#other wiriting

[hannie-dul-set]

peek into the openings of three new wips ayo

[solitary-traveler]

Charisma Etched on Strings

You despised being near Scaramouche. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

Electric guitarist!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: I swear this one has no set pov. It switches between Scara and the reader so I apologize for that. Also, I'm not that good at wiriting x readers *insert crying emoji*

Warning: Slight cursing

It was supposed to be a harmless guitar lesson.

So how the fuck did you end up sitting on this shithead’s lap?

“Easy sweetheart. Stop squirming," Scaramouche’s grating voice reverberated throughout the otherwise empty room. The words he spouts are pestiferous, enough to ensure a fist will land on his face if he doesn’t shut up soon. You merely asked him for a guitar lesson, not to be manhandled and subjectively humiliated by this sick bastard of a friend. “Get me off your lap!" you protest, writhing against his arms. 

You want nothing to do with this. 

Yet he cages you with that god-forbidden instrument of his, propping the black, electric guitar in front of you. You were effectively sandwiched between that handsome son of a bitch and his prized musical instrument. “You said you wanted to learn right?" he mused, his calloused hand cascading down your wrist to seize it securely, "This is the fastest way." 

Lies. 

You scoff at his pathetic excuse to justify himself. He’s just so full of bull. You know he was amused at your predicament, your thrashing and twisting igniting a twinge of sadistic pleasure within him. Scara shifts slightly, a lock of your hair twirled around his index finger, “Now stop moving so we can start our lesson.”

Without much of a choice, you reluctantly compelled to his demands. Your tantrums ceased, much to Scara's entertainment. He knows how much you detest your current dilemma and he couldn't help but take advantage of it. He wants to mess with you. To increasingly rile you up every passing second. He presses his chest completely against your back, wanting to see those cute little veins of yours pop out. His lips twitched upwards as he made sure there wouldn't be any space left between you two. He could hear your pretty lips part and verbalize a gasp. 

A sweet, sweet treat for his ears. 

He couldn't be bothered to give you a chance to retaliate. It was way more fun toying with you when he rendered you helpless. Leaning closer and letting his breath fan against the tip of your ears, his fruity voice resounds through your brain and into your spine in the form of shivers. "Let's learn some basic chords first," he murmurs as he slinks his fingers towards yours, hovering over them. Scara felt the smirk on his face expand, you sure do have a warm set of hands. He surely wouldn't mind if it was pressed with his all the time. Stuck in his wishful thinking, he absentmindedly squeezed your thumb lightly. He blinks. Ah, he was getting distracted. He clears his throat and he proceeds, "Just like in every lesson, we start with C". 

He adjusts your index finger to pin the second string on the first fret. He does the same with your middle and ring finger, stationing them on the second fret of the fourth string and the third fret of the fifth string respectively. His loitering fingers aid in pushing down the strings as he's aware that you're probably not pressing down hard enough. It also helped restrain any movements that may disrupt the sound when plucked. You, on the other hand, verbalized a protest. 

“Hey, that hurts," you hissed as you tried to lift your finger off. Even just slightly. But Scara wouldn't let you. He remains unfazed, unbothered by the fact that your fingers are possibly bruising underneath his. “It’s supposed to idiot, it's your first time,” Scara rolls his eyes and his resolve to keep your finger position doesn't falter. 

You'll definitely punch him after this. 

“Now strum,” he instructs and you've got half the mind to not follow through. Curse your curiosity though, washing away each and every one of your senses, dulling them and allowing it to control your other hand to strum the strings. It made a tune, not akin to those voice cracks of teenagers going through puberty or screeching bats when viciously searching for their next meal. It was a pleasant melody, a fine sound that signifies a correct mark. Scara smiles, watching in delight how taken aback you looked. "Good. Next chord," he was ready to shift the position of your fingers once more. Your fingers wouldn't budge though. You've reached your limit.

You've certainly had enough. 

Your heart's been racing since the beginning and you were sure you won't be able to take it anymore. Not with him being this close. You catch a whiff of his perfume, a woody fragrance with a base of leather that never fails to drive you insane. You want to smash your head against the wall so badly.

You despised being near him. It was a danger to your well-being.

Because all you can feel is the warmth of his body traveling to yours, enclosing around you and morphing into the oxygen that you so desperately need to survive.

"This is stupid", you scoffed before he could move your fingers. Scara tilts his head in your direction. Oh? Were you going to object to him again? How cute. He chuckles and raises his brow, “What is?” 

“Your way of teaching.” With a groan, you go back to your squirming strategy to try and break loose from his predatorial hold, “Can't we do this without being an inch away from each other?” 

Scara merely laughs at you. ‘Why? Does the closeness bother you?" he teases. He would get closer to you if he could, but there's literally no more space left between you and him. So he opts to angle his lips adjacent to your neck and let out a drag of air. His breath brushes against your skin, parallel to a gentle caress from a lover. He was so sure he just heard your breathing hitch. Adorable.

“Is this better?” he smirks, heaving a drawn-out breath once more. You shake your head and writhe, flailing your arms wildly in a fit of fulmination. Scara can't help but grin at your antics. He doesn't back down, reinforcing his hold over you. He won’t let go. I mean, why would he? When you fit perfectly in his arms?  

Your scuffle abated for a second and he caught the way your face turned into a stunning shade of red. “Aw, you're even blushing for me," he remarks, prompting you to resume your thrashing.

“Of course not! Why would I be!?” 

Scara chuckles, his gaze never leaving you. "Why the denial? Anyone with eyes can see how red you've gotten because of me."

You wanted to wipe that smug expression plastered on his face. He knows that. He's just reveling in the fact that you couldn't. 

He elevated his head to meet your twitching ears, ready to grace them with an assortment of breathy words bound to hit that sore spot in your heart. "There's nothing to deny you know? Not when I'm right here. Mindful and observant of how you feel towards me."

His fingers dragged from your jaw to your cheek, leaving a touch so sensual it's flabbergasting at most. He rested his hands along your cheek as he spoke with an allure that was sure to keep you on the edge, subconsciously thirsting for more. "I know you like me. You like it when we're this close," he continues, cocking your head up and exposing more of that tempting throat of yours. Not that he can see it from his point of view, but from the front? It would certainly be a sensual sight that would drive every inch of his self-control onto the edge of a cliff. 

"I don't mind it though. I don't mind watching your pathetic descent into the abyss of my heart," he chuckles, hands falling towards your lips. It was quite the contrast, his rough fingers kneading against your soft and plump lips. 

"So just fall for me, yeah?" his thumb rubs your upper lip in a circular motion. Honestly, he's tempted to shove his finger in your mouth. He wants to hear your feeble whines as he occasionally toys with your tongue, your erotic whimpers that deluges his entire sensibility. But he doesn't. At least not now.

"I'll be sure to catch you"

[avastrasposts]

Memories made, memories lost

Plot: Before Pero Tovar and his friend William Garin set out in search of black powder, he found himself doing something he never thought he would - falling in love. But what waits for him as he returns from his adventure after all this time?

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Angst and grief, loss of virginity (it's all consensual and it's not the main trope of the fic), explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 7.9k

This is written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Wiriting Challenge where I requested a trope for Pero Tovar and got Amnesia A big thank you to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner! What would I do without my Canva Pro friends!?

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for Pero Tovar. 

He left his hometown while he was still a young boy, and after that he never stayed long enough in one place to put down roots. Let alone find a woman who would want to throw her lot in with a mostly penniless mercenary soldier who relied on powerful lords always finding a new enemy to fight. Who would want a scarred battle dog with a permanent scowl and dangerous look to his appearance? And even if someone did, how could he care for a wife? A family? He moved from town to town, from country to country, seldom returning to the same place twice unless the pay was very good. 

But then, one autumn in southern England, when the fighting season was over and the mud was too thick for both men and horses to march in, something changed. He was no longer young but in his fighting prime, hardened, and hard, by years of fighting other men’s wars. He had no other plans than to spend the winter in this small English town with his friend William Garin, wait for spring and the call to arms for another war or rebellion or crusade. He was going to fill his belly, hone his weapons, train the younger men and spend his evenings with a whore or two, and that was it. 

Marriage was not on the cards. 

But fate wanted a different path for him. And you quite literally fell into his arms as you tumbled from your horse on the outskirts of the small town. 

“Curse that nag!” you yelled crossly, struggling to free yourself from his strong grip, “let go, I can stand on my own legs!” You pushed at his chest as the dark haired man let go of your waist, stepping back with a chuckle. 

“And what fine legs they are,” he said, his grin wide.  

You sneered at his comment, “Too fine for you either way.” 

You glared at him as you brushed your dress, “I should thank you, I guess. You saved me from a much greater fall, that stupid mare is spooked by the smallest twig and throws me twice a week at least.” 

With a sigh you looked at your horse who’d decided that the twig wasn’t an immediate threat and had begun to graze the last of the summer grass just a little while down the country lane. 

“If that’s the case, you best go and claim your horse before she decides one of farmer Ned’s cows has fangs and means to eat her,” Pero chuckled. He liked your spirit, and the way your eyes blazed as you glanced at him. 

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” you said with a shake of your head, “I best be off, thank you again, sir.”

Tovar gave a small nod and crooked smile at your retreating back. 

Later that evening, as he’d eaten and gone back to the room he shared with William, he wondered why the chance meeting on the country lane wouldn’t leave his head. He felt as if he might’ve been bewitched, one moment walking down the country lane on his way out to the smithy for a repair of his armour, the next he had a woman in his arms as her bay horse bolted down the road. You’d smelled of apples, a rich, sweet scent clinging to your hair as it brushed over his face when you both landed in the dust. The soft yield of your flesh under the rough linen dress, it was as if he’d put his hands on the softest down pillow, he’d wanted to grab hold of it and not let go. 

