#And this is just a short collection of their mother and son moments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avastrasposts · 3 months

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A Baker's Dozen - Twelve

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Series Master List

The final Pedro boy is coming to the bakery. Twelve weeks, twelve Pedro Pascal characters and one very lucky baker girl!

Thank you all so much for your comments, reblogs and love for this slightly unusual series of short stories. I've loved writing them and I've loved reading all your comments on the chapters. The love you've shown these boys, especially some of the ones that don't always get that much attention (I'm looking at you Pero...) is heart warming and really makes me as mushy as Marcus's chocolate fondant.

So...I think you can guess who the twelfth and final boy is 🥰🥰🥰

Your Sunday morning rush is just dying down as you see Mrs Levinson come through the door. As you watch, she turns and waves someone into the shop, and you catch a glimpse of a tall man in a baseball cap and aviators, before your next customer steps up and you turn to greet them.

You glance over at Mrs Levinson at intervals, she’s chatting to the man while waiting her turn and he’s got his back to you. As you watch, he shrugs, making an apologetic gesture with his hands and starts walking towards the front door. You can’t help but giggle under your breath as Mrs Levinson’s frail old lady hand comes out at viper speed and grabs his arm, making him stop in his tracks. Even though he looks big enough to just shake her off with another shrug, he stops and turns back to her. She gives him a smug smile, and even from behind the counter, you can see the sigh that escapes him, his shoulders lifting and dropping as his hand comes up and scratches at the back of his neck.

You’re intrigued when it’s finally their turn, Mrs Levinson stepping up to the counter and giving you a delighted smile. The man with her follows just behind and glances up at you from under the peak of his cap. He looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can see his fingers twitching by his side, nervously tapping his thigh.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mrs Levinson coos, her smile bright enough to rival the sun, mischief in her eyes, “I’m so glad we caught you in the shop today.”

“Hi, Mrs Levinson, what can I get you?” you smile back at her with slight apprehension, there is something decidedly unusual in her manner today. Plus, she was in yesterday for her weekly order, you didn’t expect to see her for at least another few days.

“Oh, I think it’s about what I can get you, my dear,” she twinkles, turning and ushering forward the man behind her, the neck visible above his gray t-shirt a deep shade of pink, “This is the boy I was telling you about, Mrs Morales’s son, Francisco.”

“Frankie”, the man says immediately, quickly pulling the aviators from his eyes and looking as if he’s just waiting for you to put him out of his misery at being coerced into this by an old lady about a third of his size.

“She works too much, Francisco,” Mrs Levinson says, “I thought maybe you could do something about that,” she smiles at Frankie, who briefly closes his eyes and seems to send up silent a prayer.

Mrs Levinson pats his arm, “There now, dear boy, buy something nice for your mother. This girl really bakes the most delicious cakes, I’ll let you two get acquainted.”

With that she gives you another beaming smile, and leaves the shop, leaving you and Frankie staring at each other. You crack first, a nervous giggle erupting from inside as you realize the ridiculousness of the situation. Frankie’s eyes widen for a moment, before he cracks too, a deep wheezing laugh making his shoulders shake as he grabs hold of the counter for support.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he finally says, drawing a deep breath as you both fight back the bubbling laughter, “She’s been talking about you for weeks and when I ran into her down the block, she wouldn’t let me leave.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to her meddling, I swear she’s tried to set me up with everyone of her friend’s sons,” you smile. The man across the counter, in the thankfully empty shop, gives you a nervous smile back. He really is cute, you realize, as you look closer at him. A deep dimple in his cheek as he smiles, smile lines around his eyes and wild curls escaping the ball cap to wrap around his neck and ears.

“Well, I’ll buy something and then leave, I hope this wasn’t too weird,” he says, still looking a little nervous as he rubs the back of his neck again.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, she’s a menace,” you say, rolling your eyes and smiling at him, “And you seem like a perfectly nice man, I was expecting much worse from her to be honest.”

Frankie chuckles at that, a pleasant sound, and his dark brown eyes are warm as he tugs at his cap, the pink creeping back up his neck.

“I’m glad I've exceeded your expectations,” he says, shifting his weight on his feet, crossing his arms before he uncrosses them again and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, glancing up at you, one side of his mouth pulled in a crooked smile, “And to be honest, I wasn’t expecting much either, but I’m…uuh…you’re even prettier than she said.”

Your cheeks feel like someone lit a furnace as Frankie tilts his head, his smile widening as he sees you nervously swallow, your tongue suddenly feels too thick.

“Thanks,” you squeak, “that’s…really sweet of you to say,” a shy smile creeping across your face as you hastily rearrange the order forms on the counter before you look up at Frankie again. He’s still looking at you, a bit more confidence in his smile now, and for what feels like several minutes, but is probably only a few heartbeats, you look at each other across the counter, something starting to bubble under the surface.

Eventually Frankie clears his throat, “I should probably buy something now right? Before you think I’m even weirder than getting dragged in here by a little old lady.”

It makes you laugh, and Frankie smiles back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling again as he looks at you with something that loosens a delighted little flutter in your belly.

“She’s a very convincing little old lady,” you chuckle, “but what can I get you?”

“Uuh…I have no idea,” he fumbles, glancing across the display case and then looking up at you with a slightly desperate look, “What would you recommend?”

“For your mother?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, I think I should get her something, she always saying how good your place is,” he replies, giving you another smile, “She loves your lemon meringue pie.”

“I don't have any left today I’m afraid,” you say, “I sold them all, but I made canelés this morning. She probably hasn’t had them before, I only just started making them,” you point to the small golden brown cakes and Frankie bends his tall frame to look closer at them.

“What’s in them?” he asks, glancing up at you again and you grab one from the tray, handing it over to him.

“Vanilla and rum, try it, see if you think she’ll like it.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cake from your tongs and you can’t help but notice how his large hand seems to dwarf it before he takes a bite.

“Oh yeah…” he hums, nodding as his eyes widen, “these are amazing, I think she’d love ‘em, they’re really good,” he puts the other half in his mouth and chews with a smile. The pink tip of his tongue comes out and licks his lips as he swallows the last bite down.

“Sold,” he says with a grin, “give me eight of those, four for her, four for me.”

“Thanks, I’m so glad you like them,” you beam as you start packing his order, “they’re my new favorite and if people like them I’ll keep making them.”

“I hope you do, they’re really good,” Frankie replies, discreetly wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, catching some crumbs that have fallen into his scruffy beard, as he watches you.

“Alright, there you go,” you say and Frankie pulls his wallet from the pocket of his tan jacket, and taps his card on the machine, “And…I hope you come back, Frankie,” you give him a shy smile, “If Mrs Levinson didn’t scare you off.”

“No chance,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your skin tingle, “I’m happy she made me come.”

“You’re welcome back any day,” you reply, your cheeks burning under his soft eyes. You’re both caught staring at each other for a few seconds again, Frankie swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing as he seems to search for a reason to stay, and you’re quietly hoping he’ll find one.

“I…I should maybe get going,” he stutters eventually, taking a tentative step towards the front door, glancing down at boots, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You’re quickly starting to love the small gesture, especially when he looks back up again from under the peak of his cap and gives you another small smile, the dimple deepening in his cheek as he sees you smile in return.

“Bye, then,” he raises his hand in a wave, reaching the door and pulling it open, still smiling at you.

“Bye, Frankie,” you smile, mentally trying to stop yourself from twirling, “See you soon.”

You don’t expect him to turn up as soon as he does, but on Tuesday afternoon, when you’re busy kneading dough for cinnamon rolls, you hear the doorbell jingle. Stepping out of the kitchen you can’t help the smile that creeps up when you see him standing by the door, looking around the shop. He’s foregone the cap today, his dark chocolate curls a bit tidier around the ears but still fighting to escape whatever he’s attempted to do to contain them.

He smiles when he spots you by the kitchen door, his hand flying up to tug at his cap, forgetting it’s not there as he grabs at nothing. Fumbling he pushes his hand through his hair instead, the curls immediately escaping and creating a halo around his head.

“Hi,” he says, walking over as you take in his long legs in dark jeans, the untucked blue shirt crinkled as if he’s just tugged it out of his pants.

“Hi Frankie,” you smile back at him, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering how much of a mess you are, the kitchen is hot and the dough has been fighting you for the past ten minutes. He comes to a stop just in front of you and you can smell his cologne, the warm scent mixing with the cinnamon from behind you.

“Whatever you’re baking, it smells really good,” he says, looking over your shoulder and then back at you.

“Thanks, cinnamon rolls, the ultimate ‘good for business’ scent,” you grin, “people always buy extra when I bake them.”

“Sneaky marketing,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles and shifts his weight, “You’ve got something on your cheek, can I?” he asks, lifting his hand and you nod, wondering what the hell you managed to smear on yourself this time, “You’ve got flour right…here,” he says, his thumb gently swiping across your cheek, dusting away the smudge and leaving a warm imprint on your skin.

“Thanks, I’m always getting stuff on my face or in my hair,” you say, attempting to wipe off your apron, covered in more flour to hide your nerves at his close proximity, “I’m a messy baker.”

“It’s cute,” he replies, swiping his thumb over the spot again, slower this time, “I think I got it all.”

The oven timer beeps in the kitchen, interrupting the moment, “First batch,” you say, thumbing behind you, “I need to get them out.”

Frankie nods and leans on the door frame as you hurry back into the kitchen. The warm smell of cinnamon hits you both as you open the door and you hear Frankie inhale deeply.

“That smells incredible,” he sighs, inhaling again, “you’re clever to use that as marketing.”

You laugh and set the trays down on one of the stainless steel counters, “I need to get a fan with an exhaust out onto the street, spread this scent across the block.”

“You’d sell out in a heartbeat,” he chuckles as you go back to the dough and start rolling it out on the workbench.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asks as he watches you, “I just wanted to stop by and say that my mom loved those little cakes and wanted me to ask what they’re called. I totally forgot…” he gives you an embarrassed grin as you glance over at him with a smile.

“Canelés. And I’m glad she loved them, I’ve only got a few left but I’m making more tomorrow.”

“Canelés, I’ll try to remember that,” Frankie says, “And I’ll tell her you’ve got a fresh batch tomorrow.”

“You seem close with your mom,” you say, still working on the dough and Frankie smiles fondly.

“Yeah, we’re close. Wasn’t always like that though, I had some messy years after I got out of the army, I tried keeping everyone away. But she didn’t give up on me, hauled me back to town, helped me out a lot more than she should’ve needed too. I’m trying to pay her back for saving my life.”

You look over at him, he’s leaned his head on the door frame and gives you a little embarrassed shrug, “I’m a mama’s boy.”

“As you should be, Francisco,” you tease him, “She’s a very nice lady and one of my best customers.”

“Even before I moved back here she was telling me about your bakery,” Frankie grins, “can’t believe it took me so long to visit,” He pushes himself off from the door frame and comes over to the workbench, “Can I help out with anything, feels weird standing there doing nothing while you’re working.”

“You don’t have to do anything, Frankie, you’re just nice company,” you smile at him and he smiles back as the tips of his ears go slightly pink, his hand drifting down to the small of your back as he stands next to you. The warmth of his large hand radiates through the thin cotton of your t-shirt and sends a tingling up and down your spine.

“Come on, put me to work,” he says and your mind goes blank as he slowly moves his hand up and down your back while he waits for your reply. The small motion is so unremarkable, so ordinary, but it feels like all you need to do is turn to him and let him lead, let the comfort of his solid frame standing next to you, wrap around you like the warmth from his hand. You look up at him, letting go of the rolling pin and turning into his arms, his hand on your back sliding around your waist, curling gently to hold you.

He smiles again, tilting his head to the side as if he’s getting ready to say something, but the doorbell jingles out in the shop. Frankie leans back and peaks out, whipping his head right back in with a low curse.

“It’s my mom!” he whispers, his eyes widening as he tries to stifle his giggles, “if she sees me back here I’ll never hear the end of it!”

“Fridge,” you whisper back, matching his giggle under your breath, “stay close to the wall and she can’t see you.”

Frankie nods, his grin wide and mischievous as he hugs the wall, sliding towards the fridge as quietly as he can. You wipe your hands on the apron as you make your way out to the shop, smiling at Mrs Morales.

“Hello, Mrs Morales,” you say a bit too loudly, to hide the sound of her son opening the walk-in fridge in the kitchen, “How are things?”

“Just fine, thank you,” the gray haired lady smiles at you and you’re hit by how much Frankie looks like her, the same warm smile and deep dimple in her cheeks. “How are you, busy as ever?”

“I’m good, thanks. Business is a bit quieter after the holidays but I’m keeping busy, preparing for Valentine’s Day and then Easter,” you reply, strategically leaning on the counter so that she can’t see straight into the kitchen.

“Oh, of course, Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” she says, giving you a sly smile, “Anyone special to take you out?”

“No, no one special,” you say, trying to keep the giggle that’s bubbling up inside contained at the thought of her son hiding just a few feet away, “I’m too busy for that, especially coming up to Valentine’s Day.”

“Well…” she says, an air of false indifference to her tone, “if I run into any handsome single men, I’ll send them your way.”

“That’s really nice, Mrs Morales, but you don’t need to,” you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the grin that wants to split your face, “I’m sure someone will come by the shop and ask me out.” You hope Frankie heard that, you’re sure he’s eavesdropping with the fridge door cracked open.

“I’ll make sure they do,” his mother replies, a mischievous smile on her face so reminiscent of the one her son just gave you, before she schools her features.

“So what can I get you today?” you ask, steering the conversation away from potential dates and she scans the selection on display.

“My son Francisco brought me the most delicious little cakes on Sunday,” she smiles innocently, glancing up at you, “he said you sold them to him, he got some for himself too.”

“I remember,” you say, “I have four left but I’m making fresh ones tomorrow if you want to come by then instead?”

“Oh, you know what, that’s a great idea,” Mrs Morales beams, “I’ll send Francisco to pick them up, can I reserve ten? I’m having some friends over that I know will love them.”

You grab your order pad and nod, not trusting yourself to not giggle madly, and write down her order, carefully folding it up and placing it next to the till before you dare look up at her again.

“I’ll make sure to put aside ten canelés for you, Mrs Morales,” you smile, biting the inside of your cheek, “Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again.”

A metallic clunk is heard from the kitchen and you quickly clear your throat, “Sorry about the noise, I’ve got a repair man taking care of the fridge.”

“Such a talented girl,” Mrs Morales smiles brightly at you, “you bake all these lovely things and run your own business,” she gives you a wave and opens the front door, “I’ll be sure to send Francisco tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mrs Morales,” you wave, turning back to the kitchen as soon as the door closes behind her.

Frankie is just closing the fridge door behind himself as you come in and he looks up at you. His neck is flushed beet red, his ears the most violent shade of pink and he’s pointing an accusing finger at you as he tries to stop the grin that’s splitting his rosy face.

“She…she is bad enough,” he says, “but you, egging her on!”

“What, I was just being polite to one of my regulars,” you grin at him as he shakes his head, the same bright smile as his mom’s.

“‘Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again,’“ he says, mimicking your cheerful customer service voice as you giggle, “You know, she’ll call me the second she’s in the car, I’ll never hear the end of this until I marr- “ he coughs, cutting himself off and impossibly turning an even deeper shade of beet.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, Frankie, I was only telling the truth,” you smile at him and go back to the workbench and the cinnamon roll dough, “I am looking forward to you coming by tomorrow.”

Frankie lets a low chuckle escape as he scuffs his boots on the floor, coming to lean his back against the workbench.

“That’s so?” His ears are still a beautiful shade of pink, and his small smile while he looks at you with those deep brown eyes, makes your insides fill with excited little bubbles.

“That’s so,” you tell him as his phone starts to ring and he pulls it out of his back pocket.

“Told you she’d call me,” he laughs, showing you his phone, “I’ll sneak out the back if that’s ok?”

“Sure, avoid your mom, Francisco,” you tease him, but he just steps closer, drops a soft kiss to your cheek, and steps back with a smile.

“See you tomorrow, cariño.”

Before you can compose yourself, he’s out through the back door, giving you a final wave.

The canelés spread their vanilla and rum scent throughout the bakery the next evening, and you’ve packed up a box of ten for Mrs Morales. The only thing missing is her handsome son to pick them up. If you had to, you’d admit to yourself that you’re really, really looking forward to him coming by. As it draws near to closing time you keep checking yourself in the small mirror, glancing out at the street. Slowly you clear out the display cases and bring things into the dishwasher, and then you hear the front door bell jingle out in the shop.

You attempt a casual stroll out from the kitchen, and Frankie is by the door, giving you a warm smile. He’s just swiped the ball cap off his head, running his fingers through the unruly curls with one hand as he stuffs the cap into his back pocket with the other.

“Hey,” he says, coming over as you reach the counter, “you look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you smile back at him, glancing down at your new blouse that’s really far too nice to wear in the kitchen, “you look good too.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up into his curly hairline and then he glances down at himself like he has to check what he’s wearing.

“I do?” he asks and the disbelief in his voice makes you laugh. The faded denim shirt hugs his shoulders and he’s folded the sleeves up over his forearms, a smattering of freckles visible under the shop’s overhead lights. As he runs his palms over his chest, smoothing out the fabric you smile at him.

“Yeah, you do, that’s a really nice color on you.”

“Thanks,” he gives you a crooked smile, his ears turning pink. Watching Frankie blush is quickly becoming one of your favorite things and you’re glad to see that even the slightest compliment will get him there. His nervous little shuffle and the way the tip of his tongue comes out to lick at his lips before he glances up at you again, makes you feel giddy as you feign a need to wipe the tables and step out from behind the counter.

“I just need to finish up so that I can close, but I’ve got your mom’s order ready to go,” you say and walk around him to the first table.

“No rush,” he says, “can I help you with anything?”

“Thanks, Frankie, do you think you could bring in the sign from the street?,” you reply, pointing to the chalkboard sign, “it’s so heavy, I always hit my shins on the damn thing.”

“I could probably put some wheels on it for you.” Frankie says, pushing open the door, holding it open with one hand as he grabs the heavy sign with the other, effortlessly picking it up and moving it into the shop while you look at his casual display of strength with raised eyebrows.

“What?” he says, his forehead furrowing with worry, “Did I do it wrong?”

“It takes me two hands and a lot of grunting trying to get that thing inside without scratching the floor, and you’re acting like it weighs nothing,” you give him a mock scowl as his worried look disappears. He’s chuckling as he leans the heavy sign against the wall.

“Sorry, I’ve handled a lot of heavy backpacks in my days, this really wasn’t that much in comparison.”

“Show off,” you grumble and he dusts off his hands, still chuckling.

“You’ve got other skills, like being an incredibly talented baker,” he smiles, “I bet you can make anything, no limits.”

“As long as I’ve got a recipe, I guess,” you admit, “it’s just chemistry in the end.”

“Have you ever made alfajores?” he asks, leaning his back against the counter and crossing his arms as you start wiping down the last table, “They’re my favorites.”

“No, I’ve never made them, but I’ve tried them once, they’re really good.”

“My mom doesn’t really bake, but I know she’s got my abuela’s recipe,” he says, “if you wanna try something new. The recipe is in Spanish so you know it’s authentic,” he gives you a quick grin.

“I don’t speak Spanish, I wouldn’t be able to read it,” you say, twisting the kitchen towel in your hands as Frankie smiles at you. You’ve wiped down the last table and now you’re leaned against it, mimicking Frankie’s stance across the room.

“Didn’t you take Spanish in high school?” he asks, his dimpled cheek making your heart flutter for a few seconds before you find your voice again.

“Yeah, sure, but I remember like three or four things,” you can’t help but smile back at him, especially when you recall what phrases you remember. You can feel your cheeks heat up and he definitely picks up on it.

“You only remember the dirty words?” he winks, and you have to turn away and busy yourself with wiping down the table again as you giggle.

“No, they’re not dirty words,” you laugh, shaking out the cloth and tossing it in the back.

“So tell me then,” he grins, “I wanna hear your Spanish!”

You feel the smile on your face, threatening to take over as your cheeks heat up even more, and he looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised up towards his unruly brown curls.

“Fine…” you say finally, drawing a deep breath and recalling your high school Spanish and the lines you’d learnt from a cute exchange student in college.

“Cállate,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up even more, before he mimics zipping his lips shut and throwing away an imaginary key.

“Ven aqui,” you continue with a smile at him and he smiles back, immediately stepping across the floor and standing obediently right in front of you.

You pause and exhale slowly, he’s so close now, you can see the rich dark brown color of his eyes so clear, the woodsy smell of his body wash, or maybe it’s his aftershave, lingering in your nose, and his lips quirk up in a smile. He knows the effect he’s having on you, and he loves it.

You smile back at him, working up the courage to say the next phrase.

“Bésame.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens. He steps a little bit closer, leaning into you, and you feel the tickle of his scruffy beard as he softly touches his lips to your cheek. He lingers for a few seconds, and you dare hardly move, you can feel his warm breath on your skin. And then he pulls back, his smile softer now, his eyes darker.

