa. Lo- lo siento.” He growls out just before he thrusts deep into you, moaning your name before he forces himself to pull out in time. Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he pumps himself while his hot seed hits your belly and spurts onto your tits.

You watch him, fascinated with the way he hisses and his jaw clenched as he cums. His eyes fluctuate between fluttering closed and watching his seed paint your skin. Your hand moved when he pulled back, caressing his thigh as his body tenses and flexes as he cums.

Pero grunts as he works himself through his orgasm until his hand falls away from his cock, his chest heaving from the pleasure as his dark eyes focus on you. “Hermosa. Covered in my seed. So beautiful.” He compliments you, smiling at you with glassy, pleasured eyes.

“It is a good thing we have warm water.” You chuckle, amazed at much of his seed he had covered you with. It had to be more than he had spurted out last night when he had jerked off. “How are you feeling? Was it worth licking my cunt?”

With his own chuckle, pero nods and lays down beside you. “Definitely worth that, hermosa.” He promises, “I will lick your cunt every day if you allow me the pleasure of being inside you. You are - it’s incredible.” He tells you with a blissed out sigh.

You smirk, happy that you could change the mind of the mercenary. He hadn’t lasted long, but once he was used to fucking you, he was going to become a good lover. “Rest.” You command, leaning over and pressing your lips to his. “When your cock recovers, I want it inside me again while dinner bakes.”

Pero smirks, “insatiable.” He isn’t angry about that, glad to help you since you have given him a place to stay. He kisses you one last time before he settles back against your pillows, groaning at the way his entire body hums with relaxation.

You climb out of the bed and walk over to the tub so you can clean up. Wetting a rag and scrubbing the cum from your body as you look over to find him resting easy on your bed with his hands folded behind your pillows. He looks relaxed which you are glad for. “Do you hunt, Pero? Can I call you Pero or do you prefer to go by Tovar?”

“I respond to either one, señora.” He replies but can admit to himself that hearing you say his given name makes his stomach twist. “Pero. I want you to call me Pero.” He decides, smiling at you as you clean yourself up.

“Pero it is.” You decide as you finish cleaning yourself and put your shift on so you can finish the washing. “So, if you wish to hunt, I would be grateful.”

“I can hunt. Perhaps we can dry some meat for the winter? I can go out tomorrow and see what I can find before the snow falls.” He offers, closing his eyes as you finish washing the clothes and he briefly imagines a life like this, spent in your bed and by the fire. Tending to the land and not worrying about dying from a stab wound. He indulges until he remembers how much he desires coin, how much he wants to provide for himself.

“That will be good. I have some small game and some dried fish but I finished the last of the venison a week ago.” You string the clothes across a line in front of the fire to dry. “I can make the skin into some warm leathers for you.” You have plenty of your own warm skins from previous animals and it would be something he could take with him when he leaves. 

Pero smiles at how considerate you are, more generous than most he has met during his travels. “Gracias señora. I - you  are so kind. I shall have to repay you with many many nights between your thighs.”

You smirk slightly, amused at the cocky nature of his comment. You have no doubt that he will be bragging by the time the winter is over and you develop his skills beyond quick fumbles. “I have a suspicion that this winter will be very pleasurable indeed.”

****

The snow is falling outside of the cottage, the fire burning to keep the cold at bay but it doesn’t matter when Pero has your entire body on fire from his skilled tongue. After the disaster of the first night, Pero made a vow to himself to learn what you like and he’s a quick learner.  “Oh fuck!” You curse and he loves that, cock hard and aching but his tongue pushes you onto your third orgasm of the night from his fingers and tongue.

“P-Pero.” Your hoarse cry is loud and needy, almost whining as you pull against the cloths that have you lashed to the bed so you cannot touch him. It’s thrilling and infuriating, being unable to take what you want from him, to drive him crazy so he fills you with his cock like you need. Your thighs shake around his ears and your eyes desperately meet his smug brown orbs as he devours you again. “Pero!”

The Spaniard growls into your flesh, working his tongue deep inside of your cunt as your thighs shake against his ears. He loves how in control he is, completely owning your pleasure and when or if you cum. It’s intoxicating and has his cock leaking pre-cum onto the sheets. “Cum for me.” He orders, smacking his lips for a moment then he dives in to suck hard on your clit.

He rips a scream out of you as your entire body bucks and bows under the pressure of his mouth. Stars burst behind your eyes and nearly black out your vision while your cunt clamps down around the two fingers that are curled up inside you.

Pleased with himself for making you cum so hard, Pero works you through it until he is pulling back with a smug smirk. “Did you enjoy that, hermosa?” He asks you with a chuckle at your dazed expression.

“Fuck me.” You beg, tightening your thighs around him and pulling on the ties to the bed. “Pero, please, I need- I need your cock inside me. Please.” You whimper, chest heaving.

He nods, “okay, hermosa. Okay.” He relents and shifts to kneel between your legs. His cock aches and bobs as he shuffles closer until he is gripping it and notching it at your entrance, slowly pushing into you with a groan.

You moan as he fills you, your legs lifting up to perch on his hips. You love how easily he slides deep and bottoms out inside you. Learning that you love him grinding his hips as you're stuffed full and the coarse hairs at the base of his cock brush against your clit. “Pero….” You whine softly, turning your head so you can chase his lips. “Kiss me.” 

He can’t deny you anything now, not after weeks - months - of being trapped in the cottage with you. He presses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue between your lips as he begins to rock his hips, thrusting slowly and deep, grinding with no rush to cum despite his cock aching.

“Yes.” You moan into his mouth as he tastes you, feeling complete and it thrills you and terrifies you all at the same time. It would be easy to imagine him staying come spring, helping you work the land and standing beside you. He’s proven himself to be skilled, in this bed and out and you love the sharp wit he surprises you with.

He knows every little moan and murmur, knowing how to work you and how to bring you down. He knows your body as well as his own and it’s going to be hard to leave come spring but you made it clear you don’t want a husband. He pants, shifting to sink even deeper, his hips shifting yours so you are folded over slightly, and he groans into your mouth when you clench around him. You’re so fucking wet and tight, it’s gonna be hard to leave you.

“Oh fuck, Peroooo.” Your gaps of pleasure when he pushes deep and hits that wonderful little spot has you twisting your wrist and grabbing onto the ties. “Yes baby, oh fuck, please. I-I need you to - to fuck me.” You babble, mouth open and another moan pouring out. “Fill me up.” 

He pushes deep, wanting to feel and hear you cum apart. “That’s it hermosa. I need you - need you to soak me. You can do it. Ahora. No-now.” He pleads, feeling his balls pull up with his own orgasm and he pushes deep inside you, clenching his jaw to stop his orgasm from happening before yours.

Your toes start to curl and the squeal precedes the way your entire body seizes up. Your cunt locks down around him like an iron band and you soak him with another wave of your cum. “P-P-Pero!” You choke out with every thrust of his cock. 

He groans your name, pushing deep as he cums, spilling inside of you like he has for the past week as you assured him your tea was working to prevent you becoming with child. He hisses, leaning down to press his lips to yours, stilling inside of you as his cock twitches.

Whining at the heat flooding your cunt, you kiss him back and love how he starts to soften the kiss. “So good.” You murmur, blissed out and when he pulls back, you smile up at him. You wish you could touch him, stroke his back while he comes down from his high and you relax into the bed with a small pout. 

He reaches up to undo the cloth ties, rubbing your wrists and kissing your palm as he settles beside you before pulling you into his chest. “Are you okay, hermosa?” He asks softly, wanting to ensure you are satisfied and he hasn’t unknowingly harmed you.

“Perfect.” You hum, snuggling into his chest and sighing softly as you stroke his arm like you had wanted to while you were tied up. “Just like I always am.” You turn your head and kiss the scar that is three inches up above his heart, happy that it hadn’t been lower and kept you from meeting him. “We have worked up an appetite today, sí?” 

Pero chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Sí, señora. You wear me out.” He leans in to kiss your forehead while you rest against him. Your kiss on that scar makes his heart thump in his chest and he prays you don’t notice. He swallows harshly, knowing that each day that passes, he will find it harder to leave you and this cottage - no, home - you have let him in.

It hasn’t been all sex. Pero has done well hunting and the skins from the animals have been cured and worked into soft leather breeches for him, sure to keep him warm when he leaves. As well as fur lined gloves and a poncho. All tokens for him to take with him when he leaves. His clothes are all mended and patched and there is another beautiful chair that he built as well as the hooks he had made for you to store your tub more efficiently. Still, you hate to think about spring coming but it is coming. You pull away from him with a reluctant sigh. “I should stir the stew.” You murmur.

He watches as you shuffle off of the bed and he wants to pull you back but he knows he shouldn’t. He has to leave, has to sell his sword and make his coins. He can’t stay in this world with you. It’s not what he envisioned for his life. 

****

Pero looks out of the window with a sigh, the snow is melting, the sun is shining outside and it’s time for him to go. He glances over at you, watching as you work on sewing the hem of your shift where he had accidentally ripped it last night when he was eager to make you fall apart on his tongue. “Hermosa…it’s time.” He announces softly despite it breaking his heart.

It takes you a moment, your sewing needle still before you fold your shift over and set it down. “I- I must get you some provisions together then.” You tell him, trying to force a smile on your face when your heart is shattering. You had fallen for Pero and wish him to stay but he is obviously eager to go out and sell his sword and try his skills on the whores in the brothels. Standing, you rush over to the hearth so he doesn’t see the tears in your eyes. “I will make it quick.”

He watches you go, the words he wants to say are on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say them. He can’t risk it. He swallows them down and watches you rush around the cabin until he forces himself to get ready, dressing in the leathers you had made him instead of the comfortable breeches and loose shirt he’s become accustomed to wearing.

You give him the best of what you can. Wrapping cheese and bread up. Quite a bit of the dried meat that was left. He was traveling and you could cook whenever, where he was unable to. The saddle bag is nearly bursting by the time you are done and you have put off the inevitable, Pero is leaving.

While you were preparing for his departure, Pero made his way out to the stable to ready his stallion who has rested for the winter, raring to get back on the road as he neighs when Pero places the saddle on the steed. He guides the horse to your front door and you stand there with the saddle bag which he soon attaches. “Hermosa…I don’t know how to thank you for letting me stay.” He says as he stands in front of you again.

“It was my pleasure.” You tease, begging yourself not to cry in front of him. There was no promises made of love or commitment. He has said he would leave and you had said you wanted no man, it would not be fair to convince him to stay where he did not want to be. Stepping closer, you adjust the poncho on his shoulders and run your hand down the leather and small, lovingly crafted stitches. “Take care of yourself Pero Tovar, and make sure you please the whore you bed.” You remind him. “It will save you coin.”

Pero tries to commit your face to memory and he offers you a small smile, “no matter who she is…she will never compare to you.” He allows himself that one moment then reaches for the coin purse on his belt, “this is for you.” He hands you several coins, “for letting me stay.”

He’s given you too much and you shake your head. “Two coins.” You remind him, trying to hand the others back but he just pushes your extended hand away. “Keep them, hermosa.” He insists and you wish you were keeping him. Clutching the coins, you throw your arms around him and kiss him one last time. Desperate and needy before you pull away. “God be with you. Stay safe.” You whisper softly.

He presses his lips to yours one last time, nudging his nose against yours, and finally, he kisses your forehead. “Gracias señora.” He murmurs, forcing himself to pull away. He wants to beg you to let him stay but he has to go, he has to sell his sword. Without another word, he turns and straddles his horse, looking down at you as he kicks the side of his stallion to begin his journey away from you. It kills him to ride away from you but he makes a silent vow that he will return to you.

****

It’s getting colder and Pero rides north towards your cottage coming Christmastide again. Winter is coming and he longs to see you. He hasn’t stopped selling his sword so he could earn enough coins to return to you. He arrives in the village near your home and the villagers greet him with smiles. “Ah, the husband has returned.” One says, remembering him from the prior year. 

Pero frowns until he remembers that you were going to tell the town that he was your husband. He likes the idea of that and he nods, “yes. I’m back for my beautiful wife.” He smiles from atop his horse and the woman winks at him, “and I am certain you are eager to see the babe.” That makes Pero’s frown return and he offers her an awkward smile before riding to your cottage. A child? Perhaps you have moved on. Maybe he’s too late. His heart thumps as he ties up his horse and steps over to your door, hand hovering until he gets the guts to knock.

The baby squawks indignantly at the harsh knock on the door, your nipple pulled from his mouth for a split second before he frantically searches for it again. Settling down once he is sucking again as you stand and make your way to the door to open it cautiously. There have been no offers of marriage since last year but you are wary of anyone coming round. “Ye- Pero?” Your eyes widen as the man you have thought about for a year stands in your doorway.

His dark eyes widen as he looks down at the babe in your arms. The mass of dark hair just like his and he inhales sharply. “Señora.” He murmurs, staring at the baby for a moment until his eyes meet yours. “Is he - the villagers said - have you-?” He can’t believe what he is seeing.

Your eyes soften slightly at the shock that you see reflected in his face. You had discovered you were carrying his babe long after he had left and you could not track him down. You had thought you would never see him again but you had his child. “You have a son, if you wish to know him.” You won’t assume that he wants to be involved with his bastard since you weren’t actually married. The lie had allowed you to live respectfully and you were grateful for that alone.

Pero stares at you in disbelief, a wide grin appearing on his face after a moment. “Of course I want to get to know him. I want to be his father. I’ve - you are all I have thought about, señora. I haven’t been able to think of anything but you. I want you…I haven’t been to any brothels and I saved my coins so I could return to you, ask you to let me be your husband…officially.”