As you rushed away from him, scolding your skittish horse, he’d watched the way your hips swayed with each step, bright hair bouncing with frustration. You gripped the horse’s bridle and pulled it around, even at a distance he could see the way your nose crinkled in annoyance as you berated the poor animal. When your anger trickled out as quickly as it flared up, your face softened and you gently stroked the animal’s nose, giving its neck a pat before swinging yourself up into the saddle again. You caught him staring and gave him a quick smile, before turning again and nudging the horse into a slow trot. 

He’d made his way to the smithy and then back to the rooms he and William had rented for the winter. And when he laid down on his bed, the vision of you filled his head, soft curves, sweet smile, quick temper and a sharp tongue. He would very much like to see you again, be that close to you again.   

The next day was a Sunday and he joined William at the church for mass with the rest of the village. He let the familiar Latin incantations wash over him, the rituals the same here as in his hometown as it was in every other town he’d ever visited, irrespective of the country or the ruler. The power radiated from Rome and although the churches looked different, the rituals were the same and it brought a strange, albeit dull, comfort to him. 

When mass was over the congregation filtered out of the church, slow in leaving, catching up with neighbours and sharing gossip. Pero tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously but William caught his wandering eye. 

“Who are you looking for? The mysterious horse woman?” he asked, looking around at the villagers and the mercenaries who were wintering here just as they were. Pero had told him of the encounter, not being able to hide how you’d remained on his mind as he returned to the rooms. 

“I don’t remember seeing her here before,” Pero replied, trying to appear unphased, uncaring, as he continued to scan the open space in front of the church, but without success. When he couldn’t see her, he followed William back to their lodgings. The Lord’s day should be spent in rest and was not wise to anger the local priest. 

But Pero found himself too restless to sit still, fiddling with a troublesome chainmail. He left William to it and ventured outside instead, vying to find a secluded spot in the woods to get some practice in without being scolded by someone spotting him working on a Sunday. 

The autumn forest was golden, the air crisp and clear as the sky stretched endlessly blue above the trees as Pero wandered further in than he meant to. It felt good to be away from people, from the crowded town and the small rooms he shares with William. 

The clank of metal on wood reached his ears and he furrowed his brows, no one would be out here felling trees on a Sunday unless there was some strange business. He moved silently through the underbrush towards the sound, and came upon a clearing, drawing breath at the sight in front of him. You had stripped down to just your slip and a pair of men’s breeches, your arms bare and glistening with sweat as you raised the heavy sword and parried an imagined attack, and hit the thick beech trunk. The sword lodged in the wood and with a grunt you pulled it free, backing up a few steps and repeating the exercise. 

Pero watched you for a few minutes, your technique was good, someone has clearly taught you the basics, but the sword was too heavy for you. 

“You have some skills with that sword, señorita,” he called, just as you dropped your arm, letting the sword hang by your side as you took a deep breath. 

His voice made you jump and swing around, the sword quickly raised. 

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm,” he said, walking towards you with both his arms raised, “We’ve met before, with your troublesome mare.” 

“I remember,” you answered, the tone of your voice betraying your wariness as his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?” 

“The same as you, señorita, I think,” he replied, “seeking a place away from unwelcome eyes to hone my skill on a Sunday.” 

Unclipping his cloak and satchel and placing them on a log near the edge of the clearing, he then turned and nodded at the sword in your hand. 

“You have some skill, but the sword is too heavy for you.” 

“What do you care?” you snapped at him, the sword still lifted as he approached. 

“I train the younger soldiers, when a sword is too heavy for the user, the technique suffers. And I hate to see a bad swordsman. Or woman.” 

With a fluid movement he pulled both of his swords from his back, the left one spinning in his hand, the handle held out towards you. 

“Let me show you, borrow my sword, it’s more lightweight.”

You regarded him with suspicion, not lowering your own sword. 

“Why do you want to help me?” 

“Why do I want to help a woman become a better fighter?” he countered, still holding out the sword to you, “Because those without swords can still die upon them. I learned that a long time ago. So better the women know how to fight too.” 

You regarded him with caution, the dark haired, dark eyed man with a strange accent and a menacing scar across his eye. But something in his face, the way he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow, encouraging you to take the sword he was still holding out to you, made your trepidation waver. Slowly you sheathed your own sword, and grabbed the handle of his. He gave you a crooked smile and a quick nod. 

“Good. Now show me what you can do.” 

With a quick movement he brought up his own sword and attacked, and you just about parried in time, the two swords ringing out through the empty forest as they met. 

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for him. But sometimes fate wills it differently. 

And before that Sunday afternoon in the forest, you’d never considered marrying someone either. At least not for any other reason than your father telling you that a man was needed to run the farm when he was gone. But the dark haired Spaniard with the scowling face, menacing and imposing, he was the one who made you see that marrying didn’t mean settling for one of the local boys. 

His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he taunted your sword skills, easily smacking your arm with the flat side of his blade as you failed to anticipate his next move in the early days of your training. But it was the way he smiled with pride when you managed to disarm him and put your blade to his neck, that smile made your heart melt. He was proud of you for a skill any other man you knew would shame you for, even attempt to lock you up for. It was like taking a deep breath of air for the first time, the way he treated you like an equal in a way no ever had before. 

It was mesmerising how a hardened soldier with such a menacing scowl could transform into the most handsome man you’d ever seen. It stunned you, and locked you in place, the first time you stood toe to toe with him, his back against a thick oak, your sword resting against his neck. Surprise flashed across his face first, then he smiled, his eyes shifting from the hard concentration of battle to soft warmth as his lips pulled up in a proud grin. 

“I knew there was a warrior in you,” he said, holding his sword arm up in defeat as you pulled the blade away from his neck, “with my training, you’ll beat almost any man.” 

“Almost any man?” you replied, your eyebrows lifting as you moved your hand and rested the blade against his neck again. 

Pero chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down on you, glancing down his sharp nose as you made him tilt his head back again. 

“Any man, guerrera,” he smiled and again the pride in his voice made warmth and elation shoot through your body. 

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, you could feel the heat of him against you, the rise and fall of his chest, your own short breaths against him as an errant drop slipped over his lips and his tongue came out to catch it. Your eyes drifted to the pink tip as he licked his bottom lip, watching it disappear into his mouth again. When you looked up, his smile was gone, replaced by something more hungry, his eyes darker as they seemed to study your face. There was no need for you to be so close to him still, the fight over. But as he brought his hand up and carefully pushed your sword away from his neck, you only let your hand drop, not stepping back. You felt rooted to the spot with his eyes on you, the warmth of his body like a magnet to your own. 

“Señorita…” he almost growled, a half whisper from the back of his throat, as he slowly leaned closer, his eyes moving to your lips before his gaze fell on you again. Dark and warm, it was like being pulled in by the last of the dying embers of a fire. Pero glowed and burned hot under your palm as you put your hands on his neck and pulled him to you, your sword falling to the floor of the forest with a soft clatter. 

He wouldn’t let you go, and you clung to him just as eagerly, the dry leaves rustling as you pulled him down, he rolled you over, caging you in under his strong arms.

“Señorita…” he growled again, it was all he could press out before your lips found his, soft, pliant and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, addictive in the way they felt against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks as you found new places to kiss him, your fingers winding through his hair, keeping him locked in place against your lips, taking as much as you wanted from him and he never once stopped you. 

He was lost. So utterly lost. And he’d never felt more at home. 

You plucked last year’s leaves from your hair and cloak all the way home that day. Pero followed you to the edge of the forest as always. But this time you pulled him behind a tree and made him press his hard body against you, pinning you against the trunk. The way he groaned into your kisses made your body heat up, your need for him growing with every slow roll of his hips, hands roaming to feel as much of him as you could, his hands kneading your hips and caressing your curves.

If your lips were swollen and your hair dishevelled, your father said nothing of it when you came home. When Pero came by one Sunday after church and asked permission to marry his daughter, he wasn’t surprised. 

There had been no war or rebellion to pull Pero away from you that year. William left, serviced under a local lord, but Pero stayed and put what little money he had left into buying the small farm next to your father’s. When the time came, the two could be merged and provide a good life for the two of you and any children that followed. When the small cottage was his by law, only then did he go to your father, who said yes without hesitation to the large Spaniard. 

“As if I could deny you the man you’ve clearly set your eyes on, even if he wasn’t a great, big hulking warrior,” your father had said later that same night after Pero had left, “With him in your house, I know you’ll be safer than with me. And if you truly love him too, well then I have no objections.” 

“I really do love him, with all his scowls and menacing looks, he is a very good man underneath it all, father.” 

There had been strange looks from the villagers, but that had hardly mattered. You’d always gone your own way, and marrying a dark haired outsider with a thick accent seemed to be something that the gossiping wives had expected of you. Either way, when you exchanged your vows outside the church on the intended day, you were surrounded by smiling faces, the old priest beaming down at you as you entered the church with Pero by your side to be blessed by by God.  

The feast lasted most of the day but by the late afternoon, you both left your father’s farm and was escorted by the priest, William and a few other villagers, to your new home, the cottage that Pero had worked so hard to turn into a home for you both. His first home since he left the place he was born, and now the place where he intended to live out the rest of his life as a happy man. When the marital bed had been blessed too, Pero closed the door to the cottage and you were alone as husband and wife for the first time. 

“Come here, husband,” you smiled at him as he turned back from the door. You didn’t need to beckon him, nothing would keep him away from you tonight, but you liked the sound of his new title - husband.

“Mi esposa,” he grinned as he crowded you against the sturdy oak bed he’d built with the aid of the local carpenter, “my wife, finally.” 

