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absurdthirst · 1 month ago

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Fight to Get Home to You {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: Hate sex, angry sex, derogatory comments, goading and bickering, anger, confusion and stubborn people refusing to talk, baby!, Pero is a girl dad, mandatory Pero bath, holding a baby for the first time, confessions, idiots in love, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of post baby body, lactation, vaginal sex, mentions of virginity, Pero has a heart, loving making, soft kisses and promises, happy endings.

Comments: Riding with Pero Tovar, you hiss and spit at him, even when he slides into your bedroll at night when the men are sleeping. Until the day you ride away to keep a secret from the prickly Spaniard. One that he discovers when he finds you after his journey to the East is complete. Learning that neither one of you really hated the other.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList ||

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

The fire crackles, sending a warm glow that chases away the darkness that surrounds you. In the dark, you can hear the horses munching on the little brush that you had managed to find, stopping and occasionally neighing softly as they rest. Happy to have the saddles and bags off their backs for a few hours while the men who rode them slept. The snorts of the men sound like bears hibernating in caves, making you roll your eyes and huff silently, shifting under your blankets as you try to settle in to get your own rest.

A hand slaps over your mouth, making you reach for the sheathed dagger at your hip. “Fight if you want, amiga.” The chuckle in your ear is warm, making you hiss against his palm, other hand reaching around your body to tear at the laces of your breeches. “You seem to enjoy it more when you do.” Pero Tovar rocks his hips against your ass, pushing the hardness that has nothing to do with armor against you. His cock aching ready to sink into your cunt and he knows you are annoyed that he would climb into your bedroll right here in front of the fire where any man could wake up and see.

Pero pushes his hand into your breeches, knowing you love when he rubs that little pulsing bundle of nerves. He groans when you reach behind you to squeeze him through his breeches, blindly fumbling to undo the laces but he’s already ahead of you. All you have to do is reach in and pull his hard cock out. He groans into your neck when you squeeze him, loving the way you rock down onto his hand. “That’s it, hermosa.” He murmurs as he works on wiggling you out of your pants. “Please.” You beg, knowing you’ll regret it in the morning but right now, you’re soaking wet for him. He chuckles softly against your ear, “I got you.” You whine when he manages to push the material down enough for his cock to slide between your thighs and you reach down to help him notch himself at your entrance.

You choke out a grunt, trying to keep from being too loud as he pushes inside you. The Spaniard's cock fills you, he’s thick and long, making your eyes roll back when his hips are flush against your ass. You don’t know why you let him fuck you, when the sun is up, he ignores you or the two of you spit and grumble at each other. You don’t really like him, but you let him fuck you until your toes curl and your eyes cross in pleasure. “Fuck.” You roll onto your stomach, taking him with you and enjoying the way he presses you down.

He grunts, shifting to kneel behind you, his elbows on either side of your head as he starts to rock into you, pressing you into the bedroll and your hot walls grip his cock. “Fuck, hermosa. You feel - fuck.” He hisses into your neck, “taking everything I give you like a needy whore.”

That’s rich, coming from the man who would fuck every whore available if he had the coins. The first time he had taken you was leaning against a tree, the blood of the men you had both killed still splatter on your armor. “Fuck you.” You hiss quietly.

He chuckles, making you clench around him. His hips press against your ass as he grinds as deep as he can. “No, I’m fucking you, princesa.” He emphasizes and you reach behind you to grab onto his hair, making him growl and his cock twitch inside you.

You should not let him touch you, but you’ve grown addicted to the way he scrubs against your walls and presses deep. He’s handsome, even if you don’t like him beyond the sex. You get along with William, but he is not your type it seems. Pushing your ass back, you yank on his hair a little harder and smirk when he groans into your ear.

One of the men you are traveling with snorts and Pero freezes for a second until the man begins to snore again. He takes that as permission to go hard so he starts to fuck you, thrusting into your tight cunt and the noise of your wetness makes him chuckle into the nape of your neck. “You love it when I fuck you, don’t you, princesa?” He asks, his voice raspy as it vibrates against your skin.

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. “I could do better.” You huff, fingers curling into fists as he hammers away into your body. The sex is amazing but you can’t help but snark at him while he’s touching you.

Tovar scoffs, “your little fingers wouldn’t be able to reach where my cock does. They wouldn’t stretch you out like I do. I wreck this little cunt. And you fucking love it.” He rasps into your ear as he adjusts the ankle, chuckling when you gasp.

You shudder, unable to deny it even if it pisses you off. The best you can manage is a small snort that masks the next moan. The man across from you around the fire shuffles in his blankets but Pero doesn’t stop rocking into you. “You just like my cunt.” You hiss quietly when the other man settles down. “Better than your fist.”

Pero bites down on your neck and you hiss, “fuck.” He chuckles and licks the skin, “your cunt is better than my fist but I still love that my fist doesn’t throw insults at me.”

You snort and clench down around him. “Then fuck your hand.” You spit back, loving how he groans and twitches inside you. “At least until you can find another whorehouse.”

He hisses when you clench around him, pushing deep into your cunt and he is certain the men would hear if it weren't for the liquor they downed from their flasks before finding sleep. "Why would I when I have my own personal whore right here?" He counters with a growl.

His own personal whore. If it would not cause too much of a fuss, you would push him off of you. Instead, you tighten down as hard as you can around his cock, making him choke out a groan. “I don’t remember your coins becoming mine.” You whisper. “Make sure you give them to me on the morrow.”

He smirks against your neck, “I am the one doing all the work here. Maybe if you ride my cock next time.” He chuckles and pushes deep, needing you to clamp down around him before he finds his own pleasure. He may spit fire at you but he doesn’t want you to say he’s a bad lover.

You snort, knowing the cheap bastard would never give you money if he did not have to. You bite your lip, getting close and you wish that you had the type of relationship to demand a kiss, but that was not something you had done in all the times you gave fucked. “Tovar.” You moan his name quietly, about to cum and needing him to silence you.

He knows what you need so he reaches out to cover your mouth with his palm, loving the way your moan vibrates against his skin. “That’s it, princesa. Cum for me.” He demands roughly against your ear, biting down on your earlobe.

The sharp pinch of pain throws you over the edge. Your cry is muffled by his hand as your walls soak him. Clamping down around his cock and trembling violently while you shake in pleasure. Tovar always manages to make you cum, with the exception of one time and that was only because he had been too pent up, still he had rubbed your clit until you came around his softening cock.

The way you clamp down on his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he groans, "fuck, princesa. Mierda. I'm - fuck." He pants as he thrusts three more times before he's twitching inside you, painting your walls with his hot spend. He's been pent up all day and your heat sent him over the edge.

You hiss against his palm. You will have to sneak down to the river to wash now that he has filled you up instead of pulling out. Tovar hates to pull out, insisting that the herbs you take to prevent your flow makes it unnecessary for him to do so. Preferring to spill inside your cunt.

Tovar grunts as he relaxes above you, his cock softening and he pulls out before he ends up getting caught. He shifts to his knees and tucks his cock away, tying his breeches. Your ass is on display and he can’t help but smack it. “Good as always, princesa.” He chuckles and shifts to stand up.

You turn around and shoot him a glare. “You should have spilled your seed in your hand.” You hiss quietly. “Now I will have to piss and clean up your mess.”

He chuckles, shifting to stand up, “I know you love it when I fill you up.” He smirks, knowing you have begged him in the past to paint you with his cum. Sometimes, when you’re able to, he likes to see your tits shining with his seed but that’s a rare event to have enough privacy for it.

Huffing, you pull yourself up and drag your breeches up your thighs. “I hope your horse stomps on your foot tomorrow.” You growl, stomping off into the dark to go wash your cunt and give him time to settle down before you say something worse.

Pero snorts as he watches you stride off. He would never tell you but he usually sneaks around to watch your back, make sure no one attacks you while you are washing. He’s back under his blankets before you return and pretending to be asleep but he opens his eyes to look at you when you turn over on your bedroll. He never imagined he’d find a woman like you. He can never have you, not completely.

****

“I am leaving.” You had almost slipped away in the middle of the night, deciding to take the coward's way out and not have the conversation that you had been dreading. You had been thinking about it for weeks, but it’s time. “Today.” You look up from your seat on a broken log by the river where the horses are resting.

Pero frowns at the need, “leaving? Why?” He demands to know, wanting to know the reason. He doesn’t like the thought of you on your own out there. It’s dangerous. “What are you thinking? You’ll be killed.”

You roll your eyes. “I have saved your ass more than once, I will be fine.” You knew he would bitch about this, having grumbled when you joined the group. Now he was grumbling you were leaving. “I am going back to my home village.”

Pero looks over at William, the three of you the only ones remaining before you venture across the sea to the east. “You do not need to return there. Come with us to the east. We will care for you.” Pero demands and William smirks, having been aware of your dirty little secret but he’s never voiced it.

“No.” You shake your head. “I have made up my mind. If I leave now, I can be settled before the winter sets in.” You bite your lip, smirking slightly even though you don’t feel nearly as confident as you would like. “It will be the first night I’ve had peace since I’ve met you and I’m looking forward to it.”

Tovar shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but William places his hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. “Don’t, brother. Let her go.” He isn’t stupid, he knows what has been going on between you. “Besides, I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me.” You chuckle and Pero bites his lip, holding back what he wants to say but he’s spiteful when he says “only your cunt.”

You clench your jaw, biting back the angry words that come so easily when you talk to him. You had hoped that this would be easy, that he would be relieved that you are leaving, but obviously not. Or he truly only did like your cunt for company. “Well.” You slap your thighs and stand up, dusting yourself off. “Then I have nothing left to say.” Your horse is already saddled, like theirs are, and you have made sure to pack some of the rations for yourself, not too much, but enough to get you home. “Don’t poison the buzzards when they eat your carcass.” You snip, swinging up onto your mount’s back. “Be safe.” It’s directed towards William, but it’s meant for both of them. You know that the Irishman will watch Pero’s back.

Pero clenches his jaw, wanting to demand you don’t leave but he can’t do that. It’s not his place to control you, you don’t even like him. He sighs and shakes his head, “don’t die out there, princesa. Your body won’t rot away. It will be used.” He warns you, knowing how vile men can be. That’s why he wants to keep you close but he can’t. You hate him. That’s why you’re leaving.

You don’t say anything else, just nodding to the two men and urging your horse to start walking, turning his head away from the camp. Not looking back before the horse breaks into a run, eager to eat up the distance between here and home. You need to get away from Pero. You can’t be around him and keep your secret.

****

Pero is grumpy and ferocious from that moment on. After returning from the east barely alive, he’s pent up and wondering where the hell you are. William stayed with the General and Pero is alone. He hates being alone. Even if he’d never admit it. He tries to remember what you told him about your village and he remembers that it was at the bottom of a mountain in a valley about four days' ride from where you left. Pero decides to try and find you. He stops in every village, asking for you, to no avail. He sighs and shakes his head, making his way to the next village after spending the night in the whorehouse. He is a man with needs after all. He makes his way to the next village and the priest’s eyes widen when he asks after you, “she lives near the stream.” Pero’s heart pounds and he swings his leg over his stallion after tossing some coins to the priest, “for my sins.” He declares before he rides off. He finds the small cottage, it’s picturesque by the stream, the mountain looking behind it, and he swings off his horse, swallowing harshly. His boots crackle with the gravel as he makes his way to the front door and knocks.

Expecting the tanner to come and take the skins from the animals you had trapped, you wipe your hands and move to the door. It had taken some time to get used to wearing skirts again, but you still wore breeches when you were hunting or working in your vegetable garden. Usually keeping the more feminine wear for when you were going into the village or when the few merchants who would come to you would arrive. “I have quite a few-“ you stop dead as you open the door to reveal someone unexpected on your doorstep. “Tovar.” You hate how your heart pounds and you wonder why he’s here. “What are you doing here?” You demand. “How did you find me?”

Pero inhales sharply, you look just as beautiful as you did the day you rode away from him and William. "I - I wanted to see you." He says lamely, "we went to the east and William remained there so I- I wanted to see you and I-" He cuts himself off and swallows, "it was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I shouldn't - I'll go." He promises, starting to back away from the door when he hears a baby cry.

Your eyes widen, hoping that the baby would have slept through this surprise. “I-“ you don’t say anything else, just turning and rushing towards the screen that separates the bed from the rest of the house. The small cradle you had lain in when you were a baby is now holding your own child and you lean over and coo to her. “Why are you so fussy?” You hum softly, picking up your months old daughter and putting her to your chest while you pull down the front of your dress to give her your breast. “Is my little button hungry?” You coo, smiling when she immediately latches on and suckles hungrily.

Pero can’t help but enter your home, watching with rapture as you cradle the baby suckling on your breast. He frowns at her dark mop of hair and he counts the months. Wondering if - “is she mine?” He chokes out, curious and his heart pounding.

Your eyes flicker up to find him watching you, horror and curiosity burning in his eyes. “No, she’s William’s obviously.” Annoyed that the Spaniard would think that you were fucking anyone else while he spent the months you rode together fucking you. You look back down at her, her little eyes drifting closed and smile softly before you frown and glance at him again. “Why are you here, Tovar?” You demand. “Felt like fighting again? Or do the whorehouses not accept your coin?”

He’s speechless, watching you gently rock the baby and he swallows, his throat dry. “I- I can’t - she’s - a girl. Princesa.” He chokes as he takes a step over to you. “You were alone and I - I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“Yes, she’s a girl.” You narrow your eyes, angry that he seems disappointed that you did not birth him a son. “A girl bastard is better than a boy.” You hiss. “I was capable of protecting myself. I did. I gave birth with the help of a midwife from the village. What could you have done?”

Pero’s stomach twists and he shakes his head, “I never - I would’ve been here.” He promises, “but you left and - did you know? Is that why you left? Why you didn’t come to the east with us?” He narrows his eyes as he accuses you.

You snort and shrug, “What does it matter?” You ask. “It would have been dangerous for me, and I was only as useful as my cunt, so I would have just put both of you in danger.” You don’t add that he never would have known if he had not come to find you. “It is your fault for continuously spilling inside me.”

Tovar has the emotions to feel guilty but he swallows harshly and nods, “you’re right, princesa. I - I shouldn’t have gone. We were nearly killed. Several times and I- I got greedy. Tried to steal and it nearly cost me my life. I am sorry for putting your life in danger and leaving you full of my child.”

You’re surprised that he will admit that he was wrong, Pero never does that. “You? Greedy?” You snort, shaking your head. “I never would have imagined it.” You tell him sarcastically. The baby pulls off your breast and you shift her to your shoulder to burp.

He watches you as you burp her and then cradle her in your arms, rocking her as she sleeps, and Pero's heart lurches. "I am truly sorry, princesa. I - I'll go." He stumbles back, knowing he isn't wanted here.

The sun will set in an hour and you know the inn in the village will charge him an outrageous amount for a bed. You sigh and roll your eyes. “Stay.” You huff softly. “Unless you plan to camp outside.”

He frowns, “I was planning to. I didn’t - I never want to assume that you wanted me here. I figured you’d be spitting venom at me like you used to. I just…I had to find you. I will go if you wish me to.” He promises and bows his head slightly.

As if to protest, your daughter gives a small cry, her face screwing up in anger and looking just like the man who sired her before she settles back down in your arms. You look down at her and then back up at Pero. “You will need to bathe if you are to stay.” You huff. “I don’t want her to get sick.”

Pero is surprised you’re letting him stay but his heart thumps at the news and he nods, “of course. I have been traveling for many months. Let me - I can go to the stream.” He offers, not wanting you to go through any trouble for him when you are giving him a bed to sleep in.

“There is a barrel by the door.” You roll your eyes, aware that the man might be a pig when he travels, but he loves luxury. He paid for a hot bath at every inn you had stopped at. “Bring in water and we will heat it.” You instruct. “The stream will not get you clean enough.”

He nods, secretly relieved, and he sets his satchel down and makes his way over to the door to fetch the buckets of water. He really is filthy. He barely stopped in an inn to find you. He was desperate, especially since he’s alone. He sets the barrel down and watches as you set the baby in the cot, shushing her before you turn to start working on hearing the water for the tub in the corner of the room.

You feel that he is watching you. Making you aware that it’s the first time that Pero has seen you in skirts. “You said William stayed?” You ask as you work. “He’s not dead?”

He watches you as your skirts sway and he thinks you look beautiful. You seem to have a glow about you. Home life suits you. You’re clean and you look comfortable. “He’s alive. He decided to remain in China. He met a woman. She’s a firecracker. He loves her and I told him to stay. So he did.” He explains, “never imagined the poor bastard would be in love.”

Surprised to hear that, you hum. Whoever the woman was, she must have been special. “So now you are seeking another companion to sell your sword with.” You understand, nodding as you move to get the crock of soap and a drying cloth while the water warms. After that, you will make sure that there is dinner for you both. Tomorrow he will be gone and you can continue your simple little life.

He sighs and shakes his head, “I don’t know. I didn’t really think ahead more than finding you. I need - I want to be here. With you. And our daughter.” He declares, “I will go if you send me away but please let me try to be there for mi hija.” He pleads a little, knowing you’ve never heard that from him.

You almost snort, but you catch yourself. Arguing with Pero will just make him dig his heels in. Just to spite you, he will stay longer than he ever planned. Instead, you just hum. “I have not sent you away yet, have I?” You ask, knowing that he would be bored to tears in less than a week.

He shrugs, “I know you hate me, princesa. Even more so now that I left you with child.” He says and you snort, “I left on my own accord.” He stands, helping you fill the tub, and he groans as he starts to strip off the armor after the tub is steaming. “You left because of me. I- I know you still hate me.”

“You made your own feelings about me clear.” You remind him. “You wanted to steal my horse and leave me alone on the road when you discovered I am a woman.”

Pero snorts, working on his chest plate after setting his sword down. “You lied to us. You tried to steal. If you would’ve told us-” You scoff and spin around, “told you? You would’ve dropped me at the next village.” You spit and Pero nods, “and you would’ve been safer. The road is no place for a woman…even one as skilled with a sword as you.”

“I am no longer on the road.” You remind him, grabbing another bucket of warm water and setting it down next to the bath. “My sword is now only for protecting myself and my daughter.”

His stomach twists, knowing he has not earned the right to be called her father or for you to even let him into your cottage. He’s said some terrible things during your journeys together. “Then she will be protected.” He declares and reaches for the hem of his tunic after he sets his boots aside. Your eyes avert as you pour some oils into the hot water and his naked body is on display as he sets his dirty clothes aside.

You don’t look over at him at first, even though you have never seen him completely nude. Your liaisons had never had the privacy or time for such things. It’s not until he steps into the bath that you turn and look, getting a good view of his strong, scarred back and his small but nice ass. “My father died right after I returned.” You tell him. “So I had a home to keep her safe in. That is all that matters to me.”

He nods, groaning as he steps into the tub, “that’s good. I’m glad you had somewhere to live. I - I should’ve made sure you had somewhere to go but I was angry that you were leaving and-” He cuts himself off as he sinks into the water.

“I wasn’t your problem.” You remind him. “You couldn’t stand me, so I have no reason to believe that you would worry about my well being.” You turn towards your table to start cutting up vegetables for a meal.

Pero swallows, knowing he cannot disclose his true feelings. "You hardly felt warm and fuzzy for me, princesa." He reminds you, "you would spit venom at me with every breath you took." He snorts, "but I - well, it doesn't matter." He sighs and reaches for the rag to start cleaning himself.

You snort, busying yourself as you hear him splash behind you. “I know we did not care for each other.” You chop the root vegetables very fine and sigh yourself. “But I do not expect anything from you. Except a civil tongue around my daughter. When you find a wife and have legitimate children, I will not tolerate her being abused for being a bastard.”

Pero scoffs, “I do not wish to find a wife.” He insists, his eyes watching your back as you cut up vegetables. He continues to wash, “she is not a bastard in my eyes. She’s our child and I - I want to get to know her.” He declares, his stomach twisting as he imagines you laughing in his face and tossing him out with the bath water.

It surprises you and you turn around to face him, telling yourself not to look below the waterline. Even if you have seen it before, his cock is not yours to admire. “Have you ever even been around a baby before?” You ask curiously. He’s rough and quick to temper, easily goaded into a fight, which you do not want for your daughter. She will not tiptoe around in fear of her father’s wrath.

He shakes his head, "no. I have not had the chance. I have been too preoccupied with a sword in my hand but-" He lifts his hands from the water, "I would never hurt her. Once I am dressed, I would like to try...under your guidance of course."

“I can show you what to do.” You nod and turn back to your work. The cauldron is one your parents had cooked in all your life and it’s a comfort to know you will cook your own daughter’s meals in them. You bite your lip and move over to the meat hanging in the corner and cut down a larger chunk than you normally would, knowing Pero eats a lot. “She is still just taking my breast to eat.” You warn him.

He hates that his cock twitches at the thought of his child suckling on your breast and that makes him fluster slightly as he continues washing himself. “Would you mind cutting my hair?” He asks, his hair starting to get in his face.

It is almost instinctual to hiss at him to do it himself, but you need to temper your tongue. “Let me get the stew started and I will.” You nod, bringing the hunk of rabbit meat over to chop up for the meal.

He can see your back tense and he knows you are unhappy with him being here but he has a child and he can’t walk away. Not yet anyway. He sighs and continues washing while you work on preparing dinner.

Once the heavy pot is swung over the fire in the hearth, you cut up the remainder of your loaf of bread. Sighing softly when you realize you will have to bake more. “Did you find the black powder?” You had been swayed by the thought of the prize, but you could not risk your daughter once you realized you had missed your monthly.

Pero scoffs, unable to help himself. “I did. I- I was a fool. I tried to sneak it out from the wall with someone and he - well, he was a snake. I ended up in shackles but William saved me. I left with my life.” he shutters as he remembers the monsters and how he was nearly killed in the fight before he left the wall.

You snort. “You have always been greedy.” You muse. “It is nice to know that some things have not changed.” You move over to the trunk at the end of your bed, behind the screen and the leather straps of the hinge creak. Inside are some clothes that your father had. You wear them at times when you are lonely, but if you know Pero, he has no clean clothes. You also pull out the shears that you use when you are sewing and clothes from the trunk. “Are you ready to cut your hair?”

He nods, knowing it's matted and itchy from not stopping after he arrived back from the east. He desperately wants to feel clean and trim his beard. Despite a harsh life on the road, he actually prefers to be clean. And fed. “Yes, princesa.” He says as you come back over with the shears.

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t see that since you’ve already taken position behind him. “It looks like you did not cut your hair at all.” You grunt, starting to cut off large chunks of his hair.

Pero sighs, closing his eyes, “I got a haircut at the wall but I wanted to find you when I got on that ship. I didn’t care about my hair or clothes. All I wanted to do was find you.” He confesses softly, thankful you’re behind him so you can’t see his face.

“Why?” You frown. “You hated me, but you wanted to find me? It does not make sense. Did William put you up to this?” Your fingers still, tangling in his hair and you wonder if the man had been sent to you by his friend for some reason. William liked to tease you that Pero was charmed by you, even though he had nothing but contempt for you unless he was fucking you.

Pero flexes his fingers, his heart in his throat as clumps of hair flutter to the floor. “I never hated you.” He confesses, “you annoyed me. Frustrated me with your inability to listen and be fucking sensible. But I never hated you. I liked the way you’d spit at me, made my cock hard. I like the way you don’t take my shit. I- mierda. You know I’m not good at this kind of thing.” He shakes his head and opens his eyes, wishing he could see your face.

You are unsure of what he means. He's not good at talking to women? The women who like the dark looks of him have always been a bolder sort and you would watch him charm and flirt shamelessly when he thought you were a man. You were a woman who liked the look of him. Starting to cut his hair again, you swallow harshly. “I didn’t hate you.” You promise. “You seemed to not want anything to do with me unless you were inside me, so I would make you work for it.”

Pero sighs softly, knowing that your fighting was vicious but he never saw the vitriol in your eyes. “You spit venom at me as soon as I discovered you were a woman. It’s not my fault I came to the stream for a piss onto to find you naked and washing yourself. Princesa, I liked the fact that you stood up for yourself. I liked fighting with you because that was the only time you’d talk to me.” He confesses softly, “you’d speak to the Irishman but you wouldn’t even look at me unless it was to fire scathing words in my direction.”

“You made me nervous.” You admit with a rueful sense of irony. “You were handsome and quick, I thought I would be thrown out of your party. I would have been if those bandits had not attacked.”

Pero shakes his head, “I can’t believe…well, that’s history now. I’m here and you’re here and we have a child. I want to be there for her, princesa. I want to be her father if you’ll allow me the chance.” He declares and you pause cutting his hair, making his heart pound in his chest.

“You might not like being a father.” You remind him practically. “You sell your sword and travel. It is no life for a child.”

“I have sold my sword since I was ten and three years old. I do not wish to do it anymore. I’m old. That’s why I wanted to find you. The battle in the east…I was nearly killed several times. I’m exhausted, princesa. I don’t want to fight anymore.” He confesses wearily, “I have enough coins to see out the rest of my life.” He admits, knowing his satchel is full of coins and nothing else. “Do you wish for me to go?” He asks, not wanting to force himself on you.

Running your fingers through his hair, you sigh. “I will not turn you away.” You promise. “I know you will probably build a house, find a wife even though you say you don’t want one, but you can stay here until you decide.”

He nods, knowing you won’t want him to stay too long and he doesn’t answer you as you start to wash his hair with the soap and water you have next to the tub.

“Winter will be setting in soon.” You tell him softly. “I’ve got to put up the rest of the vegetables from the garden and run my traps.” You grin. “The tanner is supposed to come by and get the latest skins.”

“You are incredible, hermosa.” He compliments you, unable to stop himself. “You have done well on your own, especially with a child.” He says and tilts his head so you can wash his hair. “Whatever you want help with, let me know.” He orders and closes his eyes.

“Rest for now.” You murmur. “I know the journey was a long one. You have to be tired.” You had been exhausted after your own trip home and you had not even gone as far as he had. “Then I will order you around.”

He chuckles, keeping his eyes closed as he relaxes in the tub. He has to cut his beard and shave but for now, he rests knowing he’s found you and he isn’t fighting for his life.

Pero falls asleep in the bath. You’ve heard jokes about it, but you have never seen someone fall asleep until now. He starts to softly snore after you finish washing his hair and you decide to leave him there. Getting up from the side of the tub where you were kneeling and moving over to the fire to stir the stew before you take his clothes outside to soak. The clean ones are near his drying cloth and he will see them when he wakes up.

When he wakes up, the sun has set and the fire is going. The water he’s sitting in is cold and his toes are pruned but he wakes up feeling relaxed and safe. Something he hasn’t felt for so long. He grunts and looks around to find you cradling the baby, the pot of stew cooking and he rubs his cheek.

“There’s going to be a man’s voice.” You murmur softly. “He can be gruff, but he won’t hurt you.” You would never let him hurt her even if he wanted to. “He is your papa. The reason you are here.” Your daughter gurgles at you, waving a small fist and you laugh quietly. “I love you so much.”

Pero listens to you, his heart fluttering, and he bites his lip, wondering how he’s going to be a father to the little girl. He’s never even held a child before. He stands up, cold water dripping off of him, and he reaches for the sheet to dry off before he dresses in the dry clothes you left out for him.

You hear Pero and you look up from where you are sitting on your bed. You can’t see properly beyond the screen, but you can imagine. “Are you dressed?” You ask after a moment, wanting to give him privacy.

He works fast and says, “yes. I’m dressed.” His feet are bare and he slowly pokes his head around the screen. “How is she?” He asks, his voice soft and he’s nervous, hoping you will let him hold his daughter for the first time.