Shocked, you gape at him for a long moment until your son unlatches from your breast with a gurgle that makes you look down at him. “He is four months old.” You explain, looking back up at a Pero and shifting the baby so you can hold him out to his father. “I named him after you.” You admit quietly.

Pero has fought battles against mythical creatures and violent men who sought to kill him but there’s nothing that has him more nervous than taking his son into his arms. He swallows harshly, tears stinging in his eyes as he looks at the little boy in his arms who yawns and blinks those dark eyes just like Pero’s. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, hermosa.” He murmurs, not even looking at you as he keeps his gaze on the baby.

You pull your shift back up over your breast and start lacing it back up. “You did not know. I did not know when you left. I had been drinking the herbs, but your seed is apparently strong.” You smile at the sight of your son in his father’s arms. It’s not a sight you believed you would ever see. “It was not a hard time carrying him. And the birth was fairly quick according to the midwife.”

Pero is glad to hear that you were well during the birth and he wants to surge forward and kiss you but he doesn’t know if you want him. He says your name, making you inhale sharply, and he looks up from the babe who is now asleep in his father’s arms. “I intended to return to you to marry you. Long before I knew about our child. I thought of nothing and no one but you during your travels. I want you, hermosa. I want to be yours, you to be mine. I’m not a good man but I promise to lay my sword at your feet and be with you until the day I die.”

Your lip trembles slightly and you swallow. “I wished you to stay.” You confess, stepping closer to him. “But I knew you wanted to go, so I did not say anything. During our winter I discovered I love you. I have never wished for a husband but I wish for you to be mine.”

“I did not wish to leave, I had to go. I wanted to make enough coin to provide for us for a lifetime…and I have.” He gestures to his saddlebag. “I have enough coins to provide. I saved every coin I could. I haven’t been to a brothel. I haven’t touched anyone else since I left you, señora. I couldn’t. I want you. I- I love you.”

You’re surprised that he hadn’t touched someone. It’s been a year and men like him have needs. “No one?” You choke out softly. “I would not blame you.” You promise. “There were no vows taken.” 

Pero shakes his head. “They were not you, hermosa. I wanted to come back to you, this Christmastide to beg you to be mine. To let me stay and build a life with you.” You choke out a sob and lunge forward to press your lips to his with the baby cradles between your bodies.

Pero sighs into your mouth in relief, adjusting the baby onto the crook of his elbow so he can cup your cheek, kissing your properly, and it’s like he’s come home. “Te amo, hermosa.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead when you pull back. “Shall we place el niño in his bed and we can talk properly?” He suggests, looking down at the babe in his arms and he’s reluctant to let go but he also needs to touch you.

You smile, looking down at the baby and nod. “I have a little box that I have fashioned for him.” You explain as you turn and know he will follow you. “I have been hoping to have a cradle made since the one from when I was a babe was too old and rickety.”

Pero smiles, “I will make him a cradle, hermosa.” He promises, knowing it will be his greatest project yet. He follows you into the house, grateful he unsaddled his horse in the stable before arriving on your doorstep, and he watches as you place the sleeping baby in the box. His heart is pounding at the sight of you with his child. It’s more than he ever imagined during those cold nights traveling, selling his sword, and dreaming of being in your bed again.

You are slightly nervous, standing straight and wiping your hands on your apron and you smile at him. “Are you hungry? I have some pie that you preferred.” You had continued to think about Pero, smiling to yourself when you would eat his favorite meals you made.

Pero follows you into the kitchen, “I’m starving. I have ridden for the entire day to return home to you.” He reveals, completely meaning what he says. This is his home. He reaches for you, grabbing your waist to pull you close and he presses his lips to yours, tilting his head to make the kiss passionate and deep.

Moaning into his mouth, you wrap your arms around him and tug on his armor to bring him closer. Closing your eyes and giving into the kiss that you have wanted for nearly a year. He’s home, he wants to be home, to stay here with you and your son. You whimper when his tongue glides against yours and revel in the taste of him.

Pero savors the kiss he’s been waiting a year for. His hands sliding down to squeeze your ass through the slip you’re wearing and he’s tempted enough by you to kneel down on the floor, lifting up the slip before his head ducks under it so he can bury his face in your folds.

“Pero!” You gasp loudly, surprised that he is immediately licking your cunt, especially after giving birth. Holding onto the table, you moan loudly but not enough to wake the baby. “Perooooo.”

He groans at your familiar taste, his hands squeezing your ass to tilt your hips so he can push his tongue deeper inside of you. His nose pressing against your clit just like you taught him. This is all for you. All for you. He’s all for you.

Whining, you grab the edge of your skirts to pull them over his head, wanting to see him. You’ve touched yourself thinking about him since he left and now he’s here. Flicking his tongue over your clit, you feel the fuzzy edges of your orgasm rushing up. “Oh fuck!”

Pero loves hearing your pleasure, his tongue diving deep and his cock aching in his breeches and he hisses when you clench around his tongue. He desperately wants you to cum. Wants to hear it again, and again, and again. He groans into your folds and sucks harshly on your clit.

You shudder, your knees nearly buckling from the pressure and pleasure being forced on you by his mouth. Looking down to find his eyes closed as he sucks on your clit, you whimper and with a final suck, come apart for him.

He takes everything you give him, every drop, and he laps at your cunt like he hasn’t eaten during the year he’s been away. In part it’s true since he missed your cooking and he has missed you. He works you through it until you are pushing his head away, making him whine at the loss.

“God.” You grab his shoulders and you would pull him up but it would take too much effort. Dropping down to your knees with him and pressing your lips to his desperately. “Take- take your cock out.” You beg, pushing him back into the floor in front of the hearth and straddling his hips. “I need you inside me.”

He doesn’t deny you as he reaches down to untie his breeches, letting you pull his cock out of his trousers and he groans when you pump him. “Hermosa. Please. Take what you want, what I need.” He pleads, groaning when you squeeze him.

It has been nearly a full year and you’ve had a baby since you’ve taken his cock. Still, your walls clench around nothing as you roll the foreskin down to reveal the sensitive tip to slide through your folds before you notch him at your entrance. “I love you, husband.” You moan, sinking down onto him and loving the stretch of him inside you again.

Hearing you call him husband has him groaning your name and he hisses when you sink down onto his aching cock. “Hermosa. Mi esposa. Mi amor.” He murmurs, caressing your waist as you begin to rock on top of him, making him groan your name.

It’s frantic, the two of you rocking together. You lean down and press your lips to his, loving how he is throbbing inside you. You know he won’t last long, not if he’s gone all year with no pleasure but his hand. “Inside my cunt or my mouth?” You demand breathlessly.

He wants to cum inside of you but he doesn’t want you to be with child so soon. “Mo-mouth.” He pants out, close to his orgasm, and he’s groaning your name when you shift off of him, leaving his wet cock in the cool air.

Shuffling down his body, you're greedy as you take him into your mouth. Tasting the saltiness of his seed and your own juices as you start to Bob your head on his hard cock. Looking up at him and moaning around his length, feeling him tense under you.

He groans, unable to withhold his orgasm as he spills down your throat, moaning your name as he cums, eyes closed as he savors the pleasure that one you can give him. “Fuck hermosa.” He growls and after you’ve worked him through it, he pulls you off of his cock and drags you up his body so he can kiss you.

You smirk against his lips, not caring that you are on the floor, pressed up against his body. “I thought I would never see you again.” You admit quietly after you pull away. “I am happy that I was wrong.”

“I was always going to come back to you. When I left…it was only so I could come back and provide for us. For my family.” He adds, still in awe of his son. Pero was seeking a haven for the winter and instead he found a home - a family. It’s more than he could’ve asked for…worth more than all the coins in the world.

[olderthannetfic]

Having more fandom friends around my age/mindset (context: late 30s, rare fandoms, reads some nsfw but not the type to post about it a lot in my main account) might be nice. I ignored the fandom part of myself a long time due to my RL friends being shitty about it (I dumped the worst of them) and I'm trying to enjoy it more.

But I keep leaving comments on fic and art and don't get any reply, let alone a conversation or follow. When I do get a response, the person stops posting fic in that fandom shortly afterwards. In an earlier more active fandom, I would send requests to people (clearly open for requests!) and 99% of the time I'd be ignored, or they'd draw the request at a level clearly before their usual stuff then delete it because they didn't like it (their words).

I'm not writing anything inappropriate or critical? I try to make my comments more interesting than 'i love this write more thx', maybe they get too confusing and off-putting to read? It certainly isn't because my ship is too weird because even non-shippers ship my current OTP lmao

I am trying to be realistic about it, maybe they aren't replying because they don't have the energy, or they have a life and they can't reply to the comment immediately and forget to, or they moved on, or they think I'm a tit which is totally fine?

The issue is it keeps happening, it's depressing, and the follows I do get are people in the same fandom who only like the parts I'm not invested in at all, have really tired takes and are significantly younger to the point I'm concerned about looking like a creep if I interact with them at 100% of my full power. It feels very much like I'm wishing on a monkey paw.

I have a very small number of friends I can talk to about fandom stuff I will cling onto with both hands. I just wish there were more. This is mainly me venting but if anyone has any suggestions feel free.

--

Hmm... Well, I share your suspicion that if you're the common factor, you're at least somewhat contributing to this situation. It may not be that you're offputting but that you inherently like things most other fans don't like—not just rare ships but also rarer tropes.

Or it may not be rarity exactly but prompt style: while tons of people love found family and slice of life, a lot of prompts for those are so generic and boring that they inspire exactly zero new plotbunnies. Meanwhile filthy kink is not for everyone but often has the seeds of a specific fic in a prompt, so if you do like it, those prompts are super inspiring.

A lot of people are pretty terrible at responding to comments. I'm extremely hit or miss on AO3 myself. I'll respond to a zillion things on tumblr before I remember to actually answer comments on AO3. Partly, it's that I get said comments in my email inbox, not on AO3 itself, so I read them and appreciate them but am not in the space where I'd respond right at that moment.

Sadly, people making one fanwork and moving on just comes with the territory when you're in rare fandoms. It's much easier to make friends who like to vid Asian dramas or who are learning a language for fandomy reasons or who are doing fandom historical preservation than friends who share your exact current taste in blorbos and who will continue to do so.

In my case, I love rare things, but I also love to move from fandom to fandom rapidly, and I find it really stressful to have friends who end up resenting that.

I tend to befriend fans whose overall vibe I find compatible more than people I share ships with: people who will probably be in fandom for life, people who are loud and proud about it, people who are interested in fandom history and pan-fandom meta. I also tend to be drawn to accounts that are not only horny on main but horny for kinky shit that draws haters. It does a wonderful job of weeding out the whiny children and finding me fans with a spine. Hilariously, one of my closest offline fandom friends with whom I share the most character opinions doesn't even like sex scenes. But that's not somebody I'd have gotten to know online.

It's going to vary for the people you're approaching, but that may be one reason they're not as enticed by the sight of another fan of their current rare fandom: they may have totally different types of criteria for fandom friends.

It's hard to know how much of the problem is you without examining your internet presence more, but I get why going "here's my account, plz critique" is not attractive. This ask seems fine. No particular writing style red flags jump out at me.

I've definitely known people who were dicks about my tumblr popularity and wanted to know why I didn't reblog them... but it turns out they interacted with me only once every six months so I don't remember them or their tumblr is entirely shitposts or their writing style is incoherent or they sound angry all the time.

One problem you may be running into is that findable fans in their 30s and 40s are self-selected for Fandom For Life types who already have a bunch of close fandom friends. They're likely doing a lot of socializing in private with people they've known for ages. I like to think of it as people with very full dance cards. They tend to be the most attractive because they're living happy, fulfilling lives, but that same quality makes them too busy. Meanwhile, people who are sad and alone and desperate for friends are often less visible and less compelling. If someone figured out how to connect with them, they'd be a great friend, but fewer people are trying.

It's not that every compatible late 30s fan is too busy for new friends. It's that the fans who are visible enough that you know they exist and know their approximate age are a very specific slice of overall fandom.

As fans age, some of their fandom friends leave fandom or die, so there can be periods where people are going "Shit, I need new friends!" later on, not just in college and such. But I'd say late 30s is a tough-ish period. A lot of people are busy with young kids and/or haven't lost their inner circles from younger years yet.

In general, a lot of my closer fandom friends aren't actually looking for new friends and haven't been in quite a while. Some don't even post publicly anymore. I'm something of an exception because I'm both extremely friendly and always on the lookout for minions to convince to go to Escapade con or take up the banner of fandom preservation yadda yadda. I have a vested interest in remaining open to new people.

Thoughts, everyone? Have you gone through friend-seeking and full dance card phases?

[onlyhereforturtles]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

So, I am brand new to the posting fics online scene and don't have much to back up these questions with. Most of what I've written are personal WIPs I will probably never release if finished, and I don't release much due to my inability to finish stories as well as my writing mostly being personal. So, since I've only got two released fics out due to this, I'm going to use my WIPs to answer some of these.

Thanks so much to @daboyau for the tag! This was fun!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2 at the moment. Much of what I write is personal or I don't finish it, so I haven't released many.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

29,684, though with all my countless WIPs it's around 500,000

3. What fandoms do you write for?

TMNT, TF2, Creepypasta, MLP, and Hetalia, though I've only posted one of the TMNT fics and the others will never see the light of day!

(They're not finished and won't be).

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Of the two that are on there, the 2003 Lighthouse AU ranks above Work or Death in kudos.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Of course! But I'm also a bit (a lot) antisocial, even on the Internet. So I know there's going to be comments I want to respond to but don't know how to 😅

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

So, I tend to fail no matter how hard I try at writing bad or angsty endings. Somehow everything always ends up going well for the characters, even if I want them to fail. I'm great at giving trauma, just not giving bad endings. I also don't finish a lot of what I write, so there's a small pool to pick from here.