“Any more phrases?” he asks, his voice low, and you nod slowly.

“Un beso más.”

“Un beso más?” he whispers, his lips already so close, and you nod again as they brush against yours.

His kiss is gentle and soft, his hands carefully coming up to curl around your waist as he bends his head to yours. The short scruff of the mustache tickles delicately against your skin as he deepens the kiss, and when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your hands finding the silky soft curls at his neck, he hums into your mouth. His hands, so warm and large, tighten their grip and pull you a little bit closer, making you curve yourself into him. He’s solid, firm, under your arms, but his mouth is soft, warm and wet when he gently nips on your bottom lip, making you open up for him. With a small moan you let him lick into your mouth, making him groan in response and pull you tight against his chest. His hand slides up from your waist, cupping your cheek, his large hand easily spanning around your neck as his thumb caresses your skin.

Minutes pass, the only sounds your combined breaths mingling, soft moans and wet lips pressed together.

After what feels like an eternity, but also not long enough by far, Frankie pulls back a little, his thumb gently brushing over your kiss swollen lips, letting you chase the pad of his thumb with a small chuckle.

“Better than I even dreamed of,” he mumbles, removing his thumb and pressing one more kiss to your lips. You hum in agreement as his tongue tangles with yours again, the need to feel more of him rising, making you curl your fingers tighter into his hair, standing on your tiptoes.

Suddenly Frankie bends his knees, dropping his hands and grabbing the back of your thighs, picking you up. You quickly wrap your legs around his narrow waist and giggle. He continues to press kisses to your lips between the bouts of laughter that bubbles up between you as he walks back to the kitchen with you hanging on like a koala.

“To many people walking past outside,” he mumbles as he puts you down on the counter, kissing you again, “with my luck Mrs Levinson will come into the shop.”

“I’d say she’d be scandalized,” you giggle, “but something tells me she was a menace when she was younger.”

“Definitely, I’d say she’s done her fair share of making out,” Frankie chuckles, taking your chin between his thumb and finger, capturing your bottom lip between his own, his nose bumping against yours as he gently nibbles on your lip, making you pull him closer with a moan.

Frankie’s hand slides up and down your back and you tangle your fingers in his hair again while he cups your cheek with the other. Several more minutes disappear as he explores every way he can pull soft moans from you with his lips close to yours.

Eventually you pull back a little and Frankie opens his eyes. His pupils are blown wide but he’s smiling as he sneaks a final kiss from you.

“You make me lose track of time, Francisco Morales,” you mumble as he tries to pull you in closer, making you giggle when he pouts, his plush bottom lip pink and shiny from the past few minutes.

“Your kisses are distracting,” he smiles, “I guess I’m keeping you from important baking chores?”

“I just need to order some things for later in the week,” you say as he steps back and pulls you off the counter.

“Don’t let me distract you any more then,” he replies, his hands sliding down over your hips, lightly grabbing at the softness, “just let me come back soon.”

“Come back anytime you want and I’ll make those alfajores for you,” you tell him, “just bring the recipe.”

He smiles at that, his hands never seizing their movements up and down your curves, “I’ll bring it and we can make it together if you want,” he replies, “My abuela used to let me help her make them.”

“I’d love that, Frankie,” you beam, “just tell me what to order,” you make him walk backwards, pushing at his wide shoulders as he chuckles, glancing behind him as you walk him towards the small office set up and your laptop.

“Well, you need manjar, that’s what she calls dulce de leche,” he says, letting go of you as you sit down. He stands next to you, one large hand splayed on the desk for support as he leans in to look at the screen, “Fuck, I’m getting old, I need reading glasses,” he grumbles, making you giggle as you stroke your finger over the gray in his beard.

“I bet you look really good in glasses, Frankie,” you smile up at him and he chuckles.

“Thanks, I need to hear that often or I’ll never wear them,” he replies and you shake your head.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” you laugh, turning back to the laptop, “So, dulce de leche, anything else I might not have?”

“Corn flour?” he says, “That’s the only ingredient my abuela would have to buy specially for them, the rest is normal baking stuff.”

“Good to know,” you say, adding the extras to your order, “We’re all set.”

“When can I come by,” Frankie asks as you stand up, following you back out to the shop.

“I’ll have the order tomorrow, so any day after closing this week works for me,” you grab Mrs Morales’s canelés and give them to Frankie.

“Does Friday work?” he asks, looking a bit shy all of a sudden, especially for a man who’s just spent the past half an hour kissing you breathless, “Only, I’d like to, I mean if you want to, I’d like to take you out for dinner afterwards. On a date, I mean, if you want too?” His ears go pink as he fumbles through the question and you take a step forward, putting both your hands on his cheeks and pulling his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose as he begins to smile.

“I’ll love to, Frankie, dinner on Friday sounds perfect.”

Halfway through closing on Friday afternoon you hear a knock on your backdoor. You’re already serving a customer so you ignore it, you’ve left the door unlocked for the delivery guy and he knows what to do. Mrs Levinson is next in line, ready to pick up her usual weekend order, and she’s looking very eager and chipper as she steps up to the counter.

“Hello, dear!” she exclaims, a bright smile on her face as she winks at you, “How’s Francisco? His mother told me she sent him here the other day for a special order.” She winks at the last word, making you blush as you try to keep your composure.

“He picked it up just fine, thanks, Mrs Levinson”, you say, praying your voice is neutral. Internally you’re picturing how the little old lady’s head would likely pop with excitement if she knew how his last visit had gone.

“Such a good looking boy, don’t you think?” she asks, and it’s very much a rhetorical question, but you nod along anyway, “Those brown eyes,” she sighs, “I tell you, if I was forty years younger….” She titters, delighted at her own joke, and you can’t help but laugh with her.

“He does have very nice eyes, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, “I’ve got your order in the back, I’ll just get it for you.”

You step into the kitchen, expecting to see the delivery guy, but instead you’re met by Frankie’s pink cheeks and big grin. He’s leaning on the doorway into your small back storage that leads to the backdoor, having clearly heard Mrs Levinson’s comments. He mouths a silent “Hi,” to you and you smile back at him, trying to stop the giggles that are threatening to bubble up. You have to pass him to get to where the orders are kept, and he quickly snakes an arm around your waist as you step into the storage room. His red plaid shirt is soft against your skin and the t-shirt underneath smells like him when you wrap your arm around him and return his hug.

“Hi,” he whispers again, his mouth close to your ear, his ever present cap bumping against your cheek, as you reach up and caress his curls at his neck quickly, before grabbing the order.

“Hi,” you whisper back, “I’ll be right back, let me just get rid of Mrs Levinson.”

He nods and presses a warm kiss to your cheek before he lets you go.

“Here you are, Mrs Levinson, your usual order,” you say as you step back into the shop, leaving Frankie hiding in the back room, “Anything else today?”

“Four canelés, dear,” she smiles sweetly, “Mrs Morales was praising them, said her son just loved them.”

“They are very nice, I’m sure you’ll love them too,” you reply, boxing four of the small cakes and ringing up her total, “There you go then, have a nice weekend now, Mrs Levinson.”

“Speaking of Mrs Morales,” the old lady continues, ignoring your attempt to wrap up the conversation, “She said you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, I’m sure Francisco would love to take you out, you’d make such a handsome couple.”

“I won’t have time for a date, really, it’s one of our busiest days,” you say, starting to wipe down the counter, praying she’ll get the hint, but no such luck.

“Oh, nonsense, dear, you need to have some fun. I’ll tell Francisco to ask you out the next time I see him.”

“Really, Mrs Levinson, please don’t do that, I’m sure- “

You’re interrupted by the beeping of the oven timer, which is odd, the oven shouldn’t be on, but right now you’re very grateful for the beeping.

“I’d better get that, Mrs Levinson,” you rush out, giving her a quick wave as you turn towards the kitchen, “Have a nice weekend!”

“Always so busy, dear,” she smiles, waving back at you and leaves the bakery. With a deep sigh of relief you go back into the kitchen. Frankie is standing by the oven, fiddling with the knobs and you walk over and push the right one to turn off the alarm.

“So I guess that was you,” you smile at him as he grins.

“Yeah, it was either that or knock something over. Mrs Levinson was getting a bit too meddlesome,” he chuckles, glancing out through the kitchen door to make sure that she’s gone before he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, “Is it true you’re too busy for a date on Valentine’s Day?” he asks, “Because if you are, I’d like to ask you out for the fifteenth instead.”

“I’m busy during the day, in the evening I’m free,” you smile up at him, “But any evening works for a date with you, Frankie.”

The tips of his ears go pink at that, and he gives you a wide, dimpled smile, bending his head to yours, his nose brushing over your cheek before he lets his lips capture yours in a soft kiss.

“Good,” he mumbles, “because I want to take you out every night.”

“I don’t want to go out every night,” you smile between his kisses, “Some nights I’d like to stay on the couch with pizza and a tub of ice cream.”

“Sounds like a nice night too, is there room for me on that couch?” he asks and you nod.

“There might be, it’s not a very big couch, but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.”

“Sounds even better,” Frankie mumbles and you can feel him smile against your lips, “How about we do some baking and then I take you out on that date I promised for tonight?”

“Let me just lock up the shop,” you kiss his warm lips one more time, before pulling away, “and we’ll get right to it.”

“Let me grab the street sign for you, cariño,” he says, following you into the shop.

With everything locked up and the lights off in the shop, you set up in the kitchen and Frankie pulls out an envelope from his pocket. Inside is an old handwritten note in Spanish with the alfajores recipe from his grandmother. He gently smooths it out on the bench and joins you in the fridge where you’re getting the butter and eggs.

You hear him come in and stand behind you, taking the butter from your hand as you balance three eggs in the other.

“Anything else we need from here?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“No, just the eggs and butter, we need three egg yolks.”

“Ok, let's get the rest in the pantry then.”

“Lead the way,” Frankie replies, smiling as you turn to face him, and you can’t help stepping closer and reaching up so that you can kiss him. He comes willingly, bending his head to your lips, and parting them for your tongue.

“I really like kissing you,” you mumble against his lips and you hear the low rumble of his chuckle.

“Good,” he mutters, “because I don’t want to stop kissing you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as you look up at him, his smile making you feel liquid inside, like jelly legs and too much fizzy drinks, bubbling over as you smile back at him.

“Alfajores,” you finally say, after he’s kissed you a few extra times, and he chuckles again.

“We keep getting distracted.”

“I blame you, Francisco.”

“I’m innocent, your lips are too kissable,” he grins and you giggle, cheeks heating up and it makes him laugh, taking your free hand in his own, “C’mon, baker girl, at this rate I’ll never get to take you out to dinner.”

He leads you over to the pantry, listing the ingredients you need and letting you pile them high in his arms. Back at the workbench you weigh them out while Frankie translates his grandmother’s handwriting on the note.

The ingredients come together to a loose dough and Frankie takes over, showing you how his grandmother would push the dough together without kneading. He’s shrugged out of his red plaid flannel shirt, the gray t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps as you watch his large hands gently push the dough around the bench, transfixed by how they move.

“She always told me not to knead the dough,” he says, pressing a few more bits of dough into the circular mound taking shape, “Just push it together so that it holds its shape and then wrap it in cling film and chill in the fridge.”

He pats the dough a few more times while you tear off a piece of plastic wrap and lay it down on the bench.

“There,” Frankie says, gently lifting the dough onto it and wrapping it up, “thirty minutes in the fridge, then we can bake them.”

You open the fridge door and he puts it on a shelf before coming back out and closing the door again.

“Now how do we spend thirty minutes in a kitchen?” you ask, tilting your head with a smile, “waiting for the dough to chill?”

Frankie raises one eyebrow, leaning back against the fridge door, giving you an amused look.

“What did you have in mind, hermosa?” he replies as he reaches out and takes hold of your hand, pulling you towards him.

“I was thinking…deep cleaning the oven,” you grin up at him as he wrinkles his nose, lips curling down in disappointment, “Maybe wiping out the shelves in the fridge? Or you can help me fix the blockage in the drain under the sink?”

Frankie rolls his eyes so far back you think they’ll get stuck, but he’s grinning at the same time.

“Not really what I had in mind,” he says, both his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body and you bring your own arms up, cupping his cheeks and letting your thumbs caress his scruffy beard.

“I love the little patches in your beard,” you say and lean closer, smelling the warm cotton of his t-shirt and a faint whiff of his body wash, “I especially like this one under your chin.” You make him tilt his head up as he chuckles, showing the smooth underside of his neck, freckles dotting the pebbled skin. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“I’m glad you like ‘em,” he smiles, a small shiver running through him when you press your lips to the bare patch under his chin, “Because that’s as much beard as you’ll get from me.”

It makes you giggle against the soft skin, the longer parts of his beard tickling your nose as you press more kisses along the underside of his jaw, keeping his head tilted back. His hands around your waist are starting to wander, slowly caressing up your back and down over your hips. A small, low sigh escapes him as you stand on your tiptoes, your mouth reaching the spot under his ear where you can feel his pulse beat.

“Is this what you had in mind?” you ask, your voice low against the shell of his ear, his hands tightening around you. He gives you a small nod in response, lowering his head so that he can meet your eyes. He’s not smiling anymore, instead his look makes you wobble, curling your fingers around his shoulders for support. The peak of his cap nudges your forehead, closing both of you in under it, and as he moves closer, he reaches up and pulls it off. You hear it land softly on the floor next to you somewhere, but you’ve already closed your eyes as Frankie’s warm lips find yours.

When you break apart your lips are hot to the touch, the soft scratches of Frankie’s beard tickling your skin, and the evidence of his growing need impossible to hide between your bodies. You can’t help but press closer against him, feel him jerk as your hip moves, a stifled groan caught in the back of his throat.

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “let’s make those damn cookies so we can get out of here,” he’s tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you close to his mouth, his breath warm against your skin when he speaks, “Can we make it through dinner?”

“I’m really not that hungry for food,” you whisper back, his lips trailing over your jaw as you speak, nibbling a wet path down your throat as his fingers gently pull at your hair, giving him more room to taste your skin.

Another chunk of time is lost to his kisses. Every time he nips and licks at your throat, a moan escapes your open mouth, breathing heavily while you curl your fingers into his shoulders, moving down to his thick arms.

“Frankie…” you mumble as his hands begin to slide up under your shirt, leaving warm trails across your torso, his kisses starting to move down over your clavicles as he pushes your collar to the side, “don’t start something you can’t finish here…” you warn him, but you do nothing to stop him. His rough palms grab at your flesh, pulling you closer, one last hot kiss, a mark on your skin, before lifting his head, his hands slipping down to your hips again.

“You’re right, I don’t want to do this here,” he says, looking up at you with dark eyes, his lips rosy and pink, “Grab the dough, we making these fucking cookies now and then I’m taking you home.”

You nod and reluctantly pull away from him as he moves to the side, letting you open the fridge door and retrieve the dough while Frankie gets a rolling pin. You watch him as he begins to roll out the dough, the muscles of his arm flexing as he presses down on the firm dough, forcing it to flatten onto the workbench. He’s focused as he works to roll it out to an even thickness, the tip of his tongue coming out in concentration as he gauges the dough with this hand.

“That’s enough, not too thin,” he says when he’s satisfied, “or the dough will break.”

Together you use a cookie cutter on the dough and soon two trays of cookies slide into the oven under Frankie’s watchful eye.

“We don’t want them to overbake, they should still be a pale color,” he says, closing the oven door and setting a timer on his phone.

“Much as I’d like to get back to kissing you,” you smile at Frankie as he winks, “we should clean up so that we can leave once they’re done.”

“I’ll clean up, cariño,” he smiles back, “get the manjar and a piping bag and get us set up for the cookies.”

You nod and do as he says, watching him as he efficiently wipes down the workbench and the counters, removing the leftover dough and putting away the ingredients. You fill the piping bag with the soft manjar and lean on the workbench while Frankie rinses the cloth and hangs it to dry.

“Do you need a job, Frankie?” you ask, “I’d hire you in a heartbeat with those cleaning skills.”

“One of the few good habits I picked up in the military,” he gives you a crooked smile as the timer goes off on his phone and he pulls out the cookies, “That and making beds with sharp corners. Nothing else good came out of those years.”

A brief shadow passes his eyes as he puts the tray down, turning back to hand the oven mitts on their hook without meeting your eyes. When he comes back to the bench you put your arm around his waist and pull him into your side, pressing your lips to his cheek. He leans into it, his eyes briefly closing with a small contented sigh.

“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he says, “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

“Ok, Frankie,” you reply, your lips still close to his cheek, another kiss to his small bare patch there, and you see his smile return, his warm brown eyes finding yours again.

“You’re on manjar duty, I don’t trust my piping skills. I’ll sandwich the cookies.”

“Did your granny say anything about how much manjar each cookie should have?” you ask, picking up the piping bag.

“About the same thickness as the cookie,” he replies, holding the first cookie steady for you, “There you go, perfect!” He grabs the cookie you’ve just piped the filling on and presses a second down on top before rolling it in desiccated coconut and holding it up proudly.

“Our first alfajores cookie,” he chuckles, “I’m so proud of us.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you or your grandmother, Frankie” you smile at him, getting to work on the rest of the cookies. Frankie puts down the first one and starts assembling the rest.

“We make a good team,” he says, “and I can’t wait for you to try these, her’s are the best ones I’ve ever had.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to put the rest of the cookies together, with a flourish Frankie rolls the edges of the last cookie in the coconut and holds it out to you.

“Go on, try it,” he says with a smile, picking up a second one for himself. The light and airy cookie crumbles as you bite into it, the manjar coating your mouth as you hum around the flavors. The hint of lemon in the cookie blends with the filling and it makes your mouth water.

“So good, Frankie,” you mumble, your mouth still full and he chuckles, biting into his own a bit too eagerly. Manjar squeezes out around the sides and he quickly catches a blob with his tongue, his fingers coated in the sticky filling.

“Damn, I should’ve remembered, I always make a mess eating these,” he laughs, tilting his head back to stop the cookie from falling out of his hand as he stuffs the whole thing into his mouth. With puffed out cheeks he grins down at you, chewing the cookie with a happy face.

“As good as you remember?” you ask and he nods.

“Even better,” he says, his voice garbled from the mouthful of alfajores and it makes you giggle as he swallows the whole thing down. His fingers are covered in manjar and he tries to lick it off, the sight of his pink tongue sliding over his index finger temporarily shutting down your brain as you stare at his mouth. Frankie’s eyes flick up to your face, seeing your expression, and slowly pulls his finger from his mouth. Holding it out to you, he gives you a mischievous smirk.

“Here, try it.”

There’s a challenge to his tone, daring you to step up to him and cross a very weak line in where this new relationship is. The sight of his thick fingers, smudges of manjar stil clinging to them, and his brown eyes going dark as they lock on to you, makes it an easy step to take.

Your own hand wraps around his wrist as you pull his fingers towards your lips, Frankie’s jaw falling open of its own accord and his eyes drop to your mouth. His thumb has a dark streak of caramelized filling near the top and as you take it between your lips, your tongue tasting sugar and salt, he groans, louder than he intended in the quiet kitchen. From the corner of your eye you can see the hand hanging idly by his side twitching, the fingers opening and closing as another, lower, groan slips from him. Your tongue is wrapping around his thumb, closing your lips around it and sucking it deeper into your mouth. Frankie’s eyelids are heavy, threatening to close, but he fights to keep them open, starting at the way your mouth takes his thumb, images of other things disappearing between your lips making arousal thrum through his body.

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

With a soft pop you pull off his thumb, gently wiping the corner of your mouth with tongue as Frankie inhales sharply.

Three long steps and he’s got you pinned against the fridge, his hands suddenly on your waist and behind your neck. He bends his head, finding you eagerly waiting for his mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips. He’s not hiding the way he’s grinding his hard on against your hips, your moans mixing with his breathy groans as you grab hold of his waist and pull him closer. With a growl he buries his face against your shoulder, his mouth hot against your neck.

“Fuck….” he groans again, “You feel so fucking good, just put the damn alfajores away, we’re leaving now.”

He pulls away a little, you can feel your face flushed as you press your legs together, heat shooting through every nerve ending. He’s caging you in now, his eyes dark under his furrowed brow, pressing a final heated kiss to your lips before he steps back, pulling you with him.

“I’ll get a box for them,” you mumble, reluctantly moving away from him to the work bench. He bends to swipe his cap from the floor and shrugs back into his flannel shirt and watches you fold one of the take away boxes and pack the alfajores.

“Grab leftover manjar too,” he suddenly says, pointing to the piping bag, still half full with the sticky filling, “I know other uses for it.”

You look over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow and he winks at you, snaking his arms around your waist from behind before he bends his head to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he nips at your earlobe.

“I’m thinking I’ve got other places that you might need to lick it from.”

Part Thirteen

Series Master List

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Frankie's visit to the bakery, I know I loved going back and writing my favourite Pedro boy.

But this is not the end because, as some of you have pointed out; a baker's dozen is thirteen, not twelve. So as this post goes up, I'll also put up a poll where everyone can vote for what Pedro boy they'd like to see return to the bakery, a second part to their story. Vote for your favourite to return!