His eyes went soft, his mischievous grin replaced by a tender look as he cupped your face with his warm palms, “Never in my life did I think I’d call someone ‘my wife’, I never thought this was the way my life would be, and then I found you,” he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours as your breaths mingled, ”Te amo, mi amor,” he whispered. 

“I love you too, Pero,” you whispered back, your fingers finding his soft curls as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Gently he pushed you backwards, making you lay down on the bed, your bed, as he moved to cage you in under his arms and wide shoulders. Many training sessions in the forest had ended this way, time slipping away as you kissed each other breathless, but it had never gone further. You’d feel the thick weight of him pressed against your thighs, felt how he sometimes rolled his hips to seek a brief relief, but he'd always pull back.

“Amor, I won’t take you on the forest floor,” he’d muttered when you asked him to stop caring so much about your virtue, “I want you in a bed, our bed, when I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

Now here you were, in your bed, and you called him husband as he slowly removed all your layers, caressing every sliver of skin that was revealed to him. He pressed kisses to your soft breasts, moaning as he felt them pebble under his touch, his strong nose trailed across the downy hairs of your belly, and when you giggled at the way his beard tickled, he nipped at the warm skin of your thighs. The thick slide of his tongue through your heated centre made you arch your back and gasp, your fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair. You could hear him chuckle against you, the tip of his nose circling the epicentre of your pleasure, he seemed to know this part of your body better than yourself and he soon had you moaning his name as you fought to catch your breath. 

When he had you drenched and dripping, he rested his head on your soft thigh and tapped your leg. 

“Amor, look at me,” he invited. Through half closed lids, clouded with pleasure, you watched him slide a finger through your liquid, coating it before he slowly pushed in. It slipped in easily, and when he curled it, caressing your insides, your eyes fell closed of their own volition. Suddenly you wanted more, more of his fingers, more of him and you whined, your hips rolling over his finger. 

“Please, Pero…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse and pleading. 

“What do you want, esposa,” he asked as he moved his finger gently back and forth, making you gasp again. 

“More…I think…more…” you mumbled and Pero smiled. Seeing you fall apart for him, slowly showing you how good he could make you feel, how he intended to spend every long winter evening, it filled him with a happiness he’d never felt before. It was like a hot burning fire inside his chest and it would keep him warm when he had to leave, he knew these memories would be the ones he returned to on long cold nights alone. 

“More?” he asked, “I can give you more, amor.” 

The smile in his voice made you look up at him as he moved to lie at your side, putting his arm under your shoulders and finding your lips with his own. As his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he gently pushed a second finger into your heat. He felt you arch up against him, whimpering into his mouth, your fingers digging into his arms as he slid his own in and out, setting your body on fire with every slow drag. 

He moved so slowly, it was like your body was turning into molten metal, heat flowed through you, all coming from where Pero’s fingers sunk into you. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your core clenching hard around him and a tension was building up inside you. But just as you felt as if you were about to snap, like a thread pulled too tight, Pero slipped his fingers from you and caressed your side, his hand leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

“Amor,” he mumbled, moving over your body so that he once again was caging you in, his warm, dark eyes glowing as he looked down at you, “Amor, I’m going to enter you now, tell me to stop if it hurts, you are so tight.”

You nodded and made room for him between your legs, you knew this might hurt, you’d heard the wives talk and the gossip. But no one had ever mentioned it feeling this good to be with a man, this aching need to be filled up by him. It had you panting with impatience, your core clenching around the emptiness left behind by his fingers. 

Pero kept his eyes locked on you as he coated himself with your silky liquid and lined himself up. Your brows furrowed as he pushed the thick head inside, and he dropped his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath. 

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, slowly rocking himself back and forth, just the tip moving inside you, and you shook your head. 

“No, it was just a little tight, I want more,” you replied, spreading your legs wider for him. He reached down and hooked your leg over his hip. 

“Squeeze me, pull me in if you want more,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt your contract around him, fighting the urge to push in harder, “you feel so good, amor, so good to me.” 

Your legs wrapped around his waist and Pero rocked slowly, pushing in deeper with each short thrust. His face was pinched with concentration, his mouth half open as he licked his lips. With your arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead against yours, each breath you took was his and your world shrunk down to only Pero. Only his warm body above yours, his hips heavy between your legs, driving himself into you and creating ripples of pleasure through every fibre of your being with each thrust deep inside. Your eyes wanted to close but you forced them to stay open, to see your husband as he looked at you, his eyes hazy with lust, dark and burning, every movement making him groan as your body pulled him in. The tight string started to pull taught inside you again, your body moving against Pero’s, making him pick up his pace. 

“Amor, can you feel that?” he mumbled, his forehead still resting against yours, “can you feel your body getting ready to fall?” 

You nodded, it felt like a lightning storm ready to break, just over the horizon. Tightening your grip around his waist, you pulled him in and he understood, driving himself deeper, a little bit harder into your tight core. 

“Pero…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunted in response, his hand grabbing your leg and finding a new angle. 

“Amor, let me feel you come around me, give me this…” he panted, “the first time…I want it-”

Before he’d even finished you cried out under him, gripping him tight, your body trembling as the string snapped and lighting coursed through you, Pero’s thick cock driving hard into you, pushing your pleasure higher as he gasped and grunted. With a cry he broke, a loud groan, and he spilled himself inside, your legs like a vice around his waist as he rocked himself deeper. 

He was heavy on top of you, the warm sweat of his torso gliding against your own chest as you buried your face against his neck and took long, deep breaths. 

“Pero…my love…” you whispered softly into his ear, his wet kiss against your own neck was his exhausted response as he slowly came down from his high. Your arms were still wrapped tight around him, as were your legs, locking him in place. Not that he wanted to leave, he would stay here, in this bed, between your legs, until moss grew on him like an old boulder that no farmer could move. 

He was home. 

Endless miles stretched out behind them, thousands if they cared to count them. Pero did not. All he could see was the white cliffs in front of the ship, like a beacon, a sign that their long journey was finally coming to an end. 

They returned, not as poor as they’d set out, but not as rich as they thought they’d be, but the only thing that mattered to Pero was that he was returning. He’d fought with his friend, felt betrayed by him, even abandoned him in the end, so strong was his need to return home. It had almost cost him his life, caught by the very army he was trying to escape as he left William behind, brought back and then thrown in chains. He thought he’d die there, locked up in a dungeon, never seeing you again. 

It burned in his chest as the chains gnawed at his wrists, to never see you again, to leave you behind in this world without a word. He could see your face as he closed his eyes, conjured it up in his mind and remembered the tears clinging to your lashes as he pulled back one final time and turned for his horse. Riches or not, he was a damn fool for leaving you, he should’ve been content with what he had. 

In the end it was only by the grace of God, or maybe by William’s good heart, that he’d been freed by the very friend he’d betrayed and allowed to leave and make the long journey home. 

Now he stood on solid ground again, readying his horse for the final stretch home. 

Home. 

A word he’d never thought he’d be able to say and for it to mean something worth fighting for. A woman he loved. A house where he could keep her warm and protected. A place to raise a family. 

Home. He was going home. He knew he never should’ve left. 

The last ride was easy and he drove his horse fast, the afternoon barely past its prime as he saw the cottage at the end of the path, tucked in among the heavy oak trees. It looked well kept, but the door was shut tight and no animals roamed around the yard. 

“Mi amor!” he called, spurring his horse on for the last few yards, “Mi amor!” he called again as he swung himself from the saddle. 

But the door was shut tight and wouldn’t budge and a lap around the small house showed him that it was indeed as empty as it looked. He mounted his horse again, not yet uneasy, and set a fast pace down the lane, towards your father’s farm a mile through the forest. 

Here there was life at least, chickens in the yard, a dog pulling on its leash and the door open. Again he swung himself from the saddle, throwing the reins around the gate post and striding forward. 

“Stay back!”

Your sword was raised. Your sword? No, his sword, the one he’d left with you. Held up by you now, threatening him to not take another step forward. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, Pero,” he smiled, spreading his arms wide and taking long strides to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and feel your soft body melt against his after so many months. 

“Stay back!” you snarled, taking a step back and settling into the fighting stance he’d taught you and Pero floundered, stopping in his tracks. 

“Amor…Have I changed that much? Don’t you know your husband?” 

“I don’t have a husband,” you replied, your sword still raised, “Now, leave before I set the dogs on you!”

Pero felt a cold dread rise in his chest, confusion clouding his mind, he didn’t understand why you didn’t know him and he dropped his arms, his face a pained mask. 

“Mi amor, it’s me, I left a year ago on a foolish mission, you were my wife when I left and I have fought so hard all this time to get back to you and…” he trailed off as your eyes showed no recognition, no flash of relief. Just a hard stare at him. 

“Tovar!” 

A voice called out, an elderly man coming around the corner of the cottage, his white hair in tufts around his ears and neck and his face concerned. 

“Tovar, it’s good to see you safe after all this time, my boy!” 

The man forced a pained smile at Pero before he reached you. 

“Daughter, lower your sword, he is a friend, he just hadn’t been past here in some time,” the old man put his hand on your arm and gently made you lower the sword, “Go inside and make sure the stew is not burning, I will speak with Tovar and join you shortly.” 

Pero looked on in confusion as you sheathed the sword, smiled at your father and turned back into the cottage. 

“John, tell me what’s going on, why does my wife not know me?” 

“Come with me,” he replied and gestured towards the edge of the farm yard, the low stone wall serving as a seat as he sank down. Pero remained standing, glancing back at the cottage. Part of him wanted to storm into the cottage and grab you, shake you and make you see him, see him, your husband. But John’s hand landed on his arm and pulled his attention back to the old man. 

“It began not long after you and William left, her memories have been slowly going and neither the priest nor the physician know why or what caused it.” 