That being said, there is one I know of where both of the endings were planned before I even started writing it, (and no, I'm not finished with it yet), and one of them is a "bad" ending, so to speak. I don't want to talk too much about it, since it is a personal project, but essentially the main character has traveled to a different time and place where an alternate version of her family exists, except all of them are dead but one of her brothers. A lot happens, of course, but it eventually ends up with him being so injured he's rapidly dying. She has the ability to heal him, but he tells her not to because he wants to be with his family again. They have a whole emotional conversation and he dies in her arms. And then she's reunited with her real brothers hours later and won't let the one who died in her arms go for days afterwards. So, like, a bittersweet type of thing.

And that is quite literally the only angsty ending I've ever written. Angsty middles, however, is all I do, and angsty beginnings are a specialty of mine.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The good ending of the one above! After years of battling through several different places on the way home, most of which consisting of alternate versions of people she knew, she finally got to make it back to her real family! They thought she was dead, so the reunion is of course filled with tears and group hugs and a lot of feelings. But that technically happens in both endings. The thing that makes it the good ending is that she was able to save her alternate brother and take him home with her, so he had a new family to love. (Yes I know the new family being his old family is a whole thing that could be psychologically bad. I assure you there's circumstances in place that change that whole perspective, but it'd take forever to explain).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not as of yet, but we'll see what happens! If I do, it's fine by me because I loved it enough to release it and that's all that matters to me.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have indeed tried to write smut before. My brain apparently doesn't do that. But that was also a super long time ago when I didn't know as much about that whole subject as I probably should if I want to write it properly, so maybe I'll try again and see how it goes. Not really interested in writing it now though, with all the WIPs I have putting me so far away from that mindset.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've never been super interested in crossovers. Official crossovers are cool to see, but I don't usually look beyond that. I've found a small handful of crossover fics I liked, but have never written any. I guess my brain just prefers to stay within the world I'm working with.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! I hope I never do, but I'm aware it's always a possibility, unfortunately.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but if anyone ever wanted to, I'd be honored.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I was once writing an original story (that I still hope to finish one day) and was telling a guy I was talking to about it. He came up with his own character to help me beef up the story background a bit, and we had a whole storyline about his character meeting the MC. We were going to determine how he fit into the main plot once I'd developed it more. Sadly, I lost inspiration for that story and fell out of touch with that guy, so that most likely won't happen. But that's the closest I've come to co-writing anything, except for a little back-and-forth with @allyheart707. That was fun!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Uhhhh I'm not really into shipping? I enjoy seeing other people's ships, but I'm not majorly into the romance part of watching or reading things unless it's the main point of the story. So, if a ship isn't canon, then I'm not obsessed over it or looking for or making content for it.

On a side note, I was very happy for Lyra and Bonbon when-

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Every. Single. One of them. There are a couple from my high school years I could care less about now, but all the others are still interests and still things I want to get finished. I have two original stories I already started writing, but got lost in the plot so I had to pause. I've got at least eight that I'm working on right now, all TMNT related except for two, and there's probably a couple more somewhere but I've lost track. But yeah I want to finish all of them. Once I can get them straight enough in my head to do so.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good with dialogue and character/world building. I tend to do a lot of go-with-the-flow with conversations, and I've been told they feel very natural. And I always know everything about who is in my story and why they are where they are and why the world or area is the way it is before I even start writing, which makes everything fall into place a lot easier.

I'm also pretty good at making small points, forgetting about them, and somehow coming up with something later on that connects perfectly with it in a way that makes it seem like that was the plan all along, even if it was done mysteriously enough the reader couldn't figure it out but the clues were all there. I really don't know how I do that, but I'm not complaining.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. I'm horrible at developing a proper sequence of events or, you know, what we're even doing here. Are we fighting someone? Uh, maybe, but why? What'd they do? What are we trying to to stop them from doing? If we're not fighting someone, what world-saving quest are we going on, and what exactly are we meant to do on it? I have no clue. But everyone here is super developed and has a backstory and detailed list of powers if you need them. My go-with-the-flow attitude is a hindrance here because I can't connect everything if there's no greater picture to weave the threads through. Lighthouse is some strange outlier and I have no idea how it came together so cohesively.

I'm also not the best at describing things in a not straightforward kinda way. I can explain to you in detail how something looks and how the characters are moving and acting in the scene, but I can't do it in a fun way with analogies or flowing descriptions of emotions or any kind of whimsy to fill the scene out and immerse the reader further.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

If I specifically want the words spoken in the other language for a particular storytelling purpose, I'll do so. But only for, like, a couple words. If there needs to be longer sentences or conversation in another language, I'll clarify that that's happening and just write it in English. Unless I'm trying to make the reader feel like they're in the room but and don't know what the other characters are saying, maybe that'd work. But the couple times I've done it, it was the MC speaking in another language, so it felt more important to see it from her perspective and put it in English so the reader would understand her.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

TF2! My main character from one of my original works was originally my TF2 OC, but she ended up having such a complex story built around her that I pulled her out and gave her her own world. However, my first ever story was inspired by my uncle's book, and I believe it was meant to exist in his world. It doesn't have a fandom around it, as far as I know, but it was the first time I wrote within someone else's world. It was the first time I wrote at all, I'm pretty sure.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My favorite one I've released is the 2003 Lighthouse AU, because it features my favorite turtle boys and took a lot of research to develop properly, and I love the way it came out. My favorite one I've written out of everything is the one I mentioned in 6 and 7. It's so complex and takes place at the almost end of a very long journey MC has taken to get home. So emotions are high, back stories are long, characters are tired and don't want to be here but still have to do this thing, and new bonds are created.

There's a lot that happens before the start of that story, but it's a personal work so I don't care too much for writing all that out. But it creates such a cesspool of history and emotion, all negative and positive mixed together, leading to certain character development moments I just constantly come back to and watch over and over again in my brain. And then there's the two endings that create whole separate sets of overwhelming emotions. I just can't get enough of my MC and her relationship with her alternate brother. They're perfect to me.

So it got a little wordy, whoops. I love talking about the stuff I write, and probably a little too much. And I would love to see @wendigomahana or @allyheart707 try this for themselves. Or just ignore it if you want. If anyone else happens to see this and wants to give it a shot, go for it!

[electricbluebutterflies]

“ hey, look at me… “

Early-era Jessica/Leto is staying a happy place, apparently. PG-ish and also on ao3.

She’s starting to hate these things.

Jessica tries to keep a balance, tries whatever she has to do to convince herself that her life is not rapidly spiraling out of control, tries to bury everything she can within herself, but at the end of the day she understands formal events as someone who has rarely been given a choice. If the dynamic continues to escalate, an idea she is otherwise accepting more each day, she will have to endure significantly more time as a display object. More evenings like this, when she is vividly reminded that love is all she really has in the world and she has to pretend she’s comfortable in a horror of a dress and-

Silence is not cooperation, she reminds herself. Silence just means she’s planning her next move. Those around her should know that by now.

She had hoped, when she was slightly younger and significantly more naïve, that routine would save her. That the novelty of her presence would wear off, and her partner would… if not grow tired of her, at least become less determined to integrate her into the rest of his life. If anything, the opposite has happened. She has been here close to two years, long enough to know most of the faces around her, and she is still politely asked to endure this, one of those requests that she’s still not sure actually is one, and-

No. If she truly wanted to, if she could assemble a good reason or if she were willing to break what has become the only rule she actually lives by, she could’ve gotten herself out of this one. If anything it might look better if she were less present – she suspects more and more that she will eventually become a scandal, and even now she clings to the edge. But her partner seems to have no concept of such issues, and that in turn reminds her why her proximity is so important, and-

Stay quiet, keep her expression neutral, keep her partner within sight lines if not always close enough to touch. She was trained to survive much, much worse.

And that’s the thing of it, she thinks as the evening progresses, as she almost forgets which planetside diplomat they’re honoring. She has idealized martyrdom, fought against every kindness she has ever been shown, made herself small and tried to keep her venom… and for what? What good are those traits doing her right now? Her observation skills are this side of useless, no one is going to do anything with repercussions in the next few hours, she can’t help but think that this floaty light green dress will look better on her partner’s bedroom floor than it does on her body and at least she’ll get some fun out of this, right now she is bored, right now she is-

“How concerned should I be right now?”

Jessica turns to glare at her partner for a heartbeat, more emotion than she’s usually inclined to show when anyone else can see but she’s not sure tactful conversation will communicate enough. “Concerned?” she repeats like she can’t quite recall the meaning of the word. “What reason would you have?”

“You’re here on the edge, not so much as a drink in your hands, glaring holes into that tapestry…”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might not take pleasure in these events as you do?”

The words come out too quickly and she feels a moment of uncontrolled fear; she is not supposed to be so open, especially not in public, she has been clawing every bit of rule fidelity she can and she’s not even good at it anymore, and she recoils as she can, turning away and bracing for whatever imminent critical comment she will deserve every word of and-

“Hey. Look at me. Don’t… don’t do what you do right now.”

She still has standards, she reminds herself; picking a fight when other people might see is still more than she’s willing to do. Apologizing for inappropriate behavior is also more of a challenge than it should be, but-

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she murmurs, still not making eye contact. “Not here. Not-“

“I didn’t know. You always hide so well and-“

Oh, if she’d had the sense to bite her lip for a few hours and use these emotions to derail intimacies, if she was half the person she tries to be sometimes…

“I could tolerate worse. You know that.”

“You could slip away. I don’t think anyone would even notice.”

And that’s why she won’t, she thinks. Because she’s at least done something right, become part of the décor, still able to fade into backgrounds and make herself not exist and-

What if she wants more than that? What if these opportunities she is given are worth taking? This constant self-questioning makes her unstable, but she can admit there is beauty in it, even as she is unsure how to give herself structure anymore, even as-

“I don’t want to do that either,” she says after a few moments. “Is that alright?”

“I trust your judgment.”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“How long have you felt…”

“I’ve never been good like this,” she breathes, reaching for her partner’s hand because she needs tethering for confession. “And I doubt I will ever be. I am not… I am better at arranging little details than experiencing their results.”

“And you are good at arranging details,” he replies. “You’re starting to impress them.”

“If that’s what you want to call it…”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You are…”

His voice cuts off and she can hear what is not said, things that only make sense breathed against skin in desperate intimacies, not in public, not like this, not-

“Thank you. I try.”

“You don’t have to suffer for me. I wouldn’t ask that. Now that I know…”

“You’ll forget in a month,” she murmurs, a certain affection in her voice. “You’ll forget and I’ll say yes because it makes you happy and I’ll get used to this eventually and-“

“Understood.”

“I’ll get through. I’ve done worse.”

“Is that supposed to be calming?”

“You’ll understand when you see the marks on my skin from this awful dress,” she laughs.

“Don’t wear it again. If you’re going to torture yourself…”

“I’m trying to blend in.”

He gives her a look like he’s not sure where to start, and it makes her warm, and her adaptation has been so variable and she’s trying to be everything at once and not sure she’s doing any of it right and-

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, tracing little patterns on her hand. “Whatever reason you’re doing it.”

“Trying to make you happy,” she replies. “All I really have right now.”

And that’s the damnation of it, the open acceptance of how her motivations have shifted, how her other purposes feel on hold and all she knows is the affection her life revolves around, and she knows she shouldn’t be attached to another living being like this but she feels alive and-

“You do well,” he murmurs, bringing her hand to his lips for a moment. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She slips away before she can compromise herself further – the comment earlier about her lack of a drink has given her ideas, another glass of wine will take some of the edge off, maybe even make her social – and she allows herself this little moment of pride. She’ll get better, she knows. She’ll bloom like she should, like her partner wants her to, and someday she’ll get good at the formal events and rituals that are starting to define her life more than she was once prepared for.

And next time, she thinks, next time she’ll wear a dress that won’t make her bleed. Slow compromise. She’ll get there.

[nattikay]

a fellow language nerd in the Ao3 comments expressed interest in a version with Na'vi dialogue. Now, most of the dialogue in this story was intended to actually be in English (as opposed to "auto-translated" Na'vi), since Jake has only been learning for a few months at this point and is still struggling/tends to revert to English when he can get away with it.

Buuuut the exception is the beginning conversation between Neytiri and Mo'at, which would naturally be in Na'vi. Of course, the vast majority of fic readers are not gonna be Na'vi learners so actually writing it this way in the original chapter would be very impractical, but ask and ye shall receive lol.

Also a quick small note: some of you will probably be thinking, wait, I thought "Jake" in Na'vi was "Tsyeyk"? And you are correct! Na'vi doesn't have a j sound, so the closest they can get is tsy, and a monolingual (forest) Na'vi speaker would pronounce his name like "Tsyeyk". BUT, both Neytiri and Mo'at are canonically bilingual and are able to pronounce it closer to the original English, and I wanted to represent that in the dialogue. At first I was going to do this by just spelling his name the normal English way, but that silent E at the end made case endings look awkward, so in the end I opted for the middle ground Jeyk.

That out of the way, here's that conversion, narrated in the original English but with Na'vi-only dialogue. Afterwards I've also included the direct re-translations of all the Na'vi lines back into English for my fellow language nerds who may be interested in that sort of thing (because it's slightly different than what was originally written in the normal English version).

[...] "Zene oe piveng Jeykur."

Mo'at reached out to grasp her daughter’s wrist.

“Pivey, ma 'ite," she said gently, as Neytiri settled back down curiously. “Srefwa nga pohu plltxe, zene oe mivok kemit alahe.”