The Poll!

In the meanwhile, thank you all for reading, commenting and sharing!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal character fanfic #frankie morales fanfic

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neteyamslovrr · 1 year

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hii babes, i wanted to participate in your 2k event because it seems so fun <3 i’m not sure if we can request two prompts so you can totally just choose one of them if want. congrats on 2k again mwahh 💋

ao’nung + fluff + 7 + 38

SHE'S SCARY

here you go cutie patootie!! it's a lil short sorry but i love our community husband ao'nung. ugh need him

Ronal was a woman you had looked up to the entirety of your life. She was truly your role-model. When you were a child you tried very persistently to spend time with her. But as you grew, you were intimidated by her power, the strength she possessed.

That didn’t help when you started dating her eldest son, Ao’nung.

He would constantly invite you over for dinner, fishing with his family, to help collect oysters with Ronal but you constantly refused. It was like meeting your superhero, except the superhero was your to be mother in law.

“Flower, I promise my mother adores you. I don’t understand why you refuse to talk with my family.” You were both laying in a hammock, swaying in the cool breeze. Facing each other his large hands were caressing the plush of your hips, as you avoided his strong gaze tracing the stripes on his chest with your fingers.

“She is just so intimidating. I want her to think well of me.” Ao’nung gave you the ‘are you kidding me’ look. You weren’t facing him, but you could tell he was doing it.

“I just said she adores you. I think you are purposefully ignoring my comments.”

“I’m sure you think she adores me. I want her to approve of me, think I am well for you, know that I will be a good Tsa’hik. I mean what if she thinks I’m not fit and breaks us up!” Your spiralling thoughts were hushed as Ao’nung pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, tilting your chin so you could look up to him.

“Oh flower, we both know you are best suited to be an amazing Tsa’hik. And she would never break us up. I love you too much to let my grumpy mother break us up.” You snorted a bit in response, still tracing patterns into his chest.

“She’s just a little scary, Ao’nung.” He nodded giving you a loving tap on your thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

“Well, I’m not scared but if you are, you can hold my hand.” Smiling up at him, eyes glimmering as your expression radiated joy, he pulled you closer, so your chests were pushed together.

“You’re so annoying.” Leaning your face towards him your lips met, giving him a soft kiss, hands wrapped around his neck.

“You love it.” He mumbled into a kiss, smiling smugly as he let his hands rest around your waist. Meeting his mother could wait just for the moment.

if you would like to read my longer works...checkout my masterlist!!

#ao'nung oneshot #ao'nung x reader #aonung #aonung xreader #aonung x you #avatar the way of water #avatar oneshot #ao'nung fic #ao'nung fluff #avatar #ao'nung #avatar x reader #atwow #ao'nungfluff

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inoreuct · 4 months

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horse girl zoro/prince sanji au that @redgitanako and i talked about way back when because it suddenly crossed my mind OKAY HERE WE GO

zoro’s a travelling bounty hunter with three horses. yes, three. don’t tell kitetsu and enma but wado’s his favourite

wado was kuina’s horse; when kuina died she was so sad because she didn’t get why kuina was gone and for a while zoro had to emotionally support a horse AND himself, but horses are smart creatures. wado understood by herself after a while. they don’t really talk about it.

on that note, zoro talks to his horses. people look at him like he’s a few crayons short of the whole pack but they don’t say anything because he looks scary as hell; built like a brick wall, one eye gone, gnarly scar across his chest and all

(they’ll never know that he’s having an argument with enma about buying supplies where one party is contributing in possibly-misinterpreted horse looks. the crayons aren’t missing— but it’s admittedly a little hard to prove they’re there, zoro, we can’t keep defending you like this)

sanji's the third prince of the kingdom that hires him; sora’s the queen, and his siblings are all decent other than regular sibling assholery. judge is on the run and they’ve made the collective decision that they want his head on a stick.

zoro expects sanji to be a stuck-up priss because he LOOKS like a stuck-up priss— look at his perfect hair. his clothes. his heeled boots and his stupid curly eyebrows

but NO. well, yes, sanji IS a little bit of a stuck-up priss but also, he’s good with horses?? wado takes to him like a DREAM and zoro's flabbergasted because anybody who has ever tried to coddle her other than zoro or kuina has gotten kicked in the head, but sanji's petting at her neck and cooing at her in baby-talk and she's licking sugar cubes and apple slices out of his palm. zoro feels so betrayed.

like of COURSE his horse had to take a liking to the boy he hates OF ALL PEOPLE.

(zoro. at this moment the horse is smarter than you. listen to her.)

reiju’s the princess here, but sanji’s the one who got all the magic-esque affinities. animals LOVE him. he would be a literal disney princess if not for the fact that he doesn’t love them back

like SQUIRREL. WHY ARE YOU SHITTING ALL OVER MY YARD. GO AWAY. WHY IS A DOG TRYING TO LICK MY HAIR. WHYYY IS THIS BIRD BRINGING ME STICKS ALL THE TIME. he’s trying to fall asleep. he hears a TSKTSKTSKTSKTSKTSKTSK. he sits up and gets right out of bed and starts yelling at the lizard on the ceiling.

he does have a pretty mare called maple, though! (and zoro can’t help but love her too; it’s a sign that the mosshead doesn’t clock until much, much later)

and then zoro comes into his life with his three horses and sanji yanks him in by the collar like "listen up, swordsman. i do not CARE how sweet your horses are. i do not CARE how— how— WHATEVER you are. if you stink up my stable i will make you sleep in it, are we clear?" and zoro just nods because he’s having a bit of a gay crisis

sanji is 1. pretty 2. entirely able to hold his own and 3. Wado Approved™ and zoro does NOT know how to deal. at all. he’s holding onto wado’s reins for dear life. he wonders if the same ultimatum would apply if he swapped out the word stable for bed and immediately wants to dunk himself into the horse trough.

meanwhile sanji isn’t spared at all. sora sits on her throne, one eyebrow raised as her son goes on and on about how "mother i hate the swordsman you hired. he's green. and ugly. like a troll. like an OGRE. his hands are too big. his boots are too shiny. his earrings are cute but only because i want them. his EVERYTHING smells like horse. he might as well be a horse with how strong he is, did you know how many hay bales he carried at once??" and she’s just like,,, "honey are you sure this is hate"

she certainly wouldn’t mind them being together. zoro is rough around the edges and does smell a bit like horse, admittedly, but he was clearly raised right— he’s respectful in his own gruff way and he does things with immense care. sora’s noticed. she knows her son well enough to know that he’s noticed, too.

one day sanji bumps into zoro on his way out of the baths and wow. okay. so he doesn’t smell like horse ALL the time and oh his hair is damp and there's a towel around his waist and he is very, very shirtless and sanji turns around in a panic and walks face-first into a pillar.

he watches zoro care for his horses, carefully brushing through their manes and coats as he speaks to them softly, and alright. maybe this guy isn’t all bad. animals, sanji has noticed, are brilliant judges of character; horses especially can be testy and temperamental, and they don’t hesitate to kick anybody they don’t like.

zoro’s horses love him, and it’s obvious. maple looks forward to the snacks he slips her when he thinks that nobody’s looking. that says a lot more about his character than anything else.

after a few days zoro has a solid plan down and sets out to find judge, and suddenly the stables are empty. sanji finds himself going out with maple more and more, exploring the woods around their forest to pass the time because he needs something to keep his mind occupied and there’s only so much he can cook. judge might be a piece of shit, but he’s also an evil genius, and sanji refuses to admit he’s worried even though he is.

and then zoro comes back with judge’s war helmet wrapped in a cloth, gore dripping off the bottom edge as he sets it at sora’s feet.

he’s a little banged up, tired as hell with a couple of scratches here and there— nothing serious, but sanji still drags him to the infirmary and cleans him up perhaps a little more emotionally than either of them had expected

he passes out for a good few days afterwards but sora invites him to stay for a little longer, a time frame that nobody specifies. zoro just kind of… doesn’t leave. it’s strange for him; he’s wandered, always. he gets antsy staying in one place for too long, but this blond prince that is strangely kind and gives back as good as he gets is really something else.

the days pass. they race and bicker and soon enough, all three of zoro’s horses have brass name plaques tacked above what are now their stalls. he had a room in the palace and a place at the dinner table. sanji’s hair has grown long, now, and neither of them talk about the way that zoro’s stay has become something that feels more permanent—

until zoro finally finds the balls to give sanji one of his earrings as a courting gift. it’s the first one of many, but at that moment sanji just looks at it wide-eyed and zoro starts to shrink back all like "if you. don't want it that's alright. i'll get you something new, something else—" because look, he knows he’s not much. he has money, but not enough to give sanji something really nice. not enough to get something that’s more impressive than all the jewels and gold that the prince could have at a whim. he’s a bounty hunter that came from dirt and this earring is the most precious thing he has to offer, but he understands if—

sanji kisses him. yells something borderline incoherent along the lines of about fucking time as he shakes zoro by the shoulders, but he’s smiling very brightly and he’s very beautiful and zoro has a feeling they're going to be just fine.

(sora and the siblings breathe a collective sigh of relief, because the pining looks and dejected sighing were really getting a little ridiculous.)

(they speak too soon. after they get together it somehow gets WORSE.)

this was a ride… (get it. get it.) okay i’ll stop HOPE YOU ENJOYED HEH i know a lot of places are having a flu season/covid wave going around rn so make sure to hydrate and eat well!! muaks 😽

#i have REALLY got to stop sleeping at 4am #horse girl zoro au #zosan #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #sanji #one piece zosan #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #zoro

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thaliagracesgf · 3 months

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i hail a cab with a goat, and make some questionable decisions at a party

author’s note: i want to make it, like, really, really, clear that this is not a fic glorifying sa or being a victim. what the reader goes through here is a horrible experience, one that’s happened to me and countless other women (and other people!!). this fic is for anyone who, in the words of rachel sennot in bottoms, has been “gray-area-d,” and felt completely lost afterwards, not knowing how to feel or what to think. this is one example of how you deserved to have been treated, and i’m sorry if this or something similar wasn’t your experience.

content warnings: sexual assault (not graphic and not by luke! r is sort of tied down and has their shorts undone), violence (luke is not happy about this situation), alcohol (r is drunk), talking about it afterwards?, talking about monsters (on a regular pjo level), swearing.

word count: 6.6k. i had a lot to say. so sorry.

this is the first fic i have written in a while, i hope you enjoy it!

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seven a.m. in the camp half-blood dining pavilion saw the same faces every morning. you, silena beauregard, clarisse larue, and annabeth chase. your little group of friends spanned six years, at seventeen, fourteen, thirteen, and eleven, and your best friend, who had been off at college all year, made it eight.

you didn’t remember becoming friends with silena and clarisse, although you figured hannah, your best friend and silena’s older half-sister, must have introduced you, and clarisse came along with her.

you had met annabeth and hannah when you were just thirteen, when you had followed a friend to connecticut in the middle of pre-algebra.

“do you understand any of this?” you whispered to grover. he gave you a look as if he had never seen a fraction before last week, and you sighed. your teacher, a kind old woman named ms. lucy, gave you a look. when she gave the class a new problem to work through, she came and knelt by your desk, looking over your shoulder at what you had managed so far. which was a whole lot of nothing, unless you included a sketch of grover that would make picasso proud. you shrunk sheepishly in your chair.

you looked to your right, as if trying to see how bad it really was compared to your model, but he was gone. you turned back to ms. lucy.

“did you see grover leave?”

“hmm?”

“grover. did he go to the bathroom?”

“i assume so, dear. if you convert the decimal—" but grover’s things were gone. you felt terrible. you knew you were a terrible student, and ms. lucy was so kind to you anyways, but it wasn’t like grover to walk out of class like that. he was terrified of authority.

“i have to go,” you mumbled to ms. lucy, throwing your things in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “stomachache.”

she looked genuinely concerned. “would you like me to let the nurses know you’re coming?”

“no… no. that’s okay.” and you ran out the door.

it wasn’t too hard to find grover. he was sitting in an empty classroom just a few doors down, but what was weirder was that he was watching a video on the projector. weirder still, he was talking to it. you knew it was rude to eavesdrop. it didn’t stop you from doing it.

“chiron, i can’t just leave. she’s here, and she’s in danger. she needs a protector. anything could come for her at any moment—" was he talking about you?

a deep voice over the projector, whose face you could hardly make out through the low-quality image, answered: “i will inform her mother and she will go home. she will stay there until we can send gleeson to collect her and—"

“why can’t you send gleeson for these kids?”

“he’s too far, it would take him a day at least to reach them. i already told you, this was a request from hermes himself. he wants his son and his friends collected as soon as possible, and—"

who the hell was gleeson? and hermes… who names their kid after a greek god? at least choose one with a better name than hermes. it sounded like a disease. your mother had named your brother after some greek hero, but he didn’t go by it. and at least it was, like, a human name.

“he’s the god of travelers.” you were starting to worry that grover might be on drugs. what on earth had they put in those enchiladas at lunch? “can’t he get him, like, a car? a day could be too long for—"

“grover.” the voice boomed. that shut him up. “you will go. you will escort the son of hermes, the daughter of athena, and the daughter of zeus to camp, and then you may return to the city. this is not up for discussion.” you were really starting to think that the booming voice might have been two booming voices, but the door was closed and the audio was already crackly, so you decided it didn’t really matter.

you heard grover’s voice say, “alright,” defeated and almost mournful, and then the message cut off. your eyes widened as you realized that grover would probably step outside any second, and you would have no excuse as to what you were doing with your ear to the wall. you turned slowly, and winced as your shoe squeaked on the linoleum floor. you started speedwalking. no sense in trying to hide anymore, you were just interested in getting as far away as possible before-

“oh, gods.” grover’s voice echoed between cinder block walls and metal lockers. “how much did you hear?”

you turned, your fingers nervously twisting the straps of your backpack. “i mean. not everything. just. you know.”

“almost everything?”

“yeah.”

“this is not good. this is really not good.” grover wasn’t talking to you anymore. he was pacing the short ways of the corridor, head in his hands, muttering to himself. “my first mission and i’ve already messed it up completely.”

“how could you have messed it up completely? you haven’t even met these kids yet.”

“oh, gods,” grover groaned.

“woah, dude. are you like, hindu or something?”

“what?”

“you said gods. plural. i read this book—"

“okay,” grover interrupted. “you need to go home.”

“okay. that was rude. also, it’s like the middle of the day. my mom’s at work and my stepdad will kill me if i come home early.”

“your stepfather. perfect. just climb in the back window of your room, and when your mom gets home, tell her that chiron says you need to go to camp immediately.”

“what? what the hell are you talking about? who— is that who you were talking to on the phone?”

“what?”

“the phone call. the one you were mad at me for overhearing…”

“okay. first of all, that was not overhearing, that was eavesdropping. second of all, i’m not mad. this just complicates things slightly. third of all—"

“dude, you need to—" grover glared at me, and i shut up.

“third of all,” he repeated, “that wasn’t a phone call. it was an iris message.”

“a what?”

“nevermind. not important. ask about it at camp.”

“why do you keep talking about a camp? i haven’t been to camp since music camp in second grade, and they don’t want me back. i was really, really, bad at the recorder.”

“you played the recorder?” grover looked suddenly very interested. “nevermind. you need to go home.”

“dude. i’m telling you, i. can’t.”

“you have to—"

“take me to connecticut,” you suggested.

“what?”

“isn’t that where you’re running off to?”

“you can’t come to connecticut with me—"

“why not? you seemed pretty adamant on the phone—"

“iris message”

“that you needed to be with ‘her’. based on how insanely you have freaked out, i’m guessing that was me. so take me with you.”

“i know you have no idea what is going on right now—"

“thank you for finally acknowledging that important part of this conversation.”

“- but taking you to connecticut would be an astronomically bad idea. like i-would-get-fired kind of bad idea.”

“you’re twelve. how on earth would you get fired? child labor laws are—"

“i’m nineteen.”

you laughed at that one. “yeah, sure.”

grover rolled his eyes. “look, i really, really, wish i could explain more, but i need to go. and i really, really need you to go home.”

“ok.”

“like really, really need you to listen—" he paused. “okay? great!”

“if it means that much to you, i’ll go home.” grover sighed with relief.

he was eating his words. and a tin can he had picked up off the street. you had followed him out of the building, watched him call a cab, and then, at the last second, jumped in after him, slammed the door, and told the driver to drive before grover could figure out what was going on.

after your initial panic, when you realized you were hurtling up fifth avenue at three-hundred miles per hour with three old ladies behind the wheel, you had straightened yourself out, and made grover explain everything. he had, reluctantly, when he came to terms with the fact that you were in too deep to back out now.

he explained camp, the greek (not hindu) gods, and the ladies in the front (who had one eye between them) were very helpful about filling in the details. so, so many details. he explained that he didn’t know who your parent was, just that you were powerful, and that he was planning on asking your mom before everything went up in flames.

he explained that he was going to connecticut to escort three (now four) demigods to camp half-blood, and that they would likely be tailed by monsters the entire way back. four demigods as powerful as you, and one forbidden child — a child of zeus, poseidon, or hades, as he had mentioned — would attract a lot of attention.

and you did. it took you a month to get to camp after you found thalia, luke, and annabeth, constantly being thrown off course by monsters, over which you got to know them better than any friends you’d had in your life (with the exception of maybe grover and your little brother). your mother was worried sick, but you iris-messaged her (grover finally got through on that one) every so often, letting her know you were okay. she was surprisingly understanding about camp. she apologized that she hadn’t been the one to take you herself, and that she had been forced to hide the truth from you for so long. the calls always ended though, when she tried to tell you who your father was. the water would shut off suddenly, the rainbow disappearing along with your mother, so you learned to avoid the topic if you wanted to continue talking.

when thalia died, you were in shock. you sat at the edge of long island sound at camp for three days, staring into the ocean. you didn’t speak, even when you were claimed, as you sat, by your father, poseidon, and shuffled your things from the hermes cabin into cabin three. it was just another loss — you could no longer sleep in the bed next to luke’s. there were no familiar faces in cabin three — no faces at all. you were completely alone.

eventually, an older aphrodite girl came by the cabin. she introduced herself as hannah, and she showed you around camp, forced you to sit with her and her siblings at dinner, dealing with chiron and mr. d’s disgruntlement herself, and at the campfire. she dragged you to the center of the amphitheater, dancing slowly at first, and then faster, until you were laughing and finding luke and annabeth in the crowd and dragging them to dance as well.

you missed hannah so much. she wasn’t that far, a first year at barnard this fall, where you would hopefully be in a couple of years. you weren’t ready for college yet, you thought, so you would take a gap year (though you hadn’t been in school for years) and stay at camp, while chiron would help you convince the admissions committee (using the mist) that you had a perfect gpa, excellent extracurricular activities, and a stellar recommendation letter from a highly admired ancient greek scholar by the name of professor c. brunner.

sitting at breakfast with you was probably miserable, you could admit. you were counting down the days until hannah came back, and your friends were definitely tired of it. but for some reason, this morning silena was practically jumping up and down with something.

“will you stop?” you asked. “you’re shaking the entire table.”

“i can’t, i’m sorry.” she seemed sincere in her apology. “i just— oh, you’ll see.”

you didn’t see, in fact, as someone jumped out from behind you and wrapped their arms around your head, their sweatshirt covering your eyes. “who—" you started, before you got a whiff of lavender-vanilla perfume and jumped up from the table.

hannah. you shrieked, probably waking up half the camp. you spun around and tackled her to the ground, hugging her so tightly you would probably cut off her circulation.

she pushed you off, laughing, and got to her feet. “it’s good to see you too, babe. what’s up with all of you? you never call, i feel like i’ve been completely cut off.” (you had iris-messaged her last week for five hours).

“your sister is still absolutely obsessed with beckendorf,” you said, sitting down.

“hey!” silena protested.

“but of course he has no idea that he likes her.” silena turned pink. “no one here is good enough for annabeth, obviously—"

“i never said that, clarisse doesn’t let any boys near me.” you stick your tongue out at her.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” clarisse said, feigning obliviousness. “you hang out with luke all the time.”

“he’s always hanging out with that new kid.” she grumbled. “or—"

“speaking of, clarisse definitely thinks this hermes boy is so cute— you haven’t met him, he got here a few months ago, but his name is chris, and i think they would be so cute together. she’s out of everyone’s league, obviously, but if anyone would be good for her—"

“gods, you would think you’re the aphrodite kid, listening to you.” hannah smiled. she stole a bite of your french toast.

“i’m just excited to see you,” you said, laying your head on her shoulder. silena and clarisse smirked.

“she’s leaving somebody out here,” silena said, smiling.

“i know, it’s weird, she never shuts up about him otherwise,” clarisse added, narrowing her eyes at you teasingly.

“oh, who could you possibly be talking about?” hannah twirled a piece of hair. she hasn’t even been here, but one doesn’t forget their best friend’s crush of four years in a few months.

“i do not,” you protested meekly.

“you knew who we were talking about, though”

“i spend a lot of time with him, that’s all. there would be a gaping hole if i told you about my day and didn’t bring him up.”

