#now I release this one into the void. go forth. be free
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dont think I ever showed u guys this one. technically the first time I ever drew sonic
#bakuspeech#this is from#an aggie.io thing with mim's stream server iirc#I drew this and then like three little guys. and thats it#now I release this one into the void. go forth. be free
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Heyyy, I'm absolutely in love with all your writing! I read it all in one night😭 Do you think you could for more foxgirl fem reader stuff? The prompt is completely up to you, I don't want to take away from your creativity, but some smut would be greatly appreciated. . .💖
NANAMI X FOXGIRL!READER
Notes: I wasn’t sure which character you wanted so i decided to go with Nanami since that’s where the prompt came from. Btw don’t be afraid to tell me a specific prompt you have in mind, I’m not that creative when it comes to these things so I rely a lot on my followers, so don’t be afraid! Im so happy you read my stuff in one night! It makes me feel good abt writing for you guys <333
Pairings: NANAMI x foxgirl!Reader
Tags: Smut, NASTY!!, hybrid!reader, mating press, mean but soft Kento (kinda), NOT PROOFREAD!
It’s hot, too hot in fact, Kento’s body feels like it’s rising in temperature every few minutes, his dreams feel so vivid and real, a wet hot something is mouthing at his cock, but the fuzz is in his brain won’t allow him to think rationally and clearly. Kento stills before he’s sitting up quickly and ripping the cover off his lower body.
He sees your ears before anything, laid back and relaxed, you don’t even seem to care that you’ve woken him up, not when your tongue is licking him through his underwear, you’ve woken him up and now you’re attempting to tease him? You do look content, eyes fluttered shut and humming around him lowly.
Nanami grabs you by your neck and lifts you up to prop you on his lap, of course you whine and attempt to pry his hand away: it really doesn’t even hurt you’re just so over dramatic: a drama queen as Satoru puts it.
Kento grabs the bridge of his nose in irritation before speaking up, “Can I ask what you’re doing at-“ he looks at the clock on the bedside table, 4:00.
You don’t say anything but of course you pick up the hint when his head turns to the time. Being the mischievous thing you are, you begin licking at his neck, cute white tipped tail swaying back and forth behind you. A deep exhale leaves his lips whilst making no attempt to move or stop you.
You fix your body on top of him, pressing your greedy cunt over his half hard cock, hissing at the good pressure your clit received. He’s already declared when he had been woken up that he won’t help you get off at all, no matter how much you release those cute yelps in desperation.
Your hips begin to move forward and back, his clothed cock slipping in between your folds, your panties are quite bothersome but he won’t tell you to remove them either.
“Mmm..” “Ken-“ you whimpered, coaxing him to help you: it’s started now, you’ll call his name over and over until you get your way, but he’s having none of it.
“Keep going” he attempts to sound void of emotions but the grunt he lets out almost gives him away, you don’t stop grinding your pussy against him. He leans you back a bit to lift up your shirt, your nipples begging him to attend to their needs.
A hot mouth wraps around one of them and sucks, sucks so hard it has you gripping his hair, it doesn’t bother him it just adds on to the stimulation, the combo of you still bouncing against his cock.
You finally get the memo to tug your panties to the side with your free hand, and in the process pulls his cock and balls free, he hissed behind clenched teeth at the rush of cold air against it.
Kento is too big for you to take in all the way, your poor cunt just can’t handle all of him: the first time he attempted it, you could both barely breathe with the amount of times you came just from slipping in a inch every so often.
You line up his fat tip with your pussy, making sure to rub his cock against your clit a few times.
“Ngh…” the sounds coming from your throat as you slowly lower yourself down become louder with each push past his tip.
Finally are you halfway do you stop fully.
“F..uck.. mmmnn..” Nanami groans around your nipple.
His cock fills you up so good, already pressing on that sweet spot, your thighs ache from the position but that doesn’t stop your naughty body from slowly fucking yourself on him, it’s not long till he’s had enough and breaks his vow by flipping you on your back and placing your legs on his shoulders, inching closer to you he has you in a mean, mating press. He wastes no time in pulling all the way and slamming right back into you. Your mewls fill the room rather quickly, the way his cock drags against your walls has you clenching around him nonstop.
“Mhnn, Kent- Kento” you gasp out, he doesn’t acknowledge the desperate look on your face, already so close to cumming, the sounds of his grunting makes you so much more wetter. A thick hand moves itself to your tail and pinches it over and over, and the noise you let out is pornographic, straight out of a film, you’re so sensitive there.
Your clit is throbbing so bad, needy bud needing to be rubbed, you shakily move your fingers to said clit and begin moving side to side, your fingers glide across so easy due to just how wet you are, Nanami hasn’t stopped pinching the end of your nail, everything feels so good: a cock slamming into you nonstop, your fingers on your clit, and added stimulation on your tail. Your body convulses while Kento holds you still: still fucking into you, electric pulses are sent throughout your whole body, you tighten around him and finally cum, cumming with a loud scream that it’s sure to disturb the neighbors.
That doesn’t mean Kento is done when you slump and attempt to catch your breath, he sits himself up on his knees giving you a moment, not that it can be called that, pushing one of your legs towards you, he begins his pace again, you can hear better now, the room is filled with your annoying babbling and the sounds of his pelvis meeting your ass. His balls are so heavy, needing immediately to fill you up, maybe even push you over the edge one more time but he wants to extend this as long as possible, you being able to do nothing but take your impending orgasms nonstop.
#zsworks#fem reader#jjk x hybrid reader#hybrid reader#nanami x female reader#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami smut#nanami x y/n#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader
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Starry Eyes
pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader
genre: fluffffffff!!!!!!!!!!!!
wc: 878
a/n: I love star gazing. And where I live, I can actually see a lot of constellations. It still amazes me really.
You loved the night. Loved how things come to life more vividly when the blinding sun is not in view. But where you were, it was difficult to properly admire the sky.
Growing up, you lived in an area with minimal light pollution and were awarded ample chances to see all the glowing specs in the sky. You could point out each constellation you studied, fixated on the delicate radiance they emited in the void.
Every chance you had while out on missions, you would try to seek out the many specs, a call for comfort. But travel made it tough, some areas preventing you from being able to properly admire. And Soap caught on. He would join you on your endeavors, a calming silence between you both, unspoken emotions.
You never told him he couldn't join you, in fact it delighted you. At first, you never spoke to him when he started joining in. He didn't get upset about it, not even once, but there have been times he'd catch himself staring at you while you dazed upon the sprinkled shadowed sky.
The way your eyes reflected the moon, small movements as your eyes darted around searching for all the known constellations that were common on showing out. The way you'd sit with your knees pulled to the chest, arms encapsulating around them, placing your head atop your knees. The way you'd let out a sigh of content, releasing the tensions of the day you endured.
And he knew. Knew you sought the stars for a way to escape. So to have you abruptly grab him one night as you both gazed upon the heavens, worried him. Were you bottling up emotions? Waiting for the perfect time to speak to him?
"Johnny." His name came from your lips, smooth yet with a hint of fire much like the Scotch he enjoys on his off time. He loved it. Mind going numb over the way your voice softly cracked from being silent just a little too long. His eyes lingered on your face a bit longer than needed, watching as your eyes dropped from the sky, blinking as if you had been lost in a thought. Lips darting past your lips to lightly dampen the now dried out skin from the light breeze that came around. "I hope I don't bore you like this."
Shock and awe. You never bored him. You kept him on his toes. Hell, you even tripped him up during training one afternoon. A free hand gently laid atop yours, a silent unspoken acknowledgement to your abrupt statement to the man.
"No, never." His words were soft, delicate. His steel eyes gazed back up to the sky, wondering if he saw the same stuff you saw. "You could never bore me."
He couldn't see it directly, but you smiled. A smile so gentle, so pure. You turned your head to look at the man beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours. The wind started to pick up, and you mentally cursed yourself for not being a light jacket but at this moment, it didn't matter. You were surrounded by a gentle soul, someone who never once complained about your silence.
"Would ya tell me 'bout the stars?" His accent radiated through your body, your smile never faltering. It made you ecstatic that he wanted to learn about it, about your favorite pastime. "I see them, but I'm not sure."
"Of course!" Your face lit up with such happiness, it made Soap squeeze your hand a bit, lips curling up in adoration of your excitement.