“She’s perfect.” You promise, smiling down at her again when she makes a happy noise. “I have changed her. So she is all dry and she’s in a mood to be entertained.” You look up at Pero to see the longing on his face. “Do you want to sit at the table and hold her while I finish cooking our meal?” You offer.

He nods, eager to hold his child, and he makes his way over to the table. He pulls the chair out and sits down, his heart already pounding in his chest as he looks towards you as you carry the baby over to him. “How - how do I-?” He asks awkwardly, unsure and not wanting to hurt her.

It would be amusing, since this is the first time you’ve ever seen the Spaniard panic, but you know his concern is for your daughter. “Hold her neck with the back of your hand, like this.” You shift her and hold her where she can look up at you. “And hold her bottom”

He nods, his palms a little sweaty as he wipes them on his pants before he holds his hands out and you gently place her in his hands, helping him position her. He inhales sharply when you step back and he gets a good look at his daughter for the first time. He takes a moment and then he’s smiling. “Hola mija, soy tu papá.” He introduces himself softly and she coos, making his heart swell.

There have been plenty of times that you cursed Pero. Especially when you were in labor and pushing her out of your body. Now, you feel like you are about to cry from the simple beauty of watching him with his daughter. “Her name is Oriana.” You tell him softly.

He mouths it at first, watching her squirm slightly before she relaxes into his touch, “Oriana.” He coos, unable to stop himself as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “She’s beautiful. You- you are so strong, princesa. Bringing your daughter into the world alone.” He murmurs in awe, knowing he can’t say his daughter when he wasn’t here.

“I grew her for months, pushed her out of my body and she looks just like you.” You snort, shaking your head. “She gets this fierce scowl on her tiny face that is just like yours. And she has your eyes. Staring through me.”

Pero stares into her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering as she watches him, and he can’t stop smiling but he manages to glance over at you, “I’m sorry. The Tovar breeding is strong.” He confesses, knowing he looks like his father and his father before him. “We made her.” He murmurs in awe.

“We did.” You wish you could remember this moment forever. He looks completely enchanted with his daughter. “On the road to the East, you managed to create a legacy.”

“My only legacy.” He sighs, “I didn’t find the riches I fought my whole life for but I did find enough to provide a decent living. I want to provide for her, give you enough coins that you never have to worry.” He declares without taking his eyes off her.

“We will make sure she is cared for.” You promise, not wanting his coin. Watching him with your daughter has changed your view of him. Making you think that he could put down his sword and raise a family. Or at least raise a daughter. “She will inherit this house, the taxes are paid, and the root cellar is starting to be filled.” You smile. “Having her papa around will only be a boon.”

Pero looks over at you again as he gently cradles her, "you will allow me to stay?" He asks and you nod, "of course. But there are rules." He doesn't argue, knowing you are the one in control right now. He must adhere to your wishes so he can be with his daughter, "rules?"

You look at Pero, your brow arched seriously and you start to list off your terms. “You will not fight, either selling your sword or getting drunk and brawling in the tavern like a barbarian.” You start. “Babies cry, often in the middle of the night. You will not grumble or get agitated with her.” You smirk slightly, “you will have to learn to have patience.” Pero nods, and resists rolling his eyes. “Is that all?” He asks, making you shake your head. “No sex.” You tell him firmly. “There will be no sneaking into my bed and planting another child in my belly. You are here to be Oriana’s father and nothing more.”

Pero clenches his jaw for a second, reminded of your haughty nature but he reels himself in and nods, "of course, princesa." He won't argue, especially when his relationship with his daughter is on the line. "I no longer wish to sell my sword. I am too old. I expected to be killed before now. I nearly died on the wall. I will not mock God by putting my life on the line again."

Somehow, you believe him. You nod and sigh. “There is a sleeping loft, but the space is narrow and you will not fit comfortably.” You can tell him this now that you said there will be no fucking. “You will have to share my bed until we can decide how to proceed.

He doesn’t argue, knowing the effort will be futile when you are as stubborn as he is and he wouldn’t mind being able to help when Oriana cries in the middle of the night. He wants to be there for his daughter. He looks down at her and her eyes are sleepy, a yawn escaping her lips that makes him chuckle, and he’s content to hold her as she sleeps.

“She has been sleeping much of the time.” You explain. “As she grows, she will be more active.” You move over to the pot and stir the stew. “Supper is ready, do you want to put her down?”

He nods, cradling her, and he’s nervous but you watch as he shifts to stand up, keeping her in his hands as he carries her over to the cot and he gently sets her down on the sheet, watching her stretch out before she settles down, still asleep. He can’t help but stare at her, seeing your features in her, and she’s beautiful.

You laddle up big bowls of the stew to put on the table with the basket of bread, knowing he will be starving. “I have some ale, or water to drink.” You offer.

Pero knows he shouldn’t drink, especially around the babe, so he says “water, princesa. Thank you.” He groans at the smell of the stew. It’s the first proper meal he’s had since he left the wall. “It smells delicious.” He murmurs, watching as you sit down with two cups of water in hand.

“There is plenty.” You promise him. “We don’t have to be as stingy with our rations as when we were traveling.” You snort to yourself and push his bowl towards him. “Eat. I know you are hungry.”

He picks up the spoon and digs in. He knows he looks ravenous but he’s been on the road far too long and he hasn’t had a proper meal during his journey to find you. He’s hunted and foraged but didn’t allow himself the luxury of an inn during his quest to find the woman who left him on her horse. “It’s delicious.” He confirms when he finally comes up for air.

It’s impressive that he managed to eat so much in so little time. You’ve barely eaten a portion of yours and you stand to pour him up some more. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking on the road when you stop to rest your horses for the night is never tasty, just filling.”

Pero nods, “exactly. I hunted and cooked to survive. My only goal was to find you.” He reveals, his eyes focused on you as you set his bowl down in front of him.

“Why?” That is the part that confuses you the most. He didn’t hate you - you now know - but Pero is not a man who enjoys socializing with people. His main reason for searching for you has not been very clear, clouded by the knowledge now that he is a father.

He bites his lip as he sets his spoon down in the bowl, "I- I missed you." He confesses softly, "I wanted to find you because...apart from William, you are the only person I've felt a connection to in between the killings and the chaos. I missed you." He states plainly, hoping you don't laugh in his face.

Your eyes widen slightly and you bite your own lip. Trying to rationalize that knowledge from what you had thought you knew about Pero Tovar. “I never thought I would see you again.” You confess, reaching out and touching his hand. “I cried as I rode away from you and William, but I thought it was the best thing for me, for our child.”

He can’t argue with that. “It was. Now that I know the truth, you made the right choice. If you had come with us and been with child during…I would’ve killed every monster, man, and being that came near you.” He promises, his eyes flashing as they meet yours. He would have been feral to protect you and the babe in your belly. He squeezes your hand, “you made the right choice, hermosa.”

“Monster?” You frown and tilt your head, unsure of what he means. “What happened on that wall?” You demand softly.

He closes his eyes as the memories flash past his eyes, “they - when we arrived…we were after the black powder but they attacked. Only William and I survived. They attack every sixty years. The Tao Tei. Fucking beings from beyond and they are vicious. We fought them and nearly died before we - us and an Englishman - made a plan to steal the powder. William, he changed his mind and I knocked him unconscious before we left with the powder. The English bastard betrayed me and left me for dead but I was found and arrested. William - he left to fight in the capital and for helping them win, he was offered the powder but requested my release instead. After I was freed, he decided to stay with his love and I came back to find you.” He tells the story solemnly and slowly, brow furrowed as he relives it.

Your eyes have widened as you try to imagine what he went through, mouth slightly opened. He could have died, probably should have if God had not intervened. “I see what you mean by not testing God.” You murmur slightly, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “I- I am glad you didn’t not die. Either by the monsters or by a hanging noose.”

Pero inhales deeply, looking down at your hand, “I have learned many things but the biggest lesson was to not let go of something you love and that is why I had to find you. Even if you sent me away. I just wanted to see you again.” He confesses, knowing his gruff nature has been pushed aside to allow him to be vulnerable.

“You love me?” Your brow furrows, but you don’t pull away. “Pero- I- you love me?” You never would have imagined that. You cared for him, but you never imagined that he held a fraction of the affection for you beyond physical that you had for him. “Are you sure? I was a bitch to you.”

He bites his lip before he answers, “and I was a bastard to you. I watched you. Far more than should have been appropriate but you are so strong and - and unbelievably smart. You held your own against men in battle and you never wavered in your fight. You fought me verbally but that made me like you more. You weren’t scared of me. For my entire life…since I was given this scar as a child by my father who was drunk and furious that I stepped between him and my mother when he wanted to hit her…people have been afraid of me but not you. You weren’t scared to fight me and I love that. You are strong and beautiful and - and you’ve proven how incredible you are to bring our daughter into the world alone. I love you. Even if you do not return my feelings, I will always love you.”

“I love you.” You know that there is still so much to be uncertain about in this life, but there are never any guarantees. He never hurt you, he pushed you mentally and verbally, but he never hurt you. He’s not a drunkard, even though you’ve seen him drunk. If you can trust him with your daughter, you can trust him with your heart.

He inhales sharply at your confession, certain that you would reject him and laugh in his face, and he swallows harshly, lifting your hand up to his lips so he can softly place a kiss on the back of it. “Then allow me to be the man I should’ve been from the beginning.” He requests as he lowers your hand.

“What man is that?” You ask, curious to see if there is more to Pero than just the gruff and fierce mercenary. You’ve seen glimpses of it with your daughter but you never expected it towards you.

Pero looks down at the wood grain in the table that your father likely made. “I- I want to be the father I wish I had. I want to be the partner I wish my mother had. A good man. An honest man. I want to be a family man and not sell my sword to survive. When I was in my cot on the wall, I imagined being able to die warm in bed knowing I am leaving behind people who will cry for my death. To know that I loved and was loved.” He admits and his dark eyes glaze over and he avoids looking at you.

“Your daughter will grow up to love you.” You predict softly, your heart clenching and raw for the yearning you hear in his voice. “And I will be right beside you. If that’s what you want.”

Pero’s eyes flick up to you and his mouth drops in shock. He never imagined you’d be by his side, that you’d feel the same way. “I do. So much.” He promises and he can’t help but smile softly. You stand up and walk around the table, shifting to sit in his lap and you lean in to nudge your nose against his. He reaches up to cup your cheek and you lean closer, pressing your lips to his. His heart is pounding in his chest and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

You have just given him rules and you know that you will break them. You want to break them. They were for when you thought he didn’t love you and only wanted your body for release. Sinking your fingers into his hair, you moan softly into his mouth, not even able to remember if you’ve ever kissed before.

Pero has never kissed you and his mouth is gentle before he turns ravenous, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans into your mouth when you eagerly slide your tongue against his and he loves the hungry you return. His cock twitches in his pants but he doesn’t push for more, content to kiss you.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air as you stare at him. Chest heaving and your core is soaked because of how sexy that kiss is, how your entire body responds to Pero. Apparently you’ve both been fools but you don’t want to be anymore. “I have changed my mind.” You hum quietly. “I want to have you between my thighs when we go to bed tonight.”

Pero frowns at you, “are you sure?” He doesn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. You nod and he groans, his hand sliding from your waist to your ass, “I missed you and I missed your body. Imagined you several times with my fist around my cock.” He confesses, starting to harden beneath you.

“I have not taken anyone into my bed since you.” You admit, biting your lip. “Could you- can it be a little more gentle than normal?” You ask softly. “Since I have birthed our daughter, I do not know how I-“ you break off, embarrassed.

He slides his hand back up to your waist, “of course. I do not wish to take you like I would. I want to show you how I feel about you, hermosa.” He murmurs, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to your jaw.

“Finish your food.” You kiss his lips and smirk slightly. “We will go to bed early so we have plenty of time before our daughter wakes up.”

He nods and you shift to move away but he keeps his arm around your waist. “Stay here, princesa. I want to hold you.” He demands, picking up his spoon and he starts to eat, even faster than before in his eagerness to have you again.

You hum and wrap yourself around him. “You always eat with a hunger I admire.” You chuckle. “Like someone is going to steal it if you look away.”

Pero snorts after he finishes his bite, “because my entire life has been someone attempting to steal food from me. I’ve had to fight for everything I have.” He confesses, “perhaps…being in your home will allow me to relax and enjoy my food.” He admits and takes another bite, slower than before.

“We will have to work for our food, but the village is peaceful. As long as the garden is prosperous and the hunting good, we will not be hungry.” You promise. Your life has been different from his, you have not had to fight for survival. “But if you are to stay, then this will be your home as well.”

Pero caresses your back, “I understand. I know that we will still struggle but I will never let you go hungry. I’ll work hard to provide a life for you and our daughter.” He promises and leans in to nudge his nose with yours, his empty bowl pushed aside as he focuses on you.

You smile and caress his cheek, your fingers running through the thick beard he hasn’t trimmed yet. “Do you want to bank the fire and I will get ready for bed?”

He nods, leaning in to kiss your chin before you shift off his lap. He takes the bowl and carries it over to the bucket of water to rinse it. “Go get ready for bed, hermosa.” He orders and he walks over to the fire to handle it before he retires to your bed for the night. He takes his time and gives you some space, his stomach twisting and he’s nervous. This isn’t some romp under some blankets in the middle of nowhere. This is your home. Your bed. This is love and comfort.

You check Oriana and tuck her in a little more snuggly, “goodnight sweetheart.” You whisper before you start to undress. You untie your skirt and let it drop before you step out of it and hang it on a peg that had been driven onto the wall to hang your clothes. You wonder if Pero will be disappointed in your cunt now that you’ve given birth. It’s not like you had talked to many about the intimacies in a marriage. Waiting for him after you pull off your shift and slide under the covers nude.

He walks behind the screen to find you under the sheets and his heart is pounding in his chest. He’s nervous and that’s an unusual emotion for Tovar. He reaches for his shirt, pulling it over his head before he walks over to the bed. He doesn’t pull the covers away and he shifts to kneel on the bed above you. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss you softly.

You accept his kiss and his praise, your cheeks heating up. “It feels so strange we are not clawing at each other.” You admit with a sheepish grin when he pulls back, your hand sliding down his chest. “But I feel like this will be special for us.”

Pero smiles and he twitches in his pants, his cock hardening, “I think so too. I want it to be.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss you again as he shifts to lay down beside you. “I want you, hermosa. I want you to be mine. I always wanted you to be mine.” His hand slides along your side.

“I want that too.” You promise, reaching for the laces on his breeches. “I want you to be mine too. We will have and protect each other. Love each other. Pleasure each other.”

Pero pulls the cover down and he inhales sharply at the sight of your body. He groans and leans in to kiss you, kissing along your neck, and he caresses your waist, sliding his hand up until he’s cupping your breast.

This is so much different from the hurried, rough fucks you had while you were traveling together. His touch is gentle, like he has all the time in the world. You lean into the kiss, moaning softly.

He slides his tongue against yours, his cock aching in his breeches as you reach in to take it out and he groans, loving the way your fingers feel wrapped around his cock. “Princesa.” He whines and pushes your hand away, “let me taste you. I’ve never tasted you.”

You smirk slightly and squeeze him softly. Humming when you feel him twitch in your hand. “You know how?” You ask playfully, throwing him a doubtful look. “Eating a cunt isn’t like eating a bowl of stew.”

He smirks, “my first lover. She was a whore that my friend paid for. She spent three days with me. Took my innocence and showed me how to pleasure a woman. She showed me how to taste a woman.” He confesses as he pushes your hand away and he kisses down your stomach as he shifts to lay between your legs.

You bite your lip and look down between your thighs. “You look good there.” You moan, spreading your legs wider and wait to feel his tongue against your cunt. For all your bravado, you’ve never had a man do this for you.

His beard is long and brushes your thighs as he pushes them further apart to accommodate his broad shoulders. He leans in, his dark eyes focused on you as he parts your folds with his thumbs and slides his tongue through your soaking slit. He groans as the taste of your tangy arousal hits his tastebuds and he flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit.

Your eyes close and your head flops back down onto the pillow. “Pero.” You moan softly, not wanting to wake the baby, but you can be louder than a whisper now that you aren’t surrounded by sleeping men. “Oh fuck.”

He loves hearing your moan and it spurs him on. He slides his hands to your thighs, pushing them further back as he laps at your cunt, his nose nestled into the curls above your clit that he sucks on, making your chest heave.

The small cottage is still pretty well lit from the banked fire, the coals giving the open space a cozy glow that radiates beyond the screen. The door is barred and the baby is asleep. It’s the perfect moment and your own hands cup your breasts tenderly, careful not to squeeze so you don’t cover yourself in milk. They are bigger than the last time he had seen them.

He’s determined to show you how he feels about you, to show you that the venom he spat your way was his defense and not your fault. He wants to make you feel loved so he pushes his tongue deep and nudges your clit with his nose, starved for your whimpers and moans as the cabin glows around him.

Your hands slide down and tangle into his hair, rocking your hips up in pleasure. “Pero, oh god.” You whine. “This is- it is fantastic.”

He’s pleased you are enjoying his pleasure and he groans, his hard cock pressing into the mattress and he hisses at the way you tug on his freshly cut hair. He buries his face in your cunt, not caring about the need to breathe when his aim is to make you fall apart for him.

The pleasure coiling in your belly suddenly snaps. It’s so different from when he is pounding into you and making your knees weak with the force of his thrusts. It’s still powerful, making your hips rock up and your throaty cry rips from your throat. “Pero!”

He loves the way you cry out for him, making his cock throb, and he hisses when you squeeze his head between your thighs. He loves it. He loves you. He moans and works you through it until your grip loosens and you relax beneath him. “So beautiful.” He murmurs, kissing along your thighs as you inhale deeply.

Your body is humming pleasantly and you would want to go to sleep any other time, but you miss the feeling of him inside you. “Come here.” You tug on his hair lightly and kiss his lips, not caring that you can taste yourself on them. “I want-“ you push him away and onto his back. “Let me ride you this time.”

He looks up at you as you straddle him and he’s in awe of you. You’re so strong, so capable. You’ve survived on your own without him, giving birth and having your daughter, and he is honored that you’re not pushing him away. He loves you. His hands caress your waist as you settle on top of him, his cock pressed against your pelvis as you lean down to kiss him.

Your lips are pressed to his, moaning softly as you reach between you and wrap your fingers around his cock as you start to lift your hips. You want to keep kissing him, never want to stop, as you line him up and start to slowly take him inside you. His groan being pushed into your mouth is sexy and you give it right back to him.

He groans into your mouth again as you sink down onto his cock, enveloping his cock in your warmth and he swears he has come home. Gone is the frantic fuck paired with hissed insults and in its place is soft love making and murmured words of affection. He wants this. He wants you.

There is a moment where you just need to feel him, stretching you out. It’s not painful, but it has been a long time since you’ve felt this particular stretch and it’s wonderful. Your eyes flutter closed again and you murmur his name.

He kisses your chin as you take a moment before you start to rock on top of him. Your body is hot pressing against his skin and he’s missed you so much. So many lonely nights during his travels to find you have led him to right now and he’s so grateful he found you. “Amor.” He murmurs, “you feel so good.”

“I love you.” You moan softly. “I love you Pero.” Your hands are braced on his chest and you slowly roll your hips, loving how deep he is in this position. “I want you to stay with me. I used to dream of it, you knowing about Oriana and being happy to be a father. Settled and content.” You admit softly. “That you loved me and now you are here.”

“I’m here.” He promises roughly, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, princesa. I’m here for you and our daughter. I love you. So much.” He vows hoarsely as he lets you take what you want from him.

You whimper and roll your hips. Leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lip again and moaning against them when he twitches inside you. “You are here.” You pant, nodding as you clench around him.

He caresses your back, “and I’m staying.” He promises, his hands sliding lower to squeeze your ass and he loves the way you moan again when he twitches inside you. “Take what you need, princesa. I’m yours.” He vows softly.

You love how gentle he is. This is a man who never wanted you to take charge of anything and yet he is letting you control his pleasure. “I will.” You promise, kissing him again and sitting up to start bouncing on his cock again.

He watches you in awe, your breasts bouncing as you ride him and his hands caress every inch of skin he can reach. His toes curl when you clench around him and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest.

You lean back, closing your eyes and moaning softly. “Fuck.” You whimper after you grind down on him even more. “You- god, you have such a good cock. Every time it feels so fucking good.”

You rest your hands on his knees and his dark eyes are black as he watches you, his gaze drifting down to watch where he disappears inside of you. “It’s your cunt. Tight and wet and hot.” He groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You have fucked so many others.” You know he has not been a celibate man. “I- you have been my only lover.” You confess breathlessly. “I do not know why I didn’t bleed our first time.”

He freezes under you, his eyes widening, “I was your first? And I- mierda. I’m a bastard.” He curses himself with a hiss, “I should’ve - why didn’t you say anything?” He demands to know, stopping your movements above him.

“Because I wanted you.” You admit, embarrassed because he looks so upset. “I did not think it would matter. You were not marrying me, and I did not want to give you more to boast about.”

He grips you and turns swiftly so you are beneath him, “I wouldn’t have fucked you in the middle of a forest against a tree if I knew it was your first time. I am many things but I am not an animal, hermosa. You should’ve told me. I would’ve - well, I probably wouldn’t have touched you. I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t. Let me show you how I should’ve touched you that first time.” He begs softly, nudging his nose against yours as he rests his weight on his elbows.

“I didn’t mind.” You remind him, reaching up and stroking his hair covered cheek. “It was our beginning, no matter how you would change it, I would not.” You tell him. “Because if you hadn’t touched me, our daughter wouldn’t be laying in her cradle. But show me how you would have taken me.”

He sighs, knowing he can’t change the past but he feels awful for how roughly he took your innocence. He presses his lips to yours as he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips to show you how he would’ve taken you. His lips are soft and his tongue caresses yours, his body covering yours as he makes love to you.

The pace is even slower than the one you set when you were riding him. Your legs hitch up onto his hips and you moan into his mouth. It’s almost torturous as his cock drags against your walls. Teasing you.

He groans, loving the way you feel beneath him, naked for the first time ever. "Hermosa, mi amor, you feel - it's like nothing I've ever experienced before." He murmurs, kissing along your jaw as he rocks into you.

“You- I love you.” You pant breathless, unable to think of anything else while he slowly breaks you apart. If the rough and harsh pace had satisfied you, this is making you melt into a puddle on the bed. Your cunt gushing around him every time he pushes slowly into your body.

He groans as he presses kisses to your jaw until he pauses, "I love you." He murmurs and he rocks into you. He grips your thigh and pushes it higher, rocking into you, and he hisses when you clench around him. "That's it, hermosa. Want to feel you fall apart for me."

You whine, nodding as he continues to push you closer with every thrust of his hips. Holding you close and making your body cry for that burst of pleasure until it happens. Your squeal is cut short, slapping your hand over your mouth so you don’t wake the baby as you come apart on his cock.

He smothers your moan with his mouth after he quickly pulls his hand away from your lips so he can taste your cries against his tongue. You clamp down on his cock and he groans into your mouth, his cock twitching inside you as he gets closer. It’s been far too long without your body beneath his and paired with the newly confessed emotions between you, he’s closer than he’d usually be. He pants, his lips hovering against yours as he starts to feel his stomach clenching. He doesn’t know what you want so he pulls free of your warm cunt, his cock throbbing as he paints your mound and lower stomach with streaks of his hot seed.

You whimper, body shaking as he covers you in his seed. Thankful that he had been conscious of the possibility of getting you pregnant again. You hadn’t been thinking although the midwife had warned you that it was easy to do when you are nursing. You had dismissed the information because you hadn’t expected to see Pero again. “I love you.” You murmur softly as he pumps himself of the last drops.

He is cautious to not spread his seed over your skin as he leans in to kiss you, his heart thumping in his chest. “Te amo, princesa.” He exhales, shifting to lay beside you and he wraps his arm around you to pull you into his side. “We shall raise our daughter in love and warmth.” He promises, “and I will always protect you both.”

You know he will keep that promise. Pero Tovar has been many things. A liar, a thief and a killer, but now he is a father. He had done the impossible by surviving China and finding you. The rest of your lives will be much easier than that. Especially since neither one of you truly hates the other. It was just the aggressive form of love.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar smut #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #tovar x reader #tovar x you #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar imagine #tovar fanfiction #pero tovar the great wall

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yestrday · 22 days ago

Note

so imagine offhandedly complimenting the third years about something niche, like diluc's bangs or venti's skin, or maybe kaeya's veins, and the next day they start trying to show off those niche parts about themselves to an embarrassing degree

and make that a request from me because I'd love to see how the third years would embarrass themselves, especially in front of the first and second years.

: ̗̀➛ YOU BETTER STOP WHILE YOU'RE AT IT...

one little compliment and these third years won't stop flaunting themselves. as always, harem shenanigans ensue.

( harem shenanigans, they're just silly guys here :p, nevermind the murder and manipulation that goes behind the scenes )

"what are they doing?" aether asks his sister, sharing her amused smile. lumine shrugs, sipping on her slurpee as she continues to entertain herself with their antics.

"embarassing themselves," she simply answers, and hands the drink to aether for him to sip on too.

CHILDE is rolling up his track pants as he's shooting hoops at the outdoor court. what better way to show off those sculpted thighs that you oh-so love as he's jumping and running around. he might have gotten carried away with it, with how high up he's rolled them that they're practically shorts. even his own teammates are a bit flustered as they sneak glances at his bare thighs and blush. childe, of course, does not care about their gaze when he's busy sneaking glances at you on the bleachers.

"my, senior childe, you look positively straight out from an erotica!" xingqiu comments while childe is chugging down water on his break. the younger boy is smiling at him with faux innocence, but he can clearly see the mocking in his eyes. "such a bold choice of fashion and for what? mx [y. name] is too invested in their book to bother looking at you." childe puffs his chest out in pride. "you wouldn't know, kid, especially with those skinny thighs of yours, but [y. name] adores these babies." he gives his thighs a firm slap, and the taut skin barely jiggles. "so how about you fuck off and study your voodoo shit with your boyfriend?" xingqiu rolls his eyes. "it was one compliment."

VENTI knows no shame, rolling up his school uniform to show off his navel. he's the effeminate type of boy, and he finds pleasure in catching you sneaking glances at him before quickly looking away with a blush. he could only guess what kind of inner turmoil must be going in that pretty head of yours! with a mischievous smile, he saddles up to your side and revels in your surprised squeak. guiding your shaking hand to his side, he welcomes your palm on the plush on the side of his tummy. then he watches how your face explodes into a million different shades of red before you fizzle out and slump into the crook of his neck with a pathetic whimper.

"s-senior venti...!" bennett squeaks, hiding his blushing face with two hands the moment he walks in and sees you two in such a promiscuous position on the bench. "th- i don't...! i think that's highly inappropriate!" venti pouts, snuggling even closer to you in spite of his junior's admonitions. "eh~? no way, this is a ve~ery normal behavior between loving seniors and their dear juniors! besides!" he points a finger at bennett (now daring to look at them through the gaps between his fingers) and wags it. "if you wanna even have a shot at [y. name], then you gotta take the initiative!" but bennett sighs sadly, looking at his senior's smooth tummy and his scarred one. "but i'm not as pretty as you :("

these days, KAEYA has been taking off those leather gloves and rolling up his white sleeves so he can flex those veins whenever he gets. women and men alike swoon whenever he swaggers down the hallways with such a scandalous getup, and even you find himself flustered and stealing peeks whenever he offers to carry your bag for you. the sinful trail of those veins bulging from his dark skin and fading back, paired with the captivating grin he sends your way whenever he catches you staring... it's all a bit too much!