“would you stop pretending as if you aren’t in love with each other, please?” annabeth interrupted. “you’re worse than them, at least they can admit it.” she gestured at clarisse and silena.

“i am not in love with him, annabeth.”

“you’re always starting at him.”

“i’m in conversation.”

“with your eyes. that is literally textbook romance.”

“i could so admit if i was into him,” you say, cutting her off. “i admit things like that all the time. i told you i thought jack was cute. you know that kid from demeter?”

“we all know you made that up,” annabeth said, crossing her arms over her chest. silena gave her a light push.

“don’t be so quick to accuse, annie.” only you and silena ever called her that. “i don’t think she made it up. i just don’t think she’s as into him as she is into him.”

“would you drop it, about luke, please?”

“hey, you said his name, not me,” silena smiled. “but sure. i don’t believe that you’re not into him, but i’ll drop it if you can prove that he isn’t into you.”

your heart sank. you weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt nauseous at the thought. hannah’s hand rested on your knee, as if she could sense it.

“how am i supposed to do that? i can’t read minds.”

“hook up with jack at the campfire.”

“what?”

“flirt with him! you were just talking the other day about how you’re eighteen and you haven’t even had sex yet.” hannah covered annabeth’s ears, to which she shoved her off and glared. “jack’s, like, really hot. i saw you staring the other day.”

“when luke wasn’t around,” annabeth added, one eyebrow raised.

“you want me to have sex with jack?”

“i’m not saying that. just flirt with him. see what happens. we’ll— she gestured between herself, clarisse, annabeth and hannah— see how luke is doing.”

“okay, he isn’t going to be doing anything,” you said. “i don’t see what this accomplishes.” but even as you were saying it, your mind betrayed you. you thought for a second and conjured an image of strong arms holding you, soft lips kissing yours with the bonfire light in the background. maybe you were near the beach.

“we’ll see,” silena smiled.

you didn’t want to go all the way, or anything. you knew that. but… jack was really hot. and sweet. he was always catching little kids falling off of obstacle courses with soft bushes, and growing them flower crowns. it couldn’t hurt to talk to him, see what happened. maybe he’d ask you out, or something. bring you flowers on a date. and you guessed you wouldn’t mind making out with him.

the campfire roared in the middle of the amphitheater. the only people there were the older campers, and some counselors trickling back in from tucking kids into bed. you had helped luke with the hermes cabin, because he had so many kids to take care of, and you had none.

you pulled the covers over katie, a girl a little younger than annabeth, who had gotten to camp a few months ago. she was still unclaimed, but with the way she spent all day in the strawberry fields, and the plants tended to shoot up around her, you were fairly sure where she belonged.

you kissed the top of her head, and stood up, looking around the dark cabin for luke, seeing him kneeling beside a little boy, probably about the same age as katie. the boy sounded like he was crying.

“hey, connor,” luke whispered, rubbing circles on the kid’s back. “it’s okay. it’s okay. i get them too.” you realized that the boy must have been afraid to fall asleep. “travis is right above you, he’ll protect you, okay? nothing bad can happen to you here.”

he looked over at you, before turning back to connor. “and we can play poker tomorrow, you’re getting pretty good.”

“are you leaving?” the boy whispered, choking a bit on his tears.

“just for a little bit, kid. i’ll be back soon, i promise. i’ll be here when you wake up. i’m not going to leave you anytime soon.”

“okay,” the boy mumbled. luke pulled the covers over his shoulders, and ruffled his hair before turning to you.

“let’s go,” he mouthed, gesturing at the door. the two of you crept outside, luke much more stealthily than you, closing the door silently. “god of thieves,” he shrugged, but he didn’t grin as he usually did when he bragged. you didn’t have to ask why, but you played along.

“yeah, yeah, i know,” you said, rolling your eyes. “can we go now?”

“yeah, ‘course,” he said. he slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him as you walked, and you couldn’t help but think of silena’s words as you rested your head on his chest.

arriving back at the campfire, you pulled yourself away from luke, walking over to hannah. she smirked at you, pulling you in for a hug.

“you don’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

“i know,” you replied. “i want to. he’s cute.”

and he was, you thought, as he led you away from the campfire. you’d sat for an hour, letting the flames dance over your skin as you talked with him. he made you laugh, even blush when he grew a flower out of the stone to tuck behind your ear. when he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet, you felt dizzy, though that might have been the alcohol.

as you walked further away from the amphitheater, you spun around in the grass, laughing, and he laughed with you. or at you? you couldn’t really tell, and you didn’t really care. you just wanted to kiss him. you didn’t notice that you weren’t heading near the cabins until he stopped in a little cove at the edge of the forest.

“why are we here?” you asked, a little dazed.

“come on,” he said. “you know why.”

and then he was kissing you. it was messy, and made you kind of uncomfortable, but you told yourself to get over it. you couldn’t expect it to live up to the time luke had kissed you, on a dare, when you were thirteen. nothing would ever live up to that, because you couldn’t have him. he hadn’t even cared when you had left him at the party, talking up some girl you couldn’t really see on the other side of the fire.

you blinked, pulling away from jack. you hadn’t realized as you were thinking it, but you had admitted to yourself for the first time that yes: you did want luke. really, really, wanted him. you pushed back on jack lightly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t think i can do this right now,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth on the sleeve of your hoodie — luke’s hoodie, that he had given you that night after he kissed you, when you were shivering outside, staring into space because you couldn’t understand what you were feeling.

“come on, it’s fine,” jack replied, pulling you back into his arms. they weren’t like the arms you were picturing earlier. no, you could admit to yourself new that those had been luke’s. your mind was reeling— you knew that you couldn’t have him, that he would never like you like you liked him, but kissing jack felt wrong. not that you had really been kissing him back.

“i want to go home,” you said, and you weren’t sure where you meant. back to the campfire, to luke and hannah, back to your cabin? maybe even back to your mom on the upper east side, who you missed every day but couldn’t live with during the year for the sake of your little brother, who was too young to know that he, too, was a son of poseidon.

“really? you were flirting with me all night,” jack mumbled into your lips. “stay a little longer.” it was true, you had been flirting with him. you figured you could at least make out with him for a bit. you resigned, letting him lower you onto the grass, and reluctantly letting him run his hands along the hem of your shirt.

hannah was getting worried, and luke could tell. he had forced himself off when you were clearly interested in that demeter guy, who luke knew and was friends with but suddenly hated with all his guts. he had forced himself to be interested in getting the details on silena and beckendorf, which he didn’t really realize he was getting to share with you later, resigning to glancing too often through the flames of the fire at your face, and the way the flames made you look like a goddess. no, he thought. you always looked like a goddess.

but hannah, who had just arrived back at camp for the summer that morning, was biting her lip, and looking around with a bothered expression on her face, and luke had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, that he needed to know you were safe immediately.

he walked over to hannah, probably too quickly, and didn’t waste time asking how she was, or how college had been. “where is she?” he demanded, too forcefully. he would have to apologize to hannah later, but he only had one thing on his mind.“what’s wrong?”

“oh. hey, luke,” she said, still in a sort of trance. he snapped his finger away from her face, shaking his head.

“hannah? where is she?”

she shook her head and widened her eyes. it was clear to luke that you had picked up that habit of staring out at nothing when you were deep in thought, usually not about pleasant things. “she’s with jack,” she said. “they left a little while ago. i just… i don’t know. i should go check that she’s back at her cabin by now.”

“yeah, yeah we should,” luke grumbled, and started taking the steps out of the theater two at a time in an effort to get out. hannah followed— you had told him that his stress could be contagious.

you weren’t in your cabin. you weren’t in the demeter cabin either, and the pair of them woke up a bunch of kids as you barged in, which he was sure mr. d would have a lot to say about in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

he ran across the basketball court, hannah close behind.

“i have an idea of where they might be,” hannah said, pointing in the direction of the woods.

“how do you know?”

“because i showed jack that spot when we were fourteen,” she said, grumbling. luke clearly wasn’t the only one who cared about you.

“i thought you were gay?” luke questioned, not slowing down.

“yeah. like i said, fourteen. people explore things, figure themselves out.” gods, she thought, men could be so incredibly stupid.

they ran faster than ever to the edge of the woods, where sure enough, they found you, lying on a mossy stone with jack hovering over you. luke wanted to run to you immediately, but hannah held him back — no easy feat, but she managed.

“hold on, romeo,” she strained. “you can’t just barge in there and—” then she heard it— the unmistakable sound of your voice, and the word stop.

“jack…” you mumbled. you were so drunk. you weren’t sure where you were anymore, and you didn’t really remember walking over here, though you knew you had. “jack, we can do this later, i’m tired—”

“you’re fine, it’s fine,” he said quietly, starting to undo the zipper of your shorts. you reached down to stop him, but he pushed your hand away, and as it hit the stone, moss started growing over it, holding it there.

“jack, stop it,” you said, more forcefully this time. you realized that he didn’t even know what he was doing, and for some reason that scared you more. he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but he wanted it— he wanted you held down, and he didn’t care that you didn’t.

he shushed you, but looked up at a rustling in the trees, and a familiar grunt.

luke broke out of hannah’s arms, but it didn’t really matter, because she had been letting him go anyways. he stormed across the clearing, and while you were still dazed and confused, you couldn’t miss the entirety of jack’s weight being ripped from on top of you, and you thought you saw a fist collide with his face.

hannah, however, rushed to your side. she didn’t particularly want to see luke end up bloody and beaten in the infirmary, but she had bigger fish to fry right now: namely, you. she tore up the moss, no longer strong as jack’s focus was elsewhere, and redid your shorts for you. there were tears on your face as she pulled you to your feet.

there was so much noise. jack was shouting at luke, but you couldn’t make out the words. you could hear the music and the gleeful sounds of counselors from the amphitheater, but it seemed worlds away from you.

as hannah led you out of the woods, much faster than you could really manage, your head began to pound behind your eyes. a splitting pain hit your forehead, and your vision went black and spotty. you stumbled forward, relying entirely on hannah to keep you upright, but one stray tree root took you down. you swam between consciousness and a dark, dark sleep. there was screaming, it was hannah, and then the familiar deep voice of clarisse, barking orders. you thought you heard annabeth’s name, and then two strong sets of arms lifting you up, and carrying you away.

you woke up at the bottom of the sea. no. that wasn’t right. the bottom of the sea was soft, covered in mud and sand. you tried to stretch your body, hitting plastic walls. as your eyes focused, you could make out cartoon fish swimming entirely too close to your face, and you sat up with a start, splashing water all over a corner of the infirmary.

a kiddie pool. they had filled a kiddie pool with salt water, and left you in it overnight to soak, like one of those colorful dinosaur toys that grew in water. and the worst part was that it seemed to have worked. you felt brand new, like you had slept for a hundred years, and at the same time followed a very strict workout regimen, taken a juice cleanse and eaten like a king. you groaned, and slipped back under the water.

you stared at the ceiling, watching wooden beams ripple with the surface of your personal ocean. you wondered if your father ever felt like this is in the pacific, if he could be that big if he wanted to. your camp necklace floated up before your face, crossing a familiar face lurking over you.

you sat up. cara fletcher, hannah’s friend, held out some nectar. you shook your head.

“i’m okay.”

she raised an eyebrow.

“fine,” you sighed, taking the flask and drinking. it did help. you felt like you could take on the minotaur.

“your friends were here all night,” she said. i kicked them out around ten because they were falling asleep on each other, and i didn’t need any more cracked skulls when they fell off the stools.

“more?” you asked. she sighed, looking over her shoulder.

“your boyfriend beat that kid up pretty bad last night,” she said. you didn’t see jack lying on any of the cots, but a head of dark curls lay a few beds down, and the body attached to it did not look to be in great shape.

“he’s not my boyfriend.” you answered quickly, not taking your eyes off of luke. “is he okay?”

cara seemed to make out which he’s you were referring to. “i wasn’t talking about him,” she said. “hannah told me what happened. if you ask me, luke didn’t do nearly enough damage.”

“don’t tell him that,” you said. “and he’s also not my boyfriend,” you added as you processed her words fully.

“not yet, he’s not.” hannah said, strolling in with three bagels in hand.

“i thought i told you to go to bed,” cara scolded, taking her bagel. “you’re going to drop dead one of these days.” hannah smiled, ignoring her as he sat down next to her and put her arm around her shoulders.

you glance between them, ideas churning in your mind, but they were quickly interrupted by the bagel being shoved in your face. you had always thought that the harpies must have spent some time in the city— they made a dam good bagel.

“so.” hannah started. “you are going to tell us everything you’re thinking right now, because i see you looking over at him every two seconds, and don’t think you’re getting out of any of it.”

“i’m eating,” you grumbled. hannah reached to snatch the bagel away, but cara swatted her hand back.

“she’s recovering.” you stuck your tongue out at hannah.

“i don’t care,” hannah said. “spill.”

“look, i don’t even know what happened last night—”

“because you were really, really, drunk,” she interrupted.

“do you want me to speak or not?” you demanded.

“okay. fine. but just so you’re aware, he swooped in and defended you, and beat the shit out of that little asshole, who, just between us, mr. d is fucking fuming with.” trust hannah to get distracted two seconds in. demigod adhd was no joke. “he dragged him to the big house this morning himself, severe concussion and all, and according to lee, chewed him out for about an hour. something about the sanctity of drunkenness and how it is not to be weaponized… even chiron was surprised.” she paused for breath.

“anyways, the point stands— he,” she nodded her head at luke, “was quite literally your knight in shining armor, and if you still don’t think he is absolutely enamored with you—” and you were pretty sure you heard a cot creak— “then i swear on my mother i will call her down and force her to do something about this because i cannot take it any longer.”

“he was just being a good person, hannah,” you muttered. “he’s just like that.”

hannah looked as though she were about to scream, but cara rubbed her hand along her thigh, calming her before she spoke herself.

“there’s something more than that, isn’t there?” she asked softly, and you thought she was staring directly into your soul. “there’s a reason you don’t think he likes you.”

you hesitated, splashing the water around in your pool and making eye contact with a cartoon fish as you worked up the courage to say what it was you knew you had to get off your chest.

“before last night,” you started, your voice cracking as you spoke, “it was just me thinking i wasn’t pretty enough, or good enough for him. that he wouldn’t look at me because there are so many other girls at this camp who are obsessed with him. and i don't think i realized that i liked him either. but now…” a sob came from the back of your throat, and you looked up at hannah, tears streaking your red face.

“why would he want me now?” you sobbed.

“hey. stop that,” hannah started. “what jack did to you wasn’t your fault, and everyone knows that.” she was trying to make you feel better, but the news that your pathetic love life was the talk of camp wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“it was, though,” you said quietly. “i led him on. i never told him no that strongly, and i was flirting with him all night. what reason did he have not to think… not to…” you were hyperventilating now, your words coming out in broken syllables.

“i’m a fucking slut, and now everyone knows it,” you managed. you sank back into the water to slow your breathing, but tears still streamed down your face.

“that’s bullshit,” came a voice from elsewhere in the infirmary. you could have thrown up then and there. you pulled yourself up by the walls of the kiddie pool, looking down the aisle as luke castellan limped towards you. his scarred eye was bruised and bloodshot, and he had a massive scrape running up his left arm, and that was just what you could see. the tears began to fall faster.

“luke…”

you were thirteen years old again, at the top of half-blood hill, holding grover upright. you were watching desperately as he stumbled upward, through the pouring rain, carrying a screaming little girl who was trying with all her might to run back and help her friend. all four of you were sobbing, exhausted and beaten. seeing them all like that was ten times more painful than the gash in your side.

“that’s bullshit,” luke repeated. you got up from the pool and held his face in your hand, inspecting the bruise. you took the rest of the nectar cara had given you, holding it to his lips, but he pushed it away. “you’re not a slut,” he said. suddenly everything about your conversation came rushing back to you, and it hit you that you had just admitted to him that you were in love with him.

you turned your head. hannah and cara were gone, slipped out the back door. you turned back to face luke, face red and tears pouring over your skin.

“that wasn’t your fault. you didn’t owe him anything. he‘s disgusting, and deserves to have his fucking dick cut off.” you laugh, despite everything.

“i think mr. d may have actually taken care of that,” you whispered.

“good.” you looked at him for a while. his eyes were so beautiful, a deep, deep, brown that reminds you of the otters that hung mysteriously around your upper east side apartment when you lived in the city.

“why did you have to fight him?” you asked, reaching up to his face again.

“you were in trouble,” he said.

“luke.” the tears were threatening to fall again. “you could have seriously hurt yourself. i just… why? why not just pull him off of me?” you needed an answer. you needed to know why, why on earth he had put so much of himself in front of you, in front of jack’s fists.

he looked down at you, a pained expression on his face. “you know why,” he whispered.

he looked down at your lips, and you shook your head softly. you looked down at your feet. you were so afraid, afraid that he wouldn’t be interested now that you didn’t want… that. from him. yet— that you considered looking up and letting him kiss you.

he shocked you when he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to him, holding the back of your head into the space between his chest and his shoulder.

“okay,” he whispered. “that’s okay.” then, softer. “i love you.”

you couldn’t say it back. not yet, not now. but you held him tighter, holding on to him like he was the only thing stopping you from falling into tartarus.

“i’ll be here forever,” he spoke into your hair. and you believed him.

the hermes cabin hosted a movie night that night. you were watching the incredibles two, at a request from connor stoll, who was currently involved in an intense argument with annabeth over which installment was better.

“i think i’m going to start calling you that,” luke whispered in your ear. “jack-jack.” you glared at him. “‘cause, you know, your last name’s jackson-”

“yeah, dude, i got the joke,” you said. you rolled your eyes, nuzzling your head into his chest. you could stay like this for a while, you thought, and as you closed your eyes, you felt him press a kiss to your head — something you had told him was okay. you couldn’t wait to bring him home for a weekend. maybe annabeth, too. you couldn’t help but think she would get along great with your brother.

⭑

a/n: hello loves! i hope you enjoyed this, please please leave any feedback or anything, and let me know if you would like me to continue this story/write more of luke and the reader's past. i hope people enjoyed the little hints at percy! so excited for this reader and to explore all her relationships.

#pjo x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke pjo #percy series

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thelov3lybookworm · 5 months

Text

Remember Me? (Part 8)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: I promise feyfey is going to leave rhysie. i promise. she just needs a lil bit of time to think things through.

also, im thinking of making the next chapter feyre's pov, and that is why this part was short 😅

Anyways, dont kill me please, and enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n watched as Feyre trembled, her hands wrapped around the small paper cup, the melting ice cream now all but a milkshake.

She seemed to be deep in thought, and her trembling increased. Y/n hoped it was a tremble of rage and not despair.

It was just Feyre and Y/n at the table, Eris having taken the two little boys with him to another table so they could have, as they called it, boys time.

Just the thought threatened to make Y/n smile.

But she suppressed it, as it really was not a good time to laugh. Because her friend next to her was quite literally having a mental breakdown.

But still, she decided to peek at where the three males were sitting near the back of the shop while waiting for Feyre to collect her thoughts, and it became harder to suppress that smile.

There, she found the two little boys gesturing wildly with their hands, their faces covered with the ice cream, and Eris laughed, a quiet joy in his face. He reached out to wipe a little bit of ice cream from Nyx's face, nodding to something the younger boy said.

Then, as if feeling her gaze on him, he looked up.

The world ceased to exist around Y/n as she met his eyes. The sounds or people around her didn't matter, for some reason.

Eris was as still as the wall behind him, and he barely seemed to breathe.

But then Y/n felt a touch on her hand, and she jolted, looking away from Eris as the outside world came back into focus.

Her cheeks burned as she met the watery eyes of Feyre.

"Are you listening?" Feyre sniffed.

Y/n's eyes widened. "Oh. I am so sorry. I zoned out. Can you repeat what you said?"

She sniffed again. "I- I don't know if I can leave him..."

Y/n stiffened. "Why not?"

Feyre's eyes floated towards the back, where Nyx was sat with Fin and Eris. "He... he needs his father."

"He needs no one other than you Feyre. You are his mother."

She nodded slightly, her eyes not once straying from her son. "I know... but he knows who his father is, unlike Fin. He will question me about why we are leaving his papa. I don't think I'll be able to leave Rhys. He is the one that pays me, and despite having my own money... I'm not sure I can use my money outside of night court. Where will I go?"

Y/n's heart clenched at the sheer pain etched across the high lady of night court. "Feyre... you can come with us." Y/n offered. "Fin and I will obviously live all alone. You can live with us."

Feyre shook her head ruefully. "I can't leave him Y/n, especially not on such a short notice."

Y/n heaved a frustrated breath. "Feyre. Think about Nyx. If Rhysand was ready to throw you and Nyx away for an unclear future with a son he barely knew, them I'm really concerned for Nyx. You never know when Rhys decided he's done with you and kicks you out. His mental state is not the best at the moment."

A tear slipped out of Feyre's eyes, and she dropped her head into her hands. "I don't know what to do." She said, her voice muffled.