“Kemit alahe srak?” Neytiri echoed.

“Srane,” said Mo'at. “Nuä seng a til kilvan lu tsong atìfnunga' utralkip. Krrnekx fwa ne tsateng sop, keng ikranfa…wum mawl trrä. Smon ngar tsatsenge? Lu sìltsana tseng fte stivarsìm pxaya mauti sì rìk. Nìsok nìtstunwi oeti tsasengne zämunge Peyralìl fa ikran sneyä fte tsakem sivi."

"F-fpìl oe tsafya. Oeng ne tsateng twsolayon fa Seze alo ahol, mawkrra slu oe ne tsakarem, kefyak?" A small thorn suddenly peirced Neytiri’s heart. Seze. Her beloved ikran companion had been killed in the battle. She knew she would have the opportunity bond with another someday, but her grief for Seze was still too fresh—she wasn’t ready.

Besides, she realized with a sudden jolt as she glanced breifly back down at her still-normal-looking belly, it would probably be quite some time before she could take on a task as risky as Iknimaya.

It was such a strange thought. Other than the small bouts of nausea, she didn’t really feel any different just yet, physically. She wondered vaguely how long it would be before her condition began to show.

Mo'at’s voice shook her from her thoughts.

"Sran, skxakep oeng tsakem sami. Kä oe nìsok a krr, tsatsengfkeyk mi lu fyole. Lìm nìtam ftu Ayvitrayä Ramunong kuma tsamìl tsat ke tsolun 'ivampi. Fpìl oel futa nga sì muntxatu ngey nivew fivrrfen tsatsenget trro ahol. Menga vrrìn fìtxan taluna tsrayti zeyko kawl; sweylu txo menga syivor nì'it. Kxawm…tsivun ngal fmawnti peng poru tsatsengmì."

Neytiri’s eyes widened and her cheeks warmed as she realized what her mother was suggesting. It was normal for newly-bonded couples to take a few days for themselves following their mating ceremony, away from the clan. She and Jake had never gotten such an opportunity, for obvious reasons.

“'e-'efu nga am'ake?” she stammered, blinking rapidly in surprise. “Mi lu pxaya tìkangkem tsrayfpi. Ke new oe txivìng olo'ti oey krra mi fol oeti kin."

Mo'at grasped her daughter’s hands in her own.

“Ngal kawtut ke txerìng, ma 'ite ayawne,” she crooned lovingly. "Nì'aw tserurokx. Lu ngay fwa mi lu pxaya tìkangkem, slä tìnvir apxa li awnga hasey soli. Ayskxir zosleru, ulte lu frapor nivi lehoan fte hivahaw sì syuve letam fte livu yehakx."

"Slä set lu olo'eyktan Jeyk,” said Neytiri. "Srake ke kin olo'ìl tìeyktanit peyä?"

"Po olo'eyktan lu…slä lu tsahìk oe." Mo'at reminded, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her daughter’s forehead. "Omatikayaru oe fyawìntxu pxaya zìsìto. Foti tsun oe iveyk trro ahol nì'awtu. Käteng hu ngeyä muntxatu, ma 'ite. Peng poru fmawnit azey. Eywal omum futa kin fìolo'ìl mipa tìreyti mawfwa ngä'än nìftxan! Mi tok fìtsenget ayoel krra menga tätxaw."

Neytiri felt the light sting of tears prick at her eyes as she closed the rest of the distance between herself and her mother in an embrace.

“Irayo, ma Sa'nok,” she mumbled, breath trembling ever-so-slightly.

“Kea tìkin,” Mo'at responded warmly, smiling against her daughter’s braids. For a just a moment she felt water welling up in her own eyes. “Oeti 'eykefu nitram nìtxan fula soaia oengeyä sngerä'i tsawl slivu nìmun, maw sìhan apxay.”

Neytiri let out a small shaky laugh, loose and watery, as she pulled back.

“Srane.” [...]

.

Re-translated lines:

Zene oe piveng Jeykur. I must tell Jake.

Pivey, ma 'ite. Srefwa nga pohu plltxe, zene oe mivok kemit alahe. Wait, daughter. Before you speak with him, I must suggest another action.

Kemit alahe srak? Another action?

Srane. Nuä seng a til kilvan lu tsong atìfnunga' utralkip. Krrnekx fwa ne tsateng sop, keng ikranfa…wum mawl trrä. Yes. Beyond the place where the river bends there is a quiet valley among the trees. To travel there takes time, even by ikran...about half a day. 

Smon ngar tsatsenge? Lu sìltsana tseng fte stivarsìm pxaya mauti sì rìk. Are you familiar with that place? It is a good place to gather many fruits and leaves. 

Nìsok nìtstunwi oeti tsasengne zämunge Peyralìl fa ikran sneyä fte tsakem sivi. Recently Peyral kindly brought me there on her ikran in order to do so.

F-fpìl oe tsafya. Oeng ne tsateng twsolayon fa Seze alo ahol, mawkrra slu oe ne tsakarem, kefyak? I-I think so. We flew there a few times with Seze, after I became tsakarem, right?

Sran, skxakep oeng tsakem sami. Kä oe nìsok a krr, tsatsengfkeyk mi lu fyole. Yes, we probably did that. When I went recently, the condition of that place was still sublime. 

Lìm nìtam ftu Ayvitrayä Ramunong kuma tsamìl tsat ke tsolun 'ivampi. It is far away enough from the Well of Souls that the war could not touch it.

Fpìl oel futa nga sì muntxatu ngey nivew fivrrfen tsatsenget trro ahol. I think that you and your mate may want to visit that place for a few days. 

Menga vrrìn fìtxan taluna tsrayti zeyko kawl; sweylu txo menga syivor nì'it. You two have been so busy because of diligently fixing the village; it's best if you relax a little. 

Kxawm…tsivun ngal fmawnti peng poru tsatsengmì. Maybe...you could tell him the news there.

'e-'efu nga am'ake? Mi lu pxaya tìkangkem tsrayfpi. Ke new oe txivìng olo'ti oey krra mi fol oeti kin. A-are you sure? There is still much work for the village. I don't want to abandon my clan when they still need me.

Ngal kawtut ke txerìng, ma 'ite ayawne. Nì'aw tserurokx. Lu ngay fwa mi lu pxaya tìkangkem, slä tìnvir apxa li awnga hasey soli. You are not abandoning anyone, beloved daughter. Only resting. It is true that there is much work, but the big tasks we have already completed. 

Ayskxir zosleru, ulte lu frapor nivi lehoan fte hivahaw sì syuve letam fte livu yehakx. Wounds are healing, and everyone has a comfortable bed to sleep and enough food to satisfy their hunger.

Slä set lu olo'eyktan Jeyk. Srake ke kin olo'ìl tìeyktanit peyä? But Jake is clan leader now. Does the clan not need his leadership?

Po olo'eyktan lu…slä lu tsahìk oe. Omatikayaru oe fyawìntxu pxaya zìsìto. Foti tsun oe iveyk trro ahol nì'awtu. He is clan leader....but I am tsahìk. I have been guiding the Omatikaya for many years. I can lead them alone for a few days. 

Käteng hu ngeyä muntxatu, ma 'ite. Peng poru fmawnit azey. Spend time with your mate, daughter. Tell him the special news. 

Eywal omum futa kin fìolo'ìl mipa tìreyti mawfwa ngä'än nìftxan! Mi tok fìtsenget ayoel krra menga tätxaw. Eywa knows that this clan needs new life after suffering so much! We will still be here when you two return.

Irayo, ma Sa'nok. Thank you, Mother.

Kea tìkin. Oeti 'eykefu nitram nìtxan fula soaia oengeyä sngerä'i tsawl slivu nìmun, maw sìhan apxay. No need [to thank]. It makes me very happy that our family is beginning to grow again, after many losses.

Srane. Yes.

It had all happened so fast.

Sitting cross-legged in the tsahìk’s freshly-woven marui, Neytiri found it difficult to believe how different her life had been hardly four months prior. Engaged to her late sister’s beloved. Struggling to fill the role of tsakarem in said sister’s place. Filled with bitterness toward the sky people who had killed her just a few years before…

She’d wanted nothing more to do with those aliens. Nothing more to do with that school. She’d known Grace Augustine since she was very young, almost as long as she could remember, and she’d always been kind, but not even Grace could protect Sylwanin from those nasty metal weapons. Not Sylwanin, not Neytep, not Anuk…

No. She’d been so angry at the sky people, at all of them, even Grace and her scientists, that she’d been ready to shoot that one clumsy dreamwalker on sight the moment she first saw him stumbling through the underbrush.

And yet…so much had happened since then. 

Bringing that dreamwalker back to Hometree, at Eywa’s insistence. Her mother forcing her to become his teacher. Teaching him the ways of the Omatikaya, and those of the Na'vi more broadly…annoyed at first, but gradually softening as he actually seemed to take her instruction to heart. He’d been a quick learner, surprisingly humble, endlessly curious like a small child, and about as coordinated as one too, at first. Without even realizing it, as his understanding and abilities grew, so did her affection for him…an affection that must have been mutual, because before she knew it they were mating in the soft glow of Utraya Mokri, unabashedly sealing their bond before Eywa, commiting to each other for life. Neytiri’s face tinged the slightest purple at the memory. It certainly hadn’t come with all the bells and whistles of a normal mating ceremony, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

…but then…the sky people ruined that too, the great metal claws of their crass machines ripping down the sacred trees with careless abandon. They came for Hometree soon after, decimating the village Neytiri had grown up in, and taking several lives with it. Including her father. She’d watched him die there in the rubble. Just like Sylwanin. 

She’d been so angry at Jake. He had known about the impending arrival of the sky people and their fire-spitting beasts the whole time. Why hadn’t he told them? Why hadn’t he told her? But…he was a dreamwalker, after all. A sky person’s mind riding a false body. Just like Grace, who couldn’t save Sylwanin. They were all the same. They were always the same—

…yet then he returned to the clan as Toruk Makto, and in that moment Neytiri understood with startling certainty that despite any poor decisions he may have made in the past, he really was on the clan’s side now, he was ready to risk everything for them and for Pandora, and he had the endorsement of Eywa herself.

The relief was enough to make her head spin.

Then came the death of Grace, despite the clan’s valiant effort to save her. Then the great battle in the mountains. Seze’s death. Tsu'tey’s. So many other allies…the survivors saved only by Eywa’s miraculous intervention.

Killing the sky people’s olo'eyktan in his beastly metal machine. Saving Jake’s sky person body, which could not breath the natural air (and, she discovered that day, could not even walk on its own). Sending the surviving sky people back to their own world, save for a few who had sided with the Na'vi.

Recuperating the clans. Building a new village. Tending to battle wounds. Grieving the fallen. 

So much had happened.

It had been barely more than four months since Neytiri first aimed her bow at that strange dreamwalker.

It had all been so fast. Like a dream.

And now…

Now…

Neytiri’s trembling fingertips traced a light, shaky pattern across her own abdomen.

A baby.

She was going to have a baby. She and her mate. Her husband, the former dreamwalker.

Maybe I’m still dreaming.

Continue reading on Ao3→

[figofswords]

what would you all do if I said I wrote a fic in [redacted fandom]. would you bully me. hypothetically

[angryschnauzer]

Bubbles

Summary: After a long hot day at work and a nightmare journey home, you find your husband has a very welcome and refreshing surprise for you in the form of a full size jacuzzi in your back garden.

Pairing: Captain Syverston x Female Reader Wife (no race or size mentioned)

Fandoms: Sand Castle (Movie), Henry Cavill.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Established Relationship, Semi Public Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Alcohol consumption.

I do not run a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications for future stories. All past works can be found on there or on my AO3.

Bubbles

It had been a long day. Work had been hot and sweaty, customers were grouchy and some even tried to pull the 'speak to the manager' bullshit, even though you were the manager. Traffic had been a nightmare, your car deciding that the middle of a heatwave would be the perfect time for the air conditioning to stop working, simultaneously with a truck of maple syrup hitting the central concrete barrier and spilling its sticky load. 

Snerk. You snorted a laugh through the sweat. Sticky load… your husband would have made a whole bunch of dirty comments and jokes about being covered in sticky loads. You couldn't wait to get home to see him, it was the fact that he had now retired from the Army and would be happily waiting for you at home every night that made each day worthwhile. 

When Sy had finally retired you'd wept tears of joy, every day was a blessing. You'd discussed what you were both going to do with jobs, your contract was up in 3 months time, Sy was drawing a military pension and had saved a considerable nest egg. He'd also taken to industrial upcycling; making lamps and coffee tables out of engines and car parts, which had been massively popular. You had to admit when you saw him in his workshop with his acetylene torch and welding mask on, cutting enormous chunks of metal in half and creating brutal beauty from the elements you were immediately turned on by the raw virility of the sight.

When you eventually pulled onto the driveway, a quick glance towards his workshop told you he'd finished for the day, and as you let yourself into your house you called out to him;

"Sy?"

"Out here" came his slightly muffled reply, and you realised he was probably sitting on the patio out back, nursing a beer.

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a shower, the aircon in my car has stopped working"

"Darlin, come out here first… i got something that'll refresh you"

Rolling your eyes you started to unbutton your blouse;

"Really Sy, i'm all sweaty and stinky…"

"Woman…" he growled;  "I said get out here…"

If any other man had called you 'woman' you'd knocked them out, but you knew Sy and for him it was a term of endearment. Quietly walking through the kitchen you reached the back door and patio;

"Sy…" you started to speak, but was cut short when you saw what he'd been referring to.