SMACK! kaeya is taken by surprise when he feels a dull impact on the back of his head. you are surprised as well, and the two of you turn around to see cyno holding a rolled-up newspaper like it's a weapon. he continues staring blankly at kaeya, who looks back at him incredulously and says, "what... was that for?" SMACK! again, the perpetrator hits him with the newspaper on the forehead this time. "indecent exposure." SMACK! "roll down your sleeves," SMACK! "button up your cleavage," SMACK! "and put the gloves back on.'" are the gloves even part of the uniform—? SMACK SMACK SMACK! "ow ow owww," kaeya whines, frowning childishly at the student council patroller as he continues to give him a smackdown. "fine, fine, you're jealous, i get it— SMACK! — public indecency! okay, okay! stop hitting me!"

#pretty silly. i should just be a comedic writer instead of a yandere one :/#I NEED TO BRING MY BLOOD THIRST BACK #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yester.writes #yester.au — academy 📓

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teojira · 8 months ago

Text

[Sweetheart] [Noa x reader drabble]

Summary: Noa comes to you and asks what a specific nickname means, one that he found in a book

Word count: 850+

Warnings: Noa having feelings for reader and he's once again fighting for his life.

A/N: this SUCKS but it's been in my notes app for far too long and it's almost 1k words that I cannot scrap, this is a weak piece but nonetheless, I hope someone enjoys it!

Noa has been introduced to the term "sweetheart" when digging through some of Raka's stash of books the orangutan had left behind. The Ape had decided to take a trip back to where he first met him to see if there has been more to learn from his late companion. And to this surprise, there was.

Many more books that Raka has deemed fit to be left behind. It was a good thing in hindsight, Noa figured. He could ask you about the words and their meaning, for you to teach him how to read it and comprehend.

The first book he has popped open seemed to be a picture book with very few words, like the one he has seen at the human base.

There were two echoes dancing around one another, seemingingly lost in one another's gaze from what the Eagle clan leader could tell.

'You are my sweetheart.' The script said, interesting. Tucking it into his woven bag, Noa mounted his horse to head back home.

"Echo." Noa murmured, walking slowly from behind you.

You looked peaceful, the orange glow from the fire lighting up your features as you rested, a bowl of berries sat on top of your thighs.

"Welcome home, Noa." The smile you sent him was enough to make the ape trip over nothing. It was embarrassing. It made him feel like a child all over again.

After correcting himself, he eased himself down to your level, crouching to meet you.

"Need your help." Signing with one hand, moving to grab the book from the sling it was fastened in.

Your body subconsciously leans into his space, something you were usually mindful about. But he has been gone for a few days, leaving by himself along with Eagle sun and his horse.

"Why can't I come?" Huffing, you're staring at the back of Noa's head, trying your best to not let the anxiety of him leaving overtake you.

"Too far, might be dangerous." Noa shook his head, moving to strap his spear onto the horse's saddle. He knew if he turned around and looked at you, he'd cave and bring you with.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn. He can't take you, he can't.

The warm hand on his back is enough to make a shudder, his shoulders tense as your small hand ever so gently pats at the fur there.

"...be safe." Your voice sounds small, and only then does he turn to you, taking you in.

"I will."

It was weird being without him, you've grown so used to him being by your side.

You managed just fine despite what your brain would have you believe. You had taken on helping with the eagles in Noa's stead. Feeding, watering, making sure they come to roost at night and securing them.

It did little to keep your mind off of Noa, though. Just making you miss the chimp all the more.

If He had any issue with you in his personal space, it wasn't apparent, letting you cozy up to him.

Leaning a bit further, you peer at what's in his hands.

"Oh! You found a book?"

He hums at you, delicately cracking the small book open, careful with its worn pages to flip to the end where he found the weird name.

"What does-" He points a finger down at the word. "Sweet heart. Mean?"

"It's just an expression, a nickname." Picking up a berry to toss it in your mouth, chewing softly as you watch Noa compute your words.

"...nick..name?" He stutters over the word, raising an eye bridge.

"It's way to call your loved ones a special name. Sweetheart is one of them."

'Do you like it, being called that?' He signs, turning his body to you, taking in just how pretty you look in the fading sunlight, his eyes trained on your lips.

"Well, no one's ever called me any before, so I don't know."

You seem embarrassed, your body immediately going into defensive mode as you curl up.

Noa can change that, he thinks.

You don't think anything of that conversation after a few days past, figuring it was just another one of Noa's questioning about humans.

It isn't until you're grooming the horses, scrubbing at their coat, and ensuring that they're clean that it gets brought up again.

"Sweetheart!" A loud voice all too familiar calls out, making you jump out of your skin and drop the brush in your hands.

Whirling around, you see that it's the Eagle Clan leader himself, making his way towards you with a smile on his lips, his bright eyes trained on yours and he has a extra carrier around his shoulder, no doubt for you.

"Noa?" You're trying your best to fight off the blush that rushes to your cheeks, but it's useless. Hopefully, he thinks it's due to the heat that you're flustered, god willing.

This begins Noa's continuous use of the term. It replaces him calling your name at this point.

Sweetheart this, sweetheart that, for anything you do together, he makes sure to slip it in, loving how you react to it, that you immediately answer to him.

Anaya once tries to call you the nickname, knowing full well that Noa is flirting with you the best way he has learned how but gets shut down instantaneously, Noa playfully putting him in a headlock, huffing as he shakes his best friend.

"My Echo. Mine. Not. Yours."

#THIS SHIT IS ASS MY GOD #teddy loves apes ☆#planet of the apes x reader #planet of the apes #pota #kotpota #noa x reader #kotpota noa #noa #teddy loves Noa ☆#pota x reader

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 8 months ago

Text

In Love and War Pt II

Summary: Warlord!Rhys takes his mate back to his mountain camp and Tamlin's!sister!Reader has to decide the best way to try and escape

Content Warnings: Morally Grey!Rhys, talks of violence

Part I

--------------------

We ride for hours. The first two riders I’d seen join us after the first; they too have wings, tucked tight against their backs. Under different circumstances, I might be tempted to ask why they bothered with horses at all when they can simply fly, but thought better of it. The less I learn about them the better. All the easier to keep them in my mind as some faceless evil so I feel a little less guilty about putting an arrow in their eye when I escape. Rhysand has foolishly left me with my weapons, I'll put that mistake to good use when the time is right.

By the third hour, we’ve left the bog and the forest behind, riding through what was once a sprawling plain but is now nothing but weeds. There is no magic left to keep this place fertile and thriving. Hybern’s Cauldron backed powers have stripped most of the land of its power, leaving ruin and famine behind in its wake. Little has managed to grow since, he’s been using the Cauldron to make sure a majority of the crops grow in his fields, where his slaves can tend them and ensure he gets the bulk of the harvest. There's nowhere to run out here.

Especially not when the rest of the riders regroup. There are twelve of them in total, all falling behind my captor as his great, midnight black stead takes the lead.

I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, could not afford to keep one, but the ones that I had, back in my youth, had never been this graceful. Even with my added weight the horse gallops like it has wings, swift as the wind, its blue-black mane trailing gracefully behind it. I almost don’t mind the ride, minus the circumstance and company, as the sun begins to set ahead of us, the sky a symphony of purple, orange and pink.

Eventually, we come to a river, flowing with large chunks of ice from a not yet frozen ice flow further upstream, where they stop to water their mounts.

My captor dismounts first, large, gloved hands gripping my waist to help me down. By the Mother, his hands are so large against my hips! I’m suddenly very aware of my own size.

“Don’t try and run,” he warns.

I glance around to my lack of escape routes and roll my eyes. “Darn, I was planning on throwing myself into the river.”

One of the others, the male I’d spotted first I think, snorts beneath his hood.

Rhysand grunts out a warning before leading his horse to drink and filling a canteen he had tucked in his saddle bag. His back is, foolishly to me, I could easily draw my knife and stab him right here, but a quick glance around tells me that really would end with me taking a trip down the river. All his men carry swords and knives and there’s one with a wicked looking dagger strapped to his thigh; I barely reach the chin of the shortest among them, and that doesn’t account for at least a hundred pounds of muscle difference between us. I know that I have thinned, my ribs poking out beneath the heavy, hole ridden sweater. Some days I feel… brittle. Today especially. I’m not winning any fights against one of them, let alone twelve.

No, I just need to be smart. Wait for an opening, steal a horse, and run as far away as possible. So far, whatever this monster thinks I’m supposed to be to him has saved me from harm, I don’t plan on sticking around to see how long that protects me. Even if I did believe in mates-- as if the Mother ever cared enough about me to give me a soul tie to anyone--I’ve seen the worst in people enough to know it didn’t mean much in the end. What’s a mate but someone obligated to be a breeding mare? What’s a bond if not a magically induced aphrodisiac? I have little doubt that I’m actually safe here; just alive and conscious because it’s too much of a hassle to try and drag my limp body around.

My scheming comes to a grinding halt as Rhysand returns with the canteen, water sloshing the edge as he holds it out for me. It hasn’t occurred to me just how dry my mouth is until I see that water.

Of course, I’m not going to let him know that. “No thanks.”

“I’m not going to poison you,” he returns.

“Poison's the least of my concerns,” I retort.

He grabs my hand and pushes the canteen into it. “Drink.”

“Bite me,” I snarl.

His men chuckle at that, which must upset him because his wings twitch behind him. He draws a deep breath before saying, “Ask nicely, mate.”

I should dump the water directly on his head, and my hand twitches around the canteen as I debate it, but in the end I decide against it. This male murdered half my family in cold blood, whatever thin amount of protection I might have remains only as long as he doesn’t think I’m a threat. To escape, I need to be smart.

On that subject, does he even know who I am? Does he remember riding into our camp that night, sword drawn, slaughtering my people as they jumped from their mats? Or were we just another blurred face in the mass of lives he’s taken in the name of conquest? He’s as bad as Hybern. Even if he has forgotten, I won’t.

I twist the lid back on without drinking anything, ignoring the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he growls as he takes it back and slides it into his saddle bag. There’s a rolled up sleep mat, a blanket, and another sword all tied neatly to that bag. Nothing too heavy, meaning their encampment can’t be far. I need to find a way to get away before they reach it; there will be too many eyes there.

“Your bow,” he says, holding out his hand.

My hand tightens instinctively around the belt across my chest, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. “No.”

“You can’t ride into camp with them.”

“Great, then you can just leave me here.”

It takes him two steps to be back beside me, and I’m embarrassed to admit how easy it is for him to snag the strap and yank it over my head, despite my best efforts to keep that from happening.

“Give that back!”

“The knife can stay, as long as you don’t do anything stupid,” he says like I’m a misbehaving child.

He keeps his back to me as he ties my bow and quiver up next to his second sword, my stomach rolling at the sight of my things next to his.

Rhysand orders his men to mount up as he turns back to me, and I get the impression he’s looking me over for more weapons beneath the hood. I still have no idea what he looks like. Ugly and scarred, like most warlords are, I imagine. I’d never gotten a good look at him that night, had only seen those three stars on his hood and that giant sword between his wings, dripping blood.

“You won’t need any weapons,” he says, in what sounds like it’s an attempt to be gentle, but falls flat. “You’re safe with me.”

I’d have been safer with the kelpie. But I don’t say it, I don’t say anything at all as those large hands lift me back onto the horse, or when he swings into the saddle behind me. I don’t say anything when we cross the river, icy water biting through my thin pants, making my teeth chatter, or when the wind whips relentlessly at us as we leave the grassy plains and head into the mountains. The chill feels like a thousand needles being jammed into my skin, but I will bear it silently. He will not get the satisfaction of seeing me weak; will not be gratified by any sort of conversation for the duration of our journey.

Or at least, that was the plan.

“You’re shaking,” he says, one hand gripping the reins as he uses the other to slide his cloak off his shoulders and over mine.

The material is thick, lined with fur inside, so startlingly warm between his own body heat and the fur that when it settles over me I give a little sigh of relief. The sleeves are too big, swallowing my hands as I try to pull it more fully over my body. “Thanks.” It slips out of me before I can stop myself.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he replies as he settles around me again.

The smell of him, jasmine and citrus and the sea invades all my senses. I want, more than anything, to get it out of my nose, to keep the knowledge of him far, far away from me, but yet, despite my mind’s protests, my body burrows deeper into it.

There’s still no encampment or settlement on the horizon, the horses moving deeper and deeper into the mountains as night falls around us. As long as we’re not stopping to make camp, I think I’ll survive.

“And you haven’t told me yours.” If there must be a conversation, best I can do to buy myself time is steer all conversation away from me.

“I’ve had many names, but most call me Rhys.”

Most called him Death Incarnate amidst a number of things that would make a sailor blush, but I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone call him Rhys. That was entirely too normal.

“Ok, Rhys,” it tastes like bile on my tongue, acknowledging him as anything other than the monster he has always been called back home. “Where are we going?”

The moon shines bright above us, illuminating the slender path we take through the mountains, a steep drop off on one side of us, nothing but sheer rock wall on the other.

“Home,” he replies.

I can’t help the scowl that escapes me, but at least he can’t see it. “And where is home exactly?”

“You’ll see soon,” he replies as he expertly guides his mount up a rocky path. There is no hesitation in his movements; he’s ridden this path many times.

I run a hand over my forehead. “I don’t remember coming this far out.” It slips out of me. If he knows this path then we’re close to the Illyrian borderlines, where his warband can make a semi-permanent encampment. These are grounds I’m not supposed to be anywhere near, nor did I think I was.

“Where were you headed?”

My brother’s made his claim through the Grasslands, the ground barely fertile to feed the livestock in the summer. With winter coming fast, he’d tried pushing his boundary lines into the forests near what had once been the Human Lands. I meant to go through the woods, skirting around Hybern’s slave camps and slip into the Uncharted Territories to find some game. I must have skirted too far past the slave camps when I’d lost my map running from those Highway Men.

“The Uncharted Lands,” I say because I honestly can’t come up with a lie that doesn’t make it look like I belong to Hybern or Amarantha. The boundaries between the warbands shift too often, encroaching too close. Sometimes I can barely tell who’s who and this is the only world I’ve ever known.

“Why?” He asks as we crest an incline and lead the men over a long, smooth plateau on the mountain’s western face. The wind is worse here, snapping at us like whips and before I can even burrow into my borrowed cloak, he’s drawing the hood of it over my head.

His arm tightens around my waist as he barks at his men to start riding single file.

“Was looking for food.”

The horse’s hooves echo between the valley of rock beneath us as we press forward, the precariousness of our situation buying me time to figure out my lie. If I’m not hunting for my brother, what am I doing out here? It’s been a long day; a long week honestly. The rumbling of my stomach and the wind at my face and the warlord at my back seem to occupy the limited space in my quickly tiring mind. The hood of the cloak doesn’t help. It is embedded with some sort of magic, because even though it makes everything dark and warm, I can somehow see right through the fabric, right where that cluster of stars are, as if they’re eye slits. Magic items are rare these days, and expensive, I could probably buy out the Grassland’s market of deer jerky for this item alone.

Eventually the plateau dips, taking us down the other side of the mountain, into the misty canyon below. If I didn’t know where I was before, I really don’t now. Mountains are Illyrian territory, as forbidden and unwelcoming as the Imperial City Hybern had erected in The Middle centuries ago. I need to be paying attention so I know the way back; my eyes are sharp, sharper than most, I should be able to make out a deer path or trail easily, even in the dark, but my eyes are so heavy.

I give myself a little shake. Gotta be paying attention.

The swaying, even gate of the horse reminds me of being a small child, sitting in my mother’s rocking chair as she reads me to sleep. She and my father had always loved telling us stories, my father his made up theories and tales from the road, my mother her books and poems. I try to sit up and adjust my position in the saddle so I’m not slouching forward.

“You do not ride often,” Rhys says, his grip pulling me back more solidly against his chest, so I can feel all the hard planes of him. He’s got to be freezing without his cloak, even if he is still wearing long sleeves and gloves.

“No,” I bite back the rest of the story; how my people had suffered with the loss of my father. How Tam hadn’t been able to organize our survivors in the aftermath, how he’d been unable to store enough food for us that first winter and many of our rider’s had deserted. How he’d had to decide if keeping our stables full was worth the price of the lives hunger was stealing from us; how we’d been forced to eat and sell a few of them, my father’s prized war horse included.

“We’ll change that,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I think I like having my mate ride with me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. At least I’m awake now.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

The mist settles around us as we step into the valley, even as the path ahead becomes nearly invisible, he doesn’t slow or get down to walk the horse. He knows where he’s going, has done this so many times he could do it blind. A rare gift many of our traveling cities don’t receive. Envy swells in my chest. I have never had a place secure enough to set up a permanent camp. The Grasslands are our borders sure, but we move through them daily in fear of an attack, keeping ourselves vigilant for whenever Hybern or Amarantha decide they want more than they’ve already taken from us. Always changing our paths, our camp layout, always moving. How come this monster gets this luxury and my people don’t?

“You are so hesitant to give it,” he muses, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Do I know it already?”

Shit.

“No, that can’t be right. Our bond is too obvious, I would have remembered.”

He’s as clever as he is quick on his feet, unfortunately.

“So I will know you by association, is that it?”

I should just fling myself off the horse and try to lose myself in the mist. If I’m lucky, maybe one of his men will trample me by accident and this horrible nightmare will be over. At least, if I’m dead I will not have to explain my failure to Tam, or face the alternative of being this male’s breeding mare. Neither is a future I wish to meet.

It is only then that an alternative solution occurs to me.

Tam said I couldn’t come back without food; I’d made a nuisance of myself back home and had swiftly suffered the consequences of it, and with winter coming in fast, my brother has to know he sent me on a fool’s errand. Perhaps intending to keep me out of his way for a while; or to finally get me to bend the knee and submit to his authority as warlord. I hadn’t been of age to take father’s mark, and my allegiance had fallen through the cracks in the years after. Until I was integrated, Tam couldn’t marry me off, as I suspected he wanted to do often, and was probably using this opportunity to try and make me see reason. A future I also loathed to picture. Perhaps, if I played my cards right here, then I could find something more useful than a deer to bring back. If I played along with this little mates concept, what could Rhysand show me? Couldn’t I use any knowledge he gave to my advantage? Surely Tam would find other uses for me than marrying me off with this sort of leverage. My brother was known for his grudges, if I found a way to offer up his enemy on a silver platter, perhaps I’d never have to worry about being married off again.

My stomach twists as the plot plays out before my eyes: This fool taking me into the lands my people had never been able to access before, convincing him to let his guard down, to show me where his people were vulnerable. I could get my hands on camp movements or their supply lines; I could count the fighting men or the horses, make list after list to take back in the place of a few meals I know deep down I’d never be able to find before winter.

My parents faces flash before my eyes. My mother, so gentle and…sad. She had been sad long before my birth, always missing a home she couldn’t go back to because of Hybern. But she had always tried to be there for me. To sing to me and hold me. She had been good and kind and if she knew where I sat now… what I thought I might do…

And my father. He was cruel and cold and I’d spent a long time wondering if he’d ever loved me at all, but he had been a good leader. He had inspired the men, even on days that had been bleak. He’d been willing to shed whatever blood was necessary to ensure the survival of my people. If this opportunity had been presented while he was alive, he would have tossed a collar around my neck and dragged me to Rhysand’s doorstep himself.

As for Tamlin, well if he so much as saw Rhysand’s arm around my waist as it was now he would have torn him to shreds. He would hate it, but I think my brother was as calculating and ruthless as my father had been. His protective nature could be overruled by what he deemed necessary to keep us alive.

I’d need to play my cards right, if I was to make this work. “Yes,” and I force my voice to a whisper, my shoulders hunching in feign defeat. I will have to find ways not to look so utterly revolted about this male touching me; will have to bury all my base instincts to run and claw and fight every time he calls me his mate. But I can do it.

I will do it. For vengeance. For my angel of a mother. For the survival my father died for. I’d damn myself a hundred times over for a chance Tam had never found.

He rests his chin on my shoulder, thinking and it takes every inch of willpower I possess to not shrug him off. A few hours together and this prick thinks he can just touch me so casually? As if I have no say in the matter because he is my mate and therefore owed whatever affection he sees fit to grant me?

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t hold it against you,” his voice is… gentle. Far more gentle than a man in his position should be and I have no idea how to respond to it.

“My name is Y/N,” I saw softly, like I’m scared the wind will hear me. “Tamlin is my older brother.”

He stiffens behind me and I find myself holding my breath. This is it.

“He never mentioned he had a sister,” he says more to himself than me.

I almost audibly let loose a massive sigh of relief. “Yeah, well he isn’t too fond of me at the moment.” Never mind I didn’t know that he and Tamlin had ever talked on a mutual basis. Sometimes, usually over a mutually beneficial wedding ceremony, did rival camps come together and exchange weapons, food and sometimes training. If I remember correctly, I think there might have been times when we’d done so with the Illyrians, but never did Tam mention that he knew Rhysand personally. Rhysand was always a name whispered like a curse, as if saying it too loud would bring death and destruction upon us.

“He sent you out here? Alone?” That last bit comes out like a growl.

“Banished, is more of the term he used,” I say under my breath, hoping the tone conveys embarrassment.

“For what?” He hisses, his tone promising violence. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Now what would convince Death Incarnate that I was something meek and fragile and in need of protection from my big, bad brother? If we really were mates, it would be in his nature to want to protect me, from both physical and emotional harm, but I needed to be careful. Too extreme a lie and I was likely to restart the war between our camps that had cost me my parents. I needed something to pack enough punch to convince him he needed to keep me close, to be looked after, but not so bad that it sparked a fight.

Perhaps my best bet was to appeal to the bond. “He wants me to take his mark,” I twist the sleeves of the cloak between my fingers as I speak. “So he can reap the benefits of marrying me off to one of Autumn’s commanders.”

Rhysand has gone still as death itself behind me and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire as whatever dark power lives within his skin comes to life. All my instincts scream at me to run, hide.

“But Eris is… cruel and I told Tam I couldn’t do it.” Eris was probably too old for Tam to try, but there had been talks, even when I was a girl, about how my father had wanted an alliance with Autumn, and Eris had his own history with the Illyrians. “He told me I needed to sort out my priorities and when I didn’t, he threw me out.”

“That’s just like him,” Rhysand snarls.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from snarling all the things I’d rather say in my brother’s defense.

“How long have you been out here on your own?”

“About a week, I think,” I could say longer, but on the off-chance he has spies that could check that sort of thing--and I’m fairly certain the stories about Illyrians and their shadow agents are not far off--I’d rather play it safe.

He brings his mount to a brief halt as two, looming carvings in the mountain’s face appear through the fog. The touring statues sporting the same great, talon tipped wings as Rhysand, stand guard over the pass ahead of us, their hewn sword held aloft. Sleeping wyverns lay at the base of each statue, their carefully carved eyes at eye level with us as the men fall in line behind us. The air is tinged with magic--overly sweet and oppressive-- as we approach, some sort of shield.

“From here,” he says softly in my ear, the mask still shielding the lower half of his face from the wind rough against my cheek. “You’ll never have to worry about being alone again.”

I’m going to be sick! Play it safe. Play the game. For Tam. For Mom and Dad. I will myself to picture their faces again, to keep reminding myself what is at stake.

Rhysand kicks the horse into motion again, passing through the shield with a flick of his gloved hand, soft ripples of magic parting for us like someone had pulled back a curtain. I’ve never seen anyone use magic so casually, so fluidly. Once all the riders have passed through, I feel the shield fall back into place behind us. No turning back now.

Ahead, the path begins to widen. At the far end of the path, still shrouded on either side by the mountains, sit two torches, the light guiding the way. When we reach them, the path dips dangerously into a valley, all filled with large, midnight black tents. More torches and bonfires light the cloth city, the sounds of drum beats and revelry beckoning from beneath us.

“I see the party started without us,” one of the men says from behind us.

“Devlon must have had a good run,” Rhysand muses as he takes us down into the valley.

As the lights draw closer, I can start to make out the tribal markings and depictions sewn into the sides of the tents. There’s singing to go with the drum beats, all in a language that makes no sense to me, just like the markings. Something from the Mountains none of my people had ever been privy to.

When we reach the outskirts of the city, we are greeted by two towering males, wearing little other than loose, dark paints and a smattering of blood red paint along their bare chests and faces. Each holds a spear, a dagger strapped to their muscled thighs.

One barks something at Rhysand in Illyrian, his slate colored gaze fixed on me, still wearing the lord’s cloak. I’m grateful they cannot see my face, the fear I know will be clear in my eyes. It is hard enough to hide the trembling in my hands.

Rhysand dismounts to greet them, still speaking in Illyrian until they retreat into the maze of tents beyond. Despite the raucous laughter and music coming from the center, the rows of tents are organized into clear streets and sectors, some dancing bodies visible in between the rows, though most of the camp seems to be in its heart at the moment.

He runs a gloved hand over the horses neck as he turns to face the men, their mounts dancing beneath them. “We will strategize in the morning.”

That is apparently dismissal enough, as his men bow their heads and kick their steads into motion around the outskirts of camp, soon disappearing into the darkness. My stomach drops as I realize I’m alone with my enemy for the first time all night. My anxiety only heightens as he takes the reins and guides the horse forward without a word of where we’re going.

I’m too scared to ask either.

Staying on the edge of camp means I cannot see any of what is happening within, though I glimpse bonfires and revelry often enough to guess. It is not unlike our own celebrations, even if the music is different.

Rhysand still doesn’t speak as we pass another group of sentries and head up a well worn path in the heart of the valley. The grass is lush here, would be up to his knees were it not for the cleared stretch lined by torches. It is quieter here, the music distant.

Overhead, the stars glitter like a million little diamonds, all the constellations I have memorized a stark contrast to the dark shadows of this hidden mountain world. We’re surrounded on all sides by mountains, shielded from view and harm by stone. It is so different to the rolling hills I am used to, it is nice to know that the stars, at least, have not changed.

The path leads to a secluded circle of larger tents, still black but stitched with stars not unlike the ones on the cloak I’m still wearing.

We pass yet another group of sentries as we approach, and only once we’re face to face with the largest tent in the circle does Rhysand finally stop.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I should have run. Should have thrown myself into the river. Should have risked a quick death trying to fight my way out of this than subjecting myself to this.

Rhysand grabs my waist again and lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing. Compared to his size, I’m sure I do. In the torchlight, this is the first time I’ve managed to glimpse his face. I’d been drastically wrong about his appearance. The monster that haunted my nightmares was not some old, scarred thing as I had pictured, I wasn’t sure he was even older than Tam. A young lord, his features sharp, but clean cut. Some of his raven black hair fell loose around his sun kissed face, framing a set of violet eyes so bright they practically glittered like stars in his head, the rest was braided with strands of blue and purple thread. By far the most beautiful male I’d ever seen in my life and I think I hate him a little more for it.

“You must be tired,” he says finally.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I just nod, which I think might be a mistake because now we’re heading inside the tent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears because I have made a terrible mistake!

By some magic trick, torches flair to life as we enter, the soft orange glow cast in eerie patterns against the sleek black leather walls. On one side of the tent is a bed large enough to accommodate someone with such massive wings, piled with furs and pelts of various animals. On the other end, a table with some chairs and various weapons and books and trinkets scattered about the top of it. There’s chests piled in the corner, locked and dusty like they haven’t been opened since they’d been moved in. The floor is covered in a dozen different rugs, all overlapping in an attempt to make the place feel cozier but the patterns and colors are all so different that it looks like a whacky patchwork quilt. Clearly a layout chosen by a male.

“I apologize for the mess,” he begins as he takes off the scarf tied around the lower half of his face and places it over the back of a chair. “I… was not expecting to come across anybody out there, let alone bringing anyone back.”