Y/n felt like she had somehow caused Feyre this pain, and she felt the need to take away that pain. And so she relented, stopped pestering Feyre to leave Rhys.

"Look Feyre, you are Nyx's mother. You know what's best for him. If you need time, then take some time. Think about this if you want. But leave him Feyre. He does not deserve you or Nyx. Also, if you're worried about funds..."

Y/n could not offer to take up the high lady's expenses, because it was hard enough earning and spending for her own son. She didn't have the resources to help another person. But she also could not leave her friend and, essentially, her son's brother, here.

"If you are worried about the funds, then I am sure we can figure something out. We can take up jobs, or maybe we can sell your paintings."

Feyre met Y/n's eyes, tears shining in them.

"I need time." She stated simply. She sniffed once, pulling out a piece of cloth from her bag and wiping her face on it as she stood. Y/n watched Feyre helplessly, knowing she didn't have much time because the sun was beginning to set and Eris had to get out of night court soon.

Y/n stood as well, her hand snapping out to catch Feyre's.

"I can't force you to come with us but... I beg you Feyre. Think about this. And when you are ready, write to me. I will ask Eris to make arrangements for your safe travel to autumn court."

Feyre just nodded, blinking away a fresh wave of tears as she brought Y/n into a quick hug, then walked away, calling out to Nyx. The little boy turned to his mom with a small pout on his face, but then whatever he saw on her face had him bidding Fin and Eris goodbye.

He waddled over to his mother, waving to Y/n as he reached up to clutch Feyre's hand in his tinier one.

Y/n watched the two of them go, despair brewing in her stomach.

"It's time."

She glanced at Eris, who smiled sadly at her.

Y/n nodded, turnng back to catch a glimpse of her fried and her son.

But they were gone.

•○🌑○•

Part 9

Taglist: @holb32 @awoa1 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @luvmoo @we-were-beautiful @eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913 @j-pendragonx @thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz @esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten @txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman @leeknows-wife @aria-chikage @amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover @kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay @acourtofbatboydreams @stained-glass-eyes0708 @glaciuswduo @wallacewillow0773638 @cassie6392

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princesssmars · 7 months

Text

a royal affair

after their trumph against the crone and a long journey home, jade and kit return to a bustling kingdom and a tense relationship. little do they know the answer to their problems lies in a foreign princess.

wc : 6.096

contains : sfw and nsfw content. takes place after the season ends. dont ask me how they got back idfk. fxfxf poly relationship. kit and jade mutually start to like reader so no cheating. slight jealousy later but all resolved. reader is a fem!princess. skin color not described. reader is described as having hair. reader wears dresses and pants. arranged marriage but it ends well promise. nsfw includes kissing, oral, and penetrative sex. a strap on because i like em. switch reader, switch jade, dom kit bc i think its be cool if she was a freak idfk.

a/n : i need to be neutered. disney bring willow back or i send b0mb. kingdom name generator sucks so yes ur kingdom is one from skyrim. enjoy.

it was over. it was finally over.

after a few months on the road fighting for their lives, discovering lost and painful secrets, and facing an ancient evil and actually surviving, the group from tir asleen were so glad to return home.

and none of the group were as thankful to return home as kit. sure when she got back she'd have to explain to the king of a neighboring country that his son, her fiancée, had died suddenly at the hands of the crone, and she'd have to deal with her best friend who was now more than that who was a member by birth of a clan she and her people previously thought were barbarians, and don't get her started on the whole thing with her dad actually still being alive.

but on that first night back as she takes a two hour long bath and flops onto her bed, she realized it was all so worth it.

when they returned it was nothing short of chaos. at that point a good portion of the people had thought the group had perished on the road, either due to the harsh climates, thieves, or probably just their own poor judgements and inexperience. but the kingdom had collectively lifted in spirits when the new heroes of tir asleen returned, victorious against a great evil and bringing back their beloved prince.

(the news about the whole giant evil wyrm thing was kept under wraps as to "not disturb this long needed sense of peace", as said by queen sorsha herself, who was surprised but not rejecting when as soon as they returned both of her twins slumped into her arms and gave her a giant warm hug.)

this so called sense of peace brought more changes than they expected. it was almost like the realm was revitalized, the daikinis expanding their reach and the nelwyns trusting willow enough when he suggested that they stop living in darkness and start rebuilding their community.

it was really nice, for most people to not be so afraid all of the time. but kit couldn’t truly revel in the shared joy of the people. not when she knew what she had learned out there.

that jade was a bone-reaver. that she had a sister and a whole community waiting back for her in the wilderness, and soon she would have to make a decision if she would stay here, with kit and the people who technically had stolen her from her family but she had nevertheless grown to love, or back with the reavers to build a connection with people who would welcome her with open arms.

every day between the two was tense. those romantic feelings were still there, obvious between the gazes in hallways and the frantic make outs in the dead of night in each others beds. but there was a weight, a sinking feeling in the both of their stomachs after each shared moment. the knowledge that one day this might end.

a few weeks into their return they don’t get much time to feel on it, as queen sorsha is alerted that two kingdoms from the north and the east have heard of the kingdoms triumphs and would like to visit to form alliances. kits a bit shocked that her mother seems so open to the idea, but figured anything would be better than her focusing on the threat of the wyrm and what will come of the shaken galladoorn king.

the preparation is a whirlwind, workers of the castle working day and night to get ready for the stay of distant royalty. whenever she’d stop by the kitchens to sneak away a snack it was as busy as she’d ever seen it, her favorite cook margaret always rushing her out before she could get a pastry.

kit had to admit she was wary about visitors. it’s not like a journey akin to the one she went on made for a perfect tale of random hospitality when it came to new people.

nevertheless, the time for the royals banquet came in the blink of an eye. she had spent a great deal of the day letting her lady’s maids get her read, taking a bath after an early morning air with jade, fixing her tousled hair and putting her in a classy yet breathable dress.

when she finally does get to the feast, she’s surprised by how much fun she actually has. a few lower ranking royals and warrior had coke from each kingdom, and spent the night telling stories from their pasts and some even reenacting them for the queen. kit swore she even saw her mother laugh at one of the stories, something about a stupid man falling head over heels for a woman who hated his guts.

kit was nothing but enthralled by the important guest of the evening. the royal family of the eastern kingdom, maelstrom, were a collection of tough looking people hardened by battles and a love for fighting. despite thinking they would be a family of scary hard asses, they had come bearing a multitude of gifts, the king constantly wearing a smile on his face as he was ecstatic to meet the legendary warrior turned queen sorsha.

and then there were the others. the royal family of winterhold, were a small family but carried a regal and powerful air about them. before eating the first course a noble guard had told her and jade some things about them, like how the family were known for being gracious but ruling with an iron fist. they had trampled many threats, people regularly mistaking their beautiful appearances for weakness.

and the princess of tir asleen had to admit she was guilty of the same thing. for the first hour she frequently catches the eye of a girl she’s never seen before from across the room. she can tell she’s an important person from the north, seen by her intricate hairstyle and the furs of her dress. every time you lock eyes you send her a little smile and she quickly turns her head away to avoid you.

she would feel guilty if a little while later when looking for jade who had wandered off she didn’t catch the both of you in the midst of conversation, jades sword in your hands as you admire the craftsmanship.

“it really is a beautiful weapon, jade. i’d love to see you use it in action, i’m sure you’re more than proficient with it.” kit listens to your conversation as she walks up behind the two of you, noticing how close you stand next to her knight.

“i don’t know how appropriate it would be for me to train in front of a visiting royal, but i’m sure i could pull some strings.“ jades head bows and tilts to yours, a sign kit recognizes as the red head being bashful. she doesn’t like how it makes her feel.

almost like you have a sixth sense you turn towards the princess, the quickness of it and your face being so close to hers throwing her off a bit.

“your highness, we finally meet. your companion here was just regaling me with the tale of your adventure and defeat of the crone. i have to admit im more than impressed.”

“it’s nice to meet you princess. i’m glad you’re warming up to us here. if you don’t mind, i’d like to talk to my close friend here. alone.”

“kit!” jade hissed, hoping you don’t take her partners words in the wrong way. but all you did was smile, bidding the two girls a good night and that you looked forward to seeing them later.

(jade wouldn’t admit that she thought jealousy was a rather cute look on the girl, especially later that night when the princess was moving like a woman starved to remove her clothing, staring at her body like she was going to tear her apart. she would let a little jealousy slide then.)

before the pair went to sleep jade decided to bring it up, not wanting the two them to go to sleep with any grudges or things left unsaid. it didn’t take much for kit to admit her feelings at the encounter she had with the foreign princess, but it did shock her when jade thought it was alright since she caught kit staring at you. a lot.

the next few days are now tense for a completely different reason. there is a mutual understanding between kit and jade that they both find you attractive, but they agree not to do anything about it in fear of freaking you out and jeopardizing the alliance. they swore to both be on their best behaviors'

but it was pretty damn hard to do so when it seemed like you were flirting with them often. the best example would be on the days that they sparred, you would frequently not be too far away as you watched the both of them with great interest. sometimes it would make one of them fumble, leading to the other to gain an advantage and win the round which always made you laugh before you left.

when it was clear that the two of them were going to keep dancing around whatever this was, you decided to take matters into your own hands. after careful observations you could tell what would attract each of the girls to you.

jade was more open to you after that first meeting. she was dedicated to the crown, although not as much as you would expect, but you could save that question for another day, and if you asked her for help with anything she would dutifully do as you requested. your favorite was asking her to show you some of her moves and attacks, praising her for her skills and what a talented warrior she was.

the warrior had a thing for praise - you realized when you complimented her for her strength after a simple self defense lesson ended up with you on the floor - could this get any better?

kit was a bit harder to crack for you. even with some careful questions and answers from jade, the brunette was still a bit standoffish when it came to you, most likely because you were flirting with her lover in front of her face and then flirted with her back after. but the clear internal battle in her was so intriguing to watch you couldn’t help but feed the flames.

since both of you were the heirs to your kingdoms and your mothers were still negotiating, the two of you spent quite a bit of time together inside the palace. granted most of it was spent in formal settings like meetings, dinners, et cetera. you could tell kit was constantly trying her hardest to be polite, but would sometimes let a sly remark slip through. you’re just glad they were directed at you under her breath; if you’re mother heard any disrespect targeted at you she’d most likely command her soldiers to attack at once.

but you were nothing if not persistent and determined. you would sometimes catch the way kit looked at jade, her pupils dilated and her lips bitten when the knight would stretch or show a sliver of the skin in her stomach. it was almost too easy to grab her attention when you started dressing in more traditional tir asleenian attire, swapping between tight pants to show off your figure or airy dresses with drooping necklines. they were drastically different from the garments from home, most of your clothes having fur and heavy fabrics.

you can still vividly picture the look on kit's face when you passed each other in the halls one morning, her eyes drawn like a magnet to the skin of your neck and the top of your cleavage in your pretty blouse. for added effect, you had worn one of those semi-corsets you'd seen the princess occasionally wearing. partly because you wanted her attention and partly because you thought they were cute.

besides trying to seduce the pair, they eventually became two people who you truly enjoyed being in your company. you were surprised at the leniency queen sorsha gave her children, the twins given free reign over the castle and the villages nearby. kit herself invited you once to join them in, lightly teasing you as for the first time she saw you nervous, scared of getting caught and having to face the wrath of your mother.

but one night it all became so, so worth it. a dark tavern, too much ale, and an off handed comment about how cute you found their not-so-secret relationship led to you three in a cramped rented room in a mix of kisses and tongues and limbs.

you had to admit you were thoroughly surprised by their dynamics in bed. when it came to training you noticed that whatever jade said to kit goes, the princess clearly having a deep affection and respect for the older girl. you would have thought that it would carry over into the bedroom and jade would be pinning kit to the bed, but when the three of you rush into the rented bedroom and kit pins jade's hands above her head you are exceptionally excited.

you sit yourself down on the bed, facing the tangled lovers while you slowly start to undress yourself. when you take off your top and your cloth bra, jade can't help but let out a moan at the feeling of one princess sucking and biting a mark into her neck and one exposing her breasts and smiling at her like a siren. she gets so overwhelmed when she feels kit's eager hand grasp her breath she has to push the girl by the shoulders, tilting her head to bring her attention to you.

now, you had had your fair share of trysts back home, easily able to find girls who had either wanted to experiment or just have one shot with the princess of winterhold. most of the time you had intercourse with girls you'd take on the more dominant role, be it because of the way some girls were inexperienced, some were just submissive at heart, and how you didnt think you enjoyed anything more than seeing pretty girls fall apart under you.

but as you and kit are almost violently fighting for dominance while she kissed you like she was almost insane, you're starting to think that duke's daughter you slept with a year ago who said "you're a control freak in court and it travels down into your sexual life." really was onto something.

you swore the brunette was about to give in, little moans escaping from her lips and her eyes rolling back into her head when you tug her hair to get access to her neck, but you suddenly get the wind knocked out of you when she's flipping you over and pressing you into the bed, your arms suddenly held above your head by jade as kit looks at you with a wild grin.

maybe you can be on the bottom, just this once.

except 'just that once' turned into a whole lot more than once. after that first night of passion and lust it seemed like the three of you couldnt keep your hands off of each other, taking any chance possible to sneak into a room or hidden broom closet to induldge in each other.

while you were able to change thins uo when you were with jade, a simple praise and brush across her neck turning the girl to putty in your arms. you had to be careful, though. once after another unneeded self defense lesson where she had beaten and pinned you in under a minute, one little "god, im so proud of you." led to her nearly humping you like a dog outside on the rocks.

but no matter what you did you still couldnt manage to dominate kit. youd be damning her to the high heavens if it didnt turn you on immensely on she could so quickly reduce you to a whimpering and begging mess.

it got to the point where you were daydreaming about her constantly. when you passed each other in the halls you shivered when her hand brushed against yours and it gave you the muscle memory of her lithe fingers curling and thrusting inside of you, when you were eating together your eyes focused on the movement of her mouth and how you could picture her mouthing at your cunt, or even how when you got the princess and jade tangled up after a spar you got so many ideas how badly you wanted your legs tangled with theirs as you felt your pleasure together.

they were actually driving you crazy. you, the heir of winterhold, fawning over a princess and her ptoector. if those girls back home could see you now they'd cackle.

the three of you werent as sneaky as you would have hoped though.

one night, kit had come to the two of you with a proposition and a package she had acquired, asking if you would like to try it out. jade had opened the package and the way her breathing stopped and eyes enlarged made you think there was actually a rabid wolf inside of the box, but instead she pulls out an object that is long and black and phallic. you’re a little embarrassed to even think of the flutter it starts in your chest.

"i think ill opt out, this once," you nervously squirm in your place. "gods, kit. where did you even get that? ive heard about these but ive never actually seen one."

"aw, are you scared?" kit pinches your shoulder and slightly winces when you do it to her wrist.

jade scoffs at the two of you before telling kit to stop teasing you, assuring you that you didnt have to do anything you didnt want to. gods, she was so sweet to you, always making sure you were comfortable with whatever was happening between the three of you. you just couldn't help yourself when kit was pounding the toy into her, her soft red curls resting on your lap as her big green eyes stared up at you. you could tell that your unmoving gaze on her face and the touch of your hands moving across her face, neck, and chest was not helping in her struggle to keep her noises at bay.

so when your fingers traveled to her breasts and squeezed her nipples, could you really blame yourself for the loud moan that came from her throat? it wasn't exactly your fault she was sensitive. although if it was up to her she would say you definitely knew what you were doing, especially when your fingers trailed down her torso and lightly grazed her clit just at the same moment kit roughly trusted her hips and hit the gooey spot deep inside of her.

looking back, it was only a matter of time until the three of you got caught.

only three days later both of your mothers asked you and kit to join them to a private tea. it wasn't odd for your mother to ask you to tea with her at home, but she hadn't called for you since you arrived in tir asleen. on the way kit had even told you her mother hated tea, and she couldn't recall a time in recent years when the two of them just sat in a room talking to each other without an argument starting.

when you entered the room you could immediately tell something was wrong. first, jade and erik were there; jade was supposed to have a rare day of rest today, and erik was...well, he wasn't often present at important conversations you had come to learn. second, your mother looked on edge. in all your years on earth, you had never seen her show any sign of weakness, the woman learning from a young age that being a ruler of an entire nation meant constantly being guarded. the sight of her being nervous put a sick feeling in your stomach.

"uh, mom? is something going on?" kit took a blunt approach before sitting down on the armchair across from her mother as you did the same. sorsha face looked tense but also a little judgy if you were reading her right.

sorsha raised her hand in a simple gesture and a timid-looking girl wearing a maid uniform came rushing from the corner of the room until she stood behind the sitting queen. you stared at her for a second until the realization hit you like a brick in the face. you never caught her name, but you knew she worked in the hallways surrounding kits room.

"this is moira, one of the new maids who works in the west wing," sorsha begins to explain as the maid in question can't meet your eyes, her eyes staring at her feet. "a few days ago she took the night shift for cleaning some of the floors and heard something quite peculiar coming from your room, kit."

"mom, i can explain-"

"no, kit, we would really like you to not explain." the queen's voiced raised as she quickly cut kit off, the girl's body going rigid beside yours. at this point you were the same, your mom's cold glare making you uncomfortable in your seat.

"although i'm slightly embarrassed at this situation, both because of the nature of it and how fast it seems to be spreading among the staff, queen morwine and i have come up with a proposed solution to this."

as soon as you heard this proposed (more like already decided) idea, for the two of you to get married in the following weeks, you think you blacked out for a few hours. and in hindsight that was horrifying. if there was anything your parents taught you it was to be composed, to be ready for anything at a moment's notice. but to be fair you'd never had to deal with an arranged marriage proposal before.

everything you could remember after it was said was a blur. you could remember kit yelling, obviously opposed to the idea of yet another arranged marriage, at the fact that she thought she had finally managed to finally convince her mother that she deserved the right to choose who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and had proven she wasn't just a political pawn. even though you agreed with what she was saying, the malice in her voice from even just the idea of marrying you hurt.

jade was in an equal state of shock and only moved from her spot when you stumbled out of the room to the audible disapproval from your mother and rushed down the halls.

before you knew it you had run out of breath and settled on a log by a lake not far from the castle grounds. the sun was setting and there were fireflies out over the water. you could hear frogs croaking. it was nice. peaceful.

the knight gently rested a hand on your shoulder. "are you alright?"

you really didnt know how to answer the question.

"up north all of our lakes are frozen solid. the only time you see the water is when the ice is broken for ice sellers or a fool falls through on a dare that they can walk all the way across. i'd never even seen a fully melted one until we started to journey here," you breathe slowly and rub your hands up your arms, the night chill starting to take an effect. jade sits beside you and her natural warmth makes you feel a little better. "i care about you both, really, i do. but whatever this is has only just started and i...i don't know if I'm ready to give my whole life up for it."

the air goes quiet and the sun sets before she walks you back to your room, pausing outside of the door and taking your hand in hers and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

"i know this will be difficult but just...don't shut us out, please."

you could only give her a smile before you shut the door.

the next two weeks were tense.

sometimes when you were little you'd dream about your wedding, picturing a gorgeous girl waiting for you at the end of a beautiful altar and everything would be big and grand and snowy and perfect.

but now you're in a nation that's hot and filled with people you don't know but you're apparently about to rule over, and your gorgeous girl has been giving you the cold treatment ever since the news broke. you had tried cornering her in the halls, after sparring, even after dinner, but she always found a way to get around you and continue doing whatever the hell she was doing.

she wasn't talking to jade either, which slightly made you feel better because if she was you'd be feeling jealous, left a sour taste in your mouth at how she was shutting both of you out for no reason. one night jade had snuck extremely carefully into your room to bring you some snacks you'd been craving and had told you that the princess was just feeling a mix of betrayal, hurt, and worry all at the same time and wasn't the best at handling her emotions when she was upset.

if there was anything keeping you grounded at that time it was jade. she had to tread carefully so it didn't look like she was choosing sides between the two of you, but she always made sure to be there when you were slipping. one of the royal wedding planners was pressuring you to pick a flower to add to the bouquets that would be used to decorate the ceremony and the one you'd hold as you walked down the aisle, and just when you were on the brink on breaking down and just retreating to you room altogether jade stepped in for you and recommended a mix of your favorite flowers from your homeland and kits, signifying the union of your nations in a small but beautiful way.

and maybe having so much of her attention and still having to see kits stupid but cute upset face whenever she saw the two of you got to your head, because later that night you're sitting with jade by that same lake from a while ago and kissing her like your starving, pulling her closer by the back of her neck while your hips grind into hers like you'll die if you don't get closer to her. a few weeks ago you had all agreed to not leave too visible marks, but when you bite roughly on her collarbone and she pulls you closer by your hips, you don't really think she cares.

which is great for you, because when you walk with jade to drop her off at her training session and kit sees the mark on her skin her reaction is worth every bit of sadness you felt.

the night before your wedding was nice you would admit. there was a banquet with both families and a few dozen others, which gave you a crazy sense of deja vu, and you were able to somewhat enjoy yourself. your younger siblings were teasing you nonstop and some of the more vulgar court members were doing the same in a way that made you slightly uncomfortable, but nothing you hadn't heard before. it'd be made better if your bride-to-be wasn't glaring holes into the side of your head every so often, but you would take what you could get.

once the party has ended and an uncountable amount of people had wished you 'good luck's and 'congratulations'' for the following day, you trek back to your bedroom and decide to wind how with a nice warm bath and some scents a courier had brought from your home. just as you had poured the liquid into the water and sunk into the water, the gentle whoosh of the bathroom door opening and closing has your eyes widening and reaching for the closest thing you could as a weapon when your gaze lands on kit, standing at the door with her arms crossed and staring you down.