Sat on the corner of your patio, shielded from view by the trellis covered in Clematis blooms was an inflatable hot tub, bubbling away with your mountain of a man sat in it, arms spread out on each side as he held a beer and grinned at you;

"Told ya' i had something that'd cool you down"

Pressing your hand to the side of it you tested the water, smiling when you found it the perfect temperature;

"You bought a hot tub?"

"Rented. Wanted to see if we liked it before we made the investment. Why don't you get in and give it a go?"

"Sure, i'll just go get changed into my bathing costume"

Sy's glinted with mischief;

"Why? I ain't wearing one…"

You weren't sure;

"Its rented? Is it clean?"

"Spent all afternoon flushing the system and giving it a full wipe down, even though the rental company says they do it after each use… i know how you are with hygiene" he moved in the massive tub, moving to the side where you stood;

 "Now are ya gonna get naked or am i gonna have to rip those clothes off of ya?"

A minute later you were climbing in, work clothes hastily discarded in a pile on the patio, Sy holding your hand as he guided you into the bubbly water and you immediately let out a long low moan as the jets of water soothed and massaged your weary body;

"Oh Sy… this feels amazing…"

"C'mere…"

His massive hands cradled your torso, pulling you through the water until you were able to straddle his lap, his mouth meeting yours for a fierce kiss. As your tongues danced together he smoothed his hands over your back, massaging the day's stresses away to the point where let your head tilt back. Resting in his strong arms you let your back touch the water, smiling as the warm summer breeze danced over your breasts, before that skilled mouth was on your breasts, sucking on one nipple then the other, before he shifted and you were floating on the water, his mouth on your pussy. 

You weren’t the tiniest of girls, but you had utter trust in Sy that he could hold you up whilst eating you out. The man would easily heave around 10 foot iron beam railroad tracks to make into coffee tables, he’d pushed his truck home when the engine had died and that is no mean feat when it comes to a Ford F350. So with that knowledge safe in your mind you could thoroughly relax and let his tongue work magic on your clit as his beard tickled your folds. You came with a cry and he swallowed down your essence, before lowering you into the water and onto his lap.

As he lowered you you felt his hardness seek you out, sliding through your folds before you reached down and positioned him at your entrance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you let yourself be slowly impaled on his shaft. With the worries and stresses of the day easing away with each blissful bubble that popped on your skin you sought out his lips for another kiss as you started to ride him, the friction palatable as the noise of the motor covered the sighs and moans the two of you were making. Sy’s hands firmly gripped your ass, pulling you up and down on his gnarled shaft;

“Fuck… You look so fucking good riding me Darlin’. Definitely gonna get a permanent one of these installed… might get you a coupla’ white bikini’s as i’d love to see these titties through the soaked fabric, would be such a treat…” he grinned at you; “A titty treat…”

Grinning at him you squeezed your pelvic muscles, finally shutting him up so you could concentrate as you chased your orgasm;

“Sure Sy, i’ll get a white bikini… you want me to do the gardening in it too? Watching me on my hands and knees as i plant the petunia’s?”

“Woman, i’ll fucking take you from behind right on the lawn if you do that” he growled, thrusting his hips up sharply and finding your g-spot. One of his hands crept around your hip and between your bodies, seeking out your clit as he ran his calloused thumb over the sensitive nub. From the way he was bouncing you on his lap you could tell he was getting close, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold off from cumming, but with no luck. His hands gripped your hips to stop you from moving in the hope it’d delay his orgasm. You watched as his eyes rolled back in his head and his head fell back against the side of the spa, thrusting his hips up as he swore out a litany of curses as his body reached its peak before he’d have wanted to;

“Fuck fuck fuck… ah god… i’m sorry… fuck…”

Cradling the back of his head in your fingers you stroked at the short hair as you dipped your head down and pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck and shoulders. With his eyes still shut he pulled a hand out of the water and raked it down his face before looking up at you, his blue eyes sparkling;

“Ah fuck i’m sorry Darlin’... lemme see about getting you sorted…don’t get off just yet…”

He slid his hand back between your bodies, his thumb back on your clit. His other hand moved to your breasts, using his mouth on one nipple as he pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger. Writhing on his lap you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, Sy knowing exactly how to play your body like a guitar as you sang out your siren song that was a blessing to his ears. 

As your orgasm washed over you Sy held you in his arms, letting you ride out your pleasure as he relished the feel of your body surrounding him. Slumped in his arms you nuzzled at his neck, happily riding the waves of pleasure that echoed around your body. 

“You ok there Darlin’?” Sy purred, smoothing his massive palm over your back like a giant bear paw.

“Hmmn” you hummed, stopping mid response when you felt him shift and realised he was hard again; “Sy?”

He looked at you, a smirk on his face as he cocked an eyebrow;

“Darlin… you know when i blow my load real fast i’m ready for another round… your sweet little pussy massaged me back to full health” he pressed a kiss to your nose; “Now turn around and bend over, hand on the side… i’m gonna rail that juicy pussy from behind, see how many times i can make you cum before i shoot load number two”

Manhandling you in the water you let out a shriek as he thrust into you from behind, your walls still tight from your previous orgasm and he did exactly as promised, splitting you open from behind as his powerful thighs railed you harder than the transcontinental express. With his heavy ballsack slapping against your clit you were soon cumming again, Sy fucking you straight through it before he brought you to another orgasm soon after as he filled you with another sticky load.

As you both tried to recover from the energetic synchronised aquatics he pulled you flush with his chest as he sank down into the water, letting you lay back against his chest as your bodies were still joined. His hands skimmed over your torso beneath your breasts, cupping them tenderly;

“We’re getting one of these, right Darlin’?”

“Hmmm, absolutely”

You sat there for a good half hour, cradled in Sy’s arms as you told each other about your day, before your skin wrinkled and it was time to get out.

-

Later that evening Sy had driven the pair of you to the main hardware store in town that he’d rented the Spa from, and you’d ordered the parts and equipment for your very own one. As Sy had started getting deep into conversation with the sales guy who turned out had also recently retired from the Army you tugged on Sy’s sleeve;

“Honey, i’m gonna pop to Walmart next door”

“Sure thing Darlin, i’ll catch up with you in fifteen minutes”

Just as promised Sy found you fifteen minutes later as you browsed through the clothing section, and you spotted that he was swinging a small clothes hangar from his finger;

“What you got there?” you asked

Sy held it up and your eyes practically bulged out of your head; He had found the tiniest white bikini, that although was your size, was little more than three small triangles of fabric connected with the thinnest of strings;

“Exactly what we discussed… now i see ya got a bottle of tequila and some snacks, how about we head home and we can test this out?”

Grinned you nodded;

“Just one thing…”

“Yeah Darlin?”

“We need to grab a few more of those… there’s no way that is gonna survive one wear with you around”

Nodding in agreement Sy grinned, taking the basket from your hand as he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders;

“See, that’s why i married ya’, thinking ahead…”

He pressed a kiss to your hair as he led you back to the display of swimwear, grinning as you pulled out numerous other cheap pieces of swimwear, knowing full well Sy would destroy them as thoroughly as he destroys your pussy.

[lgg5989]

MavDad: Set Backs

A/N: Here's the next installment of MavDad! Thank you to everyone for reading and your support. As always please leave ideas for future chapters in the comments! 💜

MavDad Masterlist

Also on Ao3!

---

Mav sat hunched over on the couch, his head in his hands. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, but he couldn’t force himself to get up. His mind kept torturing him with Bradley’s face, anguish and heartbreak written across every feature. 

He thought back to how this all began, to the promise he made to Carole. 

“Don’t let my baby die like his father.” she had said to him. How could he argue with that? Could he risk losing another member of his self-made family? 

He took a deep, shaking breath, fighting off the tears burning to be released from his eyes. He needed to call someone. 

The only person he wanted to talk to was Bradley, but he knew that his call would go unanswered. As Mav tried to get up off the couch another wave of emotions hit him and he no longer had the strength to stand. He collapsed to the couch again, this time staring at the picture of him and Brad that sat on the living room table, his mind rapidly spiraling through memories that had led him here. 

***

Mav almost regretted the first time he had taken Brad flying at Charlie’s, it would have made keeping Carole’s promise easier. 

“Do you think I could be a pilot too? Like you?” Brad asked quietly. 

Mav knew that the unasked part of that question was also: Like dad?. Why did he even keep this promise to Carole? It's not like she was here any longer to make sure he carried it out. How could he stand in Bradley’s way as he tried to be like his dad? Mav knew the feeling Bradley had well, the need to be closer to his father was only satisfied when in the air. How could Mav take that from him?

***

Ice was right about this, no matter how compelled Mav had felt keeping Carole’s promise, this had taken everything from him. Mav thought back to the conversation they had the morning of Bradley’s graduation. 

Mav was standing at the kitchen counter speaking quietly into the phone, “I know that it’s difficult Ice but I need your help with this.” 

“Mav, do you understand what you’re asking me to do? I thought you would be proud of him for wanting to follow in yours and Goose’s footsteps,” Ice said. 

It was silent for a minute before Mav continued, “He’s not ready for this.”

“Are any of us ever really ready?” Ice shot back, “Do you understand what this might cost you?”

“It might cost me everything,” Mav snapped back quickly.

He heard Ice sigh heavily, “Is that a price you are willing to pay to keep a promise to someone who isn’t here anymore?”

Mav couldn’t answer that, he honestly didn’t think he wanted to know the answer to that question or it might break his resolve. 

***

The truth of the matter was that Mav didn’t have the connections to pull Bradley’s application to the academy, but Ice did. He was an Admiral now, and had attended the USNA himself. Ice had a reputation of excellence and Mav knew that he could intervene on Mav’s behalf. 

Last week Ice called him with the news. 

“This is your last chance to turn back Mav,” Ice said with a slight pause before adding, “Your boy might look like his father, but he has your temper, he won’t forgive you for this.”

Mav hesitated before giving his answer, “I know. Do it before I give myself time to change my mind.” 

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you Mav,” Ice said before the line went dead. 

A few minutes later he got a text back. Ice simply said, “Its done.”. 

***

The morning had started out nice enough. Mav had made breakfast before him and Brad headed out to the garage to work on the Bronco, it just needed a quick oil change. As they were finishing the truck, Brad’s phone rang. 

Brad looked at him, excitement written on his face, and Mav’s heart dropped into his stomach, “Well, pick it up,” Mav said, trying to smile. 

Brad answered the phone and walked out of the garage, pacing the driveway as they told him what Mav already knew. He could hear snippets of the conversation and it made him feel sick, he shouldn’t have gone through with this. 

“Good morning, sir,” Brad said, excitedly. Mav heard a long pause before, “I’m sorry, what do you mean there was a problem with my application?”

“Why would there be a hold on it?” Brad asked, turning to look at Mav with desperate eyes, “Who put the hold on it?” he asked in a hard voice. 

Mav turned his back on Brad and walked into the garage, shame making his face flame with color, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide the guilt in his eyes. He was going to have to deal with the consequences of this on his own, he would not bring up Carole, Bradley would only resent her as well as him. 

“I understand. Thank you, sir,” Bradley said before he hung up, throwing his phone against the side of the house as a shuddering breath escaped him. 

“Did you know about this?” he shouted, as he made his way back into the garage. 

Mav turned to look at him, and he could see the moment that Brad knew. Before he could say a word Bradley was in his face, “Why? Why would you do that?” he said in a harsh whisper, his throat constricting with the angry tears Mav could see him trying to hold back. 

Mav stuttered, he couldn’t give Bradley the truth, but he had never been good at lying, “I…you aren’t ready…” he finished lamely, “I have to protect you.” 

“Protect me from what?” Brad shouted, “And who are you to decide if I am ready? You aren’t my parents!” 

He had seen the regret pass over Brad’s face for half a second after he had said that before it was replaced with anger again. Mav’s heart sank even further in his gut and tears clouded his vision. He knew that Brad was going to push him out of his life, but he didn’t realize how much it was going to hurt. 

Mav hesitated before giving Bradley a bit of the truth, his voice raw emotion, “I have to protect you, I can’t lose another Bradshaw.” 

Bradley’s face shifted from anger to sadness, “Well you’re going to lose me anyway. I can’t…” his voice broke, “How could you? You know this is what I have wanted to do since you took me up in that plane.”

Mav nodded, tears streaming down his face now, “I would rather you be alive and hate me, than risk you dying.” 

Brad’s resolve broke, the tears he had been holding back began to stream down his face, “I will find a way into the Navy, with or without your support.” 

Mav moved forward, trying to grab for Bradley’s arm, “Bra-”

“Tell Iceman that he is dead to me,” Brad said, cutting him off and ripping his arm out of Mav’s grip. He made his way to the Bronco, before turning to look back at Mav, “He picked his side.” 

Before Mav could move any closer to the truck, Brad fired it up and tore out of the garage. 

***

Mav’s eyes opened slowly, the living room was dark and his back was stiff. He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying on the floor but it must have been several hours since Bradley had left. He struggled to his feet and made his way to the garage, the Bronco was still gone. Mav moved back through the house and went to Brad’s room. Throwing the door open he found the room in the same state it was always in. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, maybe there was a chance that Brad would forgive him. If Brad hadn’t returned yet, there were only a few places that Mav could think he would have gone. The first on the list was Kate’s house. Taking a seat on Brad’s bed, he pulled out his phone and dialed Kate’s number. 

She picked up after a few rings, “Hello?”

“Kate, is Bradley with you?” he asked, desperately. All he heard was silence, “I know I fucked up but I’m worried about him.” 

“Mav what were you thinking?” He heard her sigh, “I know where he is, but if I tell you, you have to promise to give him time.” 

“I just need to know he is safe,” he said. 