He learned a lot. You point up at the sky, locating clusters of stars and spewing out information. Soap couldn't help but turn his head and stare at you. Your beauty radiates under the moonlight, he thought he was dreaming. The way your eyes shined and darted across the sky, the way you eagerly pointed at different areas and talked about the history of each constellation, the way you were you. "Steamin' Jesus…" he barely whispered, hoping you couldn't hear him.
He went back and forth between you and the sky, able to point out Orion's Belt, the Little and Big dippers, and even the planets that were there. But he wasn't expecting the sudden shift from your body, hand moving away from him, your face scrunching up with questions, as you stared slightly west of your location, still observing the sky.
A soft gasp left your lips, as your eyes slightly watered. Soap internally panicked, hoping nothing was wrong or if you were okay, but when he felt you grab his hand again, he relaxed, awaiting your words.
"Johnny…I see a new one! It's– It's magnificent!" You stumbled on your words, trying your hardest not to burst into tears at your discovery.
It wasn't a 'new' cluster of stars, but you've never been able to see it. You told him about Gemini, and the design of the constellation, and when you pointed up at it, he could see it too. It blew his mind. You were so knowledgeable on these things, it made him fall harder. He was smitten with you, the way you found joy in the smallest of things.
To him, you were his favorite constellation.
#sin writes 📝#johnny soap mactavish#soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#soap x reader#ahhHHHHH
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Consequences Possessed Bai He/Lady Bone Demon
Alright here we go
So the thing about about the lady bone demon in this Au is that her story is different here than in cannon. Consequences Au uses the canon story as an outline in a way. the episodic conflicts still happen but their result is different,
So in Consequences the lady bone demon has a lot of my personal HC's implemented.
She wasn't always a demon, she was just a mere spirit determined to make the world a better place. She consistently disguised herself as a human to help guide the world to become and kinder and safer place. But no matter what she did or how many people she helped for 100's of hundreds, nothing truly changed. Pain and suffering still flourished in the mortal realm.
But she didn't want to give up. She would never give up. She knows there is a way to truly end all the pain and suffering of the world and she will find it. She just has to be patient.
Then one day she died.
She did not die as a martyr.
She did not die doing some great deed.
She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
perhaps a battlefield, or an evil demon, (idk yet) but she died without ever being able to be the change she wanted to see in this world.
Thrown into Diyu to continue the cycle of reincarnation.
Except she was not going to allow it to end this way
She was meant to make a difference.
She would bring forth a new and greater world.
It is her birthright.
Her fate
Her DESTINY
So with nothing but the burns on her hands and a cold spiteful heart she dragged herself out of Diyu and by doing this transformed into something new. The power of Diyu along with her cold heart merged and turned her into a demon of Ice and Death.
By earning a portion of DIyu, hidden away from even the great kings eyes, a place she can control. Where her court lies. A court of consumed souls of countless beings across the realm. The more souls she collects and drags into her portion of Diyu the more powerful she becomes.
She can even summon blue chains that were once dark red and use them to confine and trap beings within her void. all she needs to do is land a fatal blow with her crystals. One that would heal with her magic but once that fatal blow is done she can easily drag them into Diyu where she can keep them in an empty void and manipulate them or just keep them there.
her mist is the court of souls she's collected.
Mayor is a whole 'nother story. Her Demon chief. Ill get to him later.
I still have stuff to develop about her but in Consequences Au sh comes in ALOT sooner than in cannon.
Like she's not trapped away for a whole season soon.
There's more to her but that's spoilers ;)
BAI HE
There's not much I can say about her without giving spoilers
She is possessed a lot sooner than in cannon
She is also aware of every little thing the lady bone demon does
...well somewhat
Bai he is trapped within her own mind, she cant do anything other then sleep or watch
when she is released that blue on her arms and the white markings on her hand stays. A couple of white streaks in her hair too.
She has been possessed for a VERY long time
the lady bone demon has been using her magic to keep her body and mind in the same state that it is what when she found the child
out of every host she found Bai He was the first to ever be able to fully withstand her power
With so much exposure to the lady bone demons magic for so long Bai he is no longer a human girl
When she is released her body transforms to accommodate what it has lost with the lady bone demon gone.
so now she is also an Ice and bone demon (ill design that later)
she's 15 during the main story.
shes pale af bc of the ice magic shit just macking her VERY pale
Ofc there's more to it all but HEY that's spoilers
despite the fact that there's a lot I have planned or facts that I have not mentioned for spoiler's sake feel free to ask me questions and ill see how best I can answer them without spoiling anything
#consequencesau💫#Bai he#The lady bone demon#lbd#lmk lbd#monkie kid lbd#bai he lmk#bai he#lmk#monkie kid#monkie kid au#lego monkie kid au#Infodump
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Saga of Sorcery: A Puyo Puyo Reimagining
In the beautiful town of Primp, a young girl named Amitie Lux dreams of becoming an amazing Sorceress. One day, when she and her classmates are given a free day to help their teacher find her flying cane, Amitie finds a girl in blue armor unconscious on the ground, accompanied by a little yellow rabbit thing. After bringing the blue girl to her home to recover, the girl wakes up and introduces herself as Arly.
Arly can't actually remember too many details about herself, and Amitie jumps at the chance to help her. "A quick game of Puyo Pop ought to jumpstart your head," she says. But during the Puyo battle, Amitie's "Fairy Fair" and Arly's "Heaven Ray" meet, and release a pulse of magic that's felt throughout Primp Town.
A pulse of Divine Magic, that is, which hasn't been felt in Primp Town in decades. And now, a sealed demon, the Lord of Hell, and a sentient void are en route to see just what all the hubbub is about.
Structure:
The plan is for a collection of one or two shots that focus on specific scenes and moments from the games, light novels, voice dramas, and a few original stories besides. Eventually, as the lore building starts to contradict the actual games down the line, that may give way to longer, multi-chap stories out of necessity. At the very least, one concept I've added is going to require that I rewrite a good chunk of Puyo Tetris 2.
Main Characters:
Amitie Lux: The leading heroine of this universe. A simple (in every sense of the word) girl who dreams of becoming an amazing Sorceress. The quintessential Magical Girl protagonist, whose improvements in her magical abilities is juxtaposed with lessons of maturity and growth.
Actually the reincarnation of a Goddess from ages past, who had bestowed blessings on Five Puyo Colored Heroes to defeat a powerful Demon. Said demon was split in two, half of which was sealed in a familiar tome.
Almost incapable of hatred. Almost. Her rare moments of genuine anger are actually the only time her Divine Power starts to truly manifest, and it's never a good thing. If she returns to her Divine nature, she will disappear from her dimension and be forgotten, just like Ex and Ecolo.
She is based on the theme of "maturity".
Ringo Ando: The other Main Character of this universe. A normal girl from Earth, she is the first person to learn about Magic, Owanimo, and how to play Puyo battles. After saving her world from being drowned in Puyos, it turns out that magic didn't just disappear from the world, and now she finds herself helping Suzuran City acclimate to the existence of magic and magical creatures from other worlds. And that's on top of frequently jumping back and forth to Primp Town.
Borrowing a concept from another franchise that I'm a fan of, Ringo (in this AU) is something called a Singularity Point. This makes her a static point in the universe, and means that her own memories or state of being can't be changed or affected in any way, not even by the Laws of the Universe. This is why she can remember Ecolo, and will also be the one to force the PuyoTet2 Rewrite in order to accommodate her remembering the Tetris crew.
Her longstanding goal is to eventually develop a way for people to cross dimensions at will, so that she (and others) can freely travel between Earth, Primp Town, and even the SS Tetra. One day, far in the future, she will succeed. Ecolo knows this and will never, ever tell her so as to not spoil the surprise.
She is based on the theme of "Bonds".
Arle Nadja: Tritagonist of this AU. Upon arriving in Primp Town, she is under an unfortunate curse that sapped her of memory. Upon having the curse removed, she thought that was the end of it, but her new friends make her realize that she is still missing huge chunks of her life and memories.
While she's usually accompanying Amitie and Ringo on their adventures, Arle is just as often searching in the background for her own answers, at first for a way back to her home world, then for the reason why she's missing her memories, and then (during Chronicles) for a way back home again, though this time with her claiming Primp Town as her true home.