“What do you mean, her memories are going? She doesn’t know me?” Pero gripped the handle of his sword, not a threat, just a comfort, to hold on to something familiar as he rubbed his thumb over the pommel, “I am her husband, she loves me, how can she forget me?” 

“I don’t know, Pero,” John sighed, rubbing his weathered hand over his face as he shook his head, “she just doesn’t. And it’s not just you, she seems to forget most new things from one day to the next, a new neighbour, the cow giving birth to a new calf, selling a few of the chickens, she just forgets,” he looked over at the cottage where a thin tendril of smoke rose slowly from the short chimney, “She remembers her childhood, her brother and mother dying, after that it all becomes hazy.”

John looked up at Pero again and Pero could see the toll the past year had taken on his father-in-law as pain flashed across his face, his usually bright eyes sunken and dark. 

“I’m sorry, son, she doesn’t even remember meeting you, nothing of your life together, and not you leaving.” 

It hits him like a dagger to the chest, piercing in its pain and wrenching his chest open; he left, she begged him not to, but he left and this is his punishment. Her mind is protecting her from the pain he caused. With a groan he turns around, sinking down on the wall, his head buried in his hands, it feels as if his throat is closing up, a sob tearing its way up, like broken glass cutting him open. 

“I left her,” he groaned, choking around his words, “She begged me not to go, that last night before I left, and I thought I had to and left her anyway. I broke her heart and this is my punishment, her mind has removed me from her so she doesn’t have to live with my betrayal.” 

“Son…” John said, his voice choking too, but he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “We do not know the will of the Lord, you did what you thought was best.” 

The hand on Pero’s shoulder burned like fire, guilt over taking him and he stumbled to his feet, shaking off the other man’s grip with a shrug. 

“I’ll leave, it’s for the best,” he replied, striding towards his horse without looking back, his jaw tight around his words, “Take care of her for me.” 

“Tovar, wait,” John called after him and hurried to his feet. He grabbed the reins of the horse just as Pero swung himself into the saddle, “She loves you, still. I know she does, she just needs to remember you.” 

“Remember how I broke her heart and left her? What kind of a husband was I? No,” Pero shook his head and gathered the reins, making John let go of them, “Let her have a good life without me.” 

The door of the cottage creaked as he spoke the last words, making him look up towards it. You were standing in the opening, an empty water bucket in your hand, your eyes on him. 

“Are you really my husband?” you asked, glancing over at your father, but finding Pero’s eyes again. Pero felt his throat close up again as he saw the way you looked at him, a complete stranger, not a trace of recognition. 

He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice. 

“He is, my dear,” John replied in his stead,  “Do you remember me telling you about him when your mind first started to go?” 

You shook your head at that, your eyes still on Pero. 

“I’m leaving,” he said, a deep furrow in his brow as he ruefully shook his head, “I caused you both enough hurt.” He nudged his horse to turn around, walking it through the gate and out onto the road, avoiding John’s look of pity.  

“Wait!” 

The call came just as he was about to spur his horse on, away from your empty stare. 

“Wait,” you called, hurrying after him, stopping as he halted his horse and turned in the saddle. You came up to stand by its neck, looking up at him, “Stay at least the night, I…I know I lost so many memories, but...if you’re my husband then you should stay, maybe something will come back.” 

“No,” he shook his head, looking away from you and down the road, “I caused too much harm, I don’t want you to have to relive the pain I caused you.” 

“Please, my life has been cut in half, I can’t remember it, but I know something big is missing. I will gladly take the pain again if I can have the rest of my life back,” you put your hand on his horse’s neck, tilting your face up to him as you waited for his reply, “Please.” 

He couldn’t resist looking down at you and he felt his resolve weaken as your eyes met his. Such a familiar face, the one he loved so deeply. The colour of your eyes was seared into his mind, the small imperfections on your cheeks that he’d mapped with his lips so many nights, the shape of your perfect nose that he’d traced with his calloused fingers when you complained that it was all wrong. So many long, cold nights, picturing this face in his mind’s eye as he tried to do what he thought was right, the desperate moments when he thought he wasn’t coming back to you at all. Facing monsters from nightmares in overwhelming numbers, even as he fought for his life, this face was floating before him. You were the one he was fighting so hard to get home to. 

Now you were looking back at him, pleading with him, and he knew he had no choice. The last time he denied your request, he’d almost lost his life and you’d lost your memories of him. He would stay. The pain he would feel at seeing you look at him like a stranger would be a small price to pay compared to the pain he’d put you through with his greed and stubbornness. 

He gave you a nod, a short movement of his head as you held his gaze. He searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition, a flash of the woman you were before he left, but there was nothing. Just a small, uncertain smile as you dropped your hand from his horse’s neck and took a few steps back. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, glancing back at your father, ��my father will be glad to have you with us too, he’s probably tried to make me remember you so many times.” 

Pero slid off the back of his horse and took hold of the reins as he turned to you. His rough fingernails dug into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, the familiar scent of your skin washing over him as he got closer. He could feel every bone in his body aching to reach out and pull you into his arm, bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck and breathe you in, feel your hands on him again. He could feel himself torn in two; the urge to bolt when you took a step back from him, the need to stay near and never leave again. 

“Amor…” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from you as you took another step back, the pain and emotion plain on his face. 

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whispered, “I don’t know what that means…” 

For a few moments you looked at him as he refused to meet your eyes again, his gaze wavering as his hand closed around the reins of his horse. His knuckles were pulled taught, the tension in his still form clear, and you took another step back. 

“Please, put your horse away and I’ll heat up water for you to wash. Father said you’ve travelled far, you must be weary. There's good stew cooking too,” you raised your hand and gently put it on the neck of his horse, “Come, please.” 

He followed you into the house once he’d put the horse away, your father leaving to bring the small herd of cows in for the evening. Water was heating over the fire and you mixed it with the cooler water from the barrel as Pero stepped over the threshold with his heavy saddle bags by his side. 

“You live with your father now,” he said, a statement rather than a question, but you nodded, wiping your hands and turning to the stew pot. 

“Yes, well, I don’t remember living anywhere else but he tells me the cottage down the road is where I lived before…” you trailed off, putting your hand to your temple as your brow furrowed, screwing up your eyes as if trying to search for a memory. Pero shifted by the door and you turned to him with a surprised look on your face. 

“I-I guess…that’s where we lived?” you asked and a look of anguish flashed across his face. 

“Yes….yes, we lived there,” he replied, still holding his heavy bags, looking like he was almost on the verge of leaving again. “We moved there on our wedding day and I… Do you ever visit it now?” 

You shook your head but hesitated, “Never…but maybe I have been back, but I forget from one day to the next, I know it’s there but if I see it now, it’s like I see it for the first time.” 

Pero dropped his bags on the floor and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders slumped as if under a tremendous weight. 

“Amor…” he said to the floor before looking up at you again, “I don’t know if I can do this. We lived there, you and me, they were the happiest days of my wretched life, and now it’s all been taken from us. You look at me like a stranger and I can’t stand it.” 

You didn’t know what to say, the man in front of you was a stranger, nothing in his voice or face was familiar. The only reason you asked him to stay was your father telling you he was your husband, and that feeling in your chest of something missing, that empty space in your mind, a big piece of your life’s memories missing. 

“I’m sorry…” you said again, but he shook his head. 

“Don’t. It’s my fault, I did this to you. And I’m staying until you tell me to leave.” 

“I might not remember you in the morning,” you said, “I often forget meeting new people.” 

New people

It cut through him like the sharpest blade. He’s ‘new people’ to you now, not your husband, or even a friend. Just a stranger in your house. 

He nodded at the large bowl that you’d filled with water, “I’ll get cleaned up now, do you want me to go outside?” 

The cottage was familiar, he’d spent much time here before the wedding, and not much had changed in the year he’d been gone. It had only two rooms, and he presumed you were sleeping in the bed nook against the back wall, your father in the other room. The small cottage didn’t hold much space for privacy. 

You shook your head and turned back to the fire, “I’ll keep my back turned, I need to watch the stew.” 

He stared at you for a beat, the achingly familiar shape of your shoulders, your hips and the way you cocked one out to the side as you leaned forward over the large pot. How many times hadn’t he come up behind you, run his hands over your soft shapes, pushed your hair to the side and pressed kisses to your neck as you giggled at the way his beard tickled your skin. Now you stood with your back to him to not see as he pulled off his clothes, something you’d done to him almost every night. Unlaced his shirt, pulled it from his breeches and caressed his skin with your soft hands. 

The dirty shirt dropped to the floor with a soft sound and you heard him wring the washcloth as you added the last of the herbs to the stew. You couldn’t help yourself, you glanced over your shoulder and stole a look at him. He was a stranger, but supposedly your husband, and either way, he was handsome. Under that layer of grime and sweat, he was a striking man, unlike any you’d ever seen. Or, at least, unlike anyone your mind would let you remember. So you glanced back at him and was struck almost dumb by the sight. Broad shoulders, a muscular back tapering into narrow hips where his breeches hung low as he rubbed the washcloth over his abdomen. 

The back of his neck was tanned golden, his back lighter and marred by a long scar that shone bright in the dim light. It looked like a painful injury, old and long since healed over, and you wondered if he’d ever told you what had happened to him. Had you run your fingers over as he told you the story? You realised you must’ve spent countless nights next to this man in your marital bed, his hands on you, your hands on him. This man, this stranger in your father’s house, would know you better than anyone else, every inch of your body and your most intimate secrets. 

As if he could sense your eyes on him, he glanced back over his shoulder and met your eyes, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment. Then he turned fully to face you, the washcloth forgotten in his hand. 

“Amor…” he whispered and you bit back a sudden sob. His eyes were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to remember him, to have all the memories of him flood back into your mind as he dropped the washcloth and took two quick steps across the floor. 