“He went to visit his parents’ grave,” she said quietly, “Maverick, I don’t know if you can fix this but I hope you try.” 

Mav let out a quiet, “I will,” before he hung up the phone. 

He dialed Ice’s number, contemplating if he should call or not. He hit the call button before he could overthink it, his need to know if Bradley was okay was greater than whatever time it was. 

“Mav,” Ice said groggily, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Mav said, “Listen Ice, I need a favor.” 

“What’s wrong?” Ice asked quickly, picking up the worry in Mav’s voice.

“Its Bradley, when he found out what we did today, he took off. I was waiting for him to come home but he hasn’t come back yet. Can you drive over to the cemetery and see if he is there?” Mav said quickly. 

Ice sighed, “I’m assuming it didn’t go well.” 

“No…” Mav said quietly, “I don’t know if he will ever forgive me.” 

“I’m on my way to the cemetery now,” Ice said before Mav heard the line go dead. 

Twenty minutes later Mav’s phone rang, “He’s here Mav. I think he fell asleep against their gravestone. Do you want me to wake him?”

“Yeah,” Mav said, voice low, quickly adding, “Ice, he didn’t have very good things to say earlier, about either of us.” 

“I understand, I’ll make sure he is okay to get home,” Ice said, Mav heard the shuffle of fabric as Ice slipped the phone in his pocket and made his way to Bradley’s sleeping form. He could hear their conversation muffled by the fabric of Ice’s pants pocket. 

“Bradley?” Ice called. 

There was some shuffling before, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Mav called me. He was worried when you didn’t come home,” Ice said calmly. 

“I don’t know if I should even call that place home anymore,” Brad said slowly, “Not after the shit that Mav pulled, and you, helping him. Why did you do it?”

“He’s my friend Bradley,” Ice replied coolly, “He loves you and wants to protect you from the same fate as your father. How could I say no?”

Brad laughed humorlessly, “Its simple, you just say, no.” 

Ice let out a deep breath, “There are things you don’t understand now, but you will one day. Do you need a place to stay?”

“No,” Brad said before Mav heard the Bronco start up. 

Mav heard shuffling as Ice removed the phone from his pocket, “He is headed somewhere Mav. Hopefully home.” 

“Thanks Ice, I owe you one,” Mav said, his voice filled with sadness.

“Don’t worry about it Mav. Just let me know when he shows up at home.” 

“I will,” Mav said before ending the call. 

He sat on Bradley’s bed a moment longer, he knew that things were going to change for the worse and he didn’t know if he was ready to accept that so easily. Eventually he slowly made his way back downstairs, all he could do now was wait for Bradley to come home. 

—

As Mav sat on the couch, waiting for Bradley, he watched the dark sky light up with dawn, he couldn’t help but think about how much he missed Goose and Carole. They wouldn’t have messed up their relationship with their son this badly. 

Mav grew more worried with each passing hour, it was now almost 5AM and Bradley wasn’t home yet. Just as Mav was pulling his phone out to call Ice, again, he heard the Bronco’s familiar rumble outside. 

Relief washed through him and he quickly decided that he would let Bradley control their situation. Mav wasn’t sure what was going through his head besides anger and heartache but he didn’t want to make things worse by forcing him into a conversation they weren’t ready to have. 

Mav stayed on the couch, wanting to give Brad physical and emotional space. He watched Brad come in the door from the garage and look around, when his eyes settled on Mav, they hardened. 

“Bradley,” Mav said in greeting. 

“Maverick,” Brad said in return, his voice cold, before swiftly making his way across the space to the stairs. 

As Brad got to the stairs Mav followed, “Bradley, if I could take it back I would.” 

Brad stopped, without turning around to look at Mav he said, “Yeah, well you can’t, and now I have to live with the consequences of that.” 

Mav watched him jog up the stairs, a few seconds later he heard Brad’s door slam closed. 

—

They lived together in tense silence for the weeks that followed. One afternoon, as Mav was coming home he saw Bradley carrying a duffle bag and two boxes out to the Bronco. 

“What’s going on?” he asked as he climbed off his bike, the first words they had spoken to each other in weeks. 

“I’m going to OCS,” Brad said shortly. 

Mav sighed, he had been rejected to the Naval Academy and attended OCS instead, it was still a pathway into the Navy, it just set you back a few years. 

“Just…be safe…please…,” Mav said as he stood somewhat awkwardly behind him. Their relationship was tattered, but he still loved Bradley like he was his own child. 

Brad paused for a moment, he turned to look at Mav, while he was still angry with him for what he did, that didn’t mean Bradley stopped loving him, “I will.” 

Bradley climbed into the Bronco. He glanced out the window, taking one last look at the house he grew up in before he started the engine and drove away. 

Mav stood in the driveway for a while after Bradley left, as he watched the Bronco disappear down their street, a single tear made its way down his cheek. He didn’t know when Brad would forgive him or even when he would hear from or see him again, but he would hold onto hope for their future, that's all he could do. 

[thelikesofus]

Anchor (Weight Me Down, Lift Me Up)

by thelikesofus

Read on AO3

Summary:

It is not that Jihoon dislikes skinship, it is just that he prefers when it to happens on his own terms.

OR

Jihoon is touch starved to the point of a breakdown. Boi just really needs a hug.

____

It is not that Jihoon dislikes skinship, it is just that he prefers when it to happens on his own terms. Grabbing hands and surprise touches make his skin crawl and he finds no comfort in unsolicited hugs. However Jihoon is a tactile person by nature and so in his own time, by his own discretion, skinship is not an uncommon or entirely unwelcome occurrence. He often finds himself placing a hand on the thigh of the person next to him, playing with the hair at the back of a member's nape, or even resting his head on a nearby shoulder when his eyes grew weary.

The trouble is, that his general dislike of unrequested contact has led to it now being expected that the other members steer clear of Jihoon unless he specifically seeks them out. Under any other circumstance, this would be ideal but sometimes Jihoon just cannot bring himself to search out the affection he sometimes craves, no matter how badly he requires it.

It has been a long week trudged down in endless schedules, recordings, meetings, and interviews. Jihoon's mind has been such a mess of information that he has barely had a moment to think. As usual, it starts out as a dull itch, a light tickling sensation across the inside of his palms and along his ribs. Easy enough to ignore but present all the same. He has dealt with this before, he knows that it comes in waves and will soon pass, it usually does.

However, by the end of the week, his arms feel heavy and his stomach is permanently twisted into a knot. In the evenings he finds himself wrapping his sheets around himself just a little too tight and turning up the heating in his room at least five degrees above where he usually sets it. He knows exactly what he is subconsciously trying to achieve, some semblance of pressure, of presence. He is finding himself desperately looking for some way to elevate the weird strain in his chest and the thick feeling in the back of his throat.

Monday morning, all the members have to sit through a meeting with their managers. Jihoon knows that he should be paying closer attention to the topics being thrown around but he has been preoccupied counting back from one hundred in his head and squeezing his hands into tight fists for the last twenty minutes. His mind feels like it's floating in a vacuum and he has been trying desperately to ground himself. He does not even notice the way his legs are rapidly bouncing under the table until Seokmin rests a hand on his knee from beside him. Jihoon's whole body freezes at the contact and his mind goes blank.

"Are you okay, Hyung?" Seokmin whispers in his ear, trying not to catch the attention of any of the staff in the room. Jihoon vaguely registers Seungcheol glaring at them from across the table. Nothing getting past their leader, but Jihoon still does not feel like his mind and his body are one entity and the way Seokmin's hand rests against his thigh is sending all his nerve endings into overdrive.

Seokmin must notice Jihoon staring intently at his offending limb as he quickly retracts his hand and a slurry of whispered apologies follows. A wash of ice-cold floods over Jihoon at the loss of contact and his chest constricts painfully.

He catches Seungcheol's eye across the table and he is still glaring at the two of them for not paying attention. Jihoon quickly schools his face into what he hopes is an impassive yet attentive expression and hopes that he covers his uneasiness. Seokmin gives him a funny look from beside him but does not comment as he also turns his attention back to where the staff members are still talking.

Later that afternoon, Jihoon shoulders his way into another smaller conference room, having come from his studio down the hall he is the last member to make it to Seugcheol’s impromptu gathering. Taking in the possible seating options left in the room he sees an unoccupied armchair off to the side and a small space in the middle of the couch. Jihoon’s heart leaps as the perfect excuse to sit next to someone shows itself, an opportunity for contact without questioning, and he makes a beeline across the room. He sits snugly between Chan and Minghao, his shoulders pressing against theirs on either side. For a brief moment, the churning stops and he takes a deep breath in, and then Chan stands up and switches to sit in the empty armchair, and Minghao slides away to sit closer to the arm of the couch.

He knows he cannot be mad at them, they are only doing what they think is expected of them. In their mind, Jihoon just wants to sit on the couch and in respect for their Hyung, they are allowing him his personal space. But space is the last thing Jihoon wants right now and he does not know how to ask for the opposite. Instead, he settles back against the couch cushions, laces his fingers together inside the front pocket of his hoodie, and squeezes his fists tightly as he tries to focus on Seugcheol explaining their schedule for tomorrow.

Again, he struggles to concentrate on what their leader is saying. He makes one attempt at expanding his limbs in small increments until his knee brushes against Minghao’s foot where it rests on the seat of the couch, and for a brief moment the tingling in his limbs eases. However, as soon as Minghao notices the contact he shifts and places his feet on the floor. At that, Jihoon completely zones out. He can ask Jeonghan to fill him in later if need be but right now he cannot force his mind to focus on anything but the fading paint on the wall behind Seungcheol’s head and the intermittent ringing in his ears. He does not even notice that Seugncheol has finished talking until a hand on his shoulder shocks him out of his thoughts.

His head whips behind him to see that Soonyoung is just using his shoulder for balance as he stands up from the stool behind the couch, and a moment later the connect is gone and Soonyoung passes him by with a quick smile thrown over his shoulder. Jihoon digs his nails into his palms as he takes a deep breath and follows the members out of the room.

The rest of the afternoon and evening is filled with the briefest instances of contact. Mingyu brushing against his back as he reaches for a cup on the shelf above his head, Seungkwan leaning against his side as he laughs at something Seokim said during dinner, Vernon grabbing his wrist and pushing it aside to collect his dirty plate for him, and Joshua tapping him on the arm to get his attention as he passes him a blanket from the other couch. Each touch leaves Jihoon’s head spinning. His hands feel numb and he is overtly aware of his tongue being too big for his mouth, yet no matter how much he swallows or how tightly he wrings his fingers together he cannot make the feelings go away.

_____

The late evening finds Jihoon alone in the living room, bundled up in the blanket that Joshua had given him earlier. He has wrapped it so tightly around himself that only the top of his head and his eyes are visible over the edge of the plush material. He has bruised the sides of his fingers from squeezing too tightly and has matching indents in both palms from his fingernails. His bottom lip is raw from chewing on it and he has started counting in his head again. He gets down to sixty-seven when Jun walks past after finishing clearing the table. He ruffles Jihoon's hair with his long fingers as a silent goodnight and then extracts them as he leaves the room. In a split second Jihoon crumbles.

His breath hitches and he involuntary lets out a strangled wine as his vision blurs. He can hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears, his chest feels so tight he thinks it might burst and his head is spinning. The blanket is too tight, too much. He throws it off in a rush and leans forward on his knees but his balance is off and he falls off the couch barely missing the coffee table in front of him. It is at the moment that he registers the hands on his shoulders that stopped him from colliding with the floor.

His commotion must have drawn Jeonghan’s attention from where he was washing the dishes in the kitchen with Wonwoo. Jihoon scrambles to grab onto the hands, to hold them or to push them away he is not sure, he just needs to find them. Jeonghan must notice his panic but he misinterprets it as he quickly lets go of Jihoons shoulders and shuffles back a few feet to give him more space. But space is the last thing Jihoon has wanted for days and he reaches back out towards his Hyung, the blurred figure sitting across from him.

“Jihoon? Can you hear me?” Jeonghan’s voice reaches his ear and Jihoon wanted to say that yes he can hear him, but it is not enough.

"Hyung,” He finds himself pleading. Any other time he would be beyond embarrassed to be seen in such a state, to be heard sounding so desperate but right now that is exactly how he feels. Desperate and yearning but unable to find the right words.

“Jihoonie, can I touch you?” Jeonghan asks further and Jihoon’s heart squeezes so tightly he thinks it stops. Yes, yes that is it, that is what he wants.

“Please! I just-, Hyung.” Jihoon can only imagine how confused Jeonghan must be and yet his Hyung takes it in his stride as he does with anything else. Jihoon registers Jeonghan shuffling closer and then his hand on the side of his neck, his thumb brushing back and forth against his jaw, and Jihoon melts into his touch as a sob is torn from his throat.

“Oh, Hoonie. Come here, come here.” Jeonghan mumbles softly as he reaches out both of his arms and draws Jihoon closer to himself. “You’re okay, you are okay.”

His words sound like a promise and Jihoon believes him. For the last week, Jihoon has felt like he was floating, suspended, and fuzzing but the moment Jeonghan’s arms come around him he comes crashing down as he crumbles against his Hyung’s chest. Jeonghan mumbles soft reassurances into his ear as he tucks Jihoon’s head under his chin and rocks them back and forth gently.

Another body appears beside them as Wonwoo comes through from the kitchen. Without a word he takes a seat on the floor next to where Jeonghan is cradling Jihoon and rests his hand against the back of Jihoons neck, softly rubbing the tension out of the tight tendons. Jihoon is sure that the two older members are having a silent conversation over his head but he cannot bring himself to care and only snuggling deeper into Jeonghan’s embrace.