"if you don't mind, i'd like to spend my night alone and not with you leering at me while i do it."

"to be fair, its nothing i haven't seen before," she smirks and starts to walk closer to your bath, not being able to avoid you flicking water on her clothes. "this is serious, i want...i need to talk to you."

you can't help but scoff at her words. "oh, you need to talk to me? i wasn't really getting that from the past two weeks of silence and ignoring."

"i know, i get it, and im sorry-"

"that's not enough."

you close your eyes and focus on your breathing, not wanting a fight to start lest anyone hear it through the walls. you can hear the sound of kit's boots moving until they stop at the side of your tub, seeing the girl get on her knees before softly taking your hand and holding it over her heart.

"you're right, its not enough. i acted like a complete and utter dick to you and you didn't deserve it. i was so in my head about the wedding, and my mom and graydon and jade and you, that i shut both of you out when we all should have been with each other. and i swear I'm gonna spend the rest of our dumb married lives making it up to you."

you couldn't help but snort at her while she apologized, able to tell that she truly meant it. it was all just hitting you how much you missed her these past few weeks, how she was always trying to say something humourous to break your 'cold exterior'.

(she thought that joke was hilarious and neither you nor jade had the heart to tell her it was lame.)

"i forgive you, kit. and dont think for a second that im not going to hold you to that promise." you brought a hand up to sweep some hair away from her face, chuckling when she lightly tries to shake off the water your fingers left.

she looks at you so fondly before giving you a light kiss on your lips. but blame it one the faint traces of alcohol still in your system, or the low lighting of the bathroom, or just the sensitivity from opening up to each other, but the kiss quickly turns heated before you're both hurriedly rushing to remove her clothing before she's joining you in the bath, the both of you giggling as water sloshes on the ground and you nearly cackle when you see kits giant little toy below her hips.

"were you planning this? you expected me to forgive you as easily as i did?"

"no, but. a princess is always prepared."

luckily no loud noises were heard in the hallway (where jade happened to be standing outside of your bedroom door for both protection and assurance for kit), even though it took biting your lip until you thought it would bleed before kit took some pity on you before she manuevered your body to take you from behind, covering your mouth with her hand as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

once your high hits you with what feels like the power of a hundred stars, the girl carefully lifts you from the cold water and helps you dry off before leading you to lie down on your bed, where jade waits in the middle after assuring you all helpers on the night shift didn't come near your room out of respect or privacy.

you laid in between the two girls, jade in front of you and kit behind you as they snuggled into you and held hands across your waist. they whispered sweet words in the darkness of the room, promising each other that they wouldn't let this get in the way of their previous relationship, that they hoped to build a great life with you by their side, and that they couldn't wait to spend the rest of their lives with you.

you fell asleep dreaming of a white wedding in spring. you really enjoyed it.

when you woke up the two of them had already left to get ready for the wedding, as a handful of lady's maids came in to prepare you for the day. you were thankful they ignored how worn out you looked as they helped you to take another bath and do up your hair.

if there was one thing you loved most it was your dress. it was a traditional but gorgeous dress from your homeland, and you were glad your mother insisted on it being made exactly the way you had envisioned. she might have forced you into a marriage but she'd be damned if you didn't look exactly how you had always dreamed.

the preparation was over in what felt like a second, and before you knew it you were walking down the aisle. the renovated dining hall was ethereal, decorated in a combination of white and purples and blues and pinks and greens. winter meets spring.

regret was seeping into you for picking jade to be your maid of honor because seeing her stand across from kit makes you feel so nervous and sick and in love that you want to just turn around and take a breather for a few hours.

the vows arent long and once you give her a quick kiss it doesn't fully register in your mind that the two of you are actually married now. but it does feel different. like there's a new gravity to your relationship that wasn't there before that both terrifies and excites you.

the reception is lovely as well. compared to last night there are less inappropriate jokes and more genuine well-wishes for the two of you and what this marriage will do for both kingdoms.

the mention of your home would make your mouth twitch. you were starting to become truly happy here, but you would always miss winterhold.

after the food was served and some forms of entertainment were performing for the crown, your mother pulled you aside to talk. at this point, you hadn't talked to her in a few weeks, safe for required details about the wedding or basic pleasantries.

"i understand you're upset with me, and i know that i will have to earn your trust again. and i will do so no matter how long it takes. sorsha and i have been discussing establishing a safer and faster trade route between here and winterhold, maybe start establishing some new towns to people displaced by this crone madness. once its finished you can come back whenever you'd like. it will always be your home, no matter what."

you hugged her tighter than you ever had before.

after the toasts are made and the festivities of the night (which were very fun, you had to admit. you asked kit what gave some of the people such a love for fun and partying and she said it was something her dad brought out in people) are over you make your way to kits room and plop yourself down on the bed, kit and jade in tow and plopping down themselves. its quiet for a while. as they help you out of your wedding dress no words are said. nothing about how two of you are going to be queens once sorsha steps down, nothing about how jade has agreed to go visit her sister for a while to bond with her family and her people before coming back and seeing if there was any way to help them more, or how kit would most likely go on another adventure with boorman and the elora danan to help her father escape from wherever he was.

all you could focus on was the two girls who you cared about more than anything and being surrounded by them as you fell asleep, knowing that whatever new surprises that came in the future you would face.

together.

i love them a lot is it obvious. the bath scene was inspired by a p0rn video i saw on twitter but then i remembered they didn't have showers in that time period :( i didn't realize until the end that i barely talked about boorman elora and willow... ok bye bye

#willow #willow series #kit #jade #kit tanthalos #jade claymore #tanthamore #tanthamore x reader #kit tanthalos x reader #jade claymore x reader #poly #poly fic

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astvrook · 6 months

Text

2002 | park sunghoon.

genre/au: yandere x reader.

When the Prince of the City also becomes the villain, there is no one and nothing that can protect his subjects from his ruthless reign, even under the deepest darkness.

Sunghoon, the minister's son, always carried the intoxicating scent of Nina Ricci lotion, for which his mother was a loyal fan, and the infectious, carefree, uninhibited smile of a baby. But something about him is unbalanced, so much that the temperature in a room drops, and not just because it is no longer winter, when he enters.

He's a masked angel whose light fades as the demon he harbors appears, because Sunghoon's solely responsible for every crime that has been perpetrated here.

You can imagine Sunghoon playing in the depths of every person's mind, as each time he cries, he apologizes to his parents and promises them that he will not make the mistakes he "regrets" again. His parents know, of course, that he will do it again, but they forgive him every time, for they raised their son to achieve excellence and surpass everyone in this town.

Anyways.

In the world of the moneyed, everything can be corrupt, and Sunghoon was not about to stop.

You, fortunately, were all but invisible. Not in a physical sense, but for the Park family, your economic status was relevant, as it allowed you to be hidden from their eyes.

Until the night of Halloween, when it all went south.

At this moment.

In your boyfriend's room, someone with an intense stare and an unrelenting temper takes over with his flawless aesthetic posture. The explicit image sends shivers down your spine.

He has a traditional Day of the Dead make-up, using a combination of monochrome to create a unique calavera, and mixed with elements such as flames, bloodied roses and scar marks for a truly eye-catching look. But there are no eyes.

Which dark impulse was coursing through Jihyun's flawed brain to molest Park Sunghoon like that?

He wasn't going to stop now.

"¡Please let me go!"

It's too late for you, and you can't do anything to stop what's about to happen, so you just huddle in the corner of the room and cover your ears.

Jihyun's head tilts to the side and the blood drips onto the floor as he emits moans and sobs. Fear and pain makes the whites of her eyes show, and the cries tears at your ribs.

But despite that, you still find him pathetic... to have faced the demon himself without demonstrating even the slightest skill in wielding such a weapon or understanding how to defend himself.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

Sunghoon's smile is all the more shocking when you notice that he seems unconcerned about the suffering of others. He appears to thrive simply on the pain of others.

Oh dear me.

It's only a matter of minutes before Sunghoon puts your boyfriend's windpipe beneath his foot and snaps his life away.

For an instant, you're captivated by just observing him.

And at that moment, the world freezes and everything around you stands still as you meet Sunghoon's piercing gaze.

"Having fun watching?"

Park Sunghoon picks up the baseball bat and brings the head to his mouth, feasting slowly on the brilliant red fluid as the blood collects on his tongue and slides between his teeth.

"It really annoys me when people spy on me, little one." Later, Sunghoon thrusts the bat harder against your boyfriend's ribs, hearing an ominous crack.

Releasing it, he falls to the ground and recoils, feasting your eyes on his close approach to you.

It's a terrifying scene.

"It's something that drives me absolutely insane."

He's entertained because of something.

You.

You're completely unclothed, save for the lingerie you're wearing, and Sunghoon's balls ache at the sight of you.

"I'm sorry, I did not... mean to see. Just leave right now".

You are experiencing shortness of breath, and panic causes abnormal dysregulation in your system. Not only that, but you had to run for your life.

Right now.

You are shaking and trying to escape when, with no warning, he seizes you and pushes you hard against the wall. You can sense his intimidating presence as he snarls in your ear: "You shouldn't run away, there is no crime scene to justify your escape. At least not yet."

"Please..."

"Shut the fuck up". Sunghoon shoots you a malicious look, and licks the tears running down your cheeks, as he senses the sensitive play of sensations on your skin, which oscillates between the warmth and the cold that his touch provokes.

Sweet.

Neither can look away, for this night... you're his favorite mischief.

Pretty and his.

Come on... Why settle for a mere piece of agonising flesh, when you could become the possession of the castigator?

He savours the metallic aftertaste of the blood on his teeth with his tongue, as an expression of horror settles on your face.

"You can't place a lamb in the path of a wolf and expect it to go hungry, right?"

And Sunghoon's famished to death tonight.

ENHYPEN MASTERLIST.

#enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #enhypen imagine #sunghoon yandere #yandere enhypen #yandere fanfiction #sunghoon fanfic #yandere #yandere enha #enhypen oneshot #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #Spotify

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tiyawnyana · 7 months

Text

Kinktober: Day 8

Voyeurism

A/N: i actually loved writing this a lot more than I anticipated and honestly am probably going to make one of the future prompts a continuation

Pairing: Ao'nung x (fem) Omiticaya sully, Rotxo 'spying'

Warnings: kinda accidental voyeurism, oral (fem received), small overstimulation, smut (p in v), creampie, being caught

¤¤¤

Rotxo could hear it from beyond the trees edge. He had been crafting alone, collecting his thoughts and coming to terms of some things when a high pitched whine caught his attention.

He glances in surprise toward the treeline, a soft,"Hello?" coming from his lips.

When he receives no response, he shrugs, moving to turn back towards the oceans waves when another high pitched squeal is heard. His ears flick back, confusion on his features before he sighs, dropping his things and hesitantly stepping towards the treeline, knife in hand.

He hears voices, and Rotxo was ever the curious one, so he quietly steps onto the grass, almost tiptoeing to where he heard it.

He walks for a few more moments, stopping short of a small field, moonlight streaming in from the trees and casting a beautiful glow along the forest floor. What surprises him though, is the sight of you and Ao'nung.

His friend has you pressed into the ground, sloppily licking at your cunt. He has your thighs gripped hard over his shoulders, is relentless with his tongue despite your pleas for him to stop. The Olo'eyktans son had already succeeded in making you cum 2 times on his tongue, you were beginning to get angry with his obsession. Sort of.

Rotxo gulped, warmth curling hot down his belly, his cock beginning to unsheath itself at the sight. He jolts in alarm, face growing hot at the realization.

He's interrupted when you yelp, hands gripped tight into Ao'nungs hair as he sucks your clit between his lips. You roll your pussy against his mouth and Rotxo explicitly wishes he was in his friends place. Or perhaps the other way around. He feels hot shame pool into him just the same as the arousal.

"Ah, oh, great mother-" you whine, other hand lifting and desperately grasping at the grass. Your head tilts, lips swollen from what surely mustve been a mix of a makeout session and biting them to stifle your wanton moans.

When your head tilts, your eyes were clenched shut, giving Rotxo a moment of no shame as he takes in the image before him, burning it behind his eyelids. But when he looks back towards your face, he sucks in a gasp as he finds you already looking at him.

He takes a step back, ready to run, when suddenly he thinks you really weren't looking at him. He convinces himself of that fact to further stifle the shame, instead he rubs at his cock through his tewng, hot breath panting out of his lips. Thankfully, you look away, further convincing himself he hadn't been caught.

It's then that Ao'nung pulls out from between your thighs, wrestling your legs spread. He yanks at the cords to his tewng and tosses it to the side, taking hold of your hip with one hand and grasping the base of his cock, aiming at your leaking hole.

Rotxo almost wishes he could see this from the trees, almost wishing he had the same agility of climbing trees as you did.

Ao'nung teases for a moment before aiming the tip, then thrusting into you in one fell swoop. The gasp turned moan that's punched out of you has Rotxo quickly fumbling with the binds of his own tewng, gripping his completely unsheathed cock into his fist and giving himself a slow stroke, before deciding to match the brutal pace that his friend had set for fucking into you. He knew he wasn't going to last that long, anyways.

The Olo'eyktans son is a beast, it seems; growling above you, rutting hard and deep, almost like he was punishing you. You only cry out, moaning hot and desperately clinging to Ao'nungs shoulders or to anything stable, being the grass beneath you.

Rotxo bites his lower lip hard enough to taste blood on his tongue. He stifles a whine, twisting his hand over his cockhead then fucking into his tightened fist.

He glances blearily at you and Ao'nung, taking in the new scene. You mustve wrestled him onto his back and fucked yourself back onto his cock, now Ao'nung lays with his back pressed hard into the grass. Your hands are pressed over his throat and chest, holding him down as you thrust yourself up and down his length.

Your cute little noises of 'uh, ah, oh god, Nung!' Has Rotxo biting into his other fist, hips rolling into the one still tightly wrapped around his cock.

Ao'nung clings to your hips, helping you speed up ontop of him, then he's bracketing his feet to the ground to buck his hips up.

"St- uh! Stop- stop that," you try to sound dominating, but Ao'nung only snorts.

"Stop what?" He then bucks his hips up hard enough to topple you over onto his chest, where he wraps his arms tightly around you to hold you down as he fucks up into your now clenching cunt. He groans, panting into the crook of your neck and nipping at the skin there.

"Oh, oh god," you clench a hand into his hair,"I- I can't, I'm gonna-"

"C'mon, cum all over my cock, let me feel it-" He's then biting into your shoulder.

"Ghk-!" You shriek, body siezing up as your pussy tightens like a vice, pulsing as you cum,"Aaah! Oh, Ao'nung!"

Rotxo cums right then and there, hand tight over his mouth as he desperately ruts into his other. Cum spills onto some leaves below him and he pants for breath shakily, still trying to remain silent. He gazes back out at you two and watches as Ao'nung grips your hips almost bruising your skin, dragging you firmly down against him and craning his neck back as he groans deeply, cumming deep inside you.

You're slumped on his chest, heaving for breath as Ao'nung does too.

Rotxo decides to take his leave, silently creeping backwards when he steps on a stick that crunches beneath his foot. His heart lunges in his chest and he takes a cautious look towards you guys. Surely, neither of you could see him, right?

His heart then stops as he again, somehow makes direct eye contact with you. You're perched up on Ao'nungs chest, hands holding your chin as you smirk.

Rotxo is quick to book it from the scene, not realizing he had dropped his knife.

You chuckle, returning your gaze back down to Ao'nung, who smirks back at you with his brow bone raised.

"You think he enjoyed the show?"

¤¤¤

A/N: god I adore rotxo

Taglist:

@akoyaxs

#avatar #avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #avatar smut #avatar way of water #avatar kinktober #kinktober #ao'nung #aonung x reader #ao'nung smut #atwow rotxo #rotxo smut

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yelenasdiary · 1 year

Text

Piece of My Heart

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: This was not how Natasha thought life would pan out for her, a life without you was never in her cards.

Translations: dorogoy (sweetheart), malyshka (baby girl), zhena (wife),

AC: An idea I couldn’t get out of my head, sorry for the harsh Angst!!

"Gezz baby, you're kicking a lot today!" you spoke to your swollen stomach, a hand supporting your lower back as you finished cleaning up the mess from lunch. It wasn't ideal being cooped up in a small trailer with your wife and being on the run from the government while heavily pregnant, but you couldn't bear to do this without her. You refused to carry out the remainder of your pregnancy without Natasha holding your hand in the hospital while you both welcomed your new-born baby into this crazy world.

Natasha wasn't a fan of the idea of taking you with her, but nothing scared her more than refusing her pregnant wife. It wasn't easy going under the radar with you, but it worked, and the trailer seemed to do just fine for the meantime. In fact, Natasha was short of grateful for being able to have you all to herself. It gave her a chance to prepare herself for a whole new world, parenthood. She loved walking around the surroundings with you, waking up to you beside her, talking nonsense to your stomach while you twirled with her hair, making future plans with you, making promises with you, just simply being with you before her second love would steal her heart.

"I bet you miss mama already huh?" you rubbed your stomach softly as you made yourself comfortable on the bed again. Your due date was 3 days ago, and you were well over being pregnant, you just wanted to meet your little love already. "She'll be back shortly and hopefully with that ice cream and banana milkshake" you smiled softly before letting your eyes close for a moment, still rubbing your stomach to sooth their kicking. "God I hope she's back soon, that milkshake would be really nice, wouldn't it" you chuckled lightly before letting yourself drift into a slumber.

Natasha returned, quietly entering the trailer in hopes not to wake you if you were asleep. She placed the ice-cream and milkshake on the table before your calls for her made her smile.

"Hi darling, I got yo-"

"My water broke, don't freak out but I need you to get so-"

"What?! Baby, are you okay?! Let's get you to the hospital!" Natasha stressed rushing to the small wardrobe to collect some belongings. "Natalia, honey, look at me" you spoke, your words going in one ear and out the other. "Natasha!" you raised your voice causing her to stop her actions, "we're not going to the hospital, I'll be damned if I let us get arrested while I'm in labour! I need you to listen to me"

"But dorogoy, I don't ca-"

"NATASHA! PLEASE!" you screamed in pain before throwing your head back on to the pillow, "I need you to get some warm water and some towels, right now, please" you looked at her with begging eyes. Natasha nodded and rushed into the kitchen while you started doing your breathing exercises that you learned in the early states of your pregnancy, Natasha has never wished for help more than right now. Your screams echoed through the trailer, her heart skipping beats knowing she'd be meeting her son or daughter today and she didn't care if she was caught while you were in labor, she just wanted you in the hands of professionals.

She returned with the face of any mother who was about to meet their baby, she gently and slowly pulled your sweatpants pants off and threw them into a wash basket for later. "Baby, how long ago did your water break?!" Natasha looked up at you with a slightly frown, "45 minutes ago! YOU TOOK SO LONG TO GET BACK!" Your voice got louder as another contraction ripped through your body, your fists gripping the bed covers as Natasha tried her best not to freak out.

----

Hours past full of screams and cries of pain, Natasha kept you cool with cold towels while holding your hand any chance she got. "Okay, malyshka, I think it's time to push, I can see their head" Natasha looked up between your legs, finally it was time. You took a moment to remember everything you'd learnt over the course of your pregnancy, nodding to Natasha when you were ready to push.

"Are you ready?" you asked her before doing anything else, "I'm not pushing this baby out if you're not ready Natalia, I need you to bed ready, please, are y-"

"Hey, listen to me dorogoy, I'm ready" she interrupted with a soft smile, "I'm more than ready to meet our beautiful baby, I'm ready to quit and give you both the life we talk about. I'm ready my love, more than ready" she assured you; tears filled your eyes from so many mixed emotions. Your wife has never looked more beautiful to you than right now, ready to take this new chapter of life with you. "I'm going to push now" tears rolled down your cheeks as you smiled softly at her.

Natasha braced herself with the towels and warm water as you began to push, your screams getting louder and all she wanted to do was hold you. Breathing with you and wiping the sweat from your forehead but instead she had her eyes glued to the exact moment your baby would enter the world kicking and screaming.

"Oh baby, they're beautiful" Natasha looked up at you, "just one more big push" she added, her eyes full of true love. You pushed, one last time, your scream faded out from the screaming cries of your new-born baby, you let out a big sigh of relief and watched in tears as Natasha cut the cord and wrapped her gently in a towel. "Look mommy, meet your daughter" Natasha smiled, tears of her own streaming down her face as she gently handed you the new baby girl.