“What were you doing out there?” My voice shakes too much for my liking and I’m convinced I asked that far too quickly to not be totally obvious, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Scouting,” he says with no further explanation as he tosses his gloves onto a heap of more gloves on the edge of the table.

My muscles stiffen as I watch him warily. If he starts undressing I might really change my mind and try to run for it.

I am prepared to do what is necessary for my people, but that is a line I cannot cross yet. Not tonight.

He steps closer to where I stand dumbly in the center of the room, drowning in his cloak, and he nudges the hood off my face with his knuckles.

I have to remind myself to stop biting my lip as the fabric slides off my head. Even fully clothed, standing this close to him, with those violet eyes drinking me in like that, I feel very exposed and vulnerable.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly, his hand drifting down the side of my cheek.

I hate that I shiver under his touch. Hate that my eyes go to his full lips and how soft they look in this torchlight. I hate that I find him beautiful, hate that I do not pull away as he cups my cheek. I hate myself for putting myself in this position in the first place.

“I…” this is not an act, I really don’t know what to do or say here. My chest aches with the way he’s looking at me, like maybe there really is some strange, mystical thread linking us together and it’s coming awake the more he has his hands on me. Yet my mind balks and screams all the same and I cannot tell which of them is supposed to help me do this. “This is a lot.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he assures, his voice low and husky, a tone I think might be better suited to the bedroom. “You are safe with me.”

Safe.

As if he could ever make me feel safe.

His thumb rubs circles in my cheek, the calluses along his palm from years of sword play scratching pleasantly across my skin. Violet eyes rove over me, studying the plains of my face like he’s cataloging every detail. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

I let loose a breath as he heads back to the tent flap, where his horse is still waiting.

“For now, it would be best if you stay here. Don’t go anywhere without me. At least, not until you take my mark.”

And then he’s gone, finally leaving me alone for the first time in hours, but even if I wanted to do some snooping, I can’t. All I can do is stand there as my stomach rises in my throat.

His mark.

How the hell was I supposed to go home bearing Rhysand’s mark?

I rub my temples with my fingertips. I need to find something useful to take back to Tamlin and get out of here fast, because if I don’t, I may never be allowed to go home again.

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growmydarling · 1 year ago

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you've been drinking a lot of beer lately, relaxing with friends and trying to cool off from the summer heat. maybe not the healthiest habit, but it's helping you chill out after long work weeks. it's starting to affect your figure, though- your belly is rounding out, becoming firm and protruding almost as though pregnant. your chest is soft and you notice with a wince that it shakes and jiggles a bit if you move too quickly. little tits. god, what are you doing to yourself? you examine yourself from all angles in the mirror, seeing stretch marks burgeoning along the sides of your hips, faint rolls forming on the upper part of your inner thighs, saddle bags hanging over your underwear's elastic strap, which is also feeling snug. your cheeks burn with embarrassment and arousal. you squeeze into a shirt which used to hang off you, and crack another beer. a buzz will get rid of these feelings. for now.

#ffa #female feeder #intox kink #feedee perspective #wg kink #belly kink #getting fatter #feeder kink #bhm #weight gain #fattening body #fattening up

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spaceshipellie · 1 year ago

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everything’s about you to me

ellie williams x reader

chapter three: bathe me clean

masterlist for other chapters (prev) (next) *✧･ﾟ: wc: 5.9k

summary: in the midst of the apocalypse, you and ellie find each other after you’ve both lost everything. what started out as a mere safety in numbers pairing, turns into something imperishable. however, after some time you get separated, leaving you both to believe the other is dead. four years later you find a commune in wyoming.

warnings: tlou au, violence, knives, guns, dead bodies, murder, stab wounds, self inflicted injuries, ellie’s dad humour, 18+ MDNI

author’s note: this took me a lot longer to write than i was expecting so hope people are still interested in this series lol, i’m kinda proud of it and thank you for being patient <3 as always lmk what you think!

♪ ‘cause the world could be burning, and all i’d be thinking, is “how are you doing, baby?”

A few days had passed and you and Ellie had decided it was a good idea to investigate the town. You were in the kitchen, checking through your backpack to make sure you had what you needed. You had to make sure you packed enough so you had resources out there, especially considering the town was several miles away, but not too much that it meant your bag was too heavy to move swiftly with.

“You got the map?” Ellie asked, zipping up her own bag and slinging it on her back. You noticed she had traded her blue shirt for a brown, long sleeve shirt that must have been Jack’s. It was slightly oversized on her but not too much.

“Yeah.”

You put your bag on, attaching the machete on the side and putting the pistol in your back pocket. You had already locked and secured the front door so you followed Ellie out the back and towards the barn. She grabbed the brown leather bridle from a hook and took it over to Harley, stroking her peach-fuzz soft nose before hooking it over her ears and buckling it up.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you asked, watching as Ellie scrunched her face in concentration.

“I read about it.”

She then grabbed the saddle and the forest green blanket underneath and slung it over Harley’s back. She studied it for a moment, adjusting its position until it seemed to slot better with the curve of the horse’s back. Harley stood patiently, kicking one of her hooves on the floor and snorted a soft breath. Ellie reached under her stomach for the band that dangled down, bringing it up to her side.

“Okay okay, let’s remember how to do this,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fiddling with the buckles. She stuck her fingers in between the band and Harley’s stomach to check the tightness and yanked around at the stirrups before giving Harley a pat on the neck, seeming satisfied with it all.

“That should be fine,” she said, turning to you. You blinked a couple of times, not realising how hard you had been staring at her hands working. You nodded, standing back as she led Harley out of the barn.

Ellie put one foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle as she swung her other leg up and over. She adjusted her hips in the seat, bunching the reins in one hand before taking her foot out the stirrup and holding out her other hand to you.

“You ever ridden a horse before?” you asked.

“Nope, you?”

You grabbed her hand, putting your foot in the free stirrup to support you as she helped pull you up. You had to hop a little on the foot that was on the ground cursing a “fuck,” as Harley took a step forward as your leg flew over.

“Never,” you said as your ass hit Harley’s back.

She chuckled. “Well, this’ll be fun.”

She replaced your feet in the stirrups and indicated for the horse to start walking. The sudden jolt made you keenly aware that this was definitely the closest you and Ellie had ever been. Instinctively, she put her free hand on your knee for a second steadying you before moving it back to rest on her thigh.

“You okay back there?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

Your chest was pressed against her backpack, brushing up and down slightly with the movements of the horse. Harley walked through the field until you reached the road, the clack of her feet louder now that they were on the concrete. You held the map in both hands so it didn’t blow away, looking to see if you were heading in the right direction.

“According to this, we walk down this road for about a mile then we go right when we hit the junction,” you observed before folding it and shoving it back in your pocket, hands resting on your thighs.

“Seems easy enough, ‘least it’s not raining.”

“You’ve jinxed it now,” you teased.

“Oh shit,” she laughed.

It felt wrong to laugh too but you did. It felt selfish laughing when so many bad things had happened lately. It felt insensitive to laugh when your mom wasn’t around to hear it. Up until now, you thought you might never laugh or even smile again. You knew that it would take you a long time to heal after her death for who could put a restraint on grief. Yet you didn’t want to feel like actual poison was running through your veins anymore.

After losing your dad, it had been anger that had controlled you. You had fallen into a frenzy where everything you did was erratic and irascible. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. Your fingertips would claw at anything that made you feel as though you had found some retribution for what had happened to him. You thought at the time that it was the worst pain you had ever felt, but you’ve come to quickly realise that sadness is worse than anger. Anger can blindley carry you through whereas sadness makes your limbs too heavy to even move.

After losing your mom, you were overwhelmed with sadness. Everything hurt permanently and instead of time moving rapidly as a distraction, it had slowed to an impossible pace, as if it had pins holding your eyes open to watch the events play out over and over again. Her speaking to you, hugging you, leaving you.

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” you shook your head, snapping out of your thoughts.

“I said what does the map say after we turn right?”

“Oh right, um,” you flustered as you tried to pull the map out of your pocket, fingers suddenly feeling slippery as you tried to unfold it. “Um, oh fuck, fuck.”

Your hand flew out as the piece of paper floated to the ground, whisking along with the breeze. Harley staggered back and forth on her feet as your weight shifted, naturally trying to follow the direction of the fallen map.

“Woah, careful,” Ellie’s hand suddenly gripped your leg firmly and your hand darted out to grab her arm to stop you from sliding off.

“Sorry, but shit, the map,” you said pointing.

“I know, here,” she held her hand out for you to take, “get off for a second.”

You complied and she did the same, rushing to stamp on the measly bit of paper so it didn’t go any further. She picked it up and shook off some of the dirt, wiping it before holding it up to you.

“See? Good as new.” She chuckled at her own sarcasm.

Your stomach lurched with anxiety. You had barely left the house and you’d nearly lost the very thing that could help you navigate this place.

“Hey, don’t stress. We’ve got it,” Ellie said, noticing the way you were wringing your hands and nibbling your lip.

You met her eyes and nodded. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

She handed you back the map and you folded it up, safely tucking it in your pocket. She mounted Harley, once again holding her hand out to help you on.

“I had a look, after we go right we need to go left at a gas station,” Ellie informed you, asking Harley to walk again.

“Okay.”

“If you need to hold on, don’t be shy. I’d rather you not actually fall off.”

You nervously placed your hands just below her waist, lightly fisting the fabric of her shirt so as to not touch her body too much. She had just said to not be shy but that didn’t mean you weren’t. You spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, taking in the sights of greenery around you. How it shined under the strips of sunlight that poked through the huge clouds.

“Have a look in my bag a second, there should be a book in there.”

“Did you not see me nearly fall on my face? I don’t think I’m good enough to read and ride a horse,” you jested.

“Not that kind of book,” Ellie laughed, “just look.”

Keeping one hand gripping her shirt, you unzipped her bag and dug around for something book shaped. When you felt it you pulled it out.

“No Pun Intended: Volume Two,” you read outloud, “what the hell is this?”

“Open it and read something,” Ellie pushed, grinning to herself.

You flicked through the pages.

“I stayed up all night wondering where the sun went. Then it dawned on me.”

Ellie laughed. “Funny, right?”

“Sure,” you smiled, unconvinced.

“C’mon, read some more.”

You turned the page.

“I never trust stairs because they’re always up to something,” you snickered, flicking through more pages.

“These are so dumb,” you commented before finding another. “I had a crazy dream last night. I was swimming in an ocean of orange soda. Turns out it was just a Fanta sea.”

“I don’t get it,” Ellie said, frowning in confusion.

“Me neither.”

“I’ve got one,” she started excitedly, already laughing at her own joke. “Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? I heard the food was good but it had no atmosphere.”

You put the book over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh escaping your lips. “These jokes are so stupid.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing.”

“No, I’m not,” a smile evident in your voice.

“Yes you are, I can hear you,” she chuckled, turning her head around for a second trying to look at you.

“Okay, fine. I laughed. But you’re the one who’s memorised some of them!”

“Who knows when you’ll need an emergency pun!”

You squeezed Ellie’s side where your hand was and it made her jump. “You’re so weird.”

About an hour later, you arrived at what you heavily presumed to be the town. The gas station you had passed on the way you thought you would check out on the way back if supplies in the town weren’t great. On approach, you could see terraced buildings lining the streets. It looked like a typical small town. Shops with broken windows. Cars parked in skewed positions with flat tyres. Street signs half covered in vines that grew thick across brick walls. A general eerily quiet atmosphere. Very normal. Ellie pulled Harley to a stop and you both got off.

“Where should we look first?”

“Um, maybe make our way down these,” Ellie gestured to a row of shops on your left. You climbed over the open window pane, carefully avoiding any of the broken glass on the floor. You seemed to be in a pharmacy with its clinically white walls and flooring. The shelves were mostly empty, some completely knocked over with various items littering the ground. You naturally both went to different sides, scanning for anything useful. There wasn’t a great deal where you were looking, just some paracetamol that expired the same year as the outbreak, some expired baby formula, definitely won’t be needing that, and some dust covered sunglasses. They had massive frames with electric blue lenses. Beside them on the wall you saw a ripped poster of a guy who was also wearing sunglasses and a colourful open shirt, carrying a large board on a beach. You smirked to yourself and wiped the lenses clean before putting them on and looking up at where Ellie was.

“Think I might save these for my next beach visit. You know, try ‘n’ catch some waves,” you joked, putting on your best surfer dude voice for the last sentence.

“Hot,” Ellie laughed, stepping closer to you and slapping a huge, wide brimmed straw hat on her head. It had a reduced sticker on it which made sense considering the world went to shit about a month after summer. “I’ll join you.”

Getting into character, you sauntered over to her and rested an arm on the shelf beside her, popping your hip and resting your hand on it. You pitched your voice lower. “What brings you to the beach, pretty lady?”

Ellie pitched her voice higher, pretending to twirl her hair around her finger. “Oh, you know, just wanna work on my tan.”

“Well lemme know if you want any,” you pretended to flex your muscles, “any surfing lessons.”

“Oh I will,” she fake giggled before you both burst out laughing.

“That hat looks ridiculous,” you said, slapping the front of the rim.

“These don’t look any better.” She tapped on the lens of the sunglasses.

“No really? I thought I looked cool.” You took them off, pretending to be disappointed.

Ellie chuckled and frisbee-threw the hat across the store. You continued your searches for supplies, again coming up against nothing. You crouched under a knocked over shelf, more broken glass crunching under your feet.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Ellie’s voice. She was grinning smugly at something small in her hands.

“What is it?”

She held up and wiggled a tiny plastic bag containing thin rolls of paper.

“Weed?”

“The one and only. Saving that for later,” she smiled, shoving it in her pocket.

You smiled at how excited she seemed. You had smoked once when you were fifteen with Amy but you both had no idea what you were doing so you’re not even sure if you did it right. You just remember it making you feel a bit wobbly and your throat had felt scratchy and burnt.

“I’m not having any luck here, wanna try next door?” you suggested and she nodded.

After searching through the row of shops you decide to find the supermarket, using the map for directions. It was a large, standalone building with rusted cars parked sporadically in the carpark. A few with windows broken and dented hoods, some completely destroyed from crashing into each other. It made you stop and think for a second about how terrifying and confusing it must have been when the outbreak hit. One minute you’re hearing the sounds of shopping carts across gravel whilst you load your shopping into the car and then you hear screams and screeching tires trying to escape.

“This seems to be it,” Ellie pondered. She suddenly mumbled a “shit” and you followed her eyes down to a skeleton beneath ripped clothing on the ground by the door. You grimaced thinking about how long that had been there and how many people had walked past the decomposing person over the years. Perhaps not many as this seemed to be the epitome of a ghost town.

Not being shocked by the sight, Ellie began trying to shove the broken automatic doors apart further. You watched as the wind blew a piece of her hair across her face, catching it in the corner of her mouth. You wanted to reach out and fix it for her, frowning to yourself as you weren’t sure why you had the urge to do that. Instead, you helped her pry the doors apart, each slipping through once there was enough room. You glanced around the expanse of aisle, noticing the signs that hung above them. The chipped cream floor was littered with anything from knocked over produce, broken shopping baskets, ripped pieces of board, broken glass, smears of blood and other unknown substances. The deeper you looked the darker it got, the light from outside only travelling so far, especially seeing as on one side some of the windows had large pieces of cardboard taped to them. Maybe that person out the front had been camping out here once upon a time.

“I’ll start left, you start right and we’ll meet in the middle?” you suggested. Ellie merely nodded before heading to the far right aisle. There were fifteen of them in total so hopefully you would find something.

You had made your way down to aisle four and had lucked out in finding some scissors and matches. Shaking a box upside down to see if anything came out of it you suddenly heard a rattle which sounded like the door. You inched your way towards the back, careful to not to bump into anything and give your location away. You prayed the sound was just Ellie, but you weren’t about to call out her name to find out.

“In here,” a gruff voice sounded. Fuck.

Footsteps clambered in, rubber soles screeching on the floor. You couldn’t detect how many there might be but you were definitely outnumbered. You made a mental note of where your weapons were and clutched your machete. You racked your brain for what to do, fear boiling up inside you. You could hear the movements from these newcomers spread out, shadows slipping underneath the shelving units. You slipped around to the end, peering round to see if the next aisle was clear. It wasn’t.

A woman was walking towards you, a gun in her outstretched hands. You moved quickly back into aisle four before she could see you but you knew you weren’t safe to stay there. You trod carefully down to the other end, towards the front of the supermarket but there was someone guarding the door. Knowing that you would have to face one of them no matter what direction you went in, you decided you had a better chance against the woman who could be turning in your direction any second now. You paid close attention to any noises you heard although the building was eerily silent as you made your way back up to the other, darker end of the aisle. Your body faltered as you heard a squelch in the distance followed by a low, agonising grunt.

Having reached the end, you braved peering around the corner again only to see the woman with her back to you, slowly walking away. You swapped your machete out for your switchblade and took your opportunity to wrap a tight arm around her neck and puncture it. She choked out a splutter of bubbling blood, dropping her gun as you brought her body down slowly to the ground. You snatched the gun from the floor and moved forwards in hopes of finding Ellie.

The next aisle was clear so you kept moving before a hand suddenly slapped itself over your mouth and an arm held a firm grip around you, yanking you back into them and onto the floor behind a freezer unit. Your eyes widened and your body went rigid until you glanced down and saw the brown shirt sleeve. Bringing your knees closer to your chest so that they weren’t sticking out the side of the freezer you slowly turned your head. Your eyes met Ellie’s as she removed her hand from you and brought a finger to her lips to be quiet. You noticed some blood smeared on her hand. Your worried eyes darted between hers as she tightened her lips in a line.

“They got Milo.” you heard a sinister voice.

“Sadie too,” a shakier voice said.

“C’mon, let’s find those little shits,” the first voice commanded.

Your back pressed harder into Ellie and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You both knew you couldn’t just wait there, they would find you eventually, but you had no idea how many of them were left.

“We’ll take out the guard at the door and run,” Ellie whispered so quietly she had to practically press her lips against your ear in order for you to hear.

She snaked her arm away from you and gave you a gentle push, indicating for you to shift away so she could sneak a look over the freezer. You were now both crouched as she peered over before snapping her head back down. She pointed left and you nodded slowly before beginning to move forwards, still in your crouched position. You held your breath as you emerged from behind the freezer, exposing yourself to the possible dangers. Swiftly, you ducked into one of the aisles, Ellie following suit.

You moved down the aisle with careful speed, wanting to just get out of there. A dark shadow flashed before your eyes before a tall man with a scar starting from his cheek and finishing on his neck appeared. You halted and immediately rushed back up the aisle to create more distance, now behind Ellie as you both ran. A sharp, dense pain hit your thigh as you yelped and stumbled to the ground. You looked down at your leg and saw a knife that the man had thrown at you lodged in your flesh. Beneath the rip it made in your jeans, blood spilled down your leg.

Your eyes darted up to the sound of heavy boots stomping towards you. Ellie reached for your hand as you tried to scramble your way up but a rough hand gripped and yanked at your ankle, pulling you onto your back and away from her outstretched hand. You tried to kick as the man climbed on top of you, a cry coming from your lips as he ripped the knife out. With your legs stuck under his weight, you tried to blindly grab for your machete. You could hear Ellie’s grunts in the distance and assumed she had also been grabbed. Your frantic fingers managed to get a hold on the weapon and pull it out from its location on the side of your backpack but before you could swing, the man gripped your wrist. With everything you had, you tried to fight against his strength but it was no use. With his other hand he slammed his knife down and you screamed as the metal punctured your arm. He then pulled your machete out of your weakened grasp and tossed it so it skidded along the floor far away from you. You looked into his hardened eyes, your own glossing over. Your fingers scratched at him as you tried to push him off but your actions were cut short when he pulled the knife out of your arm and brought it up above your chest, thick fingers adjusting to get a stronger hold on the handle. Your crimson blood dripped from the blade and clung in splotches to the fabric of your top. Whether or not Ellie was okay flashed through your mind before your ears started ringing and your eyes squeezed shut at the sudden splash of something on your face.

A gunshot echoed through the store and when you opened your eyes you realised the only thing holding the man up anymore was your grip on him. You gasped at the glassy look he had in his eyes as you shoved his corpse off of you, the knife he had clattering to the ground. You sat up and tentatively brought your hand up to your face and swiped your cheek before looking at the blood that coated your fingertips. Turning your head you saw Ellie with an enraged look on her face and a shotgun pointed in your direction. At her feet lay another dead body, blood spilled and smeared around it. She lowered her gun and her expression softened ever so slightly as she walked towards you, crouching at your side.

“Here,” she mumbled as she ripped a piece from the hem of her shirt to make a tourniquet for your leg. You winced as she tightened the knot and her eyes glanced quickly to your face before noticing the stab wound on your arm. She ripped off another strip of material and did the same thing before holding your arm to help you stand up. You scrunched your face in pain at the weight being put on your leg but gritted your teeth to bear it.

“Was that all of them?” you asked.

“Think so, I haven’t seen anyone else.”

You hobbled towards the door of the supermarket, Ellie keeping a firm grip on your arm to support you. She hadn’t let on that she had any injuries but you could tell she had suffered beatings of her own by the way she slouched and strained her face. When you reached the door she let go of you to pry the doors open again. As soon as her hands gripped them a scrawny body came out of nowhere and wrapped a metal pole tight around Ellie’s neck. You screamed her name as her hands flew to grab the stranger's arm, trying to pull it away from her as they stumbled back. The man looked young and scared yet he desperately held his firm grip on the pole.

Ignoring your injuries, you grabbed your switchblade and threw yourself at him. The impact made him loosen his grip letting Ellie free. She was bent over, coughing and holding her neck as you tackled the boy to the ground. The fear you had felt about nearly losing your own life as well as Ellie’s transitioned into red anger as the faces of everyone you had lost flickered through your mind like embers. You fell completely inside your own head to the point where it felt like your ears were stuffed with cotton wool, blocking out the cries and screams of the man as you stabbed his chest over and over again with your knife. The sticky blood splattered your hands and stomach as you remained on top of him, repeatedly releasing your rage with every slash. He started to choke on bright blood as his eyes lost light. A pinching grip on both your arms was the only thing that snatched you from the trance, your vision and hearing becoming clear again. Ellie’s shouts became louder and clearer.

“That’s enough, that’s enough! Stop!”

She pulled you off of the man, your switchblade slipping out of your red hands. You sat sideways with your legs bent and looked up at her sat on her knees in front of you, her hands still holding your arms. She looked into your eyes with concern and took in your bewildered expression.

“I-” you choked on your words. The adrenaline was still running through your body.

“It’s okay, let’s go home.”

Ellie grabbed your switchblade off the floor and wiped it on her jeans before shoving it in her pocket along with hers before helping you to your feet once again. You both wobbled your way out and thankfully over to Harley who hadn’t been harmed. She neighed and kicked her front foot upon seeing you as if she was grateful you were still there. You steadied yourself by placing a hand on Harley’s neck whilst Ellie lifted herself up. She held her hand out for you and you braced yourself as you heaved your aching body up and onto the horses back. You had no embarrassment this time about holding onto Ellie’s waist as she gently kicked her feet for Harley to go.

The ride home felt like an eternity. The adrenaline had soon worn off, allowing the searing pain to sink in. Ellie had occasionally checked in on you with a quick “you still with me back there?” to which you’d mumble out a yes. All you wanted was to lie down. When you reached the house you climbed off of Harley and made your way to the back door whilst Ellie secured her in the stable. As soon as you got through the door you slumped into one of the dining chairs. You groaned as you shoved your backpack off, revelling in the removal of its heavy weight. Ellie came in and dropped her bag down also before rotating one of her sore shoulders and sighing.

“Wait there,” she instructed.

“I don’t plan on moving any time soon,” you joked as she dug through the kitchen cupboards.

She pulled out a first aid kit and some alcohol before marching back over to you and setting them on the table. She pulled a chair for herself to sit in and placed it in front of you. Your knees bumped as she opened up the first aid kit. She then paused, realising that in order for her to access your wounds you would have to take your clothes off.

“Um,” she started. It then clicked for you too.

“Oh right, um, yeah, you know, I can do it if you–fuck,” you groaned as you started to stand up. Her hand darted out to stop you but she quickly brought it back.

“It’s fine,” she laughed nervously, “if you don’t mind, I don’t.”

You nodded in appreciation, pausing before fumbling with the makeshift tourniquet on your thigh. You tried to swallow a groan as the pressure on your leg was released. You hesitantly undid the button and zipper on your jeans before resting your weight on your other leg so you could push the rigid denim down, exposing the nasty, deep gash on the side of your leg. You pulled your top down over your underwear and looked at Ellie who was looking intently at the wound. She didn’t seem phased, only concentrated on helping you. She poured a bit of sterile rain water onto a cloth and dabbed to clean any grime out of it, pausing to look at you when you flinched.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“It’s fine, you’re not the one who stabbed me.”

She chuckled at your dumb joke and continued dabbing the wound. You became very aware of how her fingers softly touched your bare skin. It felt like that shouldn’t be something to think about right now but you couldn’t help but watch how she was delicately looking after you.

“Okay, this definitely will hurt,” she said, grabbing the alcohol and twisting the cap off.

You shifted in your seat, readying yourself. You had suffered stab wounds before but that didn’t mean you had gotten used to it. You let out a string of curses as the splash of alcohol burned. It dripped to the floor in tinted red droplets as she pressed the cloth to the cut again, applying pressure whilst she grabbed the roll of bandages with her free hand.

“Hold this, keep the pressure on,” she gestured with her head to her hand on your leg and you swapped with her.

She started to wrap the bandage around your thigh, your hand slipping away as the wound was covered and she used her switchblade to cut through it and tie the bandage off. You thanked her before she gestured to your arm.

“I’ll go and get you some clean clothes then do your arm.”

She ran up the stairs and returned with a top and some loose pyjama trousers and handed them to you. You thanked her and winced as you pulled the trousers on before peeling your sweaty, blood soaked top off, leaving you in a vest. Ellie resumed her role as nurse and treated your arm the same way she had done your leg. She gave you a soft look as she helped you pull the fresh top on.

“Can I help you now? What about changing this–”

“Don’t,” she cut you off and sat back as you tried to reach for her bandaged right arm.

You sat back too, mumbling an awkward sorry whilst her eyes darted nervously side to side.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s fine.”

A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell. You couldn’t help but stare at the bandage and wonder why she didn’t want your help. Especially seeing as she was completely fine helping you. You didn’t know what to assume but you could only suspect that something horrific had happened to her to make her suddenly shift from sweet to closed off in an instant.

“You should get some rest,” she whispered, avoiding eye contact.

You nodded and made an attempt to stand, groaning as you did so. A hot flash of burning pain pounded in your leg as you put your weight on it. Ellie quickly snapped a hand out to support you.

“Maybe you should just stay on the couch.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Your lips tightened as she helped you shuffle to the living room where you not-so-gracefully flopped onto the couch. You thanked her again and both mumbled goodnights before she disappeared upstairs, leaving you alone with your pain and curious thoughts about her.

ELLIE’S POV

Ellie’s fingers tapped nervously on her wrist where her hands rested on her stomach. It was in the early hours of the morning and she was staring up at the ceiling, her body feeling restless and flighty. She couldn’t keep this up any longer, not now that she wasn’t travelling alone. She was scared to death about how you would react and how you’d see her if you knew. She had to do something to hide it, something much more convincing than a raggedy bandage. The mattress springs screeched as she got up from the bed. She made her way to the bathroom and rummaged as quietly as she could through the cupboards.

“Fuck, nothing.”