“I’ll go get Coups,” Jihoon hears Wonwoo say as his hand moves from the back of his neck to squeeze his shoulder before he stands up and leaves the room. For a brief moment, Jihoon almost dissolves into panic again at the loss of contact before his brain registers what he said and he relaxes again.

Wonwoo returns a few minutes later with not just Seungcheol but also Soonyoung and Mingyu in toe. Brief words are exchanged between Jeonghan and Seungcheol before Jeonghan’s arms loosen from around Jihoon’s frame and he is transferred to Seungcheol who lifts him up off the ground effortlessly and begins carrying him down the hallway. Again, under any other circumstances, he would be beyond embarrassed at being treated like an infant, he hates it when anyone tries to carry him and he would be perfectly capable of walking, and yet he does not realize how drained he is until he allows his head to lull against Seuncheol’s shoulder.

Seungcheol carries him into one of the dorm rooms and sits him on the bed. Soonyoung quickly sits down right beside him in a way that would usually be too close for comfort but at this moment Jihoon reveals in the press of Soonyoung thigh against his and how he rests flush against his side. Mingyu chucks a sweatshirt in his direction and Jihoon fists his fingers in the soft, warm fabric. He vaguely recognizes it as the one that Mingyu had been wearing at dinner. He does not even hesitate before pulling it over his head, over top of the one he is already wearing.

Soonyoung wraps his arms around Jihoon shoulders and tugs him sideways to lay down on the bed and Seungcheol pulls the blankets over the two on them. Jeonghan comes into the room and sits on the other side of the bed and softly runs his fingers through Jihoon’s hair as he rests his head against Soonyoung’s shoulder and breathes in deeply. He barely hears Joshua enter the room and exchange quiet words with Seugcheol before he leaves the room with both Seungchoel and Mingyu. They turn the light off as they leave but leave the door open slightly to allow the light from the hallway to filter in softly. Jihoon stops fighting his exhaustion as he yawns, a hand reaching up to rub at his eyes and settles deeper into Soonyoung’s embrace and focuses intently on the way that Jeonghan’s nails scratch against his scalp and within minutes he is sound asleep.

_____

A/N.

I am back and definitely not projecting onto Jihoon at all. Sorry for the big sad, hopefully the cuddles at the end made up for it.

Love y'all, Meegs xx

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Land of Thieves #ChapterOne

Western/ Red Dead Redemption AU / Slow Burn / childhood best friends to lovers 

Gif is not mine.

Read on AO3 (English Version) 

Ler no AO3  / “Terra de Ladrões” (Versão Português)

Chapter warnings: explicit language, explicit violence. 

Word count for this chapter:  4002K

Summary:  When you were a child, you swore that no matter how high the reward in your head, she could always count on you. Life as an outlaw in the west is not easy, but you believe that train robberies are still easier than asking a pretty girl to dance. Land of Thieves, also know as your love story with Wanda Maximoff in the Wild West.

Pt.1 || Pt. 2 || Pt. 3 || Pt.4 || Pt.5 || Pt.6 || Pt.7 || Pt.8 || Pt.9 || Pt.10 || Pt.11

You were covered in mud and blood when you entered the saloon. Curious and judgmental eyes turned to you, but you didn't stare back. Stretching your back, you felt your whole body ache; the recent beating was sure to leave marks. Walking over to the counter, you threw three gold coins onto the wood, muttering in a mumbled tone "bath" to the saloon keeper. He nodded slightly, showing you the way to the restrooms. As you washed up, you grumbled against the recent cuts, but you were happy to know that you hadn't been shot. Your body ached, but without bullet wounds, you would be better in no time. A pretty girl who worked in the saloon smiled at you when she took your muddy clothes to wash them, and you looked away blushing helplessly. She handed you new clothes before she left. When you finished your shower, you put on the white silk shirt, and beat-up jeans that were handed to you. The boots were not new, but they were comfortable. You also put on spurs, but they didn't give you suspenders, so you left the shirt loose against your body, enjoying the lightness. Attaching your holstered belt to your waist, you checked to be sure your Schofield revolver was clean and locked before you holstered it. You walked to the top floor of the saloon, ignoring the curious glances cast at you on the way. You hoped that no one would recognize you from the reward posters, but you weren't so sure about that, since your face was quite exposed without your hat, which must now be somewhere lost in the middle of New Elizabeth, or on some thief's head. Whistling softly, you walked to the saloon balcony, watching the town below. Valentine is a ranching town, small and not very crowded. Lots of pedestrians, you observe. You light a cigarette as you watch the citizens go about their mundane lives, many opportunities passing before your eyes. You let your gaze wander to the town bank, a few meters ahead on the right of the saloon. You notice that security is low. Making mental notes about everything you could observe from there, you put out your cigarette, returning to the lower part of the saloon, toward the counter. - A whiskey and a beef stew. - You grumble, handing the bartender some coins. He nods in agreement and in a few minutes you get your meal. While you are sitting at the farthest table in the room, you listen attentively to the conversation of two men at the poker table, who have caught your attention. - My cousin saw the carriages in Saint Denis. Four horses in each, and he said that the riders were armed to the teeth." - The skinny man commented excitedly, his friend didn't look so happy. - Those damned bankers are like pests of the soil. You saw what happened to that southern town, I think it was called White Gate. - commented the man with the mustache, his expression frowning. - After the oil ran out, everybody lost their jobs. Stark closed the mine and the citizens began to starve. Almost everyone moved to the neighboring towns. Stark. The name was not strange to you, but you could not tell exactly where you had heard it before. You finished your stew, deciding that Steve would want to know about both the bank and the possible rich men who were visiting the town. Finishing your whiskey in one gulp, you stood up, leaving the saloon just as you collected your freshly washed clothes from the same woman who had brought them. It was hot and humid outside. Knight, your Hungarian half-breed horse, grunted with delight when you stroked his mane. You smiled at him before you mounted. You rode south, figuring you would have no trouble finding the new camp site, and trying to remember Bucky's instructions about where exactly they were. It took some time, but you finally found the camp. You dismounted Knight as you entered the area between the trees, walking calmly to the largest tent. Steve Rogers was like a father to you. When your birth parents died of cholera, you ran away from the orphanage the government put you in, and started living on the streets. You were only seven years old, but you were smart enough to hide in one of the garbage carts when the nuns weren't looking, and you ran away because you couldn't stand being beaten by the older children and your own teachers. You ended up somewhere in West Elizabeth, and while trying to steal some food, you were chased by two officers. But just as they were about to catch up with you, someone knocked them out. You smiled when Steve held out a big piece of bread and water to you. From that moment on, you lived with him. The Avengers gang became your family. Steve took care of you, and trained you as an outlaw. You learned everything that was essential to survive in the Wild West, from hunting to murder. And as the years passed, other people joined the gang, and you accepted them all as your family. When Steve saw you, he smiled tenderly, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief as he motioned for you to enter the tent. - So, kiddo, what did you find out in Valentine? - asked the man as you sat down in the opposite position, on a wooden chair. - They have a poorly protected bank. - You shrugged. - But you know how these small towns are, the risk is almost always not worth the gain. - That's too bad, we need money. Especially to buy medicine. You let out a low exclamation of agreement, you knew exactly how difficult the situation was. It had been a particularly difficult season for the gang. With Fury's death at the last service, and the move out of town to get away from the officers, you were still facing a wave of illness. Carol and Bruce had been feverish and bedridden for days, and Thor had been shot during an unsuccessful robbery. - I overheard an interesting conversation, though. - You say, and Steve looks at you curiously. - Some rich people are coming to Valentine in a few days. The name Stark was mentioned, have you ever heard of it? Steve's eyes widen in surprise and excitement. - Of course I have! - he exclaims. - Filthy rich folks there! Rich enough to lend us a little money without even noticing. - I think Stark is going to buy the oil mines at Heartlands. And he's staying in Valentine while he does the negotiations. - That's excellent. - Steve says, running his hand along his chin in a thoughtful expression. - If the deposit is made in Valentine, we will have the purchase money first hand. You nodded. - But even if the deposit is made here, the money is sure to be transferred to Saint Denis. - You retort, trying to think of all the details of the scam. - Which means that we have to steal the money the same day it is deposited, or we only stand a chance during the transfer. Steve stood up, walking around the tent with the same thoughtful expression on his face. - No, no. - He began to speak as if the alternatives were rapidly forming in his head. - The carriage will be extremely protected. In the gunfire, we can be very worried about not getting killed, which will give them a chance to escape to the city. And then we'll have no way to reach them there. You sighed, knowing that he was right. You frowned, trying to think of something, but Steve soon spoke again. - We need to do this while the money is in the bank. And we have to do it fast. - He says, and then walks to the edge of the hut, looking around the field. He whistles, attracting the attention of Peggy Carter, who is chopping wood, and when she raises her curious gaze to him, Steve beckons her to join him. - What is it, Rogers? - Peggy asks gently. You exchange a smile with her. - We've got a new hit. - He says, making room for Peggy to join you. - Is Bucky around? - He went out hunting a few minutes ago. The twins went with him. - Peggy says and you rest your face on your own hand, waiting for Steve to speak again. - Oh right. I'll explain the details to them later. - The blond man says, walking around the cabin to the table in the opposite corner, and he takes a pen and paper and begins to write down what you think of as a rough draft of the plan. - We will rob Valentine's bank then. - I thought that banks in small towns were not worth the risk. - Peggy commented with a slightly confused expression. - Ah, but we have a unique opportunity. - Steve remarked, bringing the doodle over to Peggy. - Howard Stark, big oil guy, is going to buy the Heartlands mines. The purchase money will be deposited in Valentine before being transferred to Saint Denis. I believe we will have about a few hours to rob the bank - Steve, are you sure this is a good idea? - Peggy assumed a worried posture. - We are short on snipers... - It's a great idea. - He interrupts, looking at Peggy seriously, but still maintaining a calm tone. - We need the money, Peggy. If this is planned correctly, we don't have to worry about the number of weapons. - I appreciate the confidence in my abilities, by the way. - You playfully push your shoulder lightly against Peggy, she smiles at you. - Of course I trust you, Y/N. - She answers, but her gaze is still worried. - We just need to be careful in this job. You spend the rest of the afternoon planning. It doesn't take long for Bucky to join you. He hands a deer carcass to Pietro, who carries it back to the supply hut. Steve repeats the plan, and you let your gaze drift quickly to Wanda, who smiles at you, and you feel something in your stomach drop. Blushing, you look away, turning your attention back to Steve. It is already night when you have finally finished working out the plan. Wanda and Pietro joined you at some point, and you had to mentally repeat to yourself to pay attention to Steve's words and not to the redheaded girl a few feet away. You didn't want your passion to cost your life or put everyone else in danger because you didn't absorb the plan correctly, but you were getting to this level of unfocused. You felt a light tug on your arm as you walked toward the fire, and found yourself smiling wryly as you faced Wanda already looking at you. - I got my first deer today. - She declared, looking up at you with bright eyes, a tone of pride and happiness in her voice. You raise your eyebrows in a pleased expression. - What? That's amazing, Wands. - You replied. - I told you that you would learn soon! I would have liked to have seen it. - We can hunt together. - She says, and you try not to show your nervousness at the thought of being alone with Wanda, but you don't disguise it very well, which makes Wanda confused, and she looks almost disappointed when she quickly adds - Pietro can come with us too. You blink a few times, believing her to be clarifying that she had no intention of spending time alone with you, and swallowing dryly, you nod in agreement. - Yes, yes. Sure, we should call him too. - You say taking a few steps back, hands in your pockets as you stare uncomfortably at the floor. Wanda bites her lower lip lightly, finding you extremely difficult to decipher. You spend a moment in silence, before she speaks again - We can go tomorrow afternoon if you have no business in town. You think about it for a moment, trying to remember if you had made any appointments, if any robbery opportunities had been signaled to you, but you can't think of anything. - No, it's fine. We can hunt tomorrow. - You say, trying not to be too embarrassed by the contented smile Wanda flashes at you. She was probably going to say it was marked, but Pietro interrupted the moment by extending a bowl of stew in front of her face. Wanda blinked a few times in confusion, but thanked her brother as soon as she grabbed the item. Pietro turned to you next, a relaxed posture as he took a sip of the beer he was holding. - What were you two talking about? - he asked, his tone curious. - It's rude to snoop, you know. - You teased, drawing a short laugh from Wanda, and Pietro rolled his eyes stubbornly, but smiled. - We're going hunting tomorrow. I'll show Y/N that I learned how to use the bow on some deer. - explained Wanda, looking at her brother. - Will you come with us? Pietro frowned, denying with his head. - Sorry, little sister. - He speaks seriously, but his eyes have a malice in them that you didn't know how to recognize. - I'd love to join you on your date, but I have an appointment. You and Wanda blush at the insinuation, but Pietro continues with a playful aura as he takes another sip of beer. Although embarrassed, you can't help but be happy to know that you would be spending some time alone with the girl. - Oh, all right. - Wanda says in what seems to be an attempt to sound disappointed, but her eyes sparkle slightly as she speaks. You don't notice, but Pietro smiles at the expression. - You're full of secrets lately. What kind of appointment? Pietro laughs, shrugging his shoulders. He walks toward you with a playful expression, and puts his arm around your shoulders, smiling at Wanda as he leans on you. - Your girlfriend taught me how to play poker and now I am famous, my presence is requested in Rhodes. I need to bet and win some money for this place. You choke slightly on the phrase and feel your face heat up, looking down at the floor. Wanda lets out a nervous laugh, and pushes her brother lightly, making him let go of you. - You mean lose money, don't you? - she teases. - Even Thor plays better than you, and he usually just flips the table. You laugh, risking a glance at Wanda, who has a reddened face and quickly exchanges a smile with you. Pietro rolls his eyes and walks past you, waving goodbye. Deciding that you should eat something, you nod to Wanda that you are going to the fire. She smiles and follows you silently