“I don’t remember,” you sobbed as his arms wrapped around you, “I don’t remember anything about you.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let you go. Instead he let you sob against his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on your head. His heart was beating wildly, thrumming so hard you could hear it as you pressed your cheek against him, and even though he was a stranger, his arms felt safe around you, the scent of his skin comforting and soothing. 

With a small movement he rubbed your back, slowly up and down, “It will come back, amor, it will. And if it doesn’t, I will make you fall in love with me again and tell you about all the memories we have.” 

You nodded against his chest, your sobs subsiding, but you didn’t pull away from him, and he didn’t let his arms drop. He held you just as tight, reluctant to give up the feeling of having you in his arms again after all he endured to get back to you. 

“Although…I’m still not sure how I made a woman like you fall in love with a reckless mercenary like me, how will I manage that again?” he said, a small smile to his voice and you looked up at him. He’d lifted his chin from your head and was looking at you with a sad smile, tears clinging to his dark lashes. 

“Promise me you’ll try,” you said, your voice low and broken. 

“Every day for the rest of my life, amor,” he whispered, “I will make you fall in love with me again and then we can make all those memories one more time.” 

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this bitter sweet little story! Bonus points to anyone who caught the LotR reference :)

Tagging some of my fellow Pero lovers:

@nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @harriedandharassed @morallyinept @inept-the-magnificent

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @angiewatson @cozylittlepigeon @604to647

@survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @gnpwdrnsnshine @wintersquirrel @grogusmum

[marimbles]

thank u for your takes on the s5 finale. sometimes it genuinely feels like im going crazy when i watch people talk about it being a good wiriting choice… the whole “be nice about everything that happens on screen or shut up” culture that the fandom has cultivated is genuinely becoming a problem imo

I totally feel that. which is part of why I choose to post about it on main sometimes, even though I really don’t want to ruin other people’s enjoyment in the fandom. I might joke about being a hater, but I have been on the other side of this many, many times where I’m just having a good time my favorite cartoon and salters come in and sour my mood with their relentless negativity. So I don’t want to be like that for someone else! But the thing is, as much as I don’t want to rain on people’s parades, MY parade has been rained on, and I have a sneaking suspicion that that is also the case for a lot of people in the fandom who are staying quiet out of a similar hesitation.

if you’re a long-time fan, of course you don’t wanna be a vibe killer, and you definitely don’t want to be seen as a Salter™️ by the rest of the fandom, especially if you historically have been a person who focuses on the positive. But I hope that this fandom is reasonable and open enough to make room for good-faith criticism. Fandom is a community, and I feel like an essential part of a thriving, healthy community is the joint ability to share and engage with opposing perspectives in a respectful way—while recognizing and holding onto the thing that brought you together in the first place.

I think it’s also important not to make unfair assumptions. Lots of the people who currently have mixed or negative feelings about s5 love ML just as much as the people who have positive feelings—in fact, their feelings might be negative because they love ML so much, and the current story direction feels like a disconnect for them. There are also lots of smart, passionate, media-literate people with varying responses to the finale. We have different logical approaches to similar issues. We have different emotional responses. We have different interests and expectations and perspectives and ideas. That’s okay!

I’ll probably share more about my problems with the currently writing direction, but I’ll be sure to tag appropriately so people can filter if they want to. (Staying in your lane is generally a helpful and valid approach if you don’t want to interact with an opposing viewpoint lol.) I’ll also be blocking/filtering where needed, withdrawing when needed, and trying to stay as respectful as I can. For now, I also plan to keep watching, creating, and enjoying what I find to enjoy in the ml fandom. For me, there is space for both enjoyment and criticism in the way I engage with my interests. So this is not going to become a miraculous salt blog lol (although I might come off as salty sometimes because i’m just a dumb little guy with a lot of strong feelings about children’s cartoons and the emotions overtake me sometimes!!). I still want to contribute to the fandom in a positive way, but I also want to be able to speak critically where I see fit on my own blog. Hopefully I can express my criticism in a balanced way and still have fun:)

[wikiangela]

fuck it friday

tagged by @tizniz @bidisasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess 💖💖

still on my bucktommy bs, I'll be back to buddie but i'm too obsessed with tommy/lou to think about anything else rn lol

so here's a bit of something short I'm wiriting for 7x05 from tommy's pov, idk what this is, what it's gonna be, but I wanna finish it tonight or maybe by the end of the weekend so posting it here to motivate myself and also tell me what y'all think bc the more i reread all of it the more i doubt myself lol

___

It took him some time, plus a lot of self-reflection and just taking it one step at a time, letting himself look at other men, this time consciously and sometimes deliberately, noticing how hot they are, how they make him feel. He let himself feel how they make him feel. It took a minute to stop feeling guilty and ashamed, and to rework all those internalized prejudices that had been ingrained in him his whole life.

He gave himself time, a lot of time, started with just chatting with guys on dating apps, later got the courage for some casual dates, and when he met the man who would be his first actual boyfriend, his first gay relationship, that he genuinely liked, he felt ready to pursue that. It didn’t work out then, that’s just life, but it was a good relationship, because he was ready for it. Now he feels settled and comfortable with himself, feels confident, and knows what he wants. And he wants- he wants love. He doesn’t want to put any pressure on any relationship he might start, but ultimately, that’s the goal. Love. 

He really doesn’t mind being this first to Evan. He likes Evan. He has those bright blue eyes that seem to shine their own light, and that wide, excited smile that makes it impossible not to smile back, with that adorable dimple accompanying it, that makes Tommy melt a little every time he sees it. Plus, those perfect, kissable lips he can’t wait to taste again, and the distinctive birthmark just adding to the charm. And he’s big and strong and so hot, too. And he’s just so nice, and so adorable and endearing, and he’s so easy to talk to. Tommy just wants to keep getting to know him, spend time with him, develop this relationship and see where it can go. And with any luck, maybe this one could last, could be something real.

The thing is, Tommy is ready for serious. He can take it slow, give Evan time to figure everything out, but he’d also like to know where he stands. He would never want to pressure him to come out before he’s ready, but he also knows he doesn’t want to be anyone’s dirty little secret. Been there, done that.

Still, he would be fine with keeping it just to him and Evan for now, for as long as Evan needs. But then…

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @your-catfish-friend @hippolotamus @daffi-990

[miniwrites1]

Hey, love ur wiriting! I was wondering if you could possibly to some soft smut with ominis (ofc aged up) where maybe it’s a few years after Hogwarts and they’re married in a comfortable cottage away from his evil family (they don’t deserve him anyways🙄) and it’s just fluffy smut cuz that’s just how I picture sex with ominis😍

Memories - Ominis Gaunt

Word Count - 1.3k

Relationship - Ominis x Fem!Reader

Themes - Fluff & Smut (Minors DNI)

Warnings - Vaginal sex, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, Ominis being cute

Sunday mornings were your favourite, sitting outside in the garden, a gentle breeze blowing, watching the birds swoop down and land on the grass. It was a much calmer life than the one you’d had while at Hogwarts. Becoming lost in your train of thought, you began thinking back to your time there. Starting as a fifth year, you found it difficult to fit in, everyone already had their friends and most weren’t willing to have a stranger join them, Except for Ominis. You smiled at the thought of him, how your relationship had blossomed from friends throughout fifth and sixth year to lovers at the end of seventh year. You’d immediately felt a warmth to him that no one other than his friend Sebastian could feel.

“(Y/N), are you out here?” You heard Ominis call from inside your home, a beautiful cottage in the Highlands on the lake side. He poked his head out of the open back door, wand in hand to help him find where you were.

“I’m just down here love.” You replied from your spot on the grass, a small smile gracing your lips. Ominis stepped out of the cottage, walking over and sitting down next to you. You sat there in silence, taking comfort in his presence, listening to the breeze and the sound of ebbing water against the lake edge. He wrapped his arm around you, causing you to lean into him.

“I was thinking about Hogwarts earlier.” You mentioned, Ominis’ head tilted, beckoning you to continue. “Remember our seventh year?” You spoke with a small laugh, Ominis smiled, recalling the memories fondly. He remembered sneaking out to meet you in the Room of Requirement at God knows what hours of the night, the gentle kisses that you’d shared in the Undercroft and the many trips to Hogsmeade, sharing butterbeers and recalling the previous school years antics.

“I remember.” He responded, the memory that stood out to him the most was the day after you’d both finished Hogwarts. It was the day that he’d married you in a small ceremony, surrounded by your friends. He smiled just at the though of that day, hearing the happiness in your voice after the ceremony had finished, knowing that you had your whole lives together.

 You sat outside, sharing stories that you’d both heard hundreds of times until rain clouds began to roll in, causing you both to retreat inside.

The weather had taken a turn, dark grey clouds rolling across the skies, bringing with them thunder and lightning. You stood at the kitchen window, gazing up at the sky and watching the clouds intently. Ominis came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, breaking you away from the storm.

“Now is the perfect time for us to finish what we started last night.” He mentioned suggestively, you let out a small laugh, turning in his arms, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled you in closer, gently cupping the back of your neck, returning the kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, kisses blurring into one. You’d lost track of how long had passed, eyes fluttering back open as you pulled back slightly with a small smile, cheeks red.

Ominis, also red cheeked, placed his arm around your back and bent down, scooping you up into his arms. He knew the house like the back of his hand and quickly carried you over to your bedroom as you gazed up at him. He gently set you down on the bed, taking a step backwards to begin removing his shirt. You went to pull your jumper over your head, but you felt him place his hand on your arm.