She carefully descended the stairs, nose scrunching at the loud creak from the top step. She had to find something fast so that you wouldn’t accidentally wake up. She crept into the kitchen and started looking through all of the cupboards. Her wavering eyes suddenly landed on a white bottle. Hesitantly, she reached her hand out for it and stood up, staring at the glaring warning labels. Her eyes quickly scanned the small print to see if it was strong enough to do the job and when she deemed it was, she turned her head to peer out the kitchen door and into the living room. You were still fast asleep. Grabbing the bandages and a bottle of the sterile water that was still left out on the table, she went back upstairs and set the things down on the bathroom floor by the bathtub and shut the door. She took a big breath and stared at the items before her. Shaking her head to rid it of the doubtful thoughts she quickly knelt on the ground and yanked up her sleeve, peeling off the bandage. The scarred indents of the bite mark revealed themselves and she brushed a hand over it.

“Ok ok ok,” she chanted quietly to herself in an attempt to psych herself up.

She grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off, grimacing at the chemicals unnerving scent. She clenched her right fist and held out her arm over the bath. Her teeth gritted as she held the bottle ready to pour, occasionally tipping it back each time it got close to releasing the liquid.

“Fuck, come on.”

She clenched her jaw and tried to swallow a grunt as she poured the substance over the bite. Her skin stung but it took a few minutes before she could see it turning red with irritation. Her fist tensed as she let the chemical stab away at her skin, ensuring that it would blister enough to cover the bite mark. She tried to focus on keeping a steady breath to avoid thinking about the pain and when she had had enough, she quickly rinsed her arm thoroughly with the water before bandaging it up. She slumped to the ground and hung her sorry head low between her bent knees, looking down at her arms before her. She didn’t even realise she was crying until she felt a tear drop on her hand. She sat there and quietly sobbed until her head started to hurt. She figured she should put the bottle back in the kitchen where she found it to avoid any suspicion from you before she climbed into bed. Her eyes felt sore and heavy, a contrasting drowsy feeling to the lightening pain that was prickling her arm. But eventually, she was able to sleep.

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yelenasdiary · 11 months ago

Text

Forbidden || Chapter I - Welcome To Blisswater

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Bishop! Reader.

Summary: Just outside of the small town of Blisswater, lives two young sisters, Kate & Y/n Bishop. It's hard not to know who the Bishops are, Kate is the eldest by a year. She is a beautiful young woman, smart, protective and is known to have a talent in using a bow. Y/n, she is shy but quiet as some would say but nevertheless, she holds her own talents and can often be seen tending to the animals of Bishop Ranch. One evening while Kate is out hunting to make some money, Y/n is surprised with an unwanted guest, Yelena Belova. A bounty Hunter from Drybellow who has taken shelter in the young Bishop's barn after being wounded from a gun fight.

Struggling to keep money following, Y/n has no choice but to take the bounty hunter's offer of $5 a day if she is able to help the woman recover. During Yelena's stay, the two grow closer, a little too close if the wrong pair of eyes were to see them.

| No Warnings, I don’t think? | 3.6K |

Forbidden Masterlist

"I'm leaving Lucky here with you" Kate, my older sister said as she entered the dining room, "I'll be gone for a least two days at the most. Will you be okay to handle things here?" she asked. A few, long months ago, our parents went on a business trip and are yet to return. Kate and I have been left to run the ranch and keep money flowing until they return, although we haven't heard from them, not even a single letter. My worries for them are endless. "Of course, I will be" I smiled before taking a mouthful of the porridge I made for us.

"Do you need anything from town before I go?" she asked while putting her bowl in the sink for me to wash later, "no, I think we have everything we need. Just be safe, please" I looked to her. "Always, rabbit" she smiled. Kate has always called me rabbit, ever since we were younger. It comes from when my adult teeth were still coming through, they reminded her of a rabbit's front teeth when they would nibble on their food. "I'm just going to go get Arrow saddled up then I'll be on my way" she added before walking out the back door.

I'm used to Kate leaving for a day or two, she goes off hunting for us while I tend to the ranch. We have 3 cows, 5 pigs and 6 sheep! All of which have names of their own, of course. I've been saving some money to buy a couple of chickens so we can have our own fresh eggs. My father said we'd get some but that was before he and mother left on their trip. Today seems like it will be an easy day, feed the animals then off to the general store for my shift.

"Alright, you know the rules" Kate spoke as she returned from saddling up Arrow, "father's rifle is in the case under your bed and please, don't let any of those wandering men stay too long! You can't trust everybody just because they say they've had a long day" she adds. "Yes, I know! You don't need to remind of that every single time, it was just once. Besides, Mr Lang has some very interesting stories to tell" I replied. I wish Mr Lang would return; his stories were almost unbelievable.

"I guess I don't need to remind you to get some more coffee and canned peaches after your shift then?" Kate rolled her eyes at me as she tucked a few canned goods into her saddle bag. "You just did" I replied, sarcastically. "Let's go Lucky! We don't want to be late" I patted my right thigh after placing my used bowl in the sink for laters problem. "Hey!" Kate stopped me just as I was leaving the kitchen, "be safe, okay? If you need anything Mr Barnes is only a call away" she reminds me, again!

We have a bell that Kate brought, it's rather large. I am to ring it if I'm in any trouble and Mr Barnes, the Salon owner, will come over and see what the matter is. Im not exactly sure how he's able to hear the ringing sound from so far away, we've done a couple of test runs and so far I haven't had the need to use it.

"Yeah yeah, how about you be safe? I can't do everything around here if you go missing too!" I smiled softly at my older sister, she knows I'm joking. If anything were to happen to her, she knows I'd be okay…I guess.

Lucky follows me around everywhere, especially when Kate goes off on her hunt. He'll come to the general store and wait outside by the door until I've finished my duties. Mr Wilson doesn't mind, he loves Lucky and even asked Aunt May to bake some of her famous cookies that everybody in town loves, she makes a little extra and dog friendly ones for Lucky. Everybody calls her Aunt May, not really sure why though, I think it's because she's such an aunt to everybody. Almost like a grandma that cooks everybody's favorite treats for the tea party.

The walk to town is always peaceful. In the warmer seasons, it can be rather hot but on days like today when the sun is just starting to peek over the mountains from afar, the wind isn't too cold and the birds sing their morning song, it's relaxing and maybe I tend to take smaller steps just to soak up the morning fresh air before I stay inside for most of it.

"Good morning young Y/n!" A rather tall and very muscular man smiles to me, it's Thor. Nobody actually knows why his name is Thor, considering it's a very unusual name but he's very lovely. "Good morning, Thor! Keeping well I see" I replied with a friendly smile as Lucky and I slowly make our way past the Salon. "Oh, you know me! Can't resist the great liquor that is served here" the most likely drunken man chuckles. It's barely 7am and he is drinking. I guess that's a hobby for most people around here.

Blisswater isn't a town for much entertainment, you have your basics. The Saloon ran and owned by Mr Barnes, the General store ran and owned by Mr Wilson, the doctors office with the only doctor within miles, Mr Banner. The gunsmith, Mr Barton owns and supplies Kate with discounts on arrows and sometimes ammunition for us. Mr Fury is the towns barber, my father wasn't a fan of him but when he was desperate for a cut, he had no choice but to see him. Then there's Sheriff Rogers, T'Challa the friendly banker, Peter the newspaper boy (by the way, he's love for me isn't exactly a secret!) and Mr Quill is the towns blacksmith.

So that's all there really is to know about who lives in and around Blisswater, it's a small town. A town where everybody knows everybody, and word travels faster than you can blink! We all look out for each other here and most don't take kindly to newcomers. Sometimes we have outlaw gangs come passing through, they spend the night at the Saloon, get drunk and make a mess of themselves before pushing on by the afternoon. The walk-through town the following morning is usually a sight of Mr Barnes boarding up the windows of the Saloon from their drunken fights.

The bell rings loudly as I open the door of the general store, and I'm greeted with Mr Wilson's warm and welcoming smile. "Good morning, Mr Wilson!" I smiled.

"Please, Y/n, call me Sam! I've known you long enough" he chuckles before reaching down behind the counter for the plate of Aunt May's famous cookies.

"I'm sorry, it's habit! I see Aunt May has come early this morning" I wandered up to the counter taking one delicious treat. "Lucky's biscuits are back here as well; did you bring him this morning?" Mr Wilson, I mean, Sam asked. "Of course! Kate is out today and left him all to me" I took a small bite out of the homemade goodness. "Parents off again?" he questioned, I nodded lightly. I miss them so much.

"Well, I've got the perfect job to keep your mind distracted. How about you watch the store today?"

"Alone? Me? Are you sure?" I asked with a mouth full of cookie.

"Yeah, I have a couple of things that need my urge attention. I wasn't going to open today but I think you're ready for this. What do you say? You can even bring Lucky inside if you want" Sam smiled proudly. I thought about it for a moment while I finished my morning treat, it can't be that hard, right?

"Sure! I can hold the fort as they say" I replied with a smile, wiping the crumbs from my lips with the back of my hand.

"I'll be back before closing, earlier I can. If you need anything, slip out the back door. I don't need to tell you this, I know" he chuckled, "Bucky will be around if you need anything" he assures me. I guess that's the handy thing about having your store next door to a saloon. "You're starting to sound like Kate!! I'll be fine, I have Lucky! What's the worst that could happen?" I raised a brow.

"Right" my boss smirked, "well you already know where the stock deliveries are, and you know your main duties. Just don't leave the store unattended" he reminds me, I playfully rolled my eyes at him as he stepped away from the counter. "Stop stressing, Sam, the store will be fine. Go do what it is that you need to do" I hoped the door, patting my thigh for Lucky to enter.

Mr Wilson left as Lucky made himself welcome in the store, I closed the door and treated Lucky to his own biscuit before starting to restock the shelves.

——

"Good afternoon, Y/n!" A familiar voice sings louder than the bell as the door fly’s open. "Peter! How are you?" I smiled softly as I was greeted with a smile of his own. "Oh you know how it is, busy busy!" He chuckles, "I ran into Mr Wilson earlier, he mentioned you were here alone today so I thought I'd come by and see if you, uh, needed anything" he adds. A hint of red fills his cheeks while his eyes struggle to stay connected to mine.

It's no secret that young Peter Parker has a crush on me, the entire town knows it. Although he is a very sweet young gentleman, I guess I've just never found myself interested in him in a romantic manner. In fact, I've never really thought about anybody in a romantic manner now to think of it…

"You're very sweet, Peter. Thank you but things are pretty good. I've had no troubles today and please, thank your Aunt May for the cookies and Lucky's treats!"

"Oh, you're welcome! You know Aunt May, always baking" Peter chuckles once more. I could sense a hint of nerves in his voice and the redness in his cheeks grew deeper. "Peter, is everything okay? Do you need a drink? Some water?" I asked with a concerned frown. "No, no. I'm more than fine, thank you. It's just, it's getting a bit wild out there and I thought I'd walk you home later when you're finished here. Don't want you getting sick or anything" he gives me another soft smile.

"It's meant to rain?" My frown only grew bigger as I looked out the window. Dark gray skys covered the town and beyond, distant flashes of lighting lit up the darkness for a moment. Wind blew the dry leafs onto the Main Street, horses stomped their hoofs with every crack of thunder that could be heard from the far, far distance.

"Well shoot!" I sighed.

"Did Mr Wilson tell you when he'd be back?" Peter asked.

"Sure hope it is soon, I have the animals I should move into the barn before the storm arrives"

"It doesn't seem like it is far off. Maybe I could watch the store for you? I wouldn't mind at all"

"You're very kind, Peter but I'm not sure if Mr Wilson would appreciate me leaving the store in somebody else's hands. I know you wouldn't ruin the place or steal from him but he is trusting me today and I don't want him to think otherwise" I explained as I watched the dark clouds darken, it'll be a big storm by the looks.

"I'd be more than happy to make sure your stock is in the barn then" he offered, I turned to him and kindly shook my head. "I'm sure Mr Wilson will be back soon. Thank you again Peter, you're very kind. If you don't mind, there's a few things I should really get done before Mr Wilson returns" I smiled softly, hoping not to have hurt the boy's feelings.

"I plan on having supper at the Saloon, if you need me, I'll be there" Peter smiles before leaving the store.

For the rest of the afternoon, I cleaned the store and did some stock take and made sure the store was exactly how Mr Wilson would like to have it when he returns and just my luck, he returns before the storm hammers down.

"Y/n, thank you for all your help today!" He walks into the store, placing his hat on the coat rack. He looked rather dirty; a nice bath would be in order for when he gets home if I didn't know better.

"You're welcome, Mr Wilson! I'm sorry to leave in a rush but I really need to be getting home before the rain starts" I grabbed my things, Lucky following closely behind me.

"Of course, you best be safe now"

I rushed out of the store, glad the rain hadn't started pouring down as yet but it was coming. You could smell it, the thunder got louder, the lighting got closer and the wind got stronger. The main street was quiet as people already began to make their way indoors until the storm pushed over.

"Come on, Lucky! We haven't got much time!" I patted my thigh lightly before Lucky and I began to race home.

——

The rain soaked the dry ground as expected and Lucky and I were able to get the animals into the barn before it came down heavy. I left a lantern in the barn just so I could keep an eye on it from the house, Kate hates when I do that, says it's a waste of resources but she'll thank me one day for it.

"How long do you think she'll be this time Lucky?" I looked towards him as we both rested by the fire. He tilts his head at me as if he truly understands what I am saying. We listen to the rain dance on the roof and wind whistle outside while the fire cracks and keeps us warm. It's nights like this that I wish Kate wouldn't go off hunting, it's most lonely at night. But I know we need the money, just until mother and father come home.

"Come Lucky, let's check the barn" I stood up from my mothers rocking chair, and wandered over to the window. A frown creeps upon my brows when I notice the lantern, I left behind earlier in the night was gone. I rushed to my room and grabbed the rifle under my bed, grabbed my father's thick coat, a lantern and headed for the backdoor with Lucky right beside me. It was only a short walk from the house to the barn, but the rain was quick to soak me in its gift to the ranchers. Slowly, I pushed the large wooden door open, my rifle tightly in my grip. Lucky entered first, sniffing the ground for anything that didn't belong while I slowly followed behind him, one foot after another.

Only a few steps in and I saw the lantern I had left behind, in the corner where Kate's horse would've been stabled. "Come out! I have a gun and I am not afraid to use it!" I called out, keeping my distance. Lucky walked quickly over to the empty stable slot, growling. "I said come out!" I repeated.

"Don't shoot" a thick Russian accent came from the corner of the barn, "I won't hurt you, just call off the dog, please" the unknown voice added.

"How can I trust you? You're a stranger in my barn! I have every right to shoot you"

"Trust me, if I were here to harm you, you'd already be dead"

I took a few small steps closer to them, Lucky stood his ground and continued to growl. I wasn't going to tell him to back off just yet. "What are you doing here? Do you always just welcome yourself into other people's properties like this?" I asked.

"You ask too many questions" the voice replied, "call the dog off, please" they asked once more.

"Lucky, back!" I called once I laid my eyes on the intruder. A young woman, maybe no older than me. Blonde hair that was braided and she certainly didn't seem to dress how most women dress. Beside her was her gun belt and holster, her hat placed freely beside them. The woman was covered in blood, her right hand pressed tightly against her left shoulder. "You're hurt" you spoke softly while keeping my rifle pointed at her.

She chewed her bottom lip and nodded, "I'll be gone by morning, I just need a place to stay for the night"

"How can I trust your word?" I asked. The woman smirked like I had just made a joke, an odd joke if my question was funny to her.

"I know better than to kill a rich small-town girl" she replies causing me to frown at her words.

"I am not rich girl. So, if you planned on robbing me later, you would find nothing, I can assure you of that"

She chuckled, "well, maybe not rich but you are well off than others. Besides, I have no interest in robbing homesteads"

"You know nothing about me" I snapped, pointing my rifle at her a little higher, aiming for her head. "Get off my property!" I demanded. Lucky growled once more, showing the unknown intruder his sharp canine teeth.

"Maybe we could come to a deal. It seems money is a touchy subject to you, yes?" The blonde hissed in pain when she moved her right hand even the slightest inch. I didn't reply, my eyes were drawn to the amount of blood her hand was covered in. "I'll pay you" she spoke, gaining my attention once more, "$5 a day. If you help me. I'll give you the first three days right now if I could move my hand but as you can see, if I do that, I will bleed out" she offers.

"Once I have recovered you will never see of me again, I give you my word" she adds. $5 a day would really help Kate and I and by the looks of her wound, she could be here for weeks. "I know you're thinking about it but I do not have time for you to think" her thick Russian accent brings me out of my thoughts, I nodded as I slowly lowered my rifle.

"We best get you to the house then"

----

"I'm sorry if that hurt" I spoke softly to the blonde as I bandaged her up, after pulling the bullet from her wound and cleaning the area with alcohol, she suggested cauterizing the wound with a lit candle. The smell of burning flesh is something I will never forget. "Don't stress, I've experienced worse" she looked to me with a soft smile.

"How did this happen anyway?" I asked as I started to clean up the mess. I offered the woman my room until she was back on her feet, and I hoped Kate wouldn't have noticed when she came home.

"Just a little miss understanding with an outlaw. I'm a bounty hunter" she informs me.

"A bounty hunter? That's a little strange for a woman to be doing"

"Well, sometimes women just do a job better"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's not often I meet women who aren't following the rules of society" My eyes dropped, I knew my comment offended her.

"You should travel more; you'd be surprised on what or whom you might come across. What's your name?" She pulled the covers up over her, making herself comfortable on my bed.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine" I looked to her once more. She chuckled, "I'm Yelena, Yelena Belova. Your turn" she replies. I walked towards the bedroom door, my hands full of rubbish from cleaning her wound, "I'm Y/n, Y/n Bishop. I'll get you some water"

"Bishop" Yelena repeated, "your father is Derek Bishop?" she questioned. I nodded slowly, "you know him?" I asked. Yelena shook her head, "no, just heard of him in passing. Water would be great, thank you" she watched as I walked out of the room. Her tone made me question if she was telling the truth; did she know my father? Maybe she knew where my parents were?

Lucky followed me to the kitchen, I grabbed two cups of water and returned to my bedroom, placing one glass on the wooden beside table next to my lantern. "You should get some rest; I'll make breakfast in the morning" I looked to Yelena who reached for her coat that sat at the end of the bed. "As promised, the first three days" she says before handing me $15 dollars in 1 ten-dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill.

"T-thank you" I smiled softly, "do you like coffee? I could make some in the morning" I asked.

"Never start the day without one" she smiled, "goodnight, Y/n" she added.

"Goodnight" I walked towards the door, "oh, I hope you don't mind" I turned to face the blonde stranger once more, "I'm going to lock the door, you know…for safety" I added nervously.

"I thought you would. I understand, I need to gain your trust" she nodded slightly.

"If you need anything, just call out. I won't be far"

"Thank you, again" Yelena smiled once more before I closed the door, making sure it was locked before making my way to Kate's room.

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's link at the top of this post.

#fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #yelena belova x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #Kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #forbiddenau

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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Any more Raider!Joel? 🥺🥺

I’ll sell my soul for anything about raider Joel

Home

1.3k / raider!Joel x fem!Reader / raider master

mood board by @milla-frenchy

WARNINGS: Dark fluff. Angst. Mention of cum. Aftermath of skin carving. Joel carries reader. Sleep kissing, grinding. Angst: Joel is mean in the morning. Credits/shoutouts: everyone who's asked about kissing him, @javier-penas-wifexx420 (shoes)

🖤 picks up from Raider: J. Miller

You pause on the way up the hill. "It hurts," you whimper, cowering and holding yourself where he claimed you. Your chest burns, too.

"C'mere," he says and hoists you up over his shoulder for the rest of the walk. Joel's trailer overlooks the stash house and gravel road so he can see trouble coming. He sets you down, holds the door open for you, then lets it close behind him.

"Got ya somethin'," he says as he puts down the duffle bag on the table. He takes out a few wash cloths then a faded red can. Chef Boyardee.

You could cry, you're so grateful. You throw your arms around him. He stays tense and doesn't hug you back. He hardens his face and says, "Take a rest. I'll be outside cookin'." You curl up on Joel’s bed while he makes a fire outside and heats up the Chef Boyardee.

When the door to the trailer opens again, you come right to the table, eyes wide like a kitten at feeding time. It’s been a while since you had something other than squirrel. You sit down at the small table and wait patiently. Joel sets down a pot of beefaroni and a pot of boiled water. He says, "Don't wanna eat too fast. make yourself sick. C'mere." He pats the stool to his left. You slide into it. He gets a spoonful from the pot and blows on it then brings it to your mouth. You open up and slurp it down. It tastes and feels so good. He's right, you would probably wolf it down and make yourself sick.

When a little bit dribbles onto your dress, Joel says "okay," and sets the spoon in the pot. You're afraid he's mad. "Right here." He pats his lap. You sit on his lap side saddle and he feeds you a few more spoonfuls. Then he hands you the spoon. He says "slow, just like I was." He smooths your dress and watches you eat the rest. He unlaces your dirty converse all stars while you're eating and slips them off for you.

You offer Joel some of the beefaroni, but he says you can have the rest of you eat it real slow. He holds a hand on your stomach then slides it down your dress, lightly grazing over your thigh, then your knee, your shin, the top of your foot. He holds your foot in his massive hand and brushes the delicate arch with his fingers. You squirm because it tickles and brace yourself for scolding but he doesn't. He just tightens his hand around your foot. When you're finished with the spoonfuls, you scrape the edges of the pot with the spoon and then turn the pot up and drink as much as you can from it. For the first time in weeks your stomach feels warm and full.

"Thank you," you say with tears in your eyes. Joel doesn't make eye contact. He reaches for one of the washcloths and dips it into the boiled water. He puts his left arm under your right arm and braces your back. Then he starts to clean your chest, gently dabbing the trails of blood that have run up to your neck or down into your dress. You begin to sniffle. He sighs. "Don't wanna hurt ya, sweet pea. Don't want anyone else to, either."

When he's done, you ask if you can go to the bathroom. You haven't seen the carving yourself yet. He lets you stand up, then says, "you're gonna have stuff comin' out of here," lightly pushing your dress into your crack. "Maybe for days. It's a lot." He lets you go with a gentle pat on the butt.

You stand at the small, chipped sink and look at yourself in the cracked dirty mirror, reading the text on your chest backwards in the mirror. "J. Miller." You almost finger the letters then remember not to touch it. You hardly recognize yourself. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot. You use the toilet and hear Joel cleaning up from dinner. You stay in the bathroom enjoying a rare moment of privacy. Then his footsteps get closer. "You ok?" His face sounds like it might be right at the door.

"Um. Yeah," you say and open the door.

"Ok. Let's get you to bed."

Joel tucks you into his bed. It's an old, full size mattress on a cheap metal frame. It's better than the sash house cots. At least it has sheets and a blanket.

"You're not coming?" You ask.

"No, not yet," he says. "Gotta figure some stuff out. Be right outside." He cracks the bedroom window before he goes outside.

Joel goes outside and makes a fire. You listen to it snap and pop and can hear the slosh of whiskey in a bottle. Your whole body is spent. You shudder to think what you'd be doing if Joel hadn't saved you from FEDRA.

You fall asleep and don't even notice when Joel gets into bed and spoons you.

You only wake up when he startles in his sleep, which jerks your body. He doesn't wake up, but he tightens his arm around you and his hand digs into the wounds on your chest. You push back against his forearm and he stirs, confused.

“My chest,” you whisper. “You said don’t touch it.”

"Shhhhh," he says without fully waking up. He cups your breast and cages you, bringing his leg over yours. His naked dick presses into you.

Then his lips tenderly press into the nape of your neck and stay. He’s never done that before. It feels really good. Warm. Like you’re supposed to be right there in his arms.

When you wake up in the morning, he’s still asleep. You slowly, carefully turn around, his arm still draped over your side, but loosely. Now you’re facing him. He looks so peaceful, so harmless. You know he’s not. You study his face - the lines between his brows even as he sleeps, the patches in his beard, the hook of his nose, the way his lips part just slightly. You scoot yourself closer, and your heart races.

You dare to press your lips into his. His arm pulls you in and his brow furrows as he just barely kisses you back. You reach your arm over his waist to hug him as you kiss him again. He kisses you back harder, then his cock hardens against your front. He grunts as he grinds himself into you. You softly moan into his mouth, then he jolts awake and pushes himself away.

“The hell are you doin’??” He looks at you like you should know better, then averts his eyes as your face becomes pathetic and wounded.

“I - what - nothing,” you stammer softly.

He sits up and wipes his mouth off then covers his cock for the first time and turns away. “God damn,” he says and smooths his beard with both hands. He never meant to kiss you in the first place.

Your eyes sting, but you want to recover. “I thought maybe I could suck your cock,” you offer. “If you want.”

He picks up his tight jeans from the floor and pulls them on, too disturbed to accept. “No,” he says. “Get dressed.” He won’t look at you.

On the walk down the hill to the stash house, he doesn’t say a word. You walk a few steps behind him and admire his ass in his tight jeans. When you’re almost to the back door of the house, he says in a hushed voice, “you’re stayin’ here today.”

He brings you back to the room with two beds. He chains you to the radiator, briefly looks you in the face, and it seems like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. He gives your guard the key for bathroom trips, and reminds the guard what happens to him if anything happens to you.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @zliteraturehoe @neobanguniverse @quietlyignoringyou

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deepperplexity · 2 months ago

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Prompt 11: Out Of Reach [A3]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2]

A/N: It's time for Brandon!!! 😍 Now, this is going to be frustrating, just hold out darlings (she says as if it isn't something we enjoy when done right which I hope I have 😂) and we'll get through this together despite omissions of feelings being near miscommunication between our pining lovebirds unwilling to take a leap of faith 👀

Side Note: The electricity is RIDICULOUSLY expensive today - as well as yesterday - going up to 6.28 SEK when the more common price is 1SEK (1 SEK being about 10 cents) so I'm currently bundled up under double blankets with a warm wheat bag around my feet to keep warm as we've turned off all heat and everything but the freezer and fridge is unplugged 😂 I am beyond fed up with the idiocy of the economy - with all that entails - and I hope everyone else are toasty warm and not needing to turn of the heat ❤

Tags/TW’s: Miscommunication by Omission, Mutual Secret Pining, Half-Confessions, Dire Situation Admitted, WHY WON’T THEY JUST SAY WHAT THEY’RE FEELING?!, Asking For Assistance/Pleading For Silence, Physical Attraction, Emotional Attraction, Desperation, Longing

Word Count: 2.7k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Out Of Reach

It had to be a dream, there was no other way. “Stay awake. No, allow me views of those eyes of summer skies, Miss,” he said harshly but the roll of his voice was a deep caress to my lulled senses. “Open your eyes,” he continued as he squeezed my ribs and thighs with his large hands. It took more strength than I wished to admit to do such a small thing. I managed to blink them open only to lose my breath at how close he was.

Colonel Brandon watched me intently, those inviting eyes shielded by layers of history, yet the crease between his brows softened as our gazes held each other. “Miss Haymnick,” he began in a quiet roll of a rumble. “Keep those eyes open for me.” “I… shall try,” I whispered between chattering teeth and full-body trembles from his closeness and the cold. “Your horse, she’s a calm one, yes?” I nodded. “Good.”

He held me tighter for a moment then manoeuvred me to lay on Marrygold, asking several times if I was fairing as he tugged on my dress and moved my arm before untying his cloak. The golden string around his throat ripped loose in a tug and my breath faltered as he draped it atop me. The smell of wind once more infiltrated my nose as he lay the cloak half atop my head and tucked it under my chin.