You didn't hunt very often. Although you were good at it, it was not your function in the camp. You were a gunslinger, and your jobs usually involved carriage robberies and trespassing, even the occasional robbery. You were always part of the team for the big scams. And then Wanda invited you to go deer hunting and you became an anxious mess. Stumbling out of your tent, you hurried to take a quick swim in the creek near the campground. It was important not to smell too strongly when you went out hunting, as the animals could more easily notice you. Coming out of the water with wet hair, you put on your clothes, leaving the suspenders hanging from your waist and a few buttons open on your shirt. You were feeling heated. You waited for Wanda at the campfire. She also bathed before meeting you, and she seemed slightly anxious when she found you. You smiled as you poured some coffee, and Wanda looked a little airy when she accepted the cup. You didn't understand why, but the sight of your relaxed appearance, your loose hair and your exposed collarbone was absolutely irresistible to her, making Wanda feel heated in places that were not appropriate. You joked that soon she would become the best hunter in the camp, and you were happy to make her smile. As you rode out of the camp, you smiled as you felt Wanda lightly tap her foot against yours, as you used to play with as children. Riding in silence for a few minutes, you enjoyed the gentle breeze until you came to a hunting spot. You descended from Knight slowly, stretching your body when you reached the ground. Wanda watched your shirt lift and reveal some skin, then she looked away quickly, her face red. You cast a curious look, thinking she was feeling heat. Grabbing your rifle stored on the horse, you watched Wanda take from Lily's saddle - her red sorrel - a longbow and some arrows. You walked in silence, heading for the shallow part of the creek beside you, where you could easily find deer. It was comfortable to be in Wanda's presence, even in silence. Neither of you had to say anything to know exactly what to do next, your body following her along the way as if you had done this many times before. One look and you knew when to wait, or when to be quiet. It didn't take long before you spotted the deer. There weren't many, and Wanda bent down in front of you to take aim. You watched her with admiration. She raised her bow, and you noticed the slight tremor in her hands and frowned. You came forward, also bent down, and stood beside her. - There's no need to be nervous, Wands. - You whispered softly. - It's just me. The trembling in their hands seemed to diminish, but it was still there. You moved closer, raising your hands to join Wanda's, helping her to keep a steady aim. - Take a deep breath. - You said against her ear, waiting for her to obey. - And then shoot. With her speech, Wanda let go. The arrow cut through the air with speed, hitting the animal straight in the head. A perfect shot. You smiled, and when you looked at Wanda, she was already looking at you. You were about to congratulate her on the shot, but Wanda hugged you by the neck, surprising you. You felt your face heat up and due to the shock, you didn't respond to the hug, your body seeming asleep for an instant. Wanda let you go quickly, her face flushed with apology. You were about to tell her it was okay, and maybe hug her back, then you heard an animalistic noise that attracted your full attention, a low growl that you knew all too well. Glad you had brought your rifle, you looked around, searching for the source of the noise. Wanda blinked curiously, but you didn't look at her again. Standing up, you held the rifle with both hands, your gaze roaming the surroundings. A moment later, the bushes a few feet away moved, and you watched the creature sneak through the undergrowth, only to run toward you the next second, preparing to jump. The sound of gunfire echoed for a few seconds after the shot. You let out the breath you were holding and watched the panther lying on the ground, just a few inches away from your feet. Wanda looked at you in shock, and you offered your hand to help her up. - Sorry for the scare. - You grumbled, walking towards the panther intent on retrieving the skin, which should be worth a few dozen dollars. - We always have to be careful not to become the prey during the hunt. - How did you hear it? - Wanda asked curiously. - Practice I guess. - You said, kneeling down beside the panther. - Every sound around us is important. - You explained - Pay attention now, for example. Besides my voice, what do you hear? Wanda seemed to think for a moment. - I can only hear water, I think. Maybe birds. - She confesses, you finish cutting the skin off the animal in front of you. - Oh, sorry. - You say quickly. - I forgot that I just drove all the animals away with the noise of the rifle. You laugh to yourself, and Wanda smiles at you tenderly. - Let's go after that deer. I'll teach you to hear the sounds another day. - You tell her as you stand up. Walking over to the dead deer, you observe Wanda kneeling beside the animal, drawing her own knife. - Bucky taught you how to skin? - you ask, watching the firm but still amateurish cut Wanda was giving the animal. - Yes, he told me to skin rabbits before he taught me to cut the deer during yesterday's hunt. - said the red-haired girl focused on the activity. You tried not to blush as you watched a drop of sweat trickle down your neck. - I learned to skin animals from him too. - You commented as you waited for Wanda to finish the task. - I was a little smaller, I think. - I guess it took long enough for us to learn how to hunt, didn't it? - Wanda joked, drawing a smile from you. It was true, hunting had been the last activity Steve and Bucky taught you. For some reason, teaching them to shoot was a higher priority than getting food from the wild. A moment later, Wanda finished, raising the deer leather in the air, showing off her work proudly. You laughed at her expression, signaling for her to step away from the animal. You handed her your rifle, and bent down, grabbing the carcass with both hands and throwing it over your shoulders to carry it to the horse. It was quite heavy, but you concentrated your breathing as Bucky had taught you, and managed to carry the animal to Wanda's sorrel. After placing the carcass on the back of the animal, you grunted when you saw the state of your shirt, completely covered in blood. - What's the matter? - Wanda asked curiously when she heard your sigh. - Pepper made me promise not to come covered in blood to the camp anymore. - You say, rolling up your sleeves. - She told me she would put me to sleep with the horses if I showed up like this again. Of course, she will probably just change my watch shifts, but it will still be a pain to hear the lecture. - You could have told me to carry the deer. - Wanda retorted, looking at you with a mixture of seriousness and guilt. You just smiled. - Don't be silly, I just need to clean up before I go back. - You said simply, and Wanda frowned in confusion. And then she choked in surprise, watching you pull your shirt over your head. You went around her body and towards the creek. It took Wanda a few seconds to snap out of her shock, then she turned her head toward the creek, her face flushed. You rubbed the fabric with your hands, watching the blood drip into the water. You put your shirt aside only to wet your own body, wiping any traces of blood from your skin. Completely oblivious to the shy mess Wanda had become as she watched you wash yourself. Finished cleaning yourself, you wrung out your shirt, getting as much water buildup out as possible. You put your clothes back on, feeling the damp fabric against your skin. Wanda stood in the same place you had left her, and you frowned when you saw her look quickly away from you, her face red. You suddenly felt very embarrassed, thinking that you must have crossed some boundary with her. Coughing awkwardly, you walked toward your own horse. You rode in silence back to the camp, you mentally going over the whole conversation trying to find what you had done wrong that made Wanda so quiet. You were surprised when you heard her singing softly. Smiling without looking at her, you slowed down the speed of Knight's gallop, trying to enjoy the moment to the fullest. Wanda continued to sing the whole way, and you tried to ignore the feeling of butterflies in your stomach

[cow-smells]

Jealousy Games ( Demetri x reader )

Request:  could u do prompt #2 with demetri from ur prompt list 😳😳 (anon) prompt: 2. “Could he make you feel as good as I do?”

A/N: I've never played d&d, I hope that was an alright reference?? also, you can read this on ao3 here

Summary: You and Demetri have had a "thing" going on for a while. When he overhears you making a comment about your sensei, he refocuses you on him.

Words: 1350

Warnings: s m u t

    "I'm just saying... I wouldn't particularly mind a one on one with Sensei, you get my drift?" You giggle, confiding in Aisha as you two enjoy lunch together at your usual table at school. "I mean, have you seen him with his gi half undone? Those abs??"

Aisha nods enthusiastically, and you're excited as you go on. "Imagine what else he can teach other than karate." You two giggle at the suggestive nature of your comment.

    "Who're we talking about?" Demetri asks, materializing behind you suddenly. He and Miguel sit besides you around the table.

    "Oh, nobody." Aisha tries to cover for you as you're shocked in to silence. He doesn't say anything more about the subject, but you can tell, by the way he's looking at you, that Demetri heard more than you would have liked him to.

    You and Demetri had an undefined relationship going on; you were always flirty towards him and with his gradual growing confidence he began returning your flirtations until you reached a boiling point a couple months back when he was driving you home from a beach party and you found yourself kissing him good night.

    Kissing quickly grew in to make out sessions whenever you two found yourselves alone together - which was pretty often, as you both would find any reason to seclude yourselves from the others.

You never defined the relationship, which seemed to be okay as Demetri wasn't pressing the subject and you both kept it to yourselves.

So there was no real reason to be nervous about Demetri hearing about your thirst for Sensei Lawrence. You were free to thirst over whoever you wanted.

So why were you feeling guilty all of a sudden?

    Lunch went by uneventfully. You all rose, trays in hand ready to put them away and get to your next class when Demetri walked by you and asked in the most casual manner, "Got a new set of D&D dice. Feel like coming around, play a little?"

You look up at the boy towering over you - a mischievous glint in his eye.

    "Yeah," you agree. "I'd like that."

    It's hours later when Demetri has you pinned to his bedroom door, having swooped in to kiss you the moment you walked in. His slim fingers are dancing on the sides of your body, trying to feel as much of you as possible. You arch in to his chest and he groans.

    "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

The look he gives you is somewhere between suffering and lust.

You smirk, running your hand down his shirt to the hem of his jeans, not quite reaching where he wants you most.

    "I have some idea."

One of his hands finds your hair, grasping it to tilt your head aside, exposing your neck.

    "So..." He murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, holding you firmly in place as your eyes shut in the bliss of the feeling. "You want a one on one like this with your sensei too?"

    Your eyes open wide, startled. When he didn't mention your conversation with Aisha you innocently assumed he hadn't heard as much as you feared.

    In reality, he heard even more.

    “Oh...” you start, searching for words. You gasp as he lands a particularly hard bite on the crook of your neck. “um, I...”

It was hard enough thinking of a way to get out of this subject – the shivers he was sending through your body really weren't helping, either.

    “Lost for words?” he asks, his hands bravely snaking under your shirt to the soft skin of your abdomen, fingers teasing along your bra line.

    “I...” you began again, before changing your approach. “Yeah.” you admitted. “You have that effect on me.”

That answer seems to please Demetri, as his hands leave your abdomen for the sake of holding your thighs and picking you up.

    It's nothing less than surprising when Demetri dumps you on his bed.

You two have made out a bunch of times, sure, but it had yet to escalate any further; Demetri was usually lacking the confidence to make the move, but not today. Today... he was on the attack.

    Without warning he kisses you, caressing your tongue with his and groaning when your hand combs through his hair. You could feel heat pooling between your legs at the new intensity that was gripping you both.

Demetri's hand finds its way to your breast, squeezing and playing in exploration though it doesn't stay there long; soon enough you feel his hand brush down your bare thigh, your skirt having ridden up. Eventually finding your underwear, his fingers caress the hem of the fabric before he gains the courage to slide his fingers down your core. You can't help but moan out his name.

Demetri smirks proudly, but the smirk quickly vanishes as his usual self comes out: “Is- is this okay?”

You nod enthusiastically, not trusting your voice to speak. The smirk returns. With a heightened sense of confidence, Demetri slides down your body. Before he can think about it, he kisses your core over your underwear.

You sigh and Demetri allows himself to hook his fingers around the fabric, running it down your legs until it was off.

    You suddenly felt very bare, despite still having all your other clothes on. But looking at Demetri, you knew you could trust him wholeheartedly.

Within an instant he was back between your legs, his tongue plunging in between your folds.

    “Oh – fuck – Demetri,” you moaned. Demetri wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding them apart for him.

    Had you been any less distracted by his ministrations, you might have noticed the slight nervous shake in his hands as he held you.

    Demetri continued his attack on your core until you were arching off the bed with your toes curled, hand in his hair as you urged him on.

One of his hands trailed up your abdomen, detouring to squeeze your breast before coming to your lips. Understanding what he wanted, you parted your lips, taking his pointer and middle finger in. You sucked on them and twirled your tongue around them, earning a throaty groan from Demetri. He took his hand back, making his fingers leave your warm mouth with a pop only to have him insert them somewhere else.     You couldn't help the whiny moan that left you as Demetri sunk a finger in to your core. It was a feeling like no other you've ever felt, making your stomach tie up in delightful knots. He continued lapping at your core with his tongue as he plunged his finger in and out of you; you felt your release building up rapidly.

    All until he suddenly stopped.

    “Now tell me, Y/n...” Demetri said so casually; you held in a whine at the loss of him. “Could he make you feel as good as I do?”

    So that was what this was all about. A need to feed his wounded ego. Luckily for Demetri (and yourself), you were willing to play along.

    “No,” you said, your voice dripping desperation. “only you, Demetri. Only you.”

Instantly he was back to where you needed him most, the sight of you flushed and desperate for him fueling Demetri on. This time he mercilessly drove both fingers inside of you, quickly bringing you to your release.

    “Oh – Demetri,” you whined, coming off of your high.

Finally he let up on his touch on you, sitting upright. Demetri's hair was disheveled and he was as red as the beets on his t-shirt as he sat there taking the image of you in, lying on his bed spent after calling his name as you just came. Because of him.

    From afar, you heard the front door open and close.

    “Demetri?” the voice of his mother called. “I'm home!”

You picked yourself up until you could kiss the boy, pouring your affection in to the gesture. “This...” you looked Demetri in the eye. “isn't over.”

(pt. 2 here)