Is actually only half of the original Arle Nadja. About a year before arriving in Primp Town, a Divine Being with a bone to pick with the Dark Prince attacked her to try and steal Carbuncle. She barely defeated him, but with his last attack, he left her soul fractured in two. The Dark Prince saved her body and half her soul.
The other half, through sheer will and rage, became the Doppelganger Arle. Doppel holds all of the memories that Blue Arle is missing, but has none of her old feelings and kindness. Blue Arle doesn't have the memories, but does have the feelings associated with them.
She is based on the themes of "Home" and "Identity".
This AU is based on the wonderful works "They Never Left" by PrincessMadelyn and "A Soul Rended, A Soul Mended" by Nenilein.
#zero writes#puyo puyo#arle nadja#amitie puyo puyo#ringo ando#madou monogatari#Saga of Sorcery AU#my au#amitie#satan#satan puyo puyo#dark prince#doppelganger arle
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"I'm afraid to go to sleep."
Mari plus your choice of either one of the twins or Reina!
Fluff/Angst and who's having trouble sleeping is up to you!
Allllllmost went with Ingo but I couldn't figure out how to get him and Mari in the same spot at dumb-o-clock in the morning, sooooooo.
You get Reina! ^_^
Here's hoping I did Mari even a little bit of justice, eheh...
(word count is 1,241. I've just given up on trying to stay near 500. XD)
(CW: non-graphic themes of grief and depression. can be read as plotonic or as shippy, cuz... I accidentally made it kind of shippy. whoops)
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2am
There is a familiar figure sitting stiff and silent in one of Reina’s shitty, second-hand patio chairs
“Mari?”
Frowning, Reina wraps her sweater tighter around her shoulders - a comfort in its weight and softness against the slight chill of early spring - and steps outside, closing the balcony door behind her as she goes. She has to gently nudge Chamomile aside as the worried leafeon tries to dash out along with her, adding a soft, “No, baby, stay inside,” as Chami mews in protest.
She pads her way over to where her friend sits in trancelike silence. Carefully perching herself on the second flimsy chair, Reina scoots it closer, motions awkward, until she’s near enough to bump their knees together. She leans over at the waist then, tilting her head to examine her friend’s unfocused stare, fixed on the dingy buildings across the way, yet seeing nothing - Reina takes in the faint downturn at the corners of the mouth, the hollow shadows forming like bruises beneath vacant eyes.
And knows.
(She know, because she recognizes the emptiness, the black and gaping void that’s swallowed her friend down deep. She knows because, while she may not have been able to see herself while it happened, she’s felt that same bleeding wound; she knows what grief looks like - from the inside and out.)
“Mari?” she calls again, softly, sadly. She reaches out and lays her hand overtop the one resting on the other woman’s knee; the fingers are limp in her hold, chilled by the night air, but Reina gives them a gentle squeeze.
Mari blinks. It’s slow, dazed, and her eyelids stutter as she creaks them back open, but her shoulders rise with a sudden quiet, deep breath, and that’s good.
Reina squeezes her friend’s hand again, and this time Mari turns her head and tilts her chin down to look at their joined fingers.
It takes a few more minutes for Mari to completely return to her body.
Reina just waits.
Eventually, there is another deep pull of breath, followed by a long, low exhale. “...Rei?” she whispers, tone small and confused. Like a wounded, delirious child.
Reina rolls their hands to the side and clasps her other one overtop, so that both of hers now hold Mari’s own - one on either side. “Hey,” she calls softly. “Welcome back.” She smiles at Mari, who finally looks up at her face with a dazed expression.
Sluggishly, Mari relaxes back against her chair as if a pressure valve has been released. She bounches their combined hands once or twice against her knee, wobbling them back and forth as she grounds herself.
“...How long was I gone?”
Reina shakes her head. Blue hair, mussed from sleep and slipping from its braid, falls into her eyes, and she goes to move a hand to push it away again - only for Mari to bring her own free hand up and clap it overtop the whole ball of fingers and palms. It takes Reina a momet to pick the gesture apart in her head, but when it finally clicks, she squeezes both of her hands tightly around the ones held in her grip. She blows awkwardly at the strands of dusky blue invading her sight; she’s willing to trade her own comfort for the comfort of her friend.
“Dunno,” she finally says. “Chami woke me up about… uhm. Fifteen? Minutes ago?” She turns to look behind her as if she has any hope of seeing the little glowing green numbers on her kitchen stove from here. She gives up and turns back around. “So maybe about twenty? Thirty?”
Mari nods, shallow and slow, in acknowledgement.
The pair sits in silence for a bit - Mari pursing her lips as she watches the street below and Reina conversely watching the sky.
(It’s starless and clouded, reflecting the harsh yellow of the city streetlamps, and Reina feels a pang of something empty in the pit of her stomach. She shakes it off.)
“...I can’t sleep.”
Reina brings her gaze down to earth at the quiet words. She furrows her brows, confused. “Insomnia?” she guesses, though she knows her tone gives away her unsurity.
Mari shakes her head. “No, I… I don’t want to sleep.”
Oh.
Reina chews at her bottom lip, pulling at the dead skin there as a feeling of recognition trickles wet and too-warm down the back of her neck. Even without a confirmation, Reina can piece together what Mari’s words more than likely mean - she’s been there herself more times that she dares to count.
Without releasing her grip, Reina scoots her chair until she’s right at Mari’s side instead of facing her at an angle; she tugs at their combined hands, pulling Mari over until her friend leans into her, head on Reina’s shoulder. Reina then rests her cheek in Mari’s hair. “Nightmare?” she asks. “Or memory?”
Against her, Mari jerk slightly, as if she’s just huffed without a sound. “...Both,” she says at length.
Reina hums. “Need silence or a distraction?”
This time Mari shrugs.
Reina doesn’t speak again, instead allowing the other woman to sort through her own thoughts; If Mari wants to talk, then Reina will listen. If Mari wants to sit and watch the sun come up without speaking, then Reina won’t say another word.
Eventually, though, Mari does speak, and despite being just below Reina’s ear, the barista still struggles to hear her.
“...Had a dream about Jake.”
Reina gives Mari’s fingers several rhythmic squeezes. “He was your partner, right?”
Mari nods.
(Reina doesn’t know much about the pokemon her friend used to have. Mari hasn’t offered up the information, and Reina isn’t one to pry - but she knows enough.)
Gently, slowly, Reina pulls one of her hands loose from the knot of fingers, offering a quick squeeze when Mari tries to tighten her grip. Once freed, Reina quickly presses her thumb to each of her knuckles to crack them in turn, then wraps her entire arm around Mari’s shoulders and hugs her close. She tucks her feet up onto the chair with her and leans herself into Mari’s side as tightly as she can to maximize the spread of her body heat.
Unconsciously (or maybe not), Mari presses herself into Reina’s side and turns her face to bury it in Reina’s sweater. She takes a shaky breath in through her nose, lets it out through her teeth.
Reina jostles her shoulder slightly, shifting the person slumped against it in a quiet show of affection. “I’m here,” she murmurs, “if you need to get it out of your head. I don’t mind.”
Beside her, at her collarbone, is another unsteady breath.
With a heaviness that makes her seem as if she’s made of crumbled stones, Mari pulls herself away from Reina’s side - though not far enough to dislodge the arm from around her own shoulders. She flops limply against the chairback with all the grace of a ragdoll, and sighs.
“You sure?” Mari whispers, so quietly it’s barely there. She doesn’t look at Reina; her glossy, distant stare fixes on some unknowable point far above them both, in the yellow-washed black of the Nimbasa City sky.
Reina hums, nodding once. “I’m sure.”
For a moment there is more silence, the sound of far-off traffic and the hush of the chilly night breeze.
Then, with a painful, ragged inhale, Mari squeezes her hands tight around Reina’s own. She opens her mouth.
And talks.