“Let me?” He asked with a small smile, you raised your arms for him to pull off your jumper. He gently lifted the jumper from the bottom, pulling upwards until it was over your head, discarding it to the side of your dresser. He placed his warm hands on your stomach, caressing up your body with his fingers ensuring that he touched every bit of your exposed skin. His wandering hands made you shiver with excitement and anticipation. He reached the hem of your bra, slowly undoing the clasp and pulling it free from your arms, returning to place his hands on top of your breasts, taking his time to caress each one.

“May I?” He asked, playing with the material of your skirt.

“You may.” You responded with a smile, heat creeping into your cheeks. It never ceased to amaze you how respectful he was.

Ominis gently twisted your skirt around, bringing the button to the front for easier access before undoing it, gently pulling it down your legs and putting it to the side with your jumper. With only your underwear left, Ominis stood up from the bed and took off his trousers along with his underwear, leaving himself completely exposed.

“Please Ominis, I want you.” You mumbled quietly, he returned to the bed, laying you down on your back. His hands played with the material of your underwear, making you squirm slightly. He laughed at feeling you squirm under his touch, finally grasping the material and pulling it down. He ran a finger between your folds, feeling how wet you were. He chuckled, you were soaking for him.

He pushed your knees apart and began rubbing small circles on your clit, moans were quietly escaping your mouth. You were unable to stop them. Ominis smiled, continuing his movements on your clit, grasping his cock with his other hand. You looked down to see that he was rock hard.

“Are you ready?” He asked sincerely.

“Yes, please Ominis.” You replied earnestly. He lined himself up with your entrance, slowly sliding in the tip, making sure that you had time to adjust to his size. You let out a moan at the feeling of being stretched open. He started to slide in inch by inch before eventually filling you up, hips touching as he bottomed out inside of you.

“Is that ok?” He asked, concerned in case he was hurting you.

“It’s ok, don’t worry. Please keep going.” You responded, urging him to continue. He began to thrust slowly, caressing your face softly with one hand and holding himself up as to not crush you with the other. The sex was slow, sensual and everything that you wanted. He pulled you forward slightly to press his lips against yours, drawing you in for a kiss as he continued pushing in and out of you.

Pulling away from the kiss, his thumb returned to your clit continuing the small circles that he’d been making earlier. Your moans intensified, the sensation felt electric.

“Please don’t stop.” You moaned out, clutching his hips as if they were the last thing keeping you alive. His thrusts started to falter slightly, a signal you recognised that meant he was getting close. He sped up his movements on your clit.

“You feel so good.” He moaned, not wanting to cum until you had.

You could feel yourself getting close, a pressure building up inside of you that was desperate to explode. You started to squirm more, trying to create extra stimulation. He reconnected your lips, kissing you passionately as you fell over the edge, fluttering around his cock. The tightness was enough for him to reach his orgasm, cumming inside of you before resting above you on his forearms, trying to catch his breath.

Once he’d caught his breath back, he gently pulled out and rolled onto the bed next to you, pulling you in towards him and wrapping his arms around you. He held you tightly to his chest.

“Happy anniversary my love.” Ominis spoke quietly, arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close.

He gently grasped your hand, interlocking your fingers together, using his other hand to caress your cheek. You rested your head on his shoulder. It was a peaceful life.

[bonny-kookoo]

Hi, I love your wiriting SO much! I was wondering if you'd be able to write something for the Sugar Crush AU with a protective Koo? You can throw some angst with fluff ending perhaps?

Love your work! Keep it up 💜💜💜

A/N: this became a lot longer than just a short moment OOF I LOVE THEM SO MUCH-

Your entire life, you've been a coward.

You don't like confrontation, you always tend to be swayed into things you don't actually like doing just because you can't say no, and you never really stand your ground even if you should in many situations. You're easy to take advantage of, you let people trample all over you- and due to that, you rather began distancing yourself from everyone instead of trying to become more brave.

It was the easiest way out, after all.

Outside of the grocery store, there's a bunch of drunk hybrids and humans, currently angrily yelling at each other, profanities flying so hard it feels like it's only a matter of time until they begin to physically fight as well.

Technically, you can just walk past. But you're scared, rather trying to seem occupied while keeping an eye on the people outside the small corner store, no sign of them stopping anytime soon making your anxiety rise.

You don't have anyone you can call to pick you up. You're too ashamed to ask the cashier to escort you out the store either. What the hell are you supposed to do?

"Hey uh- I wanna close. Please finish up alright?" The man asks, and you nod.

Your eyes sting with unsched tears as you take out your phone, just to spot a notification from Jungkook- a message you hadn't noticed he'd sent an hour prior, asking how you were doing.

You call his number with shaky hands.

"Oh hey!" His voice chirps from the other side. "Didn't think you'd call. How're you doing?" He asks, and you flinch when something crashes outside.

"Uhm.. are you- are you doing anything important right now?" You ask, and there's some shuffling heard in the background, before he answers.

"Lazing around on the couch, nothing much. You sound a bit nervous-" he asks. "-You alright?"

"I- there's.. okay this might sound.. stupid but, I'm getting groceries right now-" you explain quietly, "-but outside there's.. people fighting and uhm.. m' scared." You say, and jungkook hums a reply.

"Where' you at pup?" He simply says, on the other end of the line getting up to grab his keys and jacket, slipping into his shoes. "I can come pick you up."

You give him the location of the store, and he assures you he'll be there soon, as you walk to checkout your items. The commotion outside is still loud, and the young man scanning your items sighs. "You going home alone?" He asks, and you shake your head. "Good. I've called police already, you should stay in until someone picks you up." The human advises, and you simply nod again silently, watching as the guy packs up your items.

There's a car parking close by, headlights shining around for a moment before the engine is shut down.

And then, the familiar wolf hybrid walks in, who visibly brightens up at the sigh of you, his tail wagging.

"Hey." He greets, thanking the cashier and taking the bags to carry them for you. "They're really going at it outside there, aren't they?" He comments as you walk towards the automatic doors. "You can hold onto me, by the way. It's not weird, I promise." He reassures softly, and you take that chance right away, holding onto his arm as he shields you from the fighting people now being held back from each other by police.

In his car, he lets you guide him to your place, it's quiet except for the quiet radio playing in the background. "You can always call me for stuff like this, by the way." He opens conversation at a red light, looking over at you. "I promise you're no bother."

"Its just.. stupid." You mumble more or less, not looking at him.

"Hmhm, I guess that's what you've been taught." He shrugs, fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. "But it's not." He says. "But, dropping that- you wanna hang out this weekend?" He asks, and you look at him in wonder almost, for a second stunned that he's not even mentioning you not messaging him much. "Dont do that-" he laughs suddenly, "-I'm driving!" He scolds.

"Wha- I didn't do anything?" You ask, confused, but he shakes his head.

"Anyways, answer my question." He avoids the question, and you nod.

"I.. I mean, you can stay over too? I have a couch you could sleep on, if you want.." you offer, and he shrugs.

"If you want me to stay over I totally can." He nods.

"But not.. for, stuff." You shake your head.

"I know. Wasn't my intention." He reassures. "Won't even hug you if you don't want that."

"...hm." You nod, a little deflated. You would've actually liked that. But that might be unfair to him, considering he's aiming for an actual relationship- and hugging is an intimate act, isn't it? It would be a little selfish to want hugs and skinship but not offer him anything in return. Wait- maybe he shouldn't come over then.

"I uh, actually think I have something up on Saturday." You start, and he chuckles.

"Alright." He parks the car, turning off the engine before he turns towards you, only the orange interior lights illuminating him, hybrid eyes reflecting a little. "Talk to me."

"..I am?" You say, but he shakes his head.

"You're not. You're just reacting to what I say, until something sets you off and makes you try and escape." He says, basically stripping you naked of your usual armor. "I know this will make you uncomfortable, but I don't like stuff like this. Is there really something you have to do on Saturday, or are you trying to make something up so I leave you alone?"

You stay silent, staring at your shoes.

"Got it." He nods, crossing his arms. "So what made you try and run away just now?" He asks again, watching you.

"..I don't know." You meekly answer to yourself mostly, feeling like a scolded child.

"I believe that, to be honest." He chuckles softly.

"I just.. you said you wouldn't hug me, but- what if I want that?" You ask, and he laughs at that, watching you with a look of endearment.

"Oh puppy, alright, fuck-" he laughs. "Okay wait wait wait, let's make a deal here." He calms down. "I'll do anything you want-" He offers, still smiling, "-and in return, you tell me every thought you have from now on. No more 'trying to figure it out yourself', since that's clearly not working well." He offers, leaning closer to you.

"I want a kiss." You blurt out, and without laughing or even commenting, he simply shrugs, leaning over to you to peck your cheek.

"See?" He grins, watching your wildly wagging tail and your red cheeks. "You've got so many great thoughts in your head-" the wolf comments,

"-and I wanna hear all of them."

[jasper-bold]

Wiriter: What should we do with Spencer's character?

Other Writer: Break his leg or something idc

[alonetimelover]

Easter Monday

pairing: Harry Styles x slavic(polish)!fem!reader

summary: Harry nad YN are spending their first Easter together, embracing their cultural differences. To celebrate Easter Monday Harry found something very interesting on the internet, hoping to make YN happy, he decided to surprise her with it - id didn't go as planned.

word count: ~1,3k (a little baby)

a/n: so i found out about this holiday in Poland and decided that it would make a fun, fluffy piece for the slavic!reader trope. if i got something wrong, please do tell me!

(another piece of wiriting with a slavic! reader is here > BRITs awards <)

masterlist

When Harry met YN, he promised himself to learn about Polish mores, some words to understand at least a part of what YN was talking about with her family back home and Polish food. Being a pescatarian excluded him from trying quite a few national dishes but YN found enough alternatives for him to eat. He loved it (or so he told YN). 

Here he was, on Easter Sunday evening, researching Polish mores during Easter. For the first time in their relationship, they decided to spend those holidays together at Harry’s home in London.