"She's beautiful" you sobbed with joy the moment your eyes landed on her. Nat kissed your temple and wiped your sweat with a clean towel, "you did so well my love, look what we did, she's here" she kissed your lips softly before you both looked down at your daughter in awe. "Baby, can you please take her? I feel a bit dizzy" you tiredly looked at your wife. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't want to worry Natasha, you gently placed a soft kiss on your daughter's head as Natasha carefully took her into her arms.

"Let's get you both cleaned up" Natasha smiled as she wrapped another clean towel from the pile beside you, she dipped the towel into some warm water and began to gently wipe your daughter's face. You watched for a moment, taking in the sight of your wife and daughter with a faint smile, "I love you so much, Natalia" you spoke weakly. Natasha turned with your daughter in her arms to see your eyes closed. "Y/n, dorogoy, d-don't sleep just yet" she gently placed your daughter in the stolen bassinet she found weeks ago.

It was only then Natasha noticed the pool of blood coming from you that something was wrong. She rushed to you, grabbing all the towels she could to stop the bleeding, every towel soaked with the color red. "Baby, come on, please wake up, please!" she begged, your daughter started crying as you lay there with a faint smile still on your lips, it was too late.

----

The cold silence filled the trailer, Natasha sat outside on a chair by the door, tears endless streaming down her face as your daughter slept peacefully in her arms. Mason emerged from the tears, confused on Natasha's desperate 911 page to him. "T-take her" her eyes looked up at him, the life sucked right out of them. He didn't ask any questions, he didn't say a word, he took her sleeping daughter in his arms. "Don't come in, just, I don't care, just don't" she mumbled as she opened the door to the trailer, again, Mason didn't say a word.

Natasha closed the door and locked it, her eyes traveling up the short hall to the bedroom where you lay. She grabbed all the left over clean towels and brokenly walked into the bedroom where she respectfully cleaned you from the blood and put your favorite pair of her sweatpants on before she sat beside you, pulling your lifeless body closer to her.

"My beautiful zhena" she gently brushed your hair back, "I'm so sorry, I should've just taken you to the hospital" she hated how cold you felt, "I love you so much my love, you're my life, my reason to wake up, my everything" her voice broke as more tears poured down her cheeks like a waterfall, falling onto your cold skin as she kissed your forehead.

She laid with you until she knew it was time to let Mason take your body for her, bury you in a place she could visit you once all this was over. "Where do you want me to take her?" Mason asked as he handed your daughter back to her. "Bury her under the oak tree at the lake by the compound. I want her to face the water, don't leave anything behind and don't say a word to anybody. Play her favourite song and bury her with this" Natasha explained, her tears not stopping as she hands Mason a baby tee that said, "mommy gives the best hugs".

Mason nodded and Natasha slowly walked away from the trailer while Mason carefully carried your body back to his chopper. She refused to watch, refused to let your daughter see her mother be taken away like this, "I'm so sorry angel" Natasha placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead as she rocked her gently.

"Are you going to be okay?" Mason asked quietly. Natasha shook her head, "I'll wire you the money when I can" She changed the topic, "no, not for this. Maybe I should stick around, make sure you're okay" the man suggested having never seen Natasha in this state, it worried him. "No, I don't need you to stay here, I need you to bury my wife because I can't. I need you to make sure she's safe and home because I'm here with our daughter who doesn't even know her mother died. Please, I just need you to do this for me, don't come back here, we won't be here" Natasha's tone was stern. Mason knew better then to argue.

----

A week passed by quickly but for Natasha it felt like not a day had passed. She didn't enter the bedroom anymore, the door remained closed, and she made herself comfortable on the small, uncomfortable sofa the trailer had. Your daughter, still waiting to be named kept Natasha from sleeping more than 3 hours. Natasha did everything she had too with what little she had. She wasn't one for praying but she prayed every night that she could return to the compound to be with you, she needed help and help was only a knock on the door.

"Wanda? Wh-what are you doing here?" Natasha answered the door with a frown, "you haven't answered any pages or messages. You look like hell" Wanda joked but Natasha didn't react, "What are you doing here?" she asked sternly.

"Natasha, we're free. You're and Y/n are no longer wanted"

Natasha's eyes flickered at the mention of your name making Wanda frown, "what's happened?" Wanda took in the state Natasha was in. Dark circles around her eyes, her stained tee and sweats quickly worried Wanda, "Nat" she spoke softly. Natasha shook her head as the tears streamed down her cheeks once again, her knees weakening as she watched Wanda come to the realization. "No" the witch shook her head as tears welled at her eyes; Natasha just nodded slowly as her endless stream of tears spoke more words than she could.

Wanda instantly pulled Natasha in for a hug, the widow wishing it was your arms wrapped around her as she broke down in her friend's arms. "You should've called, Nat" Wanda rubbed her back trying to keep strong for the redhead. It wasn't until a moment later that the cries of a new-born came from the inside of the trailer. Wanda looked up, her heart breaking even more as Natasha gently pulled away and made her way inside the trailer.

The cries of you baby girl broke Wanda's heart as she stepped inside the trailer, Natasha turned around slowly holding her daughter carefully in her arms as she looked up at Wanda. "I can't do this" Natasha spoke so softly that Wanda almost didn't hear her, she didn't stay still for another second before Wanda found herself gently scooping the baby from her friend's arms, "make her stop, please" Natasha's begging eyes filled with grief screamed at Wanda.

"She cries all the time, she doesn't sleep more than 3 or 4 hours, and I don-"

"It's okay" Wanda stopped the redhead from finishing her sentence, "I've got her" she smiled softly as her eyes took in the features of your week-old daughter filling the room with silence when Wanda started to gently rock her in her arms. "She's beautiful, Nat" Wanda commented, her tears slowly streaming down her cheeks.

"Mhm" Natasha mumbled, "I take it you got here by jet?" she asked ignoring the loving look on Wanda's face.

"Yeah, Clint's waiting" Wanda's eyes never leaving the now sleeping baby in her arms.

"Take her back to the others. Just take whatever you need, I don't care"

Wanda looked up at Natasha, "Nat, you're coming with us" she gently placed the little girl in her bassinet before looking back at Natasha. "I know you're hurting" she spoke as she walked over to her friend and fellow Avenger before placing her hand on top of Natasha's, "you need time, I understand. Let us help you, let us be there for you and that beautiful little girl you have. Don't shut yourself off now Natasha, not after how hard you've worked to let yourself come this far. Y/n would tell you the same thing, you know that" Wanda continued.

"I don't want to hear it, I don't' want to go back to the compound and hear how loved and valued Y/n was, I don't want to hear how they made everybody feel some kind of way or how their smile lit up the entire room because I know. I know, okay? I know that they had the power to make everybody around them seem special, I know they had this way about them that made you forget the shit we see! I don't want to hear how sorry everybody is that I lost them, I can't do it!"

"Then don't, we'll go home and give you the space you need. I'll look after your baby girl in the meantime, but you have to promise me one thing" Wanda looked deeply into Natasha's eyes and saw a lost soul, a lover waiting for her lover to return.

"What?" Natasha sighed.

"You talk to me, you let me in. You know Y/n would never let you slip. Nat, they were my best friend, you are my best friend and they made me promise that if anything ever happened to them that I would take care of you, they made Clint promise the same thing which is why we're here. If anybody is going to get you come back with us it'll be them" Wanda smiled so softly it was almost faint, "come home Nat".

"They are my home Wanda" Natasha sobbed, letting herself crash into Wanda gripping onto her like her life depended on it. "I know" Wanda whispered as she comforted her friend, "I know" she repeated.

----

"How's the mini widow this morning?" Tony smiled softly at the sleeping baby in the pusher as Wanda shushed him for being too loud, "I just got her to sleep, if you wake her, you deal with her" she warned in a whisper.

"Alright, what about big wi-…how's Nat?" he asked in the same lowered tone as Wanda, his joke not at all seeming funny to call Natasha a widow at this time.

"She won't even look at her let alone acknowledge her. It's been three weeks since they came home and mini widow is a month old, she needs a name before she actually gets used to mini widow"

"Want me to have a chat with her?" Tony offered.

Wanda shook her head lightly, "and push her further down the hole? I don't think so" she joked, "watch the baby, I'm going to try and get her to eat something" she added before patting him on the shoulder. "Hey, I have things to do!" Tony tried to stop Wanda from leaving, "you wake her, don't come crying to me Stark!" Wanda replied as she made her way to Natasha's room.

If Natasha wasn't in her room, she was either in the gym or by the place Mason buried you. Everybody was warned by Wanda not to hover around her or remind her of the wonderful person you were, for that, Natasha already knew how wonderful you were. She only spoke to Clint and Wanda and a few words to the others, but it was tiring for her to try and show any form of emotion. Clint was the one who was able to get her into the gym again, letting her take out her anger and hurt on a punching bag.

"I already ate but thank you" Natasha spoke softly to Wanda while she dried her soaked hair with a towel. "Beat me to it today" Wanda placed the breakfast roll on Natasha's desk, "So, how do you feel about seeing mini widow today?" she asked while watching Natasha grab her hair brush from the end of her bed.

"Wands I ca-"

"Natasha, she needs you. You're her mother, she doesn't us, she wants you" she interrupted her.

"Wanda! I can't!" Natasha snapped, "I can't look at her and not see Y/n! I can't look at her and not think about Y/n and how we were supposed to raise her together! The moment I saw her she reminded me so much of Y/n and the only moment I want to remember is the short 15 seconds I had with them both. Now please, stop asking me every day if I want to see her because I can't do it" Natasha's eyes filled with tears, "I miss her so much, I'm just not ready to let her go" she added.

"You're not letting her go, Nat. Y/n is always going to be a part of your life, they are going to live through you, through me, through the others and that beautiful angel downstairs. I know it's hard, I can't imagine the thoughts you are having but that little girl has lost her mother and if you think I'm going to let her lose her other mother, you must think I am stupid. So, I'm going to ask you every damn day if you want to see her because she is your daughter and I'd do the exact same thing if it were Y/n in your shoes right now" Wanda's tone was stern but meant care. Natasha was being stubborn, and Wanda knew you'd never allow her to continue to slip into the dark hold grief can hold over somebody.

"We're going for a walk around the compound today, if you want to join us, you're welcome too" Wanda added before leaving the room. Her heart racing, worried Natasha would have her throat for overstepping the line but instead she left the room leaving Natasha to fall to her knees in tears. She begged you to help her find the strength to be there for your daughter, to help her push through that heart ache whenever she laid eyes on her, to help her be the best mother she could. She needed you.

----

Natasha walked into the compound's kitchen with shaky hands as she looked at Clint. It had been another week since Wanda made Natasha realize she needed to gather the strength to be there for her daughter. "Where's Wanda?" she asked softly, Clint looked up from his newspaper almost a little too proudly to see his best friend asking for Wanda. "She took mini-Widow for their morning walk" he smiled softly. It was the only information Natasha needed as she made her way outside and saw Wanda pushing the stroller slowly.

"Soon enough you'll be able to run around here, you're growing so quickly little miss" Wanda coo'd as Natasha approached them slowly. Her heart wasn't racing, nor were her hands shaking anymore. With every step she took closer to the stroller and Wanda she felt at ease, a presence she could only hope was you.

"Wands" she spoke making Wanda turn to face her, "do you want to hold her?" she asked. Natasha nodded and watched as Wanda carefully scooped the mini widow from the stroller and handed her to Natasha. Tears instantly filled her eyes when she looked down at her daughter, "Hi my little angel" Natasha whispered before placing a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be inside if you need anything, okay?" Wanda rubbed Nat's back before walking away.

"You're so beautiful, you look just like your mommy" tears fell onto the tiny girl's tee as Natasha carefully started to walk around with her in her arms, rocking slightly. "Look how big you've gotten, my strong girl" she coo'd, "I'm so sorry mama needed a moment but I promise I'm never going to leave you again. I hear you've got a little nickname" she smiled softly.

Natasha returned to the building a little over an hour after walking around the compound's property with her daughter. Cries for food alerted Wanda as Natasha gently knocked on her door.

"Uh, I'm not sure what to feed her but I think she's hungry"

"I know that cry anytime" Wanda smiled softly, "I've got bottles of milk in the fridge, I'll show you" she added.

Wanda showed Natasha what to do with her bottles and how to make them, how warm to have them and a general run down on every detail of the still unnamed baby.

"Thank you, Wanda, I mean it. Being there for her and giving love when I couldn't, I needed that talk" Natasha looked up at Wanda while she fed her daughter for the first time since being back. "I know, you don't have to thank me. I'm her aunty Wanda, she loves me" Wanda scrunched her nose with a smile, "but you really need to name her because I don't think Y/n would love her getting used to mini widow" she added. Natasha chuckled lightly, careful not to disturb her feeding daughter.

"I was thinking. Y/n and I spoke about names a lot but never settled on anything and with everything, I think" she paused and took a moment to look at her little girl before looking back at Wanda, "Y/n Wanda Romanoff. After the two most important women in her life" she added with tears.

Wanda couldn't help but smile, "little Y/n, it's beautiful Nat. Now we just got to hope that little miss Y/n here doesn't get her mama's stubbornness" she joked. "I'm making no promises, at the end of the day, she is a Romanoff" Natasha playfully raised a brow.

"You never scared me Natasha, but Y/n did and she's part Y/n and part you plus she has the Avengers as her family, that's a lot scarier than you" Wanda chuckled. In that moment, Natasha knew that even though a piece of her heart died with you, nothing in the world mattered more than the little girl you brought into this world. With the love and support Natasha had surrounding her, she knew you left her in good hands and your voice would always run through her mind whenever she needed you.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #fanfiction #marvel #black widow

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targayrenss · 9 months

Text

Green Skin (II) -Daemon Targaryen

pairing:Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen Oc

Content:Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

•••

Rhaenyra was leaving King's Landing, Alys hadn't stopped crying since she heard the news.

Rhaenyra and her children were her only company lately, Aegon was busy drinking all day, Helaena was obsessed with a new bug in her collection and didn't leave her chambers, Aemond is always studying, and Daren isn't even on landing! King !.

"Why does mother have to go? I don't want Nyra to leave.

Alicent braided her daughter's hair while he comforted her.

—rhaenyra decided, your father and I can't do anything, my love

for a moment only sobs were heard until they faded away.

Do you think I'll be a good mother?

The question took Alice by surprise.

"Why do you ask that, Alyss?"

—I don't know, I think that being a mother is something horribly beautiful, I would like to have many children, it would be nice to braid many hairs

oh poor alys, if she only knew—yeah, that would be nice.

The news of the death of laena velaryon, and the fire where harwin strong nearly died came at the same time.

alys never got the chance to meet laena, but hearing that the poor woman died because she couldn't bring her baby into her world made him want to die with her.

She couldn't stop thinking about how horrible her death was, having to ask your dragon to burn you because the son you expected so much will never come out of you.

poor vhagar, alys vowed never to do such a thing to her dragon, abraxas.

Dressed in a dress similar to her mother's, she was standing next to her father, she knew that even having her next to her he would never pay attention to her.

At the end of the ceremony, she decided to look for rhaenyra.

"Nyra! I'm sorry for your loss and that of your uncle." The sisters hugged each other.

"Thank you, sweet child." Rhaenyra eyed the dress her half-sister was wearing with disgust.

"Could you help me look for Luke? I can't find him." Alys nodded and went looking for her nephew.

It was getting dark and she still hadn't found Luke, when she got to the beach she could see a figure dressed completely in black, with short silver hair, her uncle, her daemon.

"Uncle! I should go back to the castle, it's almost night." The man turned to see her and smiled.

"Alysanne, right?" the redhead nodded.

—I'm very sorry for your loss uncle, I hope the gods take care of laena

Daemon shifted his gaze to the young woman's chest, a star necklace at her neckline.

"Do you want to walk with me, niece?"

Alysanne wanted to refuse, she had to go back to the castle but the look that her uncle gave her made her accept.

Alys didn't know when, how, or why, but she had her uncle on top of her, inside of her.

listening to how her uncle moaned her name, alys had never heard a man moan, she thought that wonderful noise was a gift from the gods.

Daemon kissed her with such passion, he caressed her hair lovingly.

"I'll take you away, I'll make you my wife and you'll have my children." Her words moved her but at the same time scared her.

What would her mother think? She has just lost her maiden to her father's brother, a man who has two daughters close to her age.

when they were getting dressed a gentleman came looking for them.

Alys ran in looking for her younger brother with daemon trailing behind her.

“Aemond!” Alys knelt down to her level, “who did this to you?

Her screams were unleashed once more, Alys felt someone grab her tightly by her wrist.

"Where were you? Your brother lost an eye and you weren't here!" Alicent's voice was heard throughout the room, causing everyone to look at the princess and then at the rogue prince.

I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk on the beach.

Apparently Rhaenyra had given the same excuse when she entered with Sir Harwin Strong.

When Alicent lunged at Rhaenyra with a dagger in her hand, Daemon saw the perfect opportunity and took Alys by the hand, they ran off.

Running away from everything, from everyone.

#Daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen oc #Daemon targaryen x reader #targaryen oc #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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luvmist · 1 year

Note

could i request fem reader x neteyam and cuddles after she’s had a particularly rough day?

I AM NOW (2.1k)

neteyam x f! reader

CONPENDIUM: after a long day, you seek solace in the arms of your beloved.

WARNINGS: a little angst, ao’nung being a simp

LOLA SAYS: this is my first ever fic so i’d really appreciate any constructive criticism/feedback. i have legit never written in my life so pls bare w me. i hate this but i will do better lol. if y’all don’t see potential tho literally tell me and i’ll stop rn. also pls reblog

the star of day rose from its tranquil slumber and graced the sky, gradually dissolving the lapis of the metkayina night and generously effusing the village with it’s beams. as the phosphoresce rays illuminated the morning, and the water began to shimmer with lucent diamonds, the reef people began to stir awake from their rest. the lambent incandescence kissing their eyelids and evoking their consciousness.

your eyes open softly with the light, instant disappointment fills your chest. as always, you were dreaming of him. and now you were left craving his warmth next to you. throwing your head back down onto the woven flax floor of the metkayina marui, you closed your eyes. envisioning his face. the sides of your mouth tugging upwards into a warm smile. however, your solace was cut short when the noise of your brother tutean, snoring, thundered through your ear drums. a daily occurrence. typically, a good kick in his direction would shut him up. a tactic you could only indulge in if his preposterous pandemonium awoke you overnight. but alas, it was morning. and village life begins early.

rising to your feet and stretching your arms above your head, you admired the striking atolls stretching out for miles ahead of you. the ring shaped sea wall approximately 30 miles across. the reef was beautiful. it always had been. but again, your moment was interrupted when another rambunctious snort – like growl was emitted from your brothers nose. glaring in his direction, you pick up the closest thing you can find. the closest thing being a rather boisterous seashell your mother had collected weeks ago. and without a second thought the seashell flies through the air and collides straight with your brothers skull.

a groan immediately sounds and a “hey! what was that for?” rolling your eyes you reply “for sounding like a damn ikran in labour. that’s what.” throwing on your necklace and arm band, you venture out of the opening and into the village. suddenly you feel your knees buckle and a slippery sensation under your feet. next thing you know your forehead is met with the thick, stringy floor of the walkway from your marui. it didn’t take long for you to acknowledge the cause of your fall. the walkway was wet. splendid. first you awoke to the earthquake that was your brothers nasal system. and now you’re lying down face first like some invertebrate imbecile. “yn! so sorry! are you alright?” you recognise the voice, ao’nung. the chief’s son. which served as no consolation as he had always been sweet on you, despite your ever obvious uninterest. his strong hand wraps firmly around your upper arm, and you are pulled to your feet. “fine. just peachy.” you reply sharply as you shake his hand from your body. a’onung’s face doesn’t falter, used to your rejection. “that my fault, i was out hunting early with rotxo. the ilu’s were feeling quite playful and splashing around this area.” he offers a smile. you offer a glare. “oh cmon. you can’t really be that mad?” he snickers. suddenly you feel deflated. “honestly, i just have a bad feeling about today.” at your words his eyes suddenly fill with concern, and you realise your mistake. “yn, i-” you don’t let him finish — “no.” “no?” he mirrors. “no” you state again. “don’t do that thing where you try to get all real and emotional ok? not sexy.” now ao’nung is the one rolling his eyes. you push past him, sighing. “and i let myself believe you might finally cut tree boy loose and come have some real fun!” he calls after you. the laugh evident in his voice. “yeah, fat chance” you reply. you had come to dread interactions with ao’nung, but today was pleasant. you convince yourself your gut feeling was wrong. today will be good. if a little sarcastic verbal sparring could lift your mood, surely things were looking up. right?

wrong. to your dismay, your gut was right. your day was one calamity after another. for starters, your lighter mood had been quick to leave you. mere minutes after you and ao’nungs interaction you had been scolded by one of the elders in the village for forgetting to collect and juice 12 utu mauti fruits. a task you had been assigned a week prior and had completely forgotten to do. you spent your afternoon trying to make up for lost time, climbing the mangroves in search for them. during this time, you managed to cut yourself accidentally with your knife. twice. you also managed to forget to bring a basket to collect the fruits in. so you had to make a trip back to your mauri. there, you learned from locals that the reason you had yet to see neteyam was because he had been part of the group of boys that left for early hunting, but unlike ao’nung, he had chosen to stay rather than return after making a decent catch. suddenly and irrationally a pang of hurt fills your chest. he didn’t even say good morning, he always comes to greet me in the mornings. you deflect your emotions. this is stupid, you tell yourself. he probably just didn’t want to wake me. when you returned to the mangrove forest, all of the fruit you had spent hours gathering was gone. it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. feather tail fish were grazing. great. that earned you another scolding. as punishment, you were assigned to sharpen seaglass, which was a task you accomplished quickly, until a young boy no older than twelve walked sheepishly towards you with a basket. you recognised him as the elder’s grandson. he apologised, and told you he had brought you the wrong seaglass. this time you were not scolded. you were reprimanded ruthlessly.

it was reaching late afternoon, and neteyam felt the water become shallower as he rode his ilu towards the shore. laughing with his friends, and content with the day he had had. it had been a long hunt, but many rewards had been reaped. “bro, i can’t believe you caught a feathertail fish!” yelled rotxo over the sound of the current. “seriously man,” continued lo’ak, “those things are stealthy, and always hiding in between the mangrove roots, how’d you do that?” neteyam smiled, “lucky shot i guess.”

the truth was he had no idea how he’d caught that damn fish. he was focused for the first hour, and then his mind wandered. all he could think of was you. he felt his senses and mind slowly derailing — he had gone a night and almost a full day without seeing you. suddenly his competitive urge from this morning when lo’ak shook him awake telling him the guys had bet he couldn’t catch a bigger keep than them seemed silly. the need to feel your hands on him was becoming insufferably potent. reaching the peer, the dismounted. tugging his ponytail and undoing the bond between him and his ilu and grabbing onto the thick bamboo of the rafters. “hey do you guys mind if i-” neteyam started, “go see your girl, tree boy. i’ll un tack your ilu.” marek, another boy who had been on the hunt, answered. neteyam didn’t need to be told twice.

you lay in your hammock, dejected and alone. why had everything gone so, so wrong today? closing your eyes you tried to shut everything out. the creaking of footsteps can be heard, and the bounce of the woven walkway begins could be felt too. you prayed whoever it was, was not headed this way. until a shadow became apparent on the wall in front of you, reflected from the entrance. your instincts guessed without you having to open your eyes much, “piss off, tut. seriously. i’m not the in mood.”