His finger graced my chin, the chill of his glove-free hand had me sucking in a breath but my cheeks warmed as his finger lingered a second longer than necessary. “No reins?” he asked as he looked the horse over. “Nor saddle. Miss Haymnick, what are you doing riding through the winter in such a state?” he asked but he was no longer by my side. His hand gripped Marrygold’s harness, he was leading her toward his own horse. “She is my horse,” I whispered, forcing the words out. “My best friend,” I continued, gripping her mane a little harder for a short moment before my numb fingers lost their strength. “Stay awake,” he urged, his voice a bit more frazzled than before as my words had turned quieter with each syllable. So tired… “Hold on,” the colonel said and I wanted to laugh for a second at the request. “We must get you warm.”

Marrygold began walking, slowly, down the slope of the hill and when I managed to tilt my head I found Colonel Brandon atop his horse with Marrygold’s harness looped through one of his reins. He viewed me with delicate worry in the harsh lines of his face. His regal nose had reddened from the cold as well as his cheeks, the top-hat held his slightly golden locks in place despite the wind. His straight back and decisive hold of the reins had a flutter break out in my stomach but it was his eyes that had my pounding heart in their grip. Eyes of poetry, I thought as my mind began to drift toward the loss I had secured by foolishly chasing him away with my thoughtless, detrimental mood all those days ago…

He urged the horse to go faster as my eyelids drooped. “A little further, Miss.” “I lost you,” I mumbled in my haze. “I was… foolish… it is… hopeless, now…” “Stay…” I heard him say yet my mind drifted before the rest reached me.

⁛•⁛

“Miss,” came the rumble from my dreams. “Wake up, wake up,” it continued as the steady breaths of Marrygold had me rising and sinking. “Sir, we ought to move her,” came the shrill yet worried voice of a woman. “She is not injured,” came a second male voice. “My lord, she needs—” “I am aware.” After those words, whatever lay atop me was stripped away and I shivered from the sudden chill.

I blinked, regaining some of my strength as wakefulness slipped in. “Miss Haymnick,” he said as my eyes found those which made me think of poetry and depth. “Can you hear me?” I nodded. “Yes…” “Oh thank heavens,” said the woman. “Come on, let’s get the lady inside, my lord.” “Come,” he said, focusing solely on me to my heart’s utter thrill. “Let us get you warm, miss.”

I groaned, pushing against Marrygold’s neck to get myself upright. Everything ached, each muscle and limb straining against any movement from the lack of energy and the bone-chilling cold, and before I could grasp the mane beneath my fingers the world spun and I fell to the side.

“Goodness me!” shrieked the woman as sturdy arms caught me up. My feet had hit the ground but I was unharmed with his arms around my waist. “Miss?” he asked as I tilted my head back, black dots lined my vision yet he remained clear as day. “I— I’m alright,” I managed to force out yet my feet would not stand flat against the ground, my legs bending and yielding — no matter how I tried to stand. “I have you,” he murmured while bending and manoeuvring his arms to lift me bridal style. “Let us get you inside, get you warm.” Those words had me in shambles when he viewed me with such scrutiny in his eyes — not of the judging kind, but the caring one.

⁛•⁛

He had left me atop a grand bed, with mahogany posts and a canopy of thick, green velvet tapering off into curtains that could fully shield the bed I lay in. The woman, who I now knew carried the name Hatchfield, had been ordered to remain by my side and help care for me. The man who had captured my heart with so little as a look and a few words of possibilities had left the room with only one glance back at me.

“There, miss. Let us get you dressed.” Mrs Hatchfield was fluffing up my dress which had been cleaned and sorted during the night. “The master awaits you for breakfast.”

I glanced at her, then the dress of deep red not unlike the ruby of blood or the shade of half-wilted roses. A muted yet bold red. A red designed to make a statement. How can I meet him after the trouble I have caused him, yesterday as well as the first day I encountered the man? I had no thoughts to help me come up with any form of plan for the upcoming encounter. Guilt, shame, even dread lingered in me yet the man had gone above and beyond for me yesterday and I would not sully my mother’s legacy or the brittle fraud of my family’s current state as affluent and important. I shall beg his forgiveness and plead for his good graces, plead for him to keep my state and actions a secret. I have already lost any chance at his hand, at his heart… I shall not lay more waste to the man’s life or peace…

Mrs Hatchfield helped me dress, lacing the corset swiftly but harshly — while whispering and murmuring about my beauty, from blond locks to hourglass figure. I was accustomed to such praise, no matter who said it the compliments meant little — either they held no sway or they were spoken with want for me in a manner not befitting (my heart, or my mind).

I looked around the room while she flustered about. The room had a soft sense to it, a strong but gentle energy filling it. The smell of books hit me as my eyes landed on a large bookcase filled to the brim with what appeared to be a large collection of poetry, legends, and… romances. I squinted to make out more of the letters along the spines of the books but my guesses seemed correct. “The Master has a cultivated collection, miss Haymnick,” Mrs Hatchfield said as she caught me looking. “This room is not usually one he allows visitors within. It is his second bedroom, when the master bedroom feels too big for the man. Or, when he requires solitude one can find him in that chair with a book in his hand.” She nodded toward an armchair dressed in green velvet much like the drapes.

“Is he a good master?” I asked, still studying the spines with great and insignificant names of poets. “A wonderful master, miss.” She looked over her shoulder at the closed door leading out of the room. “He would be a wonderful husband, too. For a lady with a gentle heart and appreciation for the quiet and calm life the master is always in pursuit of.” I scrunched my brows. “I heard he is never home, always travelling the world?” Can Mrs Hilliard have her gossip wrong? “Oh, indeed, that is the pursuit, miss. He searches for the right reason to remain here, but I do not believe he will find it out there in the world any longer.” She glanced up at me with a slightly mischievous, almost knowing smile.

Mrs Hatchfield had ordered my hair, patted down my dress, and now showed me to the colonel who sat in an intimate tea parlour. The shiny floor and dark walls soothed and calmed — the fabrics in shades of dark blues and deep greens paired well with the dark wood of the furnishings and framework. My eyes saw it all for but a moment, and then they found the colonel at the very end of the room.

The large windows showcased the white landscape beyond and the light framed him perfectly as he stood with his back to us, turning swiftly as Mrs Hatchfield announced my arrival.

Colonel Brandon walked up, meeting me by the table able to seat six people in delicate chairs, and my courage faltered. He was marvellous. From his clothes in hues of brown and black to his features set in softness despite the harsh lines of his face. The strong jaw and regal nose matched perfectly and yet again his eyes arrested me fully. They held my gaze for a moment before etiquette took over. He bowed, and I curtseyed.

“Miss Haymnick,” he said, and by the lord, his voice had me shivering. Hearing it so clearly, with no background noise or whistling wind had me appreciating it on a deeper level. “Colonel Brandon.” I tried to smile but my insides were corded so tight I struggled to move my muscles accordingly. He arched a brow. “You have quite the expressive face, my lady…” I lowered my gaze, heat burning my neck and cheeks. “Sir… I— Sir, I apologize for the trouble I have caused and the harm done to your evening yesterday.”

Looking up, I found him peering at me with a tilted head. “You have caused no harm, nor trouble.” “I—” He interrupted by taking a step toward me. “Are you fairing? You were in quite a disorderly state when I found you.” There was no animosity in his voice. “I am well, sir. Thank you, for your consideration—” “Then, if you would, explain to me why on earth I found you half frozen to death out in the winter cold?” His words were direct, but his mannerisms and eyes spoke of worry.

What do I say? I must plead for his good graces… “Sir—” I drew a shallow breath as the intensity of his gaze nearly snatched my breath away “—I must beg of you to not speak of… what happened. I… I have caused harm to my family’s reputation and find myself in a situation where such a thing cannot slip into the gossip mills of society. Please, sir,” I said with as much regret and pleading in my voice as I could portray without fully begging in desperation.

I lowered myself in another curtsey, looking down at his polished shoes while my back and shoulders stiffened. “Please, sir, I beg for your grace and silence regarding the matter of my actions and state. I cannot make a dire situation an impossible one with my—” “Dire situation? Are you coming to harm, miss?” he asked, alarm in his voice and he moved above me but I couldn’t see what he was doing. “I—” What do I say? Yes, but also no? I am coming to harm but not in the manner he believes. Oh, what a sordid mess… “—I am not in harm's way, sir. Not in the manner you are imagining.” “What, in your mind, am I imagining?” he asked. “Miss, please stand. I do not enjoy this view of you.”

I winced. Hearing that he did not find the view of me to his liking hurt. All my life I had been told of my beauty, of my looks, of my handsome features and beautiful shape. It had mattered little to me, my beauty a curse and blessing that had yielded nothing. The man I would have wished for it to affect now disclosed he did not enjoy the view of me despite previously having stated he found me beautiful. Perhaps all truly is lost. For a moment, I had to stop tears from forming in my eyes before I could rise and straighten.

I kept my eyes lowered, focusing on the golden chain hooked to his waistcoat and attached to a watch hidden from view in his pocket. “I apologize, sir.” “Miss,” he began quietly and I watched his hand move toward me for a second before he stayed it and fisted it by his thigh. “You are quite the conundrum.” “Sir?” I asked, looking up out of pure shock. I had never been called that before. “There you are,” he said with a smile and soft eyes holding mine. “Now, tell me what this dire situation is. I cannot have a lady such as yourself be in any situation of negative consequence. Those eyes of summer skies should not be dulled by clouds, miss.” I sighed, my shoulders slouching and my insides softening at his poetic words of my eyes. It was not a new compliment, nor a particularly innovative one, yet when he spoke it… my heart soared.

“Come, sit. We shall talk over breakfast. You must be famished,” he said, breaking me out of the saddening thoughts that had begun to encroach upon realising I had offended him and lost my chance days ago — in one day I find and ruin what my heart seems set upon… “Thank you, sir…” “I have not forgotten about your dire situation,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “A beauty such as you must have many protectors. Forgive me for what I am about to say, but you appear in no need of the services of an old colonel yet I find myself desperate to have your confidence—” he helped me sit and my skin burned as he held my hand gently “—and I am seasoned enough to know it is a fool’s wish that has occupied my soul.”

He gave a contrite smile and released my hand while my breath faltered and my ribs seemed to constrict my insides more than ever before. “Sir?” I asked, not daring to hope fully yet unable to restrain the wishful thinking. “I shall not ask for what it wishes, do not fret, my lady. I will assist in any manner I can in your dire situation, my lips sealed and my expectations diminished to none but your confidence and temporary seat at my table.”

My heart pounded, my breaths came shallow and rushed through my nose as my lips were held tightly closed to keep the words from spilling out. Was he implying that I had stirred his heart as well? That his soul had been caught in wishes of me as mine had been of him? I must be delusional, surely he means some form of monetary compensation or alliance between our estates will not be requested for keeping my secret?

“If you view me with such harsh eyes much longer, I must retreat like a wounded soldier, miss…” His voice was sorrow-filled and deeper than before. I gasped a breath and straightened while trying to school my features. I had never before failed to truly hide my inner thoughts or reflections, my emotions or sensations but in his presence, my heart wreaked havoc on my control. “I am not accustomed to men such as you… I apologise,” I whispered while clasping my hands atop my dress and clenched them tightly. “I believe you accused me of being just like all others.” “But… you are not,” I whispered as tears welled. “You are so much more, sir. And far out of my reach now…”

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh my word 😩 What kind of Rickmas is this?! Why am I doing this to us? Ugh, the suspense, the longing, the pining, the miscommunication by omission is just killing me (yes, yes, I know I'm the one writing this but still) and I cannot wait to get these two together and stop this nonsense of not speaking out about one's feelings 😭 Then we gotta get old daddy'o on board too of course, but I mean the colonel is everything he wanted his daughter to find, no?

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you!

#rickmas2024 #colonel brandon x female oc #rickmas #brandon x oc #alan rickman #rickmaniac #colonel brandon #colonel brandon fic #sense and sensibility #mutual secret pining

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dustsculptures · 4 months ago

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thanked my mom for my “saddle bags” as she calls the outside of the fattest part of our thighs and i think it healed something in her

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lucijawriteswords · 9 months ago

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truck time | auston matthews

summary: you are met with a surprise as auston picks you up after practice, and a simple conversation about your game last night turns into so much more.

warnings: making out! so much angst. mutual pining, sexual tension, older brother's best friend auston, reader is insecure and always second guessing herself. a little fluffy here and there but really just a lot of angst and then a kiss at the end. very tame for me, i know. don't get used to it.

word count: 2.6k

A/N: hello hello hello! i'm sorry to have disappeared for so long. school is, as always, just a joy. and i have a new horse that i'm trying to put under saddle so that is taking just entirely too much of my time. anyways. enough about me! let's get to the story, shall we? apologies again because i did not edit this so there are likely typos. as always, let me know how you feel, what you want, who you want. i aim to please. thank you, as always, for reading, and now, enjoy the story!

you were trying hard not to cry, bouncing your throbbing leg, fidgeting with your fingernails. the bench of the picnic table you were sitting at was digging into your thighs and you knew the pattern was going to be pressed into your thighs, just another blemish amongst the bruises and blistered ankles of a hard, hard practice.

coach had skated you and your team hard today, citing last night’s game as the reason. a game you had won triumphantly, a 7-2 rout of the other team with two of your teammates getting hat tricks. but it was all in the third period. he said that if you and your teammates couldn’t produce consistently throughout all three periods, then winning didn’t even matter.

all you wanted after practice was a ride waiting for you, your sweet older brother john waiting in the car with your favorite food and open ears and seat heaters on. but he was busy, so he sent auston on his behalf. auston, who was, somehow, miraculously, free to pick up his best friend’s sister.

growing up, auston had seemed to be everywhere john was, and you were everywhere they were, despite being two years their junior. ice cream in the summer, family dinners, road trips, the summer fair- everywhere. auston and john had played hockey together until auston moved away during high school to play for the national program. since then, they’d stayed thick as thieves, and whenever auston somehow found himself back in arizona, he seemed to be everywhere john was, just like how it used to be. but now, here he was, without john in tow, picking you up from practice.

you heard the heavy tires and loud rumble of austin’s old truck, the one he kept here. the one you’d been in too many times to count. the door popped open and the thud of two heavy footfalls against pavement registered in your ears.

“hey, kid.” he drawled, the pet name ringing in your ears like a church bell, a welcome reprieve after the drilling whistles you’d been blasted with the past two hours. you grimaced in an attempt to smile.

he returned one, eyes questioning, before turning away and popping open the tailgate.

“hi.” you tossed your sticks in his general direction, hearing them clatter roughly into the bed. you bag followed suit, landing in the middle. auston’s head snapped up as he felt the tailgate sag as you hoisted yourself up, reaching for your bag to move it further up the bed. a warm hand stopped yours, hovering near the cloth handle.

"don’t worry about it, kid. i got this. just get in the truck.” his eyes were soft.

a soft smile- real this time- made its way onto your face, a quiet ‘ok’ leaving your lips as you slid off the tailgate and made your way around the side towards the passenger door.

sliding into the passenger seat and folding your legs up, your soft smile morphed into something more of a wince at the redness around your ankles. lace bite. you softy rubbed the fingers of one hand on the angry skin, the other hand reaching towards the center controls of the car for the seat heater, cranking it all the way up.

auston finally stopped fiddling in the trunk and snapped the cover down into place before shutting the tailgate. your eyes watched his figure in the rear view mirror as he made his way towards the front of the car. as he opened his door, your eyes (by no means on accident) raked across his shoulders and chest, noting the new fullness there.

“look strong, auston. they been working you hard up north?” his teeth flashed as he dropped himself into the seat, the truck bouncing under his bulk. he shook his head as he reached behind himself for his seatbelt, the smallest sliver of skin showing as his hoodie rose up. you found yourself drawing your legs closer to yourself.

“you know it, kid.”

“where’s j?” you wondered, pulling the arms of your sweatshirt down to cover your hands, impatiently waiting for the seat to warm you.

“he was running some errands before picking you up and got a flat on the highway. called a tow truck cause i guess he didn’t have a spare so he’s at the shop getting that fixed up. probably only an hour or two,” auston replied, hands flexing on the wheel as he pulled away from the curb.

“why didn’t he just call you?” you asked, shifting to face him, resting your head sideways against your headrest. “he wouldn’t have to pay you and you’d probably have it done before those guys at the shop even got the bolts out. you’re good at that type of thing.” he spared you a glance, a small grin breaking onto his face.

“why type of thing, exactly?”

you prickled under his gaze.

“oh, you know.” you returned, rubbing your thumb against the inside of your sweatshirt. “stuff with… your hands.” you trailed off, eyes falling and voice softening. something flickered in his gaze. he cleared his throat.

“how was practice?”

it was your turn to clear your throat. “bad,” you replied honestly, saw no benefit in keeping it from him.

his gazed turned to you for a moment. “why? big win last night. you played like hell.”

your eyes widened, fixing themselves on his figure. “you were there?”

he scoffed. “course i was. cheered my ass off for you.”

you felt your mouth drop slightly, confusion pulling your eyebrows together. “i didn’t even know you were there,” you whispered, wonder laced in your tone. what would you have done, you wondered, if you had known? would you have scored four goals? five? would you have looked for him, for his figure in the stands, met his eyes with a smile? would you have walked out of the locker room, beaming and sweaty, to find him standing there, arms open, for you?

you’d let go of those fantasies years ago. you’d always just been john’s little sister, ‘kid,’ the third wheel on their friendship bike. auston had been out of reach, unattainable- just two years older, but somehow a million light years away. you’d lived with feigned acceptance as girls came and went throughout highschool, had smiled and nodded and posed for pictures with them when they tagged along with you to auston and your brother’s games. you’d listened to their angry words when auston inevitably moved on, had let them drift away as plans for rides to games were no longer necessary, had monotonously deleted the photos on your phone.

the fantasies, the dreams, the hazy imaginings of you in his jersey, cheering for him, traveling the continent with him, for him, sneaking onto the ice at whatever rink you found yourself at, just laughing and loving and reveling in each other.

you’d pushed your feelings down for years, decided that once he moved to toronto, it was never going to happen. and so you loved him in secret, in childhood pictures in the collage of your phone background, in oddly timed facetime calls as he asked how to cook this, how to cook that, what the best way to get gear to stop stinking was. it never occurred to you that maybe, he was doing the same thing.

you’d never dared to let yourself believe it before but maybe, just maybe, there was a reason auston had always moved on from those girls.

something different clouded auston’s voice, something gravelly and twisted. “what would you have done if you knew?”

you laughed humorlessly, letting your head fall back against the weathered head rest. “not sure, aus. what would you have me do?”

his response was instant. “i’d want you to look for me in the stands. wave at me or blow me a kiss or something.” he paused here, preparing himself- and you, quite possibly, for what he was about to admit. “i’d want you to come out of that locker room looking for me, with a big smile just for me. give me a hug, let me carry your bag and sticks to the car. maybe…” here he leveled you with a weary glance. “maybe let me kiss you goodnight when you get home.”

such honesty was not what you had expected. you were dumbfounded at the similarity between your fantasies, at the way they lined up perfectly, like the final edge piece of a puzzle snapping into place. your head lolled comfortably against the head rest, eyes boring into the faded ceiling of the cab. you realized, with a jolt, that you should probably say something. but you couldn’t figure out what.

“auston, i don’t know what to say… i never thought, no, well i mean i thought, but i never knew-”

he waved a hand at you, his jaw grinding as his adam’s apple worried his neck. “you don’t have to say anything. i shouldn’t have said anything. just want you to know. just… just want you.” his voice strained before dying with a crackle. he cleared his throat, resigning himself to stare at the road ahead, one hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles shown white, the other fretting the hem of his sweatshirt.

the silence grew and grew until the air shimmered and your seat was uncomfortable and your shirt was too tight. you, too, fidgeted, grumbling and cursing and trying to wriggle out of your sweatshirt, unclipping your seatbelt with a huff and tugging the thing over your head, too preoccupied with getting the heavy garment off to notice that your shirt was coming with it until you heard auston's muttered curse.

your face heated to an unbearable temperature, so hot that you had to crack the window. you dared to glance at him and found him with his jaw clenched, eyes locked firmly on the road, but the hand that had previously been playing with his hoodie was now sitting atop the center console.

"you're killing me, kid. that was mean. you gotta play fair," he grumbled, essentially whining at this point.

you didn't know what to say, so without giving yourself time to think or reconsider or second guess you laid your hand atop his, folding your fingers under his palm and lightly tracing the back of his hand with your thumb. you still said nothing. the only noise was the roaring of the tires against the road and the wind streaming in through your window, which did little to cool the suddenly far too hot car.

"i didn't do it on purpose." you whispered.

your eyes drifted to where your hands lay intertwined on the console before returning the road, nothing but field and dust and rocks behind, ahead, and beside you for miles.

you realized at the same time auston did.

your hand squeezed hard onto his as you felt the truck begin to slow and saw the turn signal lighting up the dark road as he pulled off onto some old, overgrown, unused farmhouse driveway.

the truck's engine purred softly before quieting, the whole thing rocking softly as he put it in park, twisting the key out of the ignition.

you gulped, gripped his hand tighter.

"do you-"

"i didn't-"

you pressed your lips together, a smile trying to fight it's way onto your face. he shook his head, lightly nodding towards you, signaling your you to speak. you shifted again, drawing your legs up onto the seat so that you were sitting criss-crossed, facing him.

you took a deep breath. "i didn't know you felt that way, auston. and i promise i wasn't trying to tease you just now. i just..." you trailed off, meeting his gaze to find his eyes already fixed on yours. you steadied yourself, bringing your other hand to where you were already holding one of his.

"i just didn't think that there was any way on earth that you could ever like me back. i've always been just john's little sister and my crush on you was just something that came naturally from you being my older brother's best friend. and then you left," your voiced cracked a little. his squeezed your hands lightly in his, bringing them to his mouth to press a light kiss to your knuckles.

you cleared your throat, sniffling. "you went to michigan. and then you got drafted. and i know it's only been a few years since then, and we're still really young, but i have never felt so strongly for anyone as i have for you. i mean-" a humorless, sobbed laugh. "i've never even liked anyone else. i've had to sit here and be friends with all your girls and now i have to stay here without you and it's been torture," you bit out, voice weak.

"every time you call me, asking for help to cook something or for girl advice it makes me want to claw my eyes out." you admitted, voice hoarse. "i hate that i'm not there with you, and stupidly, i hate that you have to call me if you need me. not- not me, i meant my help. i don't know, i'm rambling. but i just.... i really had no idea that you felt like that, and i've felt like that about you for my whole life and it just- i don't know. i'm gonna shut up." you trail off, eyes falling to your lap.

his hand around yours is warm, and it’s the only reminder that he is still in the vehicle with you because is completely, utterly, unnervingly silent. you don’t dare to look up at him, scared of what you’ll find on his face, in his eyes.

some part of you is terrified that this is a sick joke, that he did this for a dare, because how in the world could auston possibly feel that way about you? about his best friends little sister? part of you believed that he still saw you as the gap toothed, pink waxed laces, smushed between them on the bench of auston’s first truck, pigtailed little girl.

the silence was becoming unbearable. you lifted your head in exasperation, still too scared to meet his eyes. “auston, please say some-”

you were cut off by the soft press of his lips against yours. his hand found a spot on the back of your neck, pulling you into him, drinking you in like you were oxygen. you sighed, loosing a breath you didn’t know you were holding on to as you melted into him, one of your hands wringing itself from his grasp to slide along his chest and fist in his sweatshirt there.

the pieces of your heart, which you really hadn’t even known was broken, pulled themselves together, stitched themselves up with every press of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, every sharp breath through his nose, every groan as he fists your hair and pulls your head back to kiss you deeper than you thought was possible.

when you finally break apart, his eyes are glazed over with something that looks an awful lot like love. you can feel his heart beating rapidly underneath your hand on his chest.

and suddenly, there were no more unanswered questions, no more wishes and dreams of the shared life you both wanted. no more what-ifs and maybes. there was just this, just the two of you, together in his truck, surrounded by stars and the future.

#nhl hockey #hockey #nhl #lucijawriteswords #nhl smut #auston matthews #auston matthews smut #toronto maple leafs #auston matthews fic #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl hockey fic

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cowboygenesis · 8 months ago

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3: of thunderstorms | geralt x reader

part 3 of the "wild woman" series: masterlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: nudity, smut, solo male masturbation.

word count: 11.9k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: if youre still reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me :) I've been finding a lot of joy in writing this fanfic despite the format being a little iffy for a reader insert (something i realized only 10k words into the fanfic har har). as usual, please leave feedback if you feel so inclined!

Geralt glanced into the greying sky, a sharp look on his resolute face as the light seeped through the sparse cracks of the stoney backdrop; a gentle reminder of the afternoon had begun to cascade down Geralt’s complexion just in time for their arrival in the town’s square.

Despite the upcoming downpour, the city streets kept flooding with life, crowds of people vigorously walking in and out of the center equipped with groceries, home supplies, and various homemade goods for sale.

Geralt watched as an elderly couple struggled to push the weight of a wheelbarrow filled with bags of groats, the husband’s solemn face contrasting his partner’s warm grin. She slapped his shoulder playfully, earning a hiss of annoyance.

“Stop! Come back!” came the cheerful giggle of a young girl, and the witcher stiffened as a group of children ran past his side, with one of the smaller boys bumping into the man’s muscular thigh.

The boy’s gaze rose, bright eyes meeting Geralt’s sharp stare. The few seconds between them must’ve felt like an eternity to the boy, or so the witcher thought. He was all too aware of his uncommon visage and expected most people, especially children, to react similarly to such a close and uncomfortable encounter.

His eyebrow raised suddenly as the child’s lips curled into a goofy, unapologetic grin. He giggled, tiny hands moving to push his body off Geralt’s armored limb, the force making his little body accelerate at speeds likely to make him eat dirt, and with the subtlest misstep, he almost did alright.

The boy dove through the crowd, and soon enough Geralt caught a glimpse of his blonde hair amongst his group of friends who engaged in a tug-of-war over a sewn, stuffed rag vaguely resembling a sheep. A soft giggle came from the saddle.

The witcher’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, catching a quick glimpse of the young woman riding his mare.

Her bare hands were raised and clasped above her head in an attempt to shield her face from the quickly accelerating downpour, a few drops cascading slowly down her elbow and soaking into the bouffant sleeve of her dress.

She was smiling; a warm, heartfelt smile that extended to her eyes and made her cheeks crease with dimples. Her gaze followed the small group of kids, decently amused at the brief ordeal. Her eyes shifted to Geralt.

Their gazes met, and she giggled again as if the awareness of Geralt’s sudden, reciprocated stare didn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

Her hand dropped to pet Roach’s mane, weaving her fingers through the thick strands and allowing her lips to form into a comfortable smile. She was enjoying their escapade, and it made Geralt wonder if riding a horse was that joyous of activity for common folk like her. But perhaps her smile was about something else entirely. He forced his gaze away.

“We’re almost there, turn right by that fencing,” the woman instructed through her everlasting smile, her right hand abandoning its post on the mare’s head to extend a finger towards the open plaza. Geralt hummed in understanding, relieved as the tight squeeze of the side street finally flooded into a much more spacious and comfortable area.

It was the beginning of harvest, and as his new companion had informed him on their way to town, an extensive market would be held in the square every day until the end of the moon cycle. ‘The sowing has been so bountiful the past few years, people struggle to sell their goods before they go bad,’ she had stated. Geralt wondered where all the acquired coin had been going, considering how modest the townsfolk looked.

Surely enough, the plaza had been set up into a miniature marketplace with an array of stick-and-cloth stalls lined up in two rows. Albeit far, Geralt could spot an array of different produce filling the wooden crates of around a dozen merchants, making the area almost unrecognizable from the state he had first seen it in the night prior.