The cultural differences were noticeable. YN didn’t grow up with Egg hunting on Sunday morning, but with going to church on Saturday to have food sacred. On Sunday morning there was an Easter breakfast - eggs (so many colourful eggs), the sour rye soup (yes, soup for breakfast) served in a round bread bowl, variable meat on the cold platter and, most importantly, cakes - mazurek and babka. Harry felt that he’d especially love those cakes. 

Harry growing up didn’t do much for Easter. He enjoyed sleeping in for a few days, hunting eggs on Sunday and then going on with his life. His family never attached much importance towards Easter - they used those days for family time, hosting board games’ tournaments with a feast happening in the dining room. 

So saying that YN’s way of celebrating was a shock for Harry was easily not enough. 

“You want to celebrate the way that I’m used to?” She asked him two months before Easter. 

“Yes.” He kissed her knuckles. “I want to spend it the way you always do. We’ll paint those colourful eggs and then eat this big breakfast.”

“Pisanki, those are the colourful eggs. And that big breakfast is almost not edible for you.”

“Because of meat?” YN nodded her head. “Well, then we’ll go to the local market and buy some plant based alternatives. Polish Easter breakfast with a twist. What do you say?”

“I love it.”

That was what they had done. 

Harry invited his mother, sister and her fiancé to celebrate with them. All of them sat down with brushes and paint, and decorated the eggs. YN prepared the breakfast - with plant based sausage, and with two cakes baked just the way her grandma did, while Harry was responsible for taking care of the guests, saying “I’m so sorry, but I know, I’ll just ruin whatever you’re doing there, my love." 

Everybody enjoyed breakfast, agreeing that soup being present was a mistake, but wasn’t untasty. Cakes did a furore - Anne asked for a recipe and Gemma promised to beg for them constantly. YN was happy that people appreciated her culture. 

And when people left, just mere two hours ago, Harry and YN tidied up in the house and she went to sleep, he, on the other hand sat in front of his computer, searching. ‘What Poles do on Easter Monday?’ was a question tapped into a search bar. After clicking the first website linked, with a shock appearing on his face, eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word read, Harry stood up and went to the bedroom. He needed to visit a park tomorrow’s morning to get what was needed. 

The next day YN woke up to a cold bed, which was more than expected - Harry was an early bird (woke up as early as 5 am) when YN liked to sleep until at least 6:30. After doing her morning stretches and going to the bathroom, she moved downstairs to start on the breakfast. Harry usually waited for her, so they could eat together and talk about their plans for a day. 

“Harry! Baby! I’m making coffee, you want some?” She called into an (probably) empty house. 

While not getting an answer, she went to the kitchen starting Harry’s fancy coffee machine. She needed caffeine. 

It was strange that Harry didn’t leave any note, saying where he had gone. Nothing on the fridge, or under a fruit basket and no text either. She started to get worried when halfway through her first meal of the day Harry’s plate was still full and slowly getting cold. 

Over the speakers, YN listened to Lana Del Rey’s album Ultraviolence, singing silently under her nose. She didn’t hear the back door slowly open and close. She didn’t hear the steps nearing her body. Most importantly, she didn’t hear the movement of the bucket full of water being directed at her. 

“Ah!” She screeched when the cold water covered her whole body. From the top of her head to her toes, there was no dry spot. She was soaked and not in a good way. 

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” Harry screamed, unconsciously murdering the language with a smile on his face, and started to hit YN with pussy willow branches. 

“Harry! Are you out of your mind?” YN asked, trying to simultaneously flick the water from her face and catch the branch that had been continuously hitting her upper arm. “Harry, stop it!”

“What?” He asked, confused, stopping mid-air. “Why did you stop me? It’s a tradition!”

The ligt bulb switched on in YN's mind. She understood, for a moment looking at Harry with an open mouth and big eyes. “ Oh God!” She finally laughed. “Oh my God!”

“What - what is going on?”

“Harry, did you - did you find about this day on the internet?”

“Yes, obviously. Where would I get information about something like this from?” He still couldn’t comprehend the tradition that he was taking part of. What was the point of it? 

“Maybe me. Someone that actually celebrates it?” YN prompted. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Harry said quietly, putting down the bucket and moving around the kitchen to get YN a clean tower. 

“Listen - thank you -” she responded, after getting the towel, “- people don’t do it like this anymore.” She began drying herself off. “There is no hitting with branches. And not only boys are throwing water - it’s not gender-driven.”

Harry sat down in front of YN, getting sad.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, clasping her hands in his. “I - I just wanted to do something that would make you feel like people around you know what you celebrate and do on specific holidays. ‘Supposed to be a surprise. Didn’t work. I’m sorry.” he kissed her knuckles, looking at her like a lost puppy. His eyes big and a little pout present on his lips. 

“And I appreciate it so much.” She pecked his pout away, making him smirk. “These holidays, you've made me feel like I was back home. it means the most to me. Just didn’t like getting bitten up with a pussy willow.”

“Not a fan?” Harry’s smirk getting more daring. 

“Not really. When it comes to Easter Monday, I’ve always just splashed people with water and called it a day. Well, when my cousins and I were younger, we used to just pour water on each other from the garden hose. It was entertaining. But always doing it outside of the house.” YN gave Harry a look towards the wet floor. “If not, we were cleaning not only the water but the whole house.”

“Am I going to be doing the same?” Harry asked with the same smirk from before, he enjoyed it. 

“Yep. Absolutely.” YN stood up rapidly and moved to the closet to give Harry a mop. “Chop, chop!”

With a laugh, Harry gripped the mop and started cleaning. Unfortunately for him, the bucket he used was voluminous, and the amount of water on the floor was significant. While looking for the bucket to wring out the excess water, Harry lost his focus. Suddenly, his whole body started shivering from the cold liquid dripping from his head and down to the floor. 

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” YN laughed at Harry. 

Quickly enough, they both were running around the backyard - most clothes discarded in a run - under the rain of water from the garden hose. YN felt like a careless child again, and Harry decided just then he always wanted to see her that happy.

Sometimes misinformation on the internet could lead to good times, he thought. But only sometimes.

[xxpeppermintxx109]

I’m sorry but you’re lying. I have downloaded your fic from a long time when you started wiriting it. You did not tag it as a love triangle. For instance: I would have never started it if I had seen the love triangle tag. We are stupid like you keep insinuating. You are a liar. The only ship tagged was original female character/aemond. I have the proof of it. A lot people in the hotd fanfic community knows this and has seen the proof. That is why you are known in the fic community as an imposter. For almost a year you didn’t tag it as a love triangle. That is why you keep getting criticism: you used aemond/ewan’s fanbase to gain traction and attention for your fic, and then decided to blindside everyone with your own little fantasy of qoren.

Let me make it clear. It is your story and you can write whatever you want. But it doesn’t mean people have to like it. Most people don’t. And people have a right to give their opinion. But you keep crying about it and making yourself be a victim. Just accept it. You write for yourself and that is totally okay. Just accept the criticism that you cheated your readers and that is why ppl got upset and stopped reading your fics. It’s not because we only want aemond; it’s because that is how you advertised your fic and then switched it up. At least have the decency to be truthful.

You did not tag your fic as a love triangle. You added it months after starting it, after you hooked aemond fans in. That’s why people hate your fic now and don’t trust you.

so actually, no the only pairing tagged wasn’t just aemond and oc

From NOVEMBER OF 2022, what like two weeks after I posted the first chapter mind you, Qoren Martell/original female character was a pairing. And there were a TON of other pairings I shouldn’t have tagged cause they weren’t main pairings, as see this screenshot below :)

Betrayal, angst, and tragedy were tagged since the very beginning. Love triangle was tagged in chapter 5, it appears when looking back at all my screenshots of chapter summaries to upload, which yes is my bad it’s not the VERY beginning but jfc, still EARLY. And guess what, I think I had maybe 5k-8k hits on this fic at that point. That is not me sinking my claws into the Aemond fandom like you so accuse me of, and then just doing a bait and switch.

Qoren only became a viable option AFTER Aemond killed Luke, which if you look at all of my old edits over this last year and a fucking half, has always been the plan. Luke was always gonna die, Aemond was gonna get into shit with Shaera for it. Qoren was an emotional decision on her part. Even now she still considers Aemond a lot of the time. AND I HAVE STATED MULTIPLE TIMES THAT AEMOND AND SHAERA ARE ENDGAME, so unclench jfc.

I don’t paint myself as a victim, when I get shit like this all the time being rude. When I was getting Islamophobic comments comparing MY writing of Qoren to fucking 9/11. When I was getting harassed for the simple act of writing the story as it’s always been laid out by multiple anon accounts who spammed my asks and my ao3 comments. And it sure as hell doesn’t seem like this fandom “hates” me and my story as you so claim, cause I still have a ton of readers who enjoy this story and give it kudos on ao3 and read and interact with me on all platforms, so fuck off lol. Shit, it’s hitting 5k votes on wattpad. Doesn’t seem to me like people hate it or my writing decisions??