#prompt drabble#nc-eikin#(not my) oc mari#oc reina kageyama#ask box#cw depression#cw grief#legit tho the shippiness wasn't intentional ^^;#I was going for really sweet supportive friendship and then accidentally added chemical GAY#spark writes
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Knowing & Honouring Contracts with Your Children - it is your Karmic Promise & Dharmic Liberation
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Your level of awareness is DIRECTLY linked,co-relating to your level of self excitement & matching,re-awakening, as the inner-child; this is healing, harmonizing as your higher self Oneness to explore, express,experience Creation©
You have come with contracts to your children to promise to heal and transcend the limitations you chose, you created and how control limits and brings disease and pain, suffering unnecessarily to any life experience - thus why the 3 E's of Ascension are essential to be in observation and choice within in all moments of life unfolding
Exploration of the self within, within the all
Expression of the self within, within the all
Experience of the self within, within the all
Such is how we evolve and offer to all the potential of evolution and is our purpose of being - to evolve through around, up over, within all moments as your own creation to show you - remind you, reflect to you and be the example to others - or not
Right Use of Will - take your time and heal - be great for you and in being so, will be great for your children - ©
this is the Akasha - The records of your all - ness and none, 0 have authority to mess with, transfer their deeds to you, or warp your path, for all is guarded by the highest beings in the omni-present, remember, God, the Creator of all life, is within all specs of life between life - so however 'secretive' or in the 'dark' anyone thinks, or pretends, or says anything is; god is there, here, all places - nothing escapes spirit - period; release the stories of control and energies taking over, and controlling anything or anyone -
IT IS ALL SPIRIT - your story, your inner realm of how you hold you determines what you call to you - if you send nothing but ill and negativity - that is what you call to you - your life is your proof of the Universe
Spirit will simply not allow anyone to move forth into new realms of play, exploration until what was created in past sheathes of creation are not accounted for and healed; one must know how to drive before driving - why there are consequences to every thought, word, deed, action; therefore intention is everything and you live within what you intend - period - no one gets a free pass beyond this - discern greatly anyone that tells you such -
None are above and void of Creational Laws -
Consciousness is everything ©
You are the leader of your consciousness, light, energy, and how you experience reality - Heal the deep collective wounds of subjugation and less than in any moment you are triggered - allow all others their expression and experience Spirit sees and knows all and the % of deep intention one operates from ©
Living within pure loving intention must be practiced as we have been collectively shut off of our chakra's and emotions - and must be realigned and practiced; this is spirit, essence that is the ONLY essence that quickens' - quickening is spirit - the christ consciousness of all life - it is not a religion - all religions are only words and perspectives that hold rules, laws of order or not, separation and judgement of what was only a version of defining dimensionally where we sat - to understand who we are in a practical offering of dimensionality - now we are different and therefore call on new artists of Creation - or master builders, a new platform of creation to play within, upon - ©
I am Joanna, I am a master builder with God, beyond the beyond, and I offer such as inspiration for my words are that of the vibration of God, and a soft and loving truth of the honour and respect for all life - the past is done; allow it, be at peace with it - let go of it, be prepared for anew - it is glorious if you allow it, accept it, acknowledged it - stagnancy is the effect of control
Whether you choose to want to control another and therefore are experiencing control, subjugation is an affect of controlling energies, entities that seek to manipulate the flow of source energy and how we direct, intend, and focus our energy is key to any vibrational reality - this is key information here dear ones- when you 'get it' you can release and heal sooooo much about the illusions you sit within.
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Jolene
Dean Winchester x Male reader
Tags - Drinking, Tipsy, Sad, Phone calls, Mentions of Sam x Male reader, Revenge, Kissing, Dean Winchester puts the P in A, Riding, Hickies, Dirty talk, Praise, Slow sex, Aftercare
You watch as the man of your dreams, sam winchester fall in love with a women...you out of your mind, angry, upset for him leading you on, you call Dean to take you home...by telling Dean, now’s your chance to get back at sam...
A/N - Thank the “slowed” version of Jolene for this...
Taglist - @flamencodiva @wonder-cole @superfanficnatural @that-one-gay-girl
——————————————————————————
You took the last swig of your drink, the glass slightly cold in your hand, but the feeling was so comforting...the numbness.
“Another”
You slurred. Your eyes set on the pair in the far corner, you could already feel your blood boil, stomach turning, mouth twisting in disgusting.
There he was, hands on the strangers hips, moving there bodies to the music, he was heavily intoxicated clearly by the empty sets of glasses on the table they were once sat at.
You sigh...music filling the void, the drink making your head fuzzy with each beat. You continued watching them closely. Sam was never like this with you, his hands never travelled up your back, never wound up in your hair, lips never met yours...
Shaking your head...you had enough, you wanted more, anything.
You heard the regular knock of the glass being placed infront of you, the whiskey sat at the bottom, the brown liquor making your mouth water, you needed it.
You bring the glass to your lips, taking a swig, you feel the burn which was very addictive, your throat already revelling in the contact, but you wanted to go home, to feel those soft blankets wrap around your body keeping you warm.
Sam wasn’t paying any attention to you at all, as if you were invisible, non-existent. You could feel the usual pang in your chest, the hurt, the empty feeling, everytime you thought of him.
One of your hands steadily dove into your left trouser pocket, you pulled it out, as soon as the phone screen turned on, your eyes flicked over the 2 missed calls from Dean...why Dean?
Your eyebrows furrowed, without thinking, presumably letting the alcohol take over, you tap call. A wave of nervousness travelled across your body, hands standing up on your arm, why were you having this reaction?
“Hello?”
The deep, gruff, slightly soothing voice echoed in your ears, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips, not only was it Dean...but his voice...
“D-Dean...”
He could already tell, a sigh sounded from the speaker, you don’t blame him, you had told him you wouldn’t get drunk, but he can thank Sam for that.
“Are you drunk?”
You nodded, but blurted out a sloppy “y-yeh”. You couldn’t help think why Dean hadn’t hung up yet, but you were glad he hadn’t, nothing ever compared to how...horrible you felt right now...
“You want something?”
You paused, to regain a somewhat “sober” state.
“D-Dean can y-you come p-pick me up...Sammy left me alone f-for some woman.”
You awaited an answer, clearly he was annoyed, not at you, but at his brother. He felt kind of sorry for you, Sam had been leading you on for all these months...it’s not right...he would treat you so much better.
“Hold on...”
————————
Silence.
The silence was like a heavy weight, both you and Dean keeping your eyes on the road. You tried mustering up some kind of plan to forget about Sam and what he was doing...what his deal was with kissing that woman.
But you couldn’t, every touch, every kiss, they were like memories imprinted into the back of your head, everytime you closed your eyes, you saw the way Sam was with her...he was never like that with you.
You could feel the tears brim at your bottom lids. You could feel anger course it’s way through your veins, taking over your body.
“What Sam did...” Dean paused, correcting himself “is doing...it’s not right, it’s not fair” Dean kept his eyes on the road, glancing back at you and forth to see if you were okay.
“It isn’t...D-Dean nothing’s fair...not in this life, we are hunters, we hel-“
You were cut off by Dean pulling off the road into a lay by, he couldn’t handle seeing you like this, the guilt he saw in your eyes every time he looked at you, Sam has broken you.
Parking the car he switched the engine off, twisting the keys and sliding them into his pocket. Placing a warm, comforting hand on your thigh he shook his head.
“Listen...I can’t control my brother or his actions, what he did tonight shouldn’t really be any of my concern but I can’t bare to see you like...”
His voice had you shivering, it was a comfort at this point, deep, quiet, much like a whisper but loud enough to not be. You looked to his hand rubbing up and down your thigh, smiling weakly to yourself.
You look up into his green orbs, everything stilled as if time itself switched off, if only for mere seconds. “It’s nice to know i have someone fighting in my corner...”
Your words were rather breathy, both of you close...too close to be friends. Dean’s hand squeezed your thigh, his eyes asking if this was okay...there was a slight pause as you watch Dean closely, hungry tongue lapping over his dry bottom lip.
“I-Is this okay?”
Removing his slightly warm hand from your thigh, he brought it up to cusp your cheek, pulling your face towards his own, nothing could prepare you for the way his lips crashed against your own, this wasn’t needy...this was want.
This kiss was wet, deep, everything you had dreamed of...with Sam. But what was this feeling? Butterflies? Maybe...Maybe Dean was the problem solver here, What if it was Dean all along?
Dean sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it. A whimper escapes you as Dean took charge, his tongue sliding against yours in a fight for dominance, clearly he’s won.