The group made their way across the pavement, Geralt giving Roach’s reigns a gentle pull as they approached a cobblestone building nestled between a blacksmith and a general goods store.

A simple, wooden sign adorned the oaken doorway, rugged and chipped at the corners yet adorning a meticulous engraving:

‘The Novak’s Family Apothecary’.

The letters were uniform and bold, proudly advertising a decade-old familial business to the people of Posada and the neighboring towns. Below, in a smaller font: ‘Alchemy and Herbalism’. Strangely, ‘Alchemy’ had been viciously scratched off the slab, leaving a large gash in the otherwise polished surface.

“We’re here,” Maja stated, legs swinging back and forth along Roach’s sides as the group made their way through the insula’s archway. The narrow path led into an isolated square, much less populated compared to the center and harboring what looked to be communal living quarters.

Geralt trailed his gaze along the decrepit buildings and rain-slicked stone below his feet, then turned to pat Roach’s muzzle. He watched his companion shuffle around on the horse’s back, her skirt twisting and turning with the rapid movements and absorbing the increasing downpour that manifested in the form of small, dark spots scattered across the bright material. She grunted with a furrowed brow, struggling to find a proper angle to get down safely.

“Here,” Geralt hummed, reaching his arms to rest at the familiar spots on her dressed waist. She tensed her muscles at the touch, flexing under the soft corset and making the man readjust his grip. A thumb grazed gently along the material and the girl’s eyes shone with surprise, but the lack of resistance urged the witcher to continue his rescue.

“Thank you,” she replied tactfully as Geralt effortlessly rose her into the air then safely to the ground. Her boots made contact with the slick stone with a squeak, her hips and legs twisting around to adjust to standing.

“Gods… that was amazing. I haven’t ridden a horse in so, so long,” Maja exclaimed with a grin, carefully placing her hand on the horse’s muzzle. Geralt nodded, following in tandem with her movements. His gloved fingers significantly dwarfed hers at this proximity, and he noted the pulled, reddened skin around her fingernails as she patted Roach’s cheek. The mare whinnied softly, pushing into the girl’s grasp. “She’s such a good girl.”

“She likes you,” Geralt stated lowly, watching as his horse made gentle acquaintance with his new companion. The woman chuckled at the contact, amping up her pats and scratches.

“I like her, too.” She responded, glancing at Geralt’s face. Despite popular myth, witcher’s didn’t seem so frightening up close. If anything, Maja had grown to enjoy the tiny, obscure hints of smiles and chuckles that felt like such a rarity with the caliber of man Geralt happened to be. That moment was no exception, as her eyes trailed down to the man’s subtly raised mouth corners. It was a shadow of joy, and not so pretty, yet somehow the concept itself made the woman feel warm despite the accelerating downpour.

They were soon to be soaked. The minuscule, lightweight droplets had suddenly evolved into weighted beads, pattering aggressively against the metal gutters and forming reflective puddles in uneven areas of the pavement.

“We best get inside,” the man gruffed out, tugging at the hood of his linen cloak. He glanced at Maja, watching her hair dampen with the rain. He could have sworn he saw her shiver. “You go ahead, I’ll hitch the horse.” he nodded at her, reaching to grab the reigns.

“Allow me,” the woman retorted with a small smile, quickly wrapping her nimble fingers around the leather straps. Geralt watched with a raised eyebrow as clear droplets began trickling down her forehead and falling off the thick bedding of her upper lashes.

“I need to stop by that shop for a moment,” she perked up, extending a finger towards one of the doorways deeper into the square. The light from within was dim and flickered occasionally. Her head turned to face Geralt again, and he raised an eyebrow at her solemn smile as her fingers grazed the horse’s mane. “Besides, I… I haven’t done this in a long time. You know, cared for a horse. Just want to savor it while I can.” she ended sheepishly, glancing at her rain-slicked boots.

Geralt’s eyebrows raised subtly, his gaze scanning the girl’s lowered face. He hadn’t considered that such a simple, inherent part of his life would bring such pleasure to someone else. He had ridden horses all his life, so much so that it had become synonymous with walking. Alas, it wasn’t something he could be opposed to. The quicker he managed his interrogation, the quicker he could solve this town’s monster problem and trail ahead.

“Hitch her between the arches over there,” Geralt pointed toward the courtyard’s edge, simultaneously nodding at the girl’s request. She grinned in return.

“Oh! If it’s no issue, could you get me a bunch each of verbena and sage? Oh, and arrowroot. Big ones,” the girl perked up suddenly, raising a hand in question.

Geralt sighed, but before he could put his foot down, Maja had taken a step towards him. Her hand edged towards his sternum, gently pressing against his chest piece while her bright eyes made contact with his half-lidded ones. “Just mention my name. Miro’ll put it on my tab.” she smiled cheekily.

Geralt nodded once, maintaining eye contact to search her orbs for something hidden. The dark pools drew him in like a spell, refusing to let go.

Her grasp tightened on the reigns suddenly, and with a final chuckle and wave, she walked away. Her silhouette shrunk in the distance, and Geralt exhaled sharply at the faint sound of the girl’s one-sided conversation with Roach that morphed with the heavy patter of rain.

His feet carried him towards the front of the building once again. His hood had started feeling heavy with the weight of rainwater soaking into it, so the warm air hitting his face was a welcome feeling as soon as he creaked open the large, ornamental doorway to the alchemist shop.

He breathed in and looked around. It looked common, simple, exactly as every other shop of this kind he had seen in his extensive career. The wooden walls were lined with thin shelves and cupboards, each housing a handsome collection of vials, chalices, and corked bottles.

The witcher traced a hand along one of the larger vials, feeling along its decorative rivets. A thin paper card attached to the cork read ‘oil of parsnip’. He picked it up and swirled, the viscous, yellow liquid inside sloshing around with a soft gurgle.

“Oh, welcome! Come on in,” spoke a raspy, melodic voice, making Geralt look towards its source.

A tall, middle-aged man stood at the edge of the room, leaning against a wooden desk. His dark, curly locks stood taut in every direction, intertwined with thick threads of silver. The bump of his thin nose held the weight of circular rims through which the witcher could glimpse a hue of bright green.

“Quite the downpour, ain’t it?” he chuckled warmly as Geralt approached, fingers tugging at his hood to pull it back. The man was amiable, even after seeing the witcher’s white locks and wolf-head insignia.

“Quite,” Geralt retorted sternly, eyeing the thick, sheepskin ledger pinned under the alchemist’s hand. “Busy?”

“Oh, but not at all. This’s just that awful bureaucracy, y’know? They’re making me list my income every other moon. You probably know somethin’ about that, right?” the man panned a quill in the air, pointing it steadily down Geralt’s figure. “You seem like a kind of businessman yourself!”

“That’s one way to call it,” Geralt tilted his head with a hum, placing a gloved hand on the til’s rough surface. He leaned in, avoiding the bundles of dried lavender and white sage drying upside down on the ceiling. “But bartering is the best I can do if we’re talking business.”

The older man chuckled, clearly entertained by the witcher’s dry riposte. He shoved the journal to the side and straightened his posture as if he had just realized the situation.

“Tell me then, friendly barterer, what herbs do you seek? I’ve got everything, from plane ole’ mint to the rare white myrtle. Oils a plenty, too.” he advertised enthusiastically, gesturing towards the vials.

Geralt glanced at the shelves behind him, then turned his attention back to the seller. He approached the closest one and hovered his extended hand over the selection. Swiftly, he plucked out a small, smooth bottle. He swirled the yellow-green liquid inside.

“And these? Are they potions?” he questioned before watching the man’s eyes widen, mouth ajar slightly.

“No, ‘course not! No! We don’t sell potions here, only herbs and herbal oils. Ointments, that sorta’ of thing.” he protested, gleeful exterior suddenly deteriorating.

Geralt stood silent for a beat, eyeing the older man’s sweat-slick forehead and cheeks. The droplets thickened at his temples and slipped between the crevices of his wrinkles.

“I see,” the witcher finally spoke, nodding. The shopkeep seemed to drop his shoulders and sigh at his amicable response. “Are you Miro?”

“Miro. Miroslav. Yes, that’s me,” he replied quickly, the shadow of a smile returning to his lips. “How so?”

“Do you know a man by the name of Sylvanus?” Geralt questioned tactfully, leaning against the wall. “I’ve been told he supplies here. I need to know what he purchased this morning.”

“Ah… Sylvanus. Yes, yes. He’s a regular customer, has been since he arrived. A little off-beat that one, but intelligent, and good with herbs. Very, very knowledgeable in that area, yes, and always so polite! Secretive, too, but you know how those types can be, right?” Miroslav began cheerfully, yet straightened his demeanour once prompted to answer the witcher’s question. “But I’m afraid I can’t reveal the contents of my ledger, good sire. Maintaining the privacy of my clients is something our shop values greatly, really. And who might you be, anyway?”

Geralt placed the glass bottle down in front of the clerk and looked up at him with a nasty smile, the wolf-head amulet glistening in the gentle candlelight.

“Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’m here to investigate the suspicious activity happening in these woods, and I’ve gotten intel about a suspect visiting your alchemy shop. He’s a witch hunter. I have reason to believe he might be concocting something malicious with the ingredients acquired from you.”

Miroslav straightened up, lips formed into a tight line. There was a palpable tension that filled the air at that moment, one that caused a quiet ringing to echo inside the witcher’s sensitive ears. The rain pattered harshly against the window and roof, making Geralt wonder how Roach and his companion were faring.

“It… It could be true. But why? What would such a sophisticated, traveling folk like him gain from such a silly heist? People are dying from the beast, that beastie from the woods is what’s killing all my neighbors. Mr. Geralt, why? Why would Sylvanus do such a thing?” Miroslav harped, becoming increasingly distressed.

The instance of potentially being involved in something as serious as what Geralt was expecting was weighing on his psyche, as it would on most people. This guy simply wasn’t afraid to show the effects of it.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If you showed me your ledger, I might be able to help this town, other people in the future, from meeting the same fate,” the witcher hummed, placing a firm hand against the wooden till. “It’ll only take a minute of your time.”

Miroslav sighed, nervously eyeing the leather-bound book tucked safely behind a pile of similarly coloured journals. His fingers traced the former’s spine, shakily taking it out and dropping its full weight in front of Geralt. The witcher nodded approvingly, extending his gloved hand in reach of the cover.

Suddenly, a dainty, wrinkled hand slammed onto his. Geralt’s gaze rose, eyes meeting the clerk’s wide ones. His pupils were the size of pinpoints, cheeks rosy and sleek with sweat.

“Don’t tell the Baron about this. Please. I beg you don’t,” Miroslav whispered shakily, and Geralt hummed in return. “I know we can’t practice it. I know we can’t, and yet it’s in our nature. There are so many folks out here in desperate need of these potions, and me, my family, I just can’t let myself leave all of this behind just because of… one, God-forsaken incident!”

A heavy silence befell the old shop. The creaking of floorboards echoed into nothingness, interrupted by a distant roar of thunder. Geralt sighed.

“What incident?” he questioned, taking a confident step forward. He could sense Miroslav’s body tense at the gesture, yet he persevered with his tactics.

The older man shivered and gulped down thickly, making his Adam’s apple bob. Geralt watched intently, placing an unassuming hand over his belt.

“An implosion. Somethin’ completely otherworldly,” the shopkeep explained nervously, fiddling with his journal, “It happened maybe two decades ago, on a spring evening like today. It was like a shockwave, radiating from within a single home, not far from here. I was in the market then, and when that force hit me I must’ve flown at least a perch into the air, I swear on the Gods! The Baron ordered a search of the home and later told us townsfolk it was a simple alchemical miscalculation. Falkrov they were called, I think… a sweet, young couple with a great talent for magic. The same magic that ended up taking their lives that very night.”

“They passed?” Geralt questioned without a beat.

Miroslav frowned.

“Yes. The explosion was simply too powerful,” he heaved, “And that was it. I knew the Falkrov's, not too well, but things were amicable… they were a kind bunch, and helpful, too. But too curious. Too volatile.”

Geralt listened, nodding tactfully and urging the man to keep telling the story.

“Magic was no secret in our parts, quite the opposite, witcher. This land is a powerful energetical pulse point, harboring some kind of ancient magic for centuries before our people even thought to inhabit it. When I was a little boy, my mother would tell me stories of lights and voices coming from the nearby woods, creeping shadows, and chants of witches. It’s true, that’s what she would tell me. And I saw it too, that I did! Creatures from beyond this realm!”

“What did they look like?” Geralt interrupted promptly.

“Little faeries. Or pixies, maybe, I’m not so good with the names, you know. Glittering little beasts with wings. Some sort of gnomes, too, or… a little boy with large eyes, what do you call ‘em…”

“A Godling?”

“Well… sure. A Godling, yes. A young boy skimming stones over a pond. It was long ago when I saw him, at least three decades it must’ve been… we don’t go in the woods anymore, my wife and I. Folks say that’s where the Falkrov’s met their ill fate, and so they’ve haunted that soil ever since,” Miroslav continued somberly, “Nothing’s been the same since that day, Mr. Geralt. And recently, something has changed again. The woods aren’t safe no more, not even in the daytime.”

Geralt nodded, arms crossed as he watched the shopkeep open his journal. He licked his thumb and skimmed the yellowed pages fervently, humming something under his breath. Finally, he stopped. His eyes narrowed, landing a finger against a uniformly drawn table and sliding it down the page.

“I’ve lost hope for this town long ago, Mr. Geralt, but Sylvanus has managed to spark it back up again. He’s a brave man, bold. Goes into those woods on his own and makes sure they’re safe before any of our own folk head out themselves, and at the end of the day refuses our coin. It’s not something any ordinary man would do.”

“I know,” Geralt replied dryly, grabbing at the open journal and twisting it around to face him. The shopkeep’s handwriting was sloppy and thick, drilled forcefully into the pages below. “I plan on finding out what motivates him.”

Miroslav nodded apprehensively, hands crossing loosely against his chest as he watched the witcher get to work. Geralt scanned down the page, skimming through about a dozen names before finally reaching a familiar one.

“Nightshade and mandrake root,” Geralt spoke quietly, eyes narrowing at the chicken-scratch text. “Not a common purchase. Did he mention anything about these ingredients? What he was going to use them for?”

“No… not at all. I never question my clients’ choices, I feel it is against company policy to butt in like that. It’s none of my business, Mr. Geralt, sir.” Miroslav replied with a shrug, making the witcher sigh apprehensively at his nonchalance.

Within his mental compendium of herbology, Geralt searched for the two ingredients Sylvanus had purchased. Both were powerful, potent herbs used in ritual rites and deadly potions, something that a well-meaning passerby would never resort to purchasing; unless there was more to it than met the eye.

“Alright. Thank you, Miroslav,” Geralt nodded, closing the ledger with a quick slam. He watched as the shopkeeper nodded nervously, looking down at his shoes. His hands moved fervently at his sides, and before long he had withdrawn the book into a nearby drawer.

“Please… don’t do anything rash. I can vouch for Sylvanus, that I can. Perhaps I shouldn’t have revealed this information to you…” he spoke softly, eyes glassy with tears.

Geralt sighed once more, crossing his arms. "I won't act hastily," he assured Miroslav, though his tone carried an edge that made the shopkeeper swallow hard.

Miroslav nodded, looking relieved yet still anxious. "Thank you… thank you. I hope you find the answers you're looking for."

“I’ll take a bundle each of sage, verbena, and arrowroot. It’s for—” Geralt began.

“For Maja?” Miroslav interrupted promptly, perking up with a bright glint in his eye. He cleared his throat once becoming aware of his own enticement, mellowing down promptly. “Yes… yes, alright. You know each other, then? You and her?”

“She offered me information about the disturbances in this town.” the witcher replied promptly, slightly taken aback at the question.

Miroslav nodded with a smile, gaze boring into Geralt’s eyes. He lingered in that position for a while, before finally shuffling around the table to reach a large shelf near the ceiling. He hopped in place a few times, grunting as he attempted to reach the herbs resting atop the plank with a comical fervor.

Geralt rolled his eyes subtly, turning around and taking a long stride toward the struggling man.

“No, no! I got it!” he wailed suddenly, pushing Geralt away with his lanky hand. The witcher grunted at the unexpected strength, instead opting to stay back and watch the show from afar.

Finally, with one last jump, the older man managed to grab at the bundle of herbs and pull them down with a triumphant grin. “Here they are,” he said cheerfully, handing them over to Geralt. “I’ll put these on Maja’s tab.”

Suddenly, just as the witcher placed his hands against the thick bundle, he felt Miroslav’s nimble fingers grab at his wrists. He held on tight, almost uncomfortably so, holding Geralt’s gaze adamantly. “She… just, please stay diligent out there.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, noting the earnest concern in the alchemist’s eyes. “Appreciate it. Take care, Miroslav.”

The shopkeeper nodded in agreement, finally letting go of the witcher’s wrist. He felt the blood pulse back into his digits, opening and closing his fist at the numbness. He turned towards the door, opening the door and marching through unceremoniously.

“Take care, Geralt.” he heard Miroslav call out as the doors behind him closed with a loud thud.

As he stepped outside, he noticed the storm had grown fiercer. Rain lashed the streets and thunder boomed overhead, bright lights striking amongst the darkening clouds.

“Winds howling,” he muttered under his nose, feeling a harsh breeze brush against his cheeks as he opened his pouch. He sighed as he caught a whiff of the sage, tucking it away safely before taking a moment to enjoy the aroma.

“Geralt!” rang soundly in his ears, the familiar voice now strained and desperate. Time seemed to slow down at that moment. His peripheral caught a glimpse of something dark, a speckled form dashing right past his side. The adrenaline within his veins pulsed fervently and he scanned his surroundings for red. The witcher’s hand reached instinctively for his sword, yet stopped short when he recognized the creature dashing between the citizens.

It was the deer he had hunted earlier; alive and bounding through the rain-soaked streets, white tail bouncing with its agile strides. The townsfolk scattered promptly at the disturbance, yelling, gasping, and pointing as the animal sped past them, its hooves clattering against the cobblestones. His eyes grazed past the familiar patch of dried blood staining the animal’s white belly, centering around a deep gash.

Geralt's brow furrowed, body tense as his wolf-head medallion vibrated soundly against his chest. His ears rang as he brought his hand up, feeling the reverberating within his fingertips and frowning softly. It felt incomprehensible.

His mind raced as the deer flew past fearful townsfolk, bouncing off stalls and getting its soft fur soaked the few times it tripped over its hooves. It darted towards the edge of town, finally disappearing amongst the buildings.

He stayed put, letting the sword slide back into its hilt with a soft slash. Instinctively, his head turned, glancing into the courtyard and catching a familiar glimpse of a white apron.

He found Maja running towards him, face pale and eyes wide as she approached. She looked as shocked as the rest of the townsfolk, but there was something in her expression that Geralt couldn't quite place; a certain glint in her eye that he hadn’t witnessed in a long while.

"Maja," he called out sternly, in a panic, striding over to her. "The deer—"

"It’s alive," she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly as her hands motioned frantically in every direction. "It… it came alive. Just like that. I was leaving the shop, I just wanted to check on Roach, I wasn’t looking and—"

“What happened?” Geralt demanded, grabbing at her shoulders and keeping her from flailing. Her skin was soft to the touch and slick with rain. He squeezed gently, finding himself momentarily entranced by the proximity. He studied her closely, breathing deep and contrasting her small, shallow bellowings in an oddly pleasant symphony.

“I…” she began softly, gaze finally meeting his. Her eyes were wide with bewilderment and her pupils dark like pools of ink as she reached toward him. Her hand linked with his, holding firmly onto his tense forearm and mimicking the squeeze. It felt comforting, and Geralt found himself overcome with a sudden, inexplicable wave of ecstasy at the gentle pressure. “She came alive. The doe came alive.”

The rain continued to pour around them, the world fading into a blur as Geralt's focus zeroed in on Maja. Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with his. The proximity, the intensity of the moment, it all surged through him like a shot of adrenaline. Something about it felt strange, almost unnatural.

“Maja…” he started, his voice low and rough. Her name felt like a prayer on his tongue, an invocation of something deep and ancient. He could see the confusion and fear in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something that mirrored the turmoil within him.

Their breaths mingled, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still once again. Geralt’s gloved thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a stray droplet of rain. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, and he found himself leaning in, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“We need to get out of here,” he added, sternly this time.

She nodded, her hand tightening around his forearm. The connection between them was palpable, a current of unspoken understanding and shared resolve that felt like an inexplicable spell; ecstatic, but otherwordly. He withdrew with a grunt, attempting to shake the strange feeling off.

Without another word, Geralt shrugged off his thick cloak and draped it over the woman’s shoulders, the heavy fabric cascading softly down her frame. The woman looked up at him, gratitude flickering in her eyes as she raised the hood over her head.

“Let’s go,” he urged, gently guiding her towards Roach. He undid the skillful fastening of the reigns against the pole and trailed ahead, feeling the woman’s presence just beside him.

The rain pounded down on them feverishly as they walked through the storm. Most of the crowd had dispersed by now, except an unlucky few stuck fixing the cracked stalls resulting from the sudden ambush from before, grunting as their hair became damp with the downpour.

Geralt remained silent in this voyage, his thoughts a whirlwind of the strange events as they crossed the plaza and made their way towards the tavern, thunder roaring wildly above them. In those moments, he could feel his companion’s body draw momentarily closer to him, her hands grazing unsurely at his side.

As they approached the tavern's entrance, Geralt adjusted his grip on the reigns. He turned towards Maja and issued a small, polite bow. “Thank you for the lead. I’ll make sure to take care of your… monster problem. Farewell.”

The woman curtsied back with a smile, yet it quickly shifted into a solemn, anticipating expression. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as she leaned in to grab his hand with two of her own. The contact made Geralt flinch, eyes narrowing instinctively at the touch.

“I’d like you to stay,” she began assertively, eyes shining with determination as she sandwiched the witcher’s gloved hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Her nimble hands felt strangely sturdy around his fingers. “Please, Geralt. You’ve shown me more kindness than I had ever expected, so it’s only right for me to return the favor. Come in, take a bath. Get warm. I’ll make us supper, if you like.”

Geralt studied her face, weighing her rare sincerity against his instinct to keep moving. Staying in one place always brought complications.

The rain was relentless, soaking them both to the bone, and the warmth of the tavern seemed increasingly appealing. The thought of a hot meal and a bath felt like a rare luxury nowadays.

“Alright,” he said finally, nodding.

Maja smiled, quickly getting to work and hitching Roach to the familiar wooden post. Geralt watched silently, noting the agility and apparent experience in her motions.

Once finished, she grabbed his arm again, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Come on, then! You smell like a wet mutt!” she said, yet her tone bared no hint of malice or teasing.

Geralt chuckled at the remark, the comfortable warmth of the tavern seeping into his bones as they finally stepped inside. The door behind them closed with a loud thud, drowned out by the music and chatter inside. “That’s no way to treat a guest,” he replied curtly.

“A very apprehensive guest,” she muttered, pulling him inside. The tavern’s interior was bustling with activity as usual for this time of day, patrons singing and laughing, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and ale. The bard currently performing seemed to be the same flaxen-haired woman as the day before, this time dressed in an intricate suit of purple and green.

“Maja! Our Majeczka!” came a voice from their left, making Geralt’s gaze drop to the stout, bearded man sitting amongst a crowd of similarly dressed patrons.

“Evening, everyone. Martijn, Jannick,” Maja replied cheerfully, giving the group a polite nod. “Just passing through.”

One of the guests sitting at the table, a tall man with a scarred face, leaned forward, leering at her. “Got yourself a new man, have you, girl? Bet you forgot all about us!” he teased, earning a round of guttural laughter from his friends.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed apprehensively, but Maja merely smiled, placing a hand on the scarred man’s shoulder. “Just a guest,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “Be nice, guys.”

Another man, younger and with a head full of unkempt hair, snorted. “Don’t see many witchers around here. Hope he’s not here to cause trouble.”

“Only if trouble finds me first,” Geralt replied calmly, his voice carrying a warning, subtext-filled tone that seemed to quiet the group down momentarily.

“Trouble, eh?” Martijn chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just keep your trouble away from our drinks, witcher. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Jannick, the scarred man, leaned back in his chair, still eyeing Maja. “You sure you’re just passing through, Majeczka? We’ve missed having you around. Thought maybe you’d be staying a bit longer this time, you know. Keep us company a while.”

Maja’s smile remained splayed across her face. “I’ll be right with you once I’m done with this one. You boys behave yourselves, alright?” she replied with a chuckle, motioning towards Geralt.

“Always do,” Jannick grinned, raising his mug in a mock salute. “You take good care of our girl, witcher. Wouldn’t want her getting broken.”

Geralt glanced at Maja in question, and she responded with a pleading gaze. Her hand squeezed his, urging them to continue.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” he said, meeting Jannick’s gaze with a steady look before heading on, following his companion’s steps.

As they turned the corner, Geralt watched Martijn raise his hand abruptly and give the woman’s arse a hefty, reverberating slap. She squealed tightly at the motion, her body tensing as the men proceeded to burst into ravenous laughter at her upset reaction.

Geralt tensed, sneering at the sudden physicality, swiftly striding towards the scarred man and preparing to give him a piece of his mind. Just as he raised his arm to swing, he felt a gentle touch of Maja’s hand against his chest.

“Geralt,” she muttered, gaze sharp and boring into his face. The air around her stilled suddenly, eyebrows high on her forehead as they exchanged challenging glances. He could sense the men beside them halt, watching the commotion unravel. “Don’t. Please.”

The witcher clenched his jaw tightly, muscles taut with the urge to strike at the rowdy patron. He met her gaze, seeing the unspoken plea in her eyes. With a deep breath, he lowered his arm, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He hummed calmly, yet his gaze betrayed his faux demeanor by shooting an ice-cold look toward the two men. They cowered slightly, yet the smiles remained on their reddened faces.

“Thank you,” Maja muttered quietly, eyes filled with gratitude as they walked towards the staircase. As they reached the balustrade, the laughter and jeers from the patrons followed.

“Mighty witcher, got him wrapped around her little lady finger!” one of them called out, causing another round of laughter.

Despite the comments, the pair urged on. Geralt could sense his companion’s pace quicken as she fled up the stairs, skirt flailing with her speed. The man followed promptly, tailgating the girl as she led him up a ladder hidden at the dead end of a corridor.

As they climbed their way up, the air began to feel thick with a familiar scent. Lavender and vanilla… but perhaps it was honey? The smell weaved around Geralt, enveloping him with a comforting, sweet fragrance that made the witcher hum thoughtfully. It felt sentimental, somehow.

The attic room was lined with shelves overflowing with jars and pouches of dried herbs, each labeled meticulously with elegant handwriting. Bundles of drying flowers hung from the rafters, casting a range of intricate shadows on the wooden floor below.

Books, weathered and well-loved, were stacked in precarious piles across a large oak table that dominated the center of the room. Some lay open, their pages yellowed with age, revealing intricate diagrams and notes scribbled in faded ink.

An unlit candle stood sentinel among the tomes, which Maja approached promptly, stumbling over some of the open books with a quiet gasp.

The room was dark, lit only through the presence of a round, glass window peering into the outside world and giving the two a glimpse into the heaving storm. Below it stood an unpolished desk stacked with stray pieces of paper and a clay mug, paired with a matching chair.

With a hum, Geralt took a seat in silence. His arms crossed as he watched the woman work at a box of matches.

“Thank you for respecting my wishes down there,” she said quietly, her back to him as she busied herself with lighting the candle. “They’re harmless, really. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“They shouldn’t treat you like that,” Geralt replied, his voice still tinged with irritation at the patrons and Maja’s haphazard way of managing them.