Get off anon and say this with your whole chest while you’re at it <3

[wordsarelife]

hiii !!! i really love your writing style, and i'm just obsessed with your account in general, i'm just wondering how you started writing?? any tips for beginners? i'm trying to start writing more, but i can't think of a scenario, or i get stuck at some point. any help is appreciated 😭 thank you !!! mwah !! 🫶🏻

hello my love, please excuse my late answer. first, thank you so much for the compliments, you're the sweetest!!! i've been writing basically all my life and i think whats most important for writing is inspiration. i spent so many years reading fanfiction and thinking about topics i would like to read about, just to notice that no one had written them yet so i tried to fill that space myself, with a lot of failing lmao.. but at some point i realized that it's just as fun to write as it is to read other people's stuff.

when i start to write something, i always make sure i'm passionate about the project. i start by imagining scenes that i would love to read about myself, decide on a taylor song i want to use, which does generate even more inspiration and search pinterest for aesthetics and more insparation.

i know what it's like getting stuck while writing (ask the thousand unfinished wips of books i tried to write), but sometimes i try to just write anything, even if its rubbish at first, at least you wrote a few more words.

or just think about the least expectable answer to a simple question and keep in mind that every answer reflect your characters personality. if you let your character answer something unexpectably it might turn the conversation into a different direction. and different is good, it's fun and sometimes you just feel what could be right for the story, without knowing it before. but if you need help to come up with a concept, try to look at blogs on here, who provide prompts or funny quotes to start your story off on.

one of my favorite creators is @creativepromptsforwriting (she also has great tips for writing, far better than any i could give you)

and just to emphasize what i said before, i'm going to show you what i mean by wiriting a little scene between theo and pixie from my series don't blame me:

example quote: you look good

so, to accurately write this scene, you should think about your characters personality, but also the relationship between them.

so it could be like this:

theo: you look good

pixie: thank you

and that would be it. but this conversation doesn't fit either their personality nor their relationship, and a great plus is also that it would be a longer interaction if you let them react differently:

theo: you look good

pixie: what are you trying to do right now?

theo: i don't know, genius, maybe compliment you?

pixie: well, don't expect to get one back, i wouldn't want to inflate your ego any further

theo: aren't you just a ray of sunshine...

pixie: complementing me again huh?

theo: sure...

so this is what i would come up with on the spot and i hope i could help you a bit, but this is mostly what i do when i write and then i just keep writing honestly. what i can tell you is that it will be easier the more you write, you get a feeling for it eventually. so in simpler terms: don't stress too much for perfection (had to learn that the hard way) just write and see what happens and just keep in mind that any word you write will help you to get better at writing, so nothing has to be perfect from the get go. i mean, has anyone ever sat down at a piano and just started playing?

good luck on your journey, i wish you all the fun at writing!!! ❤️

[chronicpessimisticsblog]

What do you like about Tori Spring? In response to @not-a-chance-in-heckity-heck

Sorry for the long post.

I could wirite a poem about this. Many teenagers who read solitaire say that thy really like Tori, but if she had been a real pearson in real life I don’t think the would. If she was actually real, people wouldn’t like her so match . And that’s because she is an introvert , anti-social, she never takes part in social svents, she never goes to parties ecc. In less words she dosen’t fit the modern teenagers girl standards , the happy and exciting girl standards among our society . So I don’t want to say I “like” her, I just think she is the most realistic character I ever read about. I think some people (adults in particular) have a compleatly different vision of teenage years compared to actual teenagers. Sometimes when I watch a film or a tv serie about teen drama I get so angry, because things are not like that in real life. Teenage life is not that exciting, colorful and happy. People in real life are not like this: the are not that pretty, not that kind, not that happy. A lot of time, for a teenager, life is just a constant miserable repeating of some constant miserable events that keeps going every day, always ,without an end. And that’s what I find so special about Tori and the whole book: Tori is not like this. She is just like a real pearson, who is not pretending that things are actually good, she knows that her life is a boring repeating of events just like any other life of any other girl like her, and she admid it. She is so realistic because she dosen’t want to wake up at the morning, she has bad grades , not many friends, she eat, she sleep and she listent to music when she’s bored.She is realistic because she feels something. We could say the same for Michael Holden Who is not just an happy boy, he has problems, he has feeling and that makes him human, real. Anyway, Tori in the book basically has a shitty life ( witch is so relatable) and the thing I like most is that she dosen’t ever try to deny it or to fix it in any way possible.

[zeondraws]

My life has been a fucking rollercoaster this month, everything you do in the server is keeping me going, thank you so much for every drawing, screenshot and wiriting you even posted, i can't express my gratitude with how much everything you do means to me.

Thank you Zeon.

Make sure to take breaks.

Sending many hugs your way anon, ya got this keep going.

And thank you, I try my hardest with this researching, I realised how much this has helped me learn something new and get out of my comfort zone way more than before. Here take this drawing of Roper I did yesterday.

My friend gave me feedback on shading when I showed my Innes sketch. It’s when it finally hit me how to do it with this paper blender I have. I have posted a bunch about Roper but I am almost done researching him I think. Still have to figure out a bunch from other characters, but he’s fun to draw. Might post another thing about him and Rennick when I manage this drawing idea. I still struggle with human bodies.

I’ll try to take breaks, thank you anon.

Until then: busbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbusbubs

[circeyoru]

So, this is based off my own story, but I would like to reuqest Alastor and Lucifer (either sepreately or together) in a romantic relationship with sinner Reader who has the same abilities as Wanda Maximoff from Marvel? I am a fan of both fanbases. I've always wondered who both would be like in such a relationship. I always loved your writing and wiriting style!

Thank you so much for hearing me out!

While I'm working on other requests, can someone help tell me simply what this character's powers are? I don't exactly watch Marvel or keep up with the characters that come out (╯︿╰；)

I'll tag this ask when I post this writing's request.

(If you see the # below, yeah, I'm writing for Lucifer for this too. Hehe)

[roycappsus]

My 19374839267th au that im never gonna finish and only draw Robert for and heavy inspo from art I saw but my version. Youre welcome.

I might draw the others if this is hyped.

If you cant read it bc my hand wiriting sucks ass ⬇

𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑁𝑎𝑚𝑒: 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡

𝑆𝑢𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑁𝑎𝑚𝑒: 𝑅-𝑆25

𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠: 𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑟

𝑃𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝐴𝑔𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒- 𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑.

"𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡." - 𝐷𝑟. 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑠

𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑠 𝑅-𝑆36, 𝑅-𝑆𝑂5, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑆-251

(𝐹𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠/𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠):

𝐹𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠->

𝐶𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑒??

𝐶𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠

𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑠->

𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠(𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ) ->

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑒𝑎𝑡?

𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑡->

[flowerandblood]

Make your mutuals smile 💐

Write what you love about them and why, or just praise them, share your favorite memories or chats. In the times when everyone get so much underserved hate from anons let's spread some warm feelings.

@ewanmitchellcrumbs - Ange, you're the most warm, understanding, caring person I know here. I know that sometimes you feel like your mutuals don't give in return as much as they could and you're right, but know how much you're appreciated. You're not only talented writer that can write almost EVERTYHING but your knowledge about Ewan and fandom is soooo big, I love to read your answers to asks! You feed this fandom so well, without you it wouldn't be the same.

@zenka69 - You're with me from the very beginning, supportive and caring, my sweet polish friend! Thanks to you I wanted to write more of the "My Best Friend" and well, I wrote so many fics from then on and you're still with me!!!

@sagelovesreading - My sweet friend, our talks on priv warms my heart as much as your comments. I love to talk to you, you're so sweet, gentle person, I love how emotionally you're approaching my works, and I'm so happy that you have to courage to write to me!!!!

@valeskafics - You're so sweet, self conscious person, so talented and funny, I love you with all my heart! Love to read your fics and your answers, you're hilarious but so supportive too, your reblogs makes my heart melt and I always wait for them!

@barbieaemond - You're so fuckin talented, your gifs are just chef's kiss, but your Red Bird is soooo good already! I know that you get couple of mean anons but fuck them, I love how you wirite Aemond, I love that you decide to write OC and not normal "reader" even if people prefer the second more because it feels like YOUR story and I want to read it even more because of that.

@targaryenrealnessdarling - I would have to write an essay about how talented you are, literally everything you write makes me feral, you're so kind, so good, so funny, you writes your characters so well and don't afraid to show really dark Aemond even when some of people would be whining about it.

@asumofwords - We don't know each other at all but well I LOVE YOU OKAY you're the best writer here, I read everything you update and it's always SO GOOD, you write your characters, scenes and emotions so well, you are so funny and bitchy, don't give a shit about weird or mean asks, I want to be like you!!!

@echos-muses - Echo I loveee youuuu, I love your reblogs and comments, often makes me laugh so hard, love our chats in reblogs on more mature topics too, so good to have here person like you too.

@happinessinthebeing - Your comments and ask makes my heart melt, you're so sweet and caring, love to talk to you and read all you're writing to me, I would hug you if I could!!!!

@oneeyedvisenya - I'm so grateful that I found your fics and then saw that you had reblogged some of my works. Literally it was one of the happiest things that happened to me here because I love your works so much and it meant so much to me! Waiting for your new works!!!!

@theoneeyedprince - Justine, my fellow polish girl, I love you so much and our little talks, I love how we are supportive to each other! This is so great to have here someone from my own country how writes so we'll, I would love some new modern series from you, hihi.

@aemondx - I love your gifs so much and I'm so happy that you liked my HP series! Makes my blush ughhhh!!! So talented!!!!

@notnormalthings-blog - I love you and your reblogs so much, you make me laugh so hard, I just can't, always waiting for your reactions and gifs!!!!

@persephonelovesbooks - I love you so much, you're with me from the earliest times of my writing, always so supportive, ugh, I can't say how much I enjoy interacting with you!

@aemondsmoon - You make me so happy with your reblogs and reactions, you're so sweet and kind, just ughhh, I hope that after my return to Poland I will have a time to read some of your fics!!!!!!!

I would write like that for on and one, but here so honorable mentions of people I just love for they comments, reactions, support. You make my day better guys! I'm sorry if I didn't mention someone, I love all you people, interacting or not!!!

@melsunshine @immyowndefender @bellaisasleep @ammo23 @chainsawsangel @letmeloveyouuuu @hiatuswhore

You don have to reblog or tag anyone, just I want you to let you know that I love you guys! You can share it and reblogs if you want of course, kisses! 💋💋💋