Soft grunts left his lips at the sounds of your whimpers, they sounded oh so heavenly. You move closer wanting to feel more, his hands pulling you into his lap. You were now situated on his lap, knees at either side of Dean’s thighs, his tongue still in your mouth.
He pulled away, eye’s now getting a good look of you, your features. “God your more beautiful then I remember”. Dean already managed to make you feel good with just words…you wonder how else he could do that.
You feel yourself blush underneath the street light, Dean chuckled deeply, clothed cock brushing against your ass. “D-Dean please make me f-feel good” you moan sloppily, hoping he would take charge of the situation and make you forget.
His hands pushed down your rather loose bottoms past your hips, your bare ass on show. You hiss at the cold air now surrounding you, hands clinging onto his shoulders as he manoeuvres your trousers and boxers.
Your cock sprung free and rested against his clothed stomach. Dean smirked knowing it was him doing this to you, making you hard under his touch.
“I’ve always wanted to make you feel good…fuck” he groans into your ear, his deep gruff voice forcing a shiver out of you. Your hands wonder down to his belt, unlooping it from it’s confines, finding it easier to unzip his trousers.
He buries his face between the crook of your neck, hiding away as he nibbles on the soft skin. One of your hands dive into his now open trousers, grazing the plump hard on he was sporting.
You pull him out, now feeling the heavy weight of it in your hands. Dean moans at the slight friction your hand gives his aching member…god he was a mess.
“I-I need to feel y-you”
You place his aching tip at your wanting entrance, plunging into you.
The low rumbling moans that leave his lips make you clench around him, squeezing him tighter, “oh my God.” Dean can’t even find the words.
You whimper in pain, the feeling of his thickness stretching you to accommodate his size.
Chanting your name over and over, whimpering as he sinks further into your warmth, as deep as he can possibly go. He grips onto you for dear life, as if he’d loose you.
His lips circle the shell of your ear, nibbling the soft area, breath fanning against it. “So fucking tight” he groans, using his hands to force your hips up and down, bouncing away in his lap.
Holding each other, you stay connected for a little while, enjoying the moment as Dean continues his harsh thrusts, rocking his hips into your tight heat, whimpers sounded out into the now fogged-up car.
“So much better then Sammy” you groan, this only had Dean slowing his hips, now pointing his aim at your sweet spot. “Love feeling myself deep in you…balls pressed to this ass” he gives it a smack, watching your face twist with pain and pleasure.
“Thought about this for years…’bout plunging my cock deep inside your little boy pussy…”
That’s all it takes for the coil to snap, you cling to Dean, hands squeezing his skin tightly as you scream his name, your cock twitched as you released your load onto his flannel, vision turning white.
“That’s it…squeeze around me, milk m- shit” Dean cums deep within you, load after load filling you making sure you knew who you belonged too. His eyes closed tightly…you could hear him pant, hardly able to catch his own breath.
He chuckles, half blissed. His eyes watched you closely, one of his hands coming up to cup your left cheek, taking in your features.
“How was it…” he mutters.
Your too fucked out and slightly tipsy to even open your mouth, instead you kiss him to show how much this actually means to you. Dean held you against his chest, kissing back with the same amount of passion.
Sammy was now a distant thought, everywhere you looked there was Dean…this felt right.
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Two idiots
Summary || Bucky is an idiot who gets captured during a mission, his girlfriend is an even bigger idiot and goes after him.
Warning/content || This is kinda goofy but kidnapping is a warning I guess? Reader gets a little roughed up.
Paring || Bucky Barnes x female reader (no use of y/n)
Not edited
"Are you kidding me?" Bucky mumbles, head thumping against the metal pole as eyes narrow, watching one of his capturers shuffled in. Which is nothing out of the ordinary, except that trashing girl in his death grip.
Bucky's lips form an unpleased line, frustration shown in the way wrinkles form on the skin of his forehead. Her arms are tied behind her back, no doubt with the same, unbreakable one that burns his skin. She's trashing, fighting to get out of the man's hold but one of the hands tighten against her upper back and force her head forward.
At the very moment she notices her dark haired lover, relief is prominent along her features, a small breath released but she doesn't get much time because the large hand tightenings around her arm, bruises already starting to form as he pushes her forward.
"Ow! Don't be so rough asshole!" Bucky grimaces at her words, watching her face contort with pain. His top lip raises in a snarl, a warning to the man but he doesn't even take the time of day to look at Bucky.
"I thought I told you not to come." She doesn't even get time to reply, instead a small gasp falls from lips as an unexpected hand grips her hair and roughly brings her to her knees. He mentions for her to move over, to be back to back with Bucky before typing them together.
"Leave her alone asshole." Buck's jaw clenches with every word, the belly of muscles popping through showing his disapprovement of the way the man his touching his girl. "Don't be so rough with her."
He expects the stupid, cruel laugh but not the rather large knee cap to the face.
Bucky groans in pain as the skin of his bottom lip rips from the impact, the bitter, metallic tastes floods his mouth as he sucks it between his teeth to nurse the pain. He peers up at the man with a devilish smirk and spits the blood-salvia mixture right on his boots.
"Keep it up Soldat and your little girlfriend will get it." The warning is enough to make his blood run cold and head drop to the floor, not wanting to take the risk.
"Soldat? Bucky, what's going on?" The question is asked as soon as the room is cleared. Bucky feels slightly smaller finger tips reach for his own. Without a second thought he holds them, warming them between his own, a silent 'everything is going to be fine.'
"I told you not to come." Bucky breaks the silence, clearly annoyed, his tone does very little to hide it. Spitting the pooling blood onto the floor once again.
As a a response she rolls her eyes, feeling his fingers intertwine with her own. "It's been three days since you checked in, I knew something was wrong and here you are."
"I specifically told you before I left -."
"I know what you told me!" She sna and pulls her fingers away as irritation wrinkles the skin between her brows.
It's not visible, but Bucky pouts to himself, blindly reaching out to grasp her hands again. "I'm sorry Hun, I just don't want you near these people."
It's not that she's not capable, any other mission she would be his first choice, lover or not. It's the reasoning why, they want the Winter Soldier who is no longer. A part of his life he has promised to get far, far away from her.
"They called you Soldat."
"Not Hydra." Bucky mumbles as large thumb rubs soft circles into the palm of her hand. The heat of his body leaning against her, the suboccipital of his head using her shoulder for some kind of support. He's exhausted from holding himself up, legs ached to stand again. "But they want the Winter Soldier. Keep asking what the words are."
"How did they get you anyways?"
"Don't want to talk about it." Irritation is written across his features, in the way his forehead creases, smile lines dropping downward to follow the line of his pursed lips.
He waits as she struggles, shifting weight from her left to her right, pulling hands apart for the low chance her kidnapper managed to not tighten the zip tie all the way but there is no use.
"Honey, what makes you think If I, a super soldier couldn't get out of here, that you can?"
"Jeeze, you're a grump today." She murmurs as Bucky huffs, baby blues rolling at the comment. Shifting back and forth, pulling as hard as she could until the makeshift cuffs pull the hair on her arms.
"Stop, you're going to hurt yourself." Bucky's tone is sharp, gruff as he leans further against the pole, completely given up.
"Don't Tell me what to do." She argues, Bucky doesn't even have to see it to know she's sticking her tongue out at him.
"Real mature."
"Well you're being mean! I came here to help you --." She begins, but the sharp breath Bucky exhales shows frustration, shifting from hip to hip to relieve the soreness of his backside.
"I told you not to come, I told you three times."
"What was I supposed to do? Leave you here, like this?" Frustration clearly shown by the way her forehead wrinkles and bitting her bottom lip.
"Yes!"
"God, you are so stubborn. What are we supposed to do now? These idiots don't know that you're not the winter soldier anymore." Despite feeling totally hopeless, her eyes run across the room, looking for something, anything to get them free.
"I tried telling them -."
"Wait, wait, they don't know you're the winter soldier anymore." The thought forms a smile on her lips, shifting a little closer to lean into Bucky.
"You just said that." Lack of sleep and food has made Bucky a little sluggish, weak but he's had worse.
"I love you to death, but when I get out of here I'm going to strangle you." Bucky snorts at her words,"I mean that I can say I know the words, given them to you and -."
"They'll untie me." A smile forms at the corner of his lips at the thought. His backside ached, body crunched over for days, he wanted nothing more then to stand.