“I’ve dealt with worse, and I’m sure you have, too,” the woman said solemnly, turning to face the man with a small, tired smile. “Don’t look at me like that, Geralt. I don’t take their disrespect lightly, that much you need to know. But you must understand… I don’t wish to anger them. The life of a barmaid is a humble one. I don’t make much coin, and what I do make often gets privately cut by my supervisor. These people’s drunk foolishness and their bottomless pockets might just help me find a better life for myself, if not now or tomorrow, then one day.”

Geralt remained silent, gaze insistent on holding Maja’s as she spilled her heart out to him. He couldn’t say much, not out of disregard, but a lack of words. Their lives differed drastically, and giving advice seemed like a fruitless effort.

“And I’ve said too much again. Forgive me, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to unravel myself like this,” she chuckled, the warmth returning to her voice as it did to the room. The candle’s gentle flame rose, casting a soft, golden light onto the walls. “I want to know more about you. Tell me then, why are you here?”

Geralt dropped his gaze, arms squeezing over his chest as his mind pictured a vague image of a flaxen-haired woman. Her green eyes narrowed with a smile that mimicked Geralt’s, yet he made it falter soon after.

“I’m looking for someone important to me,” he spoke softly, bringing his eyes back to Maja’s. Her frame seemed to glow in the soft candlelight, eyes reflecting in shades of liquid gold as she smiled kindly at him, empathizing.

“Family?” the woman questioned softly.

“Not exactly, but close enough. She’s like a daughter to me,” he spoke, words tinged with a potent mixture of longing and determination. He settled into the chair, the flickering flame casting shadows that danced across his weathered face.

Maja stepped forward, kneeling in front of the witcher with a gentle smile. "Someone like a daughter... That's a strong bond," she remarked softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a well-worn book on the floor between them. "You must care for her deeply."

"And you're here, risking your life to find her," Maja observed, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. "That says a lot about you, Geralt."

He nodded again, the lines of his face softening ever so slightly in the warm glow of the candle. "It's what I do," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet resolve.

Maja reached out, her hand covering his briefly in a gesture of comfort. "You're doing what you feel is right," she assured him softly. "And that's more than most."

Geralt nodded, his eyes distant as memories flickered behind them. "She turned out to be... special. More than I could have imagined," he admitted quietly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability in the way it shook. “Strong, too. I wonder how much she’s changed.”

“She sounds wonderful,” the woman replied tactfully, reaching a hand towards the witcher but faltering momentarily. She withdrew, gaze dropping. “Maybe I could meet her one day?”

Geralt’s eyes broadened at the suggestion, yet his body remained lax. Suddenly, he could imagine an instance where the two girls made friends. It was a vague and hazy thought, yet the idea made the man chuckle. “I think you two could get along,” he replied, legs relaxing and falling to the sides. “You both have a stubborn streak.”

Maja's smile widened, a mild laugh escaping her lips. "Stubborn can be a good thing," she remarked lightly, her eyes meeting Geralt's with a warmth that mirrored the candlelight surrounding them. "It sounds like she's lucky to have you looking out for her."

Geralt nodded in silent acknowledgment, appreciative of the girl’s words. He took a moment to take in the air, allowing the gentle fragrance to ease his nerves.

“Is there anyone looking out for you? Family, lover?” he asked suddenly, tone flat yet his eyes reflected a genuine interest. He had realised the two knew nothing about each other, and yet were sharing tender conversation in the intimate setting of a hearth. Regardless, he awaited a response.

"Someone looking out for me?" She sighed softly, her gaze drifting momentarily to the dancing flames before meeting Geralt's eyes again. "Yes, well... I do. But it's complicated."

Geralt nodded in a comfortable silence, sensing the weight behind her words. He hummed slightly, acknowledging her response without pressing further.

Maja shifted her body weight, the corners of her lips curling into a small, rueful smile. "You know," she began softly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness to lighten the moment, "You should ask me again under better circumstances… perhaps after an ale."

Geralt's lips quirked in response, a rare hint of amusement crossing his stoic expression. "An ale, huh?" he mused, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of warmth. "I'll keep that in mind."

With another chuckle, Maja rose gracefully from her position, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. "Alright. Now, how about that bath?" she suggested lightly, her tone shifting as she moved towards a small door leading to an adjoining room. Her head turned to face the witcher one last time. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?” she giggled playfully and swiftly disappeared into the darkness ahead.

As Geralt watched the woman go, a flicker of admiration and curiosity brewed within his gut. He settled back against the wall with a sigh, allowing himself a moment of solitude to reflect on the unexpectedly inward conversation.

The storm continued to rage outside, and Geralt could hear the gentle sound of pouring water in the room over. He closed his eyes, allowing the ambiance to soothe his thoughts, meditating silently until he heard a soft, muffled singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words of it, but its rhythm felt solemn and strangely familiar.

As he let himself sink into the brief, comforting feeling of the moment, the singing abruptly stopped, followed by the sound of the doorway opening up again.

“Geralt,” his companion spoke soothingly, trying to get his attention yet staying careful as to leave his rest undisturbed. “Your bath is ready.”

The witcher nodded, promptly standing up and catching a glimpse of the woman’s flushed cheeks. As he approached, a warm, steamy current enveloped his tired face.

“Follow me,” Maja invited him with a smile, gesturing to come in. As he did, the air turned hot and stuffy. He skimmed around the small room, noting how similar it was to the first one, save for the books and journals.

Lines of herbs littered the ceiling, giving the sizzling air a soothing fragrance. In the center of the room stood a considerable wooden bathtub, its flanks polished smooth from years of use. The atmosphere had been prepared meticulously, water steaming deliciously as a fresh set of towels lay on a small stool to the side.

"Thank you," he declared sincerely, turning to meet her gaze. Her skin had grown slick from the moisture, and she puffed gently as she grinned.

“Least I can do for you,” she shrugged politely, curtsying as she headed for the main room. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be reading in the room over.”

Geralt nodded. The temperature had made his current getup uncomfortable, and so his hands had already begun toying with the clasp of his leather belt.

As he watched the door close, he sensed a rush of adrenaline surging through his body. In a point of weakness, his hand extended towards the girl.

“Share it with me,” he uttered assertively, just in time to glimpse the doorway stop, then swing back open, revealing a puzzled face and creased eyebrows.

“Share with you?” she questioned, cruising over to reveal her full body. Her hand glided off the doorknob slowly as she awaited an explanation.

“The bath. Share it with me,” the witcher replied promptly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the woman’s face for a hint of apprehension or rejection.

Yet, it never came. Her bewildered expression gradually shifted into one resembling gratitude and… mischief. Her eyebrows softened, eyes half-lidded as her lips curled into a muted smile. “You want to bathe together?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at her figurative remark, continuing to finger at his belt and finally feeling it come loose. He could sense Maja eyeing his midriff, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the shamelessness and the wideness of her eyes.

“I enjoyed our conversation, and wish to continue it,” he explained matter-of-factly, fingers trailing up to his breastplate. He began to work at the buttons there, skillfully undoing the intricate ties and letting the armor fall to his feet. “So, bathe with me.”

Maja hummed at the scene, taking a testing step forward whilst maintaining feverish eye contact with the witcher’s armorless torso. He felt so unspeakably light now, unburdened from the weight of his protection. He nodded at her, slowly tugging at the dark linen shirt dressing his toned body.

“So, so, outrageous, witcher,” Maja chuckled playfully, taking a long stride towards him. She gave him a lingering look as she passed, eyeing the soft trail of white lining his strong lower belly as he stretched to discard the shirt into a nearby corner. The woman chuckled, and his gaze followed her movements as she quickly disappeared behind an intricate partition separating the bath from the far side of the room. “Don’t you feel indecent, undressing like this in front of a lady?” she smiled, tone laced with slight sheepishness.

Geralt chuckled warmly, watching as the girl’s silhouette moved behind the thin, half-opaque part of the screen. She arched her back, grabbing at the clasps to her corset and undoing it promptly before he heard it drop to the floor, eyes insisting on her form. Next, she worked at her skirts, skillfully unbuttoning the back and letting them fall to the ground with a quiet thud. She was now left in her undergarments, the bouffant textile revealing less and less to the imagination.

“I could say the same for you,” Geralt retorted, mimicking the shadowy figure by sliding down the rim of his pants and codpiece. He sighed airily at the lack of constraints around his body, allowing the steam to nip gently at the exposed skin.

Maja laughed in return, her figure turning to face him. Somehow, even through the thick partition, he could feel her warm, challenging gaze scouting down his sweat-slick body.

“I feel like you’re looking at me, witcher,” she commented quietly, pausing to play with the elastic waistband of her bloomers.

“And how could you tell?” he questioned, hovering his gaze over the spot he assumed her eyes to be in.

She made a quick, incomprehensible sound at the response, something between a chuckle and a sigh. The fingers under her waistband lifted suddenly, soft fabric dropping to the ground.

Geralt observed the shape of her hips, the delectable way they curved at the widest point, then dipped. For a split second, he wondered how soft her thighs could feel beneath his rough palms.

“Intuition,” she responded at last, voice smooth and confident as her brasserie finally came undone.

Geralt followed suit, removing his own undergarments in an unusually slow matter. In a way, he wanted to savor the feeling of brief vulnerability, both physical and emotional.

He came forward, stepping into the bath cautiously and letting the heat envelop him. The warmth spread from his digits, up to his legs, and finally lapped up against his chest as he submerged.

On cue with the quiet splashing, he witnessed Maja shift behind the partition. “Close your eyes, okay?”

The man abided in a heartbeat, lids shutting tight as he adjusted his arms on either side of the tub, pecs flexing with the stretch.

He heard her soft, wet footsteps tapping against the wooden floorboards, approaching slowly and cautiously. The ambiguous darkness in front of him gave birth to a fuzzy image of the doe, its hooves prancing against the soft moss of the forest floor.

“Don’t peak,” she added through a grin, and the thought alone made Geralt’s eyes shift behind his lids. Regardless, he persevered.

Soon enough, he felt a small current splash against his chest, paired with the proximity of his companion entering the bath.

Once his eyes fluttered open, he watched the water ripple around her nude body. The woman’s skin looked soft to the touch, yet was littered with numerous scratches and bruises. They trailed along her arms and chest, or at least as far as his eyes could reach beneath the water’s sudsy surface.

Geralt readjusted his sitting, leaning comfortably against the edge of the tub. He noted the distance between them, far enough to keep their bodies apart yet close enough for the witcher to gauge the sparkle in the woman’s eyes.

He glanced down her body and watched her smooth her hand over the crystal clear surface, digits brushing over some greenery he had failed to notice before— eucalyptus and calendula. Their scents mingled, creating a soothing, thick atmosphere in the air between them. He reached out, brushing a petal aside with his fingers. “You know your herbs,” he commented, glancing up at Maja. “These aren’t just for show.”

The girl smiled softly, a touch of pride in her eyes. “Herbs have their uses beyond potions and poisons. A good bath, tea, or ointment can heal the mind as much as the body.”

He nodded at her small wisdom, nipping at the small, yellow flowers with his fingertips. “You said you knew Miroslav,” he observed, his tone suddenly stiffening at the recollection. “And a lot better than you initially let on.”

Maja’s expression grew thoughtful, a glint of sentiment clouding her half-lidded gaze. “Miro… is someone important to me. My childhood was complicated, or rather… became complicated at some point. He and his wife, they took me in, no questions asked. Nurtured me, helped me stand on my own… protect myself, make a living. I owe them a lot, including what I know now,” she said, her voice softer. “He’s my own Ciri.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the subtle undercurrent in her tone. Despite the limited information on Maja’s part, the subtle comparison to Ciri made Geralt’s lips tighten solemnly, a hum escaping his throat as he regarded his next words carefully. “He seemed worried about you.”

Maja looked away swiftly, her fingers playing with a strand of wet hair that cascaded down her shoulder. “Yes, he worries about me often. It’s nothing serious, I just…” she began, eyes darting around the room and landing on the window. She breathed in deeply.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued at the sudden quiet. “Just what?” he prompted, leaning his body forward as a learned intimidation tactic. He didn’t feel it was appropriate in the situation, yet his habits betrayed him.

Maja sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she allowed her eyes to connect with Geralt’s again. “The killings in the forest, that monster… they’re worried for me, that’s all. And I don’t blame them one bit, every one of us has been on edge recently… nobody knows what’s lurking out there, or perhaps they’re just too scared to find out.”

Geralt stayed silent through the woman’s monologue, allowing her to reveal the information bit by bit.

Maja’s fingers stilled in the water, her expression becoming guarded. “There’s a lot of history to this land… a lot of needless suffering that happened in these woods. It’s not something anyone can take back, but… I think there’s a reason for what’s been happening.”

“You’re being cautious,” Geralt replied lowly, studying the woman’s face closely. He noted the subtle rise of her eyebrows at his unusual sternness and so decided to lean in closer. He felt his hand brush against Maja’s nude calf, and she flinched at the soft physicality. He didn’t withdraw.

“Anything you can tell me might be useful,” Geralt pressed gently. “Even the smallest hint could make a difference.”

Maja hesitated, her gaze dropping to the swirling water below. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the vibrant glow of her slick skin. She traced a finger along the edge of the bathtub, thoughts seemingly lost in turbulent depths.

“There are… stories,” Maja began slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “About something ancient that roams this land. Some call it a pulse point, a powerful epicenter of some sort.”

Geralt nodded thoughtfully, absorbing her words. “Do you believe these killings are connected to that?”

Maja hesitated again, her lips forming a thin line. “I… I don’t know, Geralt,” she admitted reluctantly. "People have always been unkind to that which they perceive as different."

The witcher stiffened at her words, eyes widening slightly and taking in the woman’s somber expression. Somehow, it felt like there was a sentiment in her language, the way she frowned, how the candlelight illuminated her pronounced nose and soft brow ridge.

“And yet it’s something that has never discouraged you before,” he began quietly, crossing his arms over his legs, attempting to close the gap between them.

“It’s complicated,” Maja replied hastily, rubbing at her arm. “But I bet you’d understand. How does it feel, Geralt? Being a witcher?”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. He had thought about this question often, staring at the night sky for hours until a glint of explanation manifested, anything to satiate his search for identity; alas, it never appeared as expected. “It feels like an urge. A calling,” he began slowly, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of solemn memories and lost lives. “It’s about survival, strength, a sense of duty. But it’s also about choice— choosing to protect those who can’t protect themselves, even when they despise you for what you are.”

Maja listened intently, her eyes searching his face as if trying to unravel the layers of stoicism and strength he wore like armor. “It sounds lonely,” she remarked softly, almost to herself.

“It can be,” Geralt admitted, his gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight dancing on the water’s surface. “But every once in a while, you meet someone who reminds you why you keep going.”

She met his eyes then, her expression softening. “Like Ciri.”

Geralt nodded, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Like Ciri.”

Maja nodded, pondering the connection. “The way you speak about her… it’s admirable. You might have a tough shell, but I bet there’s a soft heart somewhere in the depths of your chest.” she ventured gently.

Geralt regarded her with surprise, eyes widening at the heartfelt comment. He sighed softly, allowing her words to wash over him in a moment of silence.

Maja met Geralt's eyes again, her expression thoughtful. She raked a hand through her dampened hair, body sinking deeper into the water. “When will you depart?” she asked gently, “Posada, that is.”

Geralt considered her question, his gaze drifting to the vague outline of the woman’s thighs gliding beneath the glassy tile of water. “It’s not a question I can answer easily,” he confessed, “There are still things I must attend to here. It’s what fate had in store for me, and so I must honor it.”

“And where will it lead you next?” Maja pressed softly, her eyes probing.

Geralt shrugged narrowly, an unsightly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Here, for now,” he replied. “The Path is a cryptic code with no set rules or requirements, no moral compass or direction. Wherever it takes me, so mote it be.”

The woman nodded gently, allowing her arm to swim silently across the space separating them. She let it slide across his forearm, dipping down to brush at his battered knuckles. “You’re welcome here,” she said sincerely, voice tinged with warmth. “As long as you need.”

“Appreciate it,” Geralt murmured, yet his yearning digits betrayed the nonchalance of his tone. He let the woman explore his palm, feeling her fingertips graze at his rough skin and caress the countless scars there.

He felt it again— the sweet, palliative aroma of lavender and honey. It churned in his nose, sending paroxysms of euphoria throughout his body and sending him into a bizarre overdrive. His fists clenched as he attempted to wash the feeling away, rasping under his breath at the intensity of the sensation.

Suddenly, the woman leaned in. The water rippled in waves as her legs repositioned, allowing her leverage and better control over her stirs.

“Geralt,” she chanted quietly, soft breasts peeking out of the water as she rose on her knees. The witcher observed, hopelessly entranced by the smooth, slick skin and the rouge peaks of her nipples as they emerged from beneath the surface. The sky outside roared, and in the heat of the moment, Geralt uncovered an aching to reach out and touch her skin, feel the warmth of it, caress at the curves of her body.

“What is this?” he questioned through gritting teeth, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he navigated the strange intoxication flowing through his body. “This smell—”

“Lavender and honey,” they said in unison, voices echoing in a remarkable, reverberating symphony that echoed within the witcher’s drunken mind.

The woman stopped, her hand entwined in Geralt’s larger one as they exchanged gazes. He felt stuck in place and time, watching her pupils dilate into two black discs. The witcher inhaled sharply, letting a barely audible grunt sneak past his parted lips, harmonizing with the strong patter of rain outside.

Suddenly, thunder struck down with the blinding glow of nearby lightning. The sound pulsated within the atmosphere, weaving into the tantric air, making his companion flinch with a loud yelp and momentarily clearing the witcher’s murky vision. He stiffened, hand tensing around Maja’s before she slowly sunk into the water again, withdrawing from his fervent grip. She gazed at him, eyes sparkling as he rubbed at the lingering feeling of her extracted touch.

Geralt blinked rapidly, adjusting his body and squeezing at his palms. He sighed, head shaking gently as he tried to recalibrate, his confusion briefly overshadowed by his companion’s harsh reaction. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, voice subdued yet somewhat dismayed. “Just a storm.”

Maja nodded, her breath still hastened as she took in the reassuring sight of Geralt’s sturdy form. She exhaled loudly, trying to rescue her composure, and offered him a faint smile tinged with gratitude.

“Just a storm,” she nodded along, body sliding downwards and allowing her head to submerge fully. She lingered there, long hair floating beneath the surface like a bundle of dark sea kelp, matching the gentle ebb and flow of their bath.

Surfacing, she let her hair cascade down her shoulders in shiny ribbons, quickly brushing it back with stray droplets shimmering in the candlelight. Geralt’s lips twitched in a dry chuckle. “Any better under there?”

“Much,” the woman answered quietly, tilting her head and beaming softly. They sat in a restful silence, the woman beginning to gently brush her calf against his and watching for a reaction. He held her gaze, staying put and abiding by the physicality, watching her benevolent gaze falter to gloom. She withdrew momentarily, splashing at the water.

“I’ll get the sheets ready,” she declared politely, shifting her arms to get out of the bath. Her eyes suddenly met his, and she quirked an eyebrow. “Eyes closed now.”

Geralt tilted his head quizzically, yet the woman’s increasingly stony expression urged him to comply. He felt a gentle splash followed by gentle, quiet trickling as the girl made it out of the wooden tub. Suddenly, against his better judgment, Geralt’s eyes fluttered open, just enough to catch a subtle glimpse of his companion’s backside.

The witcher gazed down her shoulders, watching them flex and release as she squeezed her hair dry. The grove of her spine descended a slick slope, smooth skin harboring a constellation of scattered moles. He hummed, taking note of the two dimples decorating her lower back, and finally reaching the soft flesh of her ass. He stared for a while, admiring, feeling like a hungry wolf watching his delicate prey pasture in a field. He grunted quietly at the unchaste thought, deciding to shut his eyes again in a moment of foreboding clarity.

He heard some shuffling, stomping around, a grunt or two, and finally a gentle voice. “Okay, you can look now.”

His eyes reopened, no hint of mischief in their glassy surface. The woman appeared before him, dressed in a large, linen slip. The white cloth bared irregular patches of wetness scattered across its surface, making Geralt suppose she dressed in a hurry; perhaps as a habit.

“I’ll get everything ready for you. Relax and enjoy the water while it’s still hot, okay?” she giggled warmly, flashing the man a giddy smile. He nodded in understanding, leaning back against the bath’s flank.

For a split second, Maja hesitated. She stood in place, doorknob in hand, yet refusing to twist. She gazed over Geralt’s exposed chest, across his strong arms, and down the faint outlines present beneath the suds. Her face glowed in the soft lights, casting a soft shade of pink across her nose, temples, and cheeks.

“Thank you,” his companion started loudly, wincing at her own shrill. She cleared her throat to recompose herself, beginning again. “For listening. I haven’t said so much in one sitting in a long, long time.” she giggled.

The witcher’s lips parted to speak, but before he could utter a word, the woman shot him a reassuring grin and disappeared behind the door. The man sighed, taking in the sudden silence, or what felt like a silence. The storm continued to rage outside, intermitted by soft sloshing and Geralt’s steady breathing.

He shut his eyes and sighed meditatively, enjoying the warm bath and gentle kindness of a stranger for just a second longer, or at least for as long as the night allowed. He thought about the deer, the journal in the woods, Miroslav, Maja… the memories of that day flashed behind his eyes like a storybook, making him sigh in exasperation. He thought of her soft breasts and the way they bounced with her subtle movements, her plump thighs and delicate waist, ideal for sinking his palms into…

Geralt grunted softly. Unbeknownst to him, his hand had begun dipping down his stomach and trailing along the soft patch of flaxen. He stroked that area, humming quietly as his digits passed down a pulse point, feeling the mild, rhythmic pumping of his blood.

The witcher flexed his back, adjusting for comfort and letting his hand slide lower. As he reached the base, he let out a soft moan escape his throat. The gentle pressure made him shiver, a strong inflow of blood causing him to engorge against his palm. He pressed at the soft flesh of his cock, feeling it pulsate rhythmically to the beat of his heart.

Thunder crashed, and his mind flooded with images of her bare ass. He furrowed his eyebrows at the lewd picture, surprised at its immense clarity within his memory. With a soft pull, he began working at his thick length, remembering the shallow dimples on her lower back. Each stroke elicited the softest of grunts from him, progressively quickening the pleasurable motion.

He thought about her voice. With every pull, he imagined hearing her chant his name, moan, and mewl in pleasure as he pounded into her with a vigor he was certain she hadn’t experienced before.

His hand grew into a fist, lips a tight line as he pumped his cock. Eyes half-lidded, he glanced over at the doorway where he last saw her leave. The memory of aromatic lavender and sweet, sticky honey enveloped his senses, hand gliding smoothly against the hardness of his length at the intoxicating thought of the fragrance.

Geralt could feel himself reaching his limit. His lips fell apart, teeth clenched tight while his hand stroked rhythmically, picking up the pace and pressure. He could feel his cock throbbing between his digits, gently enveloped by the warm water current that only elevated the fierce affair.

“Fuck…” he called out breathlessly, head rolling back to hit the brim of the bathtub. He bucked his hips into his open hand, picking up a rough, animalistic rhythm. He fucked into the hole, eyes closed to let his mind roam where it wanted to be most at the moment. He imagined grabbing her soft thigh, squeezing at its soft flesh and pounding, fucking, ramming—

“Gods, fuck—” he hissed suddenly, feeling the tension brewing inside his stomach, extending rapidly throughout his lower body and spine, bucking his tired hips one last time until… he went over the edge. With a tremor in his hand, he felt his entire being come undone as his hot seed spilled into the bath, mixing with the salty beads of sweat cascading down his flexed muscles.

The witcher breathed heavily at the comedown, whispering quiet praises into the humid air that reached nobody but the silent flames of candlelight. With a gentle sigh, he felt a wave of primal ecstasy and relaxation wash over his strained body, soaking his skin with sparks of electricity.

Then, there was silence. The man’s heaving calmed, and before long, he felt a strange longing brewing in his stomach. In one instance, he began scooping water over his flaxen hair, letting it dampen and soak.

Once he was done, he withdrew from the warm comforts of the bath and faced the inevitable, unforgiving chill of the attic. He stood there, watching the soapy water cascade down his heated body, and considered his companion. It was a peculiar feeling, an elaborate blend of culpability and interest as he evaluated his prior acts. Despite his fiendish looks and capabilities, even witchers craved the mortal touch of a warm woman.

Exiting the bath felt like a necessary evil as the cool breeze began seeping through the half-open window. Geralt huffed as he wrapped a towel around his waist, quickly enrobing himself in a simple linen shirt and pants. Once done draining the water and drying off properly, he slowly made his way through the elusive doorway to the other room.

The scent of autumn rain and thunderstorms hit his nose immediately. A soft, palpable freshness of the soil that soothed his senses and lulled him into oblivion within seconds.

Taking another step forward, he noticed the dimness of the room. The stray candle had been put out, instead replaced by a burnt-out yet still fragrant stick of incense that clouded the room in a cozy, aromatic haze.

His eyes glanced around the perimeter, taking note of how much neater the space looked. The stray books littering the floor were now perched neatly on top of each other, while the sheepskin rug lay flattened next to the bed.

Curiously, on it lay his companion.

Her soft, damp hair cascaded down an intricately embroidered quilt, her limp body cocooned safely within its warmth. The bed next to her had been carefully made, complete with a fresh set of clean linen and a soft, inviting pillow.

Geralt couldn’t help but sigh at the peaceful scenery. He walked over quietly, making sure to keep the woman’s peace undisturbed. He crouched down, letting the soft, airy groans of the girl fill his body with warmth and comfort. She was sound asleep, tucked in like a baby lamb.

Without hesitation, he placed a slow, secure hand under the woman’s back and knees. Effortlessly, he lifted her off the sheepskin, feeling her weight sink into his strong arms.

Her skin felt searing, and so, so satiny after the long bath they had taken together. He glanced at her face, admiring the placid, sheer expression on her tired face. In the soft glow of the night, she seemed to be smiling.

After a prolonged beat, Geralt rose and took a step towards the made bed. He unraveled the fresh sheets and gently pressed the woman’s body into the mattress. She sighed at the motion, yet her eyes remained shut. She shuffled around, finding a comfortable position on her back and quickly pulling the covers up to her chin.

He leaned in, placing a gentle hand against her covered shoulder. She sighed at the touch, eyebrows softening instantaneously. Geralt chuckled gently, lingering for a moment, yet finally deciding to withdraw. He gazed upon Maja’s face for a while, picking at the moles and imperfections littering her skin, up until her body shifted to face the wall. Her hair flowed gently down her back, gliding like shining ribbons upon the soft quilt.

With a soft sigh, he finally withdrew from her sleeping form. He sat on the sheepskin carpet, allowing his body to relax against the hard, wooden floor. After many decades of similar, if not worse, conditions, it was something he had grown used to.

With a guttural groan, he stretched out his limbs, letting them fall naturally to his sides. He twisted to the flank, leaning against his forearm and catching yet another peek of his sleeping companion.

Maja had curled in her sleep once more, this time facing him fully. He skimmed her features for a while, counting the tiny moles resting upon her cheeks and forehead that spread across her face like a small galaxy. As he continued, the soft buzz of rain lulled his mind to a quiet rest. His eyes gradually closed, eyebrows came lax, and ultimately, the last memory of that day was the delicate scent of lavender and honey mingled with her gentle smile bidding him goodnight as he fell into sweet oblivion.

—

Deep into that faithful night, whenever thunder would strike the small town of Posada, Geralt would feel the delicate embrace of a woman’s hand as it caressed the scars of his own.

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