“what if i wasn’t tut? would you be in the mood then?” your eyes snap open. that was not your brothers voice. turning, you see him. “neteyam” you whisper. “hi angel girl” he smiles, but only for a second. because when he notices your expression, your stricken, yet relieved expression, your ears lying flat against your head and your eyes already welling with tears, there is no longer anything to smile about. before you can process his movements he’s crossed the distance between the opening and your hammock, taken you out of it, and wrapped you in his arms. “what’s wrong.” he demanded. the empathy in his voice was thicker than the hot summer air that filled the room. all you could do was cry. cry because of the day you had, cry because of how much you missed him, cry because of how being buried in his broad chest was a feeling you know would end soon. cry because you couldn’t live in these moments forever. relishing in his touch and being as close as two people can be. “hey, hey, hey” he says taking your face in his hands. you look up at him. “what’s going on?” his gaze is so intense it makes it harder to speak. you won’t tell him. because you can’t. because how could you possibly waste one more second of time when he was finally here? “i just. i don’t. i can’t. i don’t know how to” you say in between sobs. “ok, ok. sh.” he pulls you back into him. and you stay this way for minutes. when your breathing is level, he kisses you. strong. hard. and once. now your hand is in his, or his is in yours, you can’t tell. and he’s walking, and you’re walking. “tey where are we going?” “we’re going to clear your head.” he says.

you could feel sand underneath you. you could hear waves in front of you. you could see stars above you. and most importantly, you could feel, hear and see him. you had spent the last hour venting. and neteyam, listening attentively. after you had released your numerous emotions. he spoke. he told you he was sorry, he told you he was there. and after hearing your fruit story, he had gone to fetch the feather tail he had caught, and quite literally forced you to punch it.

“neteyam, i am not going to punch a dead fish."

“why not? the bastard ruined ate your utu’s”

“neteyam there are thousands of feather tail fish in the sea!”

“yeah, and i’m telling you to punch this one.”

now, lying in his embrace with your head resting on his forearm. your frustrations had long faded. and the boy next to you was to thank. you looked up at him, his mouth still moving as his eyes stayed fixed on the sky. “but seriously, baby, listen. i just. i don’t want this to happen again, ok? if you’re having a rotten day, send one of the boys to come find me. i’ll be back in a heartbeat. crushes me to think i wasn’t here to do anything until late.” his voice becomes softer. “really crushes me.” his hand is in your hair, tracing soft circles on your scalp. “neteyam” you say. as if you had never spoken, he continues “i mean, i know we haven’t been going out for long but there is nothing more important than you, got that? and i don’t wanna hear you bullshit yourself. you’re capable. you’re the most capable person i know. today was an off day but we all have those, i’ll help you gather tomorrow. we’ll do it together. i just wish you could see how special you actually are.” “neteyam” you speak again. “i know you compare yourself to me and i hate that you do that, you’re just as gifted, if not more and-” “neteyam!”

he finally looks at you. and you look at him. you look at each other. before you can speak again his lips are on yours, enchanting your mouth with his tongue. and you kiss him. the kiss is sweet, he’s docile, patient with you. his hands find your waist, and your being encapsulates his. you pull away, panting. and he is looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. it’s late, and he can’t think, and words don’t seem effective. so he touches you, and you touch him. he brings you close. and let’s his fingers wander up and down your back. your face in his neck, his breath fawning over you. your hands find his here and there, intervals of separation are including so you can trace shapes on his chest, or rub his arm — but they always find their way back to each other. like old flames.

“you ok?” he asks again, the last time.

“i am now.” you say, smiling.

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lnuns · 4 months

Text

You thought you knew what it was to fear.

Six years old, running, running from a sister whose sparking fingertips had shifted the world into those who have and those who have not. You thought that learning to run at the crackle of popping embers and jumping at the sight of one meant to be your truest ally was fear.

Eleven years old, a mother's desperate touch, words whispered in the night, then gone, gone, gone. You learned then that fear must be absence, the cold brought by the reality of being left with no one to stand between you and the flames.

Thirteen years old, finally standing, finally being heard, finally showing you were worthy to lead, worthy to be called son. You learned then that fear was fire. Pleading, crying, on your knees, fear was a father demanding respect and the knowledge that nothing short of impossibility could take that fear away.

Sixteen years old, hope spluttered into your heart and dared to take fear's hard worn place. You chased, you schemed, you fought, and impossible became possible. Perhaps this was how fear died.

But you did not know fear.

Sixteen years old, a twelve year old child running through the trees away from a stronghold you'd risked everything to save him from. Anger, you expected. Frustration, disappointment, the chorus of failure, failure, failure that never quite ended. But what you did not expect was the earth to move beneath your fist as you smacked the ground in frustration, the shifting of rock as if it were no more than water beneath your fingers.

But the water too betrayed you, as you ran back to the ship, back toward normalcy and the everyday sort of fear you thought you knew. Perhaps it was the anger, the frustration, the disappointment, but as you tried to loose the rowboat you'd so carefully hidden, the waves rather than the ropes responded to your touch.

It wasn't until you were alone in your room that you finally began to understand that you had never known anything at all about fear. Perhaps it was the delusion brought about by lack of sleep, irritation, or a hundred other things, but in that fateful moment you looked at the space between your fingertips and tried the impossible.

A faulty hatch was easy to blame for the gust of wind that roared through your room, ripping open doors and scattering your careful collection of scrolls across the room. But it could not be blamed for what grew inside your heart as you began to wonder.

Sixteen years old, sitting shell shocked between the remains of your honor, your purpose, your sense of self. Somehow, you had gotten it wrong, everyone had gotten it wrong, and now here you were, with the earth sliding at your feet, the water pulling at your arms, the air dancing between your fingertips, and the fire dying inside your heart.

Fear was not sisters or fathers, not failure or duty, not even a burned face and its shattered honor.

Sixteen years old, and now Zuko knew that fear was hope. And hope might be the one thing that finally shattered him.

Oh hey ya'll- just a lil Zuko is the Avatar story I've been working on that I of course had to draw! Let me know what you think? Should I write it all out (an outline does exist 🙃)?

#avatar #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #atla zuko #zuko fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #avatar fic #avatar zuko #Zuko au #avatar au #zuko is an awkward turtleduck #Zuko is definitely in over his head #yes aang is still there I promise there are REASONS and I have thought them out #yes still canon compliant lol #but like #also angst #cause it's Zuko

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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oh my god, the fragment of your short story is very cool and your illustration looks beautiful😍😍😍. I'm always extremely happy when I see Slavic mythology somewhere (I'm from Slovakia). I keep my fingers crossed for your work, it will definitely be amazing

ps: I wish you a early recovery

Beloved Husband

Especially for you, the entire story is translated below

[ warnings: character death, violence, progressive madness, depression, mourning ]

Although it had been two springs since her beloved closed his eyes forever, it seemed to her that just a moment ago she was standing at his side in front of the altar in a small wooden church. She was clad that day in her new linen chemise and kaftan, under which stretched her skirt sewn from long, colourful strips, embroidered by her own hands over many nights.

That morning, her mother herself had collected fresh flowers in the field, from which she later wove a beautiful garland of daisies and forget-me-nots for her. The smell of baking cake spread throughout the room as her sisters helped her dress and prepare to leave her family home.

All her belongings, which consisted of several linen shirts and woollen skirts, two kaftans, one winter coat, two pairs of shoes − one for colder days, the other festive, only for church − hair pins, a set of bedding and a holy picture she had received as a gift from her godparents, fit easily into a small wooden chest decorated with painterly ornaments.

Her beloved was beautiful, joyful and kind, his lips curving into a lazy smile at the sight of her, for he had loved her ever since she could remember. He called out to her when she returned from the fair, when she left church with her parents, he made her laugh by looking at her over the fence as she fed her geese, by telling her made-up tales and legends.

He would come to her parents with gifts, wishing them to look upon him with a more favourable eye, as he was poorer than they were − she was the daughter of a respectable farmer, while he was the son of a simple serf peasant apprenticed to a blacksmith.

Although her guardians at first regarded him with disapproval and reserve, they eventually recognised his industriousness, which also brought him a tangible income. He spent days and nights in the forge, creating things that were not only useful and durable, but also beautiful, appreciated by the villagers and the heirs of the manor houses.

Without delay, he came to the aid of his future parents-in-law when the hinges of their doors and shutters began to loosen and fall off. He forged new ones for them, beautifully fitted, with indentations and swirls, which they later showed off to their neighbours. She watched it all from afar, daring to offer him only her warm, happy smile and a gratitude that filled his heart with fervent hope.

− Wait for me, pretty dove. − He called out to her then, and she laughed, not even thinking of marrying another.

His approach full of patience and understanding eventually won the hearts of her parents. Her father decided, after some thought, that it was good to have such a swift, hard-working son-in-law, who, in addition, was cordial to the women.

He believed that he would certainly be a good and gentle husband, who would not hit or shout at his daughter, and who would also gladly drink vodka with his father-in-law, and would conduct a conversation well, as his mind was sharp and enlightened.

She knew that she had caught God by the feet when they finally agreed to give him her hand, and she did not hide her joy. She thanked her Lord during every evening prayer for the fact that she did not have to marry a drunkard, a scoundrel, but a kind, handsome, hard-working young man, at the sight of whom she felt warmth melt through her heart.

Not even one spring of their marital happiness had passed when her beloved fainted, having returned from the forge all hot and fiery. He coughed terribly and babbled, only making it home with the help of their neighbour. They laid him on the bed together, wondering what to do. Fear then overtook her and she immediately sent for an herbalist who lived a few huts away.

The woman arrived in the evening and, without saying anything or demanding payment, prepared water over the cooker by throwing dried leaves and herbs into it, muttering something at the same time. After these mysterious procedures, she gave her decoction to her husband, ordering him to drink.

She rejoiced, for the colours returned to his countenance, for life returned to his members, for he recognised her, calling her his pretty dove.

Her heart was filled anew with hope. Lying by his side at night, she prayed fervently, thanking God for his grace.

Only in the morning, when the first rays of the sun woke her up, wanting to attend to her daily chores and prepare his morning meal, did she feel that the body lying next to her was cold and stiff.

She was afraid to look at him, and when she finally did, she saw his face, pale and blue, his lips parted slightly, as if he were in fact still asleep. She tried to wake him, at first with a whisper, then with cries and wails, clamping her fingers over his body, but his eyelids never opened again.

She couldn't name what was happening to her. It seemed to her as if her speech had been completely taken away. Her body was left without strength, her mind became blank, dulled. She lay next to him, looking at his face, holding his cold hand in hers, unable to let go of the thought that the only thing left of him was his body.

She didn't understand what her mother was saying, stroking her cheeks and shoulders as they stood over his grave on the day of his funeral. She stared at the simple wooden cross stuck into the fresh, damp earth, listening to the women wailing and crying raucously around the coffin, chanting mournful hymns that only increased her despondency.

It seemed to her that her mind was foggy and sluggish. She drank, she ate, she did her chores, but she did not feel or experience anything. Her body was as if in a state of prolonged shock. In her mind there was still the conviction that her husband would cross the threshold of their home as he did every evening, that he would take her in his arms, speaking of his longing, that they would sit down to supper together, recounting what the day had brought them.

Her parents, seeing the impact of her bereavement and such a sudden loss, ordered her to return to the family home, which she did. From then on, she helped them with their daily chores, as she had done when she was still a maiden.

She would speak to them and be in their company, but her mind seemed to be out of her body, the emptiness that filled her began to be slowly replaced by a progressive rage and irritation, as she noticed that everyone had begun to forget about him. They laughed and smiled, got drunk and danced as he lay there, deep underground, alone.

Shrill thoughts flashed through her head as she lay alone at night under her quilt. Her heart squeezed with pain at the notion that perhaps the gravedigger had not buried him deep enough and his body would be desecrated by wolves or stray dogs or, God forbid, her poor beloved would wake up in his wooden grave and be unable to get out, driving his nails helplessly into the wooden lid.

She would cry aloud then, burying her face in her hands, holding her thoughts and pains deep inside her, feeling that no one else would understand her suffering, that only he, her dearest, if he were still alive, could comfort her.

It was then that she heard him for the first time since the day he closed his eyes forever: the loud, clear rustling of the grass and the quiet cracking of the branches beneath his feet.

She rose quickly, feeling the aggressive, chest-shattering pounding of her heart. A cold sweat ran down her back as she leaned out uncertainly to look out of the window.

There was no one in the courtyard.

She sat still for a moment, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that there was a graveyard beyond the woods overlooking her small room.

The next day she lay down to sleep faster than usual, excusing herself to her family for being unwell, feeling a pleasant tingling in her fingers and excitement at the thought that perhaps her beloved would visit her again, give her some sign, tell her what he needed. No one came, however, and salty tears of regret and disappointment ran down her cheeks as she lay, facing the window, watching the first rays of the sun.

She wandered off to the cemetery in the morning, explaining to her relatives that she wished to place fresh flowers on her late husband's grave. However, when she arrived at the site, she found to her disbelief and dismay that although grass should have grown on the grave long ago, the sand on it was still wet and fresh, as if he had been buried only the day before.

Walking back home along the dirt road, wrapping herself in a warm woollen shawl, she thought of her grandmother's stories. Of how people who had died, called wraiths, rose from their graves to haunt their families, peering down on their children and placing cold, corpse-like kisses on the lips of their wives and husbands.

At this thought she felt heat in her lower abdomen, a pleasant tickling sensation engulfed her fingertips and lips, and she imagined that her beloved had come to her then, that night, wanting to prove to her that he remembered her, that he loved her and could not leave without her.

The realisation that he could wander still in the world without knowing a holy rest both frightened and delighted her at the same time, that their love could be stronger than death, that his desire to stay with her was more important to him than the will of God himself, who had called him to join him.

She stopped and trembled as she heard a loud rustling in the depths of a field filled all around with tall, golden wheat. She lifted herself up on tiptoe, feeling the rumbling of her yearning heart, looking around carefully. Her breathing became raspy and loud, full of excitement.

− My love? − She heard her own trembling, warm voice, sounding as if a mother was calling her child, wanting to give him courage.

However, she saw nothing, nor did she hear any reply.

Nevertheless, the conviction that her husband was still prowling the earth and watching her was growing stronger within her. Candles would suddenly burn out in the rooms she was in, although no one passed by them, doors would open with a loud creak of old wood even though no one was standing behind them. She was awakened at night by a quiet tapping on the windowpanes that kept her awake. She had the impression that she heard someone's footsteps even when there was no one in the room but her.

She whispered to him each time, asking him to appear to her. She would convince him that his cadaverous, pale face would certainly not scare her away, that he still remained her beloved, her only one.

He did not answer.

It seemed to her that she was slowly losing her mind. She was getting thinner and thinner, her face becoming pale, bruises from dozens of sleepless nights surrounding her lifeless eyes. Her parents, worried about her behaviour and the fact that the slightest sound or movement made her flinch as she looked around the rooms, suggested that perhaps it was time to find her a new husband.

− You will have your children, and he too will comfort you with a kind word and a strong embrace of his arms. − Her mother said. She looked at her dully, feeling that her pale lips trembled parted in disbelief. Cold sweat trickled down her neck, her fingers clenched tightly on the material of her skirt.

That night, she cried aloud with her face pressed into her pillow, calling for her beloved, her kindest, cursing him and begging him to relieve her suffering, to prevent her from being given away to any other man, because they had promised each other that they would be together, now and for eternity.

It was then that she heard him again − the quiet crackling and rustling outside her window, someone's footsteps so clear that her heart leapt into her throat. She pulled herself up from her bed and looked out of the window, pressing her palms against the glass. A pitiful, low sob escaped from her throat as she spotted a male figure disappearing deep into the dark woods.

She got up quickly, putting a warm blanket over herself, and slipped out of her family home in only her nightgown, moving after the mysterious silhouette, wanting to shout for him to stop, fearing, however, that she would startle him. Seeing only the full moon and stars above her, she trudged through the tall shrubs, the needles of the pines and the sharp stones beneath her feet hurting her skin.

She knew that in order to reach the cemetery she had to walk straight ahead, and despite her fear, her heart was filled with courage, because for him, for her beloved, she was willing to do anything.

A loud sigh of relief left her lungs when she finally stood at the border of the forest, seeing clearly the outlines of wooden and iron crosses. She froze completely when she noticed a male figure leaning deeply into one of the grave pits. A broad smile appeared on her face for the first time since fate had separated them.

− My beloved! − She shouted with joy, with hope, with relief, drenched in tears, running towards him with confidence, thinking only of throwing herself into his arms again, of speaking to him again, of hearing his voice again.

My pretty dove.

She stopped halfway, feeling her heart freeze, shivers ran along her spine as the man she was running towards jumped out of the pit like a burned man.

She saw his terrified eyes, he was panting heavily as if he was some wild animal, raising his hands high in the air. She found to her horror that she did not recognise either his face or his figure, looking at him in the moonlight. He was older and taller than her husband, dressed in dark, dirty trousers and coat, his large hands black from the ground.

Only after a moment did she notice a long shovel lying next to his feet, a sack lay immediately next to it, she swallowed with difficulty recognising in its contents something that resembled shimmering gold jewellery in the moonlight.

The stranger moved suddenly towards her, grabbing earlier a shovel lying on the ground. She screamed loudly, throwing herself into flight, understanding her mistake, her stupidity, her naivety. She stumbled several times over tombstones and tree roots, her sore feet seeming to scream with every step she took.

Her voice stuck in her throat when suddenly something dull and hard hit her heavily on the back of her head, then again and again; she fell to the ground, panting heavily. Everything around her seemed to spin, she no longer recognised shapes or where she was, warm liquid ran down her forehead, the metallic taste of blood that had flooded her face melted between her lips.

She wanted to scream for rescue to her beloved, to her parents, but she was unable to get the words out. She cried out loudly and drew in a loud breath, bursting out crying when she felt his large, rough hands clamp down on her bare calves, pulling her back on the ground. Her fingers impulsively dug into the sand and grass, fruitlessly trying to resist him, something akin to a grunt escaped her throat.

My God, have mercy.

She was already completely limp when he threw her into the middle of the grave. No sound left her lips as the heavy, cold sand began to fall on her body. Her empty gaze, from which the life was slowly escaping, was fixed on the bright moon disc spreading over her head.

Before the last breath left her lungs, a thought flashed through her dying mind, from which she smiled gratefully at the stranger who stood high above her like death itself.

I will see him again.

_____

Illustrations and text are created by me. Do not repost.

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