"Bingo baby, when he comes back I'll tell him." She starts, "We should make noise and get someone's attention."
"God you are so fucking smart, why are you with me?"
"Buck, shut up." He can't help but chuckle, surprisingly clam despite the situation. With soft, circular motions finger tips touch her own, feeling every ridge that so uniquely defined. It's his own way of showing how much he's missed her; it's only been a few days but more then often thoughts of her fill his memory.
"I missed you."
"This isn't the time Buck, we need to get them in her-."
"You look beautiful."
A small smile fills the lines of her lips, bitting down of the fat of the bottom one as she looks down at the floor. "You can't even see me."
"Don't have to honey." The words are sweet and she wishes she could just turn around and kiss his dumb, stupid face with that lopsided grin until he speaks again, "you're the most beautiful girl in the world, even though you can't listen for shit -."
Before she could even comment the clicking of the door has the pair sitting straight as a smirk pulls on lips. "Show time babydoll, start crying."
"You start crying!"
"We have to make it believable! Cry and say that you know the words and the only way you'll give them up is they let you go." He's whisper yelling now as the foot steps clank the floor and every loud echo makes her visibly gringe.
"Okay, okay, shut up already, I am crying to concentrate!" Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, putting on his own little show.
A pair of black boots blur in front of her as false tears blur her vision. While he doesn't touch her, the man sinks to one knee, hovering only inches away. "Why are you crying girl?"
"I want to go home." Bucky has to hold in a laugh at the fake sob but manages to stay quiet. "Let me go, please, please."
***
The moment the words are muttered from the man's mouth, Bucky stiffens, the words effortlessly falling from his lips in German. "Ready to comply."
They don't suspect a think as one reaches over, knife in hand to cut the ropes. Bucky stands at attention, a lonely, dark void in his eyes.
One man observes him, despite how Bucky towers over him. "Soldat, kill her."
The way he stalks over, the darkness in his eyes is so believable that she even think there's a chance that the trigger words did work like intended. Bucky's fingers press against her jawline, angling her to look up. Bucky frowns suddenly, heading the voice behind him. "Kill her."
It all happens so fast, Bucky starts right into action, metal arm connecting with the man's face as blood drips onto the cement only inches away from her current position.
A roar rips from the other man's chest as he fully engages Bucky but with one swift movement Bucky's hand wraps around his throat, hearing gasping breath as Bucky slams him so hard into the ground it winds him.
One at a time they get up, time after time until they both manage to get the upper hand, pulling and pulling at both of his arms until Bucky gets so get up he lets out a grunt as he pushes both away with super human strength.
The problem is one of the men came tumbling right towards her, full body weight knocking her from her seated position into side lying but that's not what worried Bucky. The sound of her skull hitting the ground with such force, it makes him feel sick. With both men down, he hurries towards her.
"Ow." She hisses trying to pick herself up from the ground, the rough rope scratching her wrist. Hands bound behind her back aren't enough to lift her back up, no matter how hard she struggles.
"I gotcha, I gotcha." Bucky's hands find her shoulder, squeezing it affectionately once she's upright and pulling the ropes off with ease. Hands cup her cheeks with side to side motions, steel blues look over for an injury as angles her eyes to meet his own.
The light is suddenly so bright, a thick, white cast makes her wince and as a result squeezing her eyes shit. For a moment everything is gone, a sheet of black as sight disappears behind eyelids. The hand against the back of her head pulls her from a deep void, opening her eyes to a sight of a very, very worried Bucky. His hand is gently tapping against her cheek - to wake her nonetheless, concern laces his eyes, creates a wrinkle of confusion between dark brows.
His lips are moving but there's nothing to hear, he's watching her eyes fall hooded, all color draining as blood pressure starts to decline. It was too hard, she hit her head too hard.
"Honey, hey, hey look at me." It falls on deaf ears, fingers gently prod against the base of her skull, around the curve of her ears, looking for a wound, or even blood but there's nothing. A metal finger presses under her chin, begging falling eyes to give some sign of consciousness. "Does it hurt? Where does it hurt, babe?"
The groan of pain that leaves her lips is a small piece of relief, a hand reaches out to push the hair from frames the soft structure of her face. "Baby? God, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
"Mmmmm." The soft hand reaches out, up the distance of hair arm, over the muscular bulges of his arm before laying flat against the swell of his chest. The hand pushes, trying to create as much distance as possible. It was hard to breath, he was smothering her.
Bucky didn't let up, only pulled her closer until her forehead rest against his lateral clavicle, supporting all her body weight as a nose nuzzles into his chest. He lets out a breath of relief, one hand wrapped around the base of her back, rubbing soothing circles against the skin and the other curling into the base of her skull, with gentle fingers. "You scared me."
"'m fine, Buck."
"Your head sounded like a nut cracking on the pavement." He argues, still examinating for any blood or wound. "I know I call you peanut brain all the time but I was just kidding."
"You are the most annoying -." The words are cut short by a pair of dry, pink lips, lovingly pressing against her own. The full thickness of his bottom lip pressing between her own, long and sweet, filled with unspoken words; Thank goodness you're okay, I don't know what I would do without you.
Bucky pulls away, pressing her forehead against his chest, his arm wrapping around to coddle and away with her. It's mumbled under his breath, "You scared me, baby."
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x you#bucky fluff#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#fatws bucky
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You Know You Love Me
A/N: Inspired by a TikTok I saw. Disclaimer: THIS IS A SCHOOL AU. DON'T COME AT ME!
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Warning: Angst, enemies to lovers, character death.
Word count: 1.59k
-=+=-
A young girl with dark red hair taps her foot against the tiled floor, humming a song while reading her book.
"Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing this'll be the-"
"Can you shut up?" She tears her eyes from her book to see you, a hateful glare on your face.
"No." She stares defiantly into Y/E/C eyes, making your resolve waver for a second before returning full force. You bristle as she returns her attention to her book.
She starts humming again under her breath, smirking subtly when you don't object. Something wet and sticky hits her neck and she flinches, glancing your way. You glance out the window quickly, a smug smile on your face.
She brushes the spitball away before returning her attention to her book. Another spitball hits her, this time on the cheek. She brushes it off once again, her patience growing thin.
Once more, a spitball hits her, this time, right in her ear. She explodes, her chair falling backwards as she launches herself at you, grabbing you by the collar.
"What is your problem!?" A teacher rushes forward as she continues to throttle you, your face turning red. The teacher pries her off of you, sending a stern look at you.
"Both of you, principal's office now!" Her voice is shrill as you grab your bag, glaring at the girl who glares right back at you, her head held high as she straightens her shirt before marching out of the room.
-=+=-
"So. Ms. Danvers tells me you were attempting to murder Ms. Y/L/N? Ms. Romanoff." The girl, sorry- Natasha, stares straight into Fury's eyes, her back ramrod straight.
"It was aggravated assault," she reports as you mentally sigh, preparing yourself for the punishment.
"Snitch," you mutter under your breath which causes Fury to arch an eyebrow.
"Well in that case, I guess I'll be marking the two of you as absent for the next week." He reaches for the phone on his desk. "You're suspended."
You launch yourself from the chair, leaning across the desk.
"Suspended?" You let out a disbelieving laugh. "I can't be suspended sir." Fury stares at you.
"And since when were you Principal?" You huff, grabbing your bag and storming from the room. Natasha grabs her backpack calmly, nodding at Fury before leaving the room.
She walks briskly, catching up to you in no time as you stare straight ahead, tearing through the school hallways.
"You brought this on yourself." You growl, grabbing her and pinning her to the wall of lockers. She doesn't even flinch, staring at you expectantly.
"I hate you." You release her, muttering it under your breath. She smirks, slinging an arm around your shoulder.
"You know you love me," she whispers teasingly, her breath warm against your ear. You shove her away, jumping onto your bike and pedaling home. She watches you go, shaking her head with a smile as she turns away.
-=+=-
You push open the door of the ice cream shop, licking it as you plop down on the curb.
Your mother had taken the news surprisingly well. You had a record for being, well as your mother liked to put it, troubled.
Humming a tune from a musical you loved so dearly, Hairspray. It's a jaunty little song, 'The New Girl In Town'.
"Can you shut up?" A husky voice rings out and you look up, your eyes squinting before landing on a familiar, lean yet muscular figure. Her silhouette is outlined by the sun towering about you. Her red hair looks like it's aflame as she sits down next to you. You scoot away a little.
"Can't I sing what I want to sing without being harassed?' You quip and she snorts.
"Hark who's talking." She laughs as you square your shoulders, turning away from her. "Oh don't pout. You look cuter when you smile." You blush faintly, hiding behind the ice cream cone which doesn't go unnoticed by the redhead who bursts out laughing.
"I hate you," you mutter into your shirt sleeve at a poor attempt of hiding your flushed cheeks. She wiggles her eyebrows at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder which you shrug off almost instantly.
"You know you love me."
-=+=-
Your nights are plagued with visions of the fiery haired girl with eyes as green as the forest, a smile as bright and white as the snow.
Could it be? No. You hate her. Right? Yes. Without a doubt.
You sigh, flipping your pillow back over in an attempt to go back to sleep.
-=+=-
When Natasha asks you out, you want to throw up. Your heart throbs as you watch her hopeful expression, proffering the bouquet of orchids to you.
The way her smile falls when you say 'no' nearly breaks your heart. Nearly. She gives you a small, sad smile, getting back up and walking away but not before promising you that she wouldn't give up.
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"You know you love me."
You beg her not to but she turns a deaf ear to your pleas, kissing the palm of your hand before leaving.
-=+=-
4 times.
It takes 4 more tries before your dams finally break and you agree. She jumps up, whooping for joy. You shriek as she picks you up, spinning you round and round.
You'll never forget the smile on her face as she stares into your eyes breathlessly before glancing down at your lips nervously. Giving her a slight, subtle nod, she surges forward, capturing your lips with hers.
You sigh, leaning into her hold as the icy walls around your heart melt under her love.
As long as you had her, you felt like you could take on anything.
-=+=-
The next few weeks felt like a dream. A moment stolen from someone else's life.
The happiness is never ending, like a never ending tunnel full of love and hope for the future.
But deep down inside, a dark feeling tugs at your gut.
It won't last.
She won't be here forever.
Shut up, you think and the monster quiets down, delving back down into the darkest parts of your mind.
"You okay?" Natasha asks, noticing your sickly appearance.
"I'm fine." You smile queasily at her. She opens her mouth as if to protest but after a firm smile, she closes it, wrapping her arms around you and returning her attention to the movie.
You relax at the reassuring touch.
Even if it does have to end, you'll at least have the memories.
Hearts are meant to be broken in the end.
-=+=-
Natasha's fading away.
Slowly but surely.
The cheeky, smug girl you'd met years before was gone, replaced by a shell of her former self.
Everyday she'd wake up, pour herself a cup of coffee, down it and leave the house for work. All before you wake up.
You never confront her.
Always hoping that the next day will be different, that maybe she'll return to her chipper self.
The cycle is painful, watching as she comes home, collapsing on the couch and flicking the TV on. The bright screen illuminates her pale face. Her once vibrant green eyes, full of life are now dull, replaced by an emptiness that scares you.
You shake off the feeling, returning your attention to the dishes in the sink.
-=+=-
"You know, when we first met, you always told me-" she chokes, blood spilling forth from her lips. "You told me that you hated me. I didn't believe it." You sob, attempting to staunch the gaping hold above her heart, the knife lying at her side.
"Please, no."
"I hate myself." You sob even harder at that, abandoning any attempts to stop her from bleeding out, caressing her face.
"That's not true."
"It is. I know you've noticed it. And I'm sorry." She wipes the tears from your face, her hands shaking. "You deserve so much more than a person like me. Someone whole. Not broken."
"No, you're not broken, you-" you stammer, your brain failing to find an answer. "You just need some help." She lets out a pained laugh.
"Be free. Don't worry about me. This is a gift." Her eyes flutter shut for a moment before returning, even more pained then before. "Remember I love you okay? Live for me."
"Okay. I will." You sob uncontrollably, burying your face into her neck.
"It's okay. It's okay." She shushes you quietly. Her voice dies and you look up. Her eyes are wide open, empty, void of anything. You grab her by the shoulders, shaking her frantically.
"No no no no!" You press your lips to her bloodstained ones, attempting and failing to steal one last kiss from her. "No..."
-=+=-
"Hi Nat. It's been a while huh?" You chuckle weakly, kneeling down in the dirt. "I've been arguing with myself lately. Internal struggle, whatnot. And I've come to the the conclusion that you're right." You inhale sharply. "You know that I love you." A small tear rolls down your cheek, landing in the soil.
The words echo throughout the empty lot of land.
You know that I love you.
Pressing one last, lingering kiss to the cold headstone, you pick yourself up and walk towards your car, glancing back at the grave and waving one last time as if expecting to see Natasha standing there, waving back at you.
Hearts are meant to be broken.
-=+=-
Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain-likes2read
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"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" with eivor please... Maybe he rescues reader from the order after they had been used for different experiments or something
i am so sorry for how long this took, but I had to come up with the right plot bunny to pair with the prompt for some angst(tm). here you are, i hope you enjoy and don't mind the touch of Havi and Frigg, or in which Havi makes a promise to his sweet Frigg and keeps it even in the next life.
m!Eivor x fem!Reader
SÝNIN CIRCLES IN the clear sky above the longhouse of Ravensthorpe, and then you know your husband is not far now. Soon Eivor Wolfsmal will be back in your arms, where he belongs. The raven descends, coming to perch on your shoulder, nudging his beak against your temple —as much as you’ve missed Eivor, you’ve missed Sýnin in equal measure. Things could get surprisingly lonely without a tetchy raven around to croak at all hours of the night, steal your hairpins, and beg for treats. Reaching up, you scritch the blue-back feathers on his belly and are rewarded by a low, gurgling croak. “Have you been behaving yourself?” Sýnin bobs his head, but you have a gut feeling he’s lying for the chance at a few extra treats.
Taking to the docks, you watch along the river bends for the sail and masts of the longship. The blue-and-back sail and shields turn from the west —squinting, you can see him standing on the curved scorpion tail, looking onward to home. With a nervous smile, you rest your hand over your belly, knowing soon it will start to grow. You’ve much to tell him since he’s been gone the past weeks, building alliances with Saxon nobles across England.
“Eivor, my love,” you call, meeting him at the edge of the dock as he steps off the longship. His smile is tired but relieved when he looks upon you with Sýnin perched upon your shoulder —the best ‘welcome home’ he could ask for. You open your arms, embracing him as the crew disseminates among the settlement. Eivor pulls back, his hands —rougher than you remember— cupping your cheeks.
There’s something different in your expression, a new glow surrounding you that he cannot place. Regardless of his racing mind, he leans forward as you urge him down with a hand at the nape of his neck. It’s been weeks, and he sighs against your mouth, the burdens of the world washed away by your touch and kiss. “Walk with me?” You ask, holding fast to his hand. He nods, offering his arm. Word of the recently secured alliance can wait; he has been parted from his wife too long.
You lead him past the longhouse, the people of Ravensthorpe smiling as they see Eivor has returned and know what it is you’re going to tell him. Once Valka confirmed your suspicions, it hadn’t taken long for word to travel by way of two mischievous children.
Everyone is happy; and happy for you and Eivor, knowing you two had tried to conceive many times. Stopping beneath the great tree past the Seer’s Hut, you turn with a smile —hand settling on your middle. “I’ve good news to tell you.” Eivor lifts his brow, and your smile only widens as you reach for his hand, pressing it against your belly. He sucks in a deep breath, heart thudding in his chest and ears as he looks to you, his clear blue eyes wide with joy and surprise. You nod, resting your hand over his. “I am with child.”
Eivor is silent for a moment, gathering his words and emotions. He looks down at your belly, then back to you —overjoyed and uncertain. This is a moment you’ve only ever talked about; that he’s dreamt of when the gods were kind enough to let him have a good dream. “I’m going to be a father?” Eivor breathes, though it sounds more like a question. You nod again, eyes gleaming with tears as he rests his other hand on your stomach too. His smile too large to be hidden under his shaggy golden beard. There’s another moment’s pause, then Eivor slips his arms around you, bringing you into a tight embrace —his face tucked into your neck.
You lose track of how long Eivor holds you in his arms as if it all is only a dream and he may wake at any second. Stepping back, he takes your face into his rough hands, brushing away the tears streaking your cheeks. Eivor dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours before your lips meet —gentle and loving but still burning with fervor from the weeks of being parted from one another.
“You’ve made me the happiest man in Midgard,” he admits. You lean into him again, taking another kiss before he settles onto one knee in front of you, level with your belly. Eivor rests his forehead against your front, his hands loosely holding onto your hips. “Rest easy, little one.” Smiling, you brush back his golden hair —half-unbound from his warrior’s braids and knotted. “I will protect you and your mother.” It’s a promise.
“EIVOR,” RANDVI CRIES as he enters the longhouse, tears still fresh on her cheeks. She should not have let you go riding outside of Ravensthorpe alone, especially knowing you were with child. He clasps onto her shoulders, steadying her so she can gather her senses. “It’s Fulke.” The script is fresh in her memory, having read it a dozen times over to be certain of the ill-boding tidings. Randvi shakes her head, unable to meet her friend's concerned gaze. “She’s taken more than just Sigurd.”
“No,” Eivor breathes, but Randvi presents the scroll as proof. He skims the words —his worst fears coming to fruition. Not only did Fulke hold his brother captive, but now the conniving bitch had stolen you away too. You. His wife. The mother of his unborn child. He’d sworn to protect both of you with every breath in his lungs, and now it is an oath broken.
The sudden anger boiling under his skin is so hot it burns the fear freezing him, turning to determination. Eivor crumples the parchment, his expression twisting —no god can save you now, Fulke. “Send word to our allies.” Randvi nods, stepping back to the writing-table at the edge of the map room. “I will burn all of Wessex if I have to,” Eivor grits out, hands turning to fists at his sides as he leaves the longhouse to gather his men —a part of him feels as though he has walked this path before.
HAVI STRIDES THROUGH Fensalir with a deep sadness in his heart, but his agony cannot compare to that of his sweet Frigg. For three days and three nights, his queen has asked for solitude, and though it pained him to keep away during such times, he and the others respected Frigg’s wishes. Though Havi would not leave his dear wife to grieve alone, sending Huginn and Muninn to keep a watchful eye over the Queen of the Æsir. The two ravens are perched upon a stone bench at the edge of the fen. Thor glances over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps —his expression is weary and grief-stricken as he looks upon his father.
Gently, your son releases you from his tight embrace and rises, stepping back with a silent promise to return soon as he greets his father with a solemn nod before leaving. Havi pushes back his hood, seeing the white flowers spring from the earth with your tears. Baldr will be remembered —in deeds and songs and the blossoms brought forth by his mother’s tears. He kneels, reaching for your hands, and slides the bloody sprig of mistletoe free from your grasp. Through weary eyes, you look upon your husband —his expression twisted into the same display of forlorn grief. It makes your heart ache even more to have pushed him away, for he too lost a son. “Frigg,” he sighs.
“Havi,” you cry, falling into him. He swathes you in his black cloak, tucking you against his chest and holding you tight —a vow of retribution on his tongue. Loki would be punished for this crime. For all the realms felt the bitter void left by Baldr’s absence, and all wept, save for a giantess whose unshed tears doomed your son to Hel. The grief and anger simmering in his blood turn to something else —determination. He will not have his sweet Frigg endure this pain again; his one-armed embrace tightens as he cradles the back of your head. “I will not let another of our children fall,” Havi swears, lips brushing over your temple. “Not until our twilight has come.”
HE TWISTS HIS hands into Fulke’s leather-and-cloth armor, throwing the madwoman to the muddy and blood-slick ground. Fulke spits blood, pulling herself away from Eivor Wolfsmal on hands and knees only to find herself surrounded by his men and allies. All their weapons drawn, trained on her. The price for taking the Jarl of Raven Clan and Eivor’s wife is one to be paid in blood, and there is nowhere for her to run. She will have to suffer the wrath. “Where is she?” Eivor roars, kicking Fulke onto her back. He kneels, knee pressing into the bloody gash on her side, one of his throwing axes withdrawn and held high above his head —ready to strike.
There is no fear in her eyes, only bliss. Her work in this world now complete. “You made a choice,” Fulke laughs, choking on blood, “you chose Sigurd.” She coughs, blood-tinged spittle spattering against Eivor’s face, washed away by the pouring rain.
He roars, teeth bared and eyes burning hot with the rage of the gods. Lightning splits open the sky, thunder cracking like a great whip against the earth. “I will flay the skin from your bones and feed your eyes to my raven,” Eivor hisses.
Her smile is bloody —victorious. She knows you are leagues from here, and now the only ones who know are dead or dying. Eivor Wolfsmal could search the land for years and never find the seaside cave on the shores of Cent. “You’ll never find her,” Fulke says. One final victory before relinquishing herself to darkness and her wounds.
Eivor rises, his shoulders heaving and expression twisted. There is no time for a reunion when Sigurd limps from the fortress —clutching the stump where his hand and wrist once were— reinforcements from Wincestre draw nigh. The cry of war horns and drums echoing above the storm. He turns to Dag and Hrefna, eyes flitting over to his brother, unfit to fight in the coming battle. “See him back to Ravensthorpe,” he tells them before shifting his attention back to his allies. The day is not won yet, and Eivor will not rest until he has his beloved back in his arms.
ABOVE THE BREAKING waves of the sea, there is a whisper on the howling wind. Eivor looks to the sea below, then to Basim —his scouts working tirelessly since the siege of Portcestre nigh a fortnight ago to find leads. The culmination of their work leads him and Eivor to the southern edge of Cent to a cave guarded by Fulke’s acolytes. Eivor knows the gods are with him this day, as plain as if the Allfather whispered the affirmation into his ear.
The echoes of battle fill the air, and through the slivers of light above, you see shadows moving and hear the unmistakable cry of a raven growing closer —Sýnin. Rousing from uneasy rest, you clamber to the upturned bucket at the cell’s center, dragging chains behind you. Trembling, you clutch your swollen belly, then step up onto the bucket, fingers finding purchase on the metal grate above, slick with blood and excrements. Sýnin appears at the edge of the grate, his beady eyes staring down at you in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. He hops up and down —talons clinking against the metal— before squawking wildly.
Eivor’s focus shifts from the dead littering the beach when he hears Sýnin inside the cave, and for the first time in weeks, you hear your name in his voice —a desperate plea. “Eivor!” His name is only a soft, airy rasp, not strong enough to carry with the raven’s calls. “Eivor!” You cry, this time louder, but your voice is broken, throat raw from days screaming and crying at the hands of Fulke and her enforcers. Sýnin’s squawks grow louder, mingling with footsteps.
The wave of relief almost shatters him when it hits and washes over his body and mind when he sees you —alive. Eivor reaches through the lattice, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve got you now,” he breathes, the torchlight showing the tears glistening in his clear blue gaze. You nod, smiling with cracked lips —thanking Frigg and Freyja that your prayers did not go unanswered. Eivor urges you to step down and aside, and when you do, he rears back, slamming the butt of his axe against the rusting lock, breaking it. With a sharp cry, he throws open the grate, sliding down into the darkness with you.
Hands trembling, he unlocks the manacles around your wrists and the shackle around your ankle. Each has left your skin red and raw beneath. Eivor gathers you in his arms. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says, lips brushing against your temple. You nod, eager to be rid of this damp and foul hole in the earth. Sýnin takes to your shoulder as soon as you are free, nudging his head against your temple and cheek. With a tired smile, you lift a hand to scritch the dark feathers of his underside as Eivor pulls himself free of the cell.
Eivor kneels, reaching for your hands, his thumbs brushing just above the broken skin on your wrists, and as you lean toward him, he swathes you with the coarse wool of his cloak —forehead pressed against yours. He feels the dampness on your cheeks as you press your face against his scarred neck. "I won't let anyone hurt you again,” he vows, “you're safe now.” One of his hands settles on your stomach, and you cover it with yours, holding him tightly with the other. “You’re both safe,” he whispers, and it’s only when he feels a light twitch against his hand that the realization breaks him. “I’m so sorry, my love,” Eivor chokes.
You draw back from his embrace, seeing the tears streak his face and the guilt clear on his expression. “Don’t blame yourself,” you plead, cupping his scarred cheek. “Please, don’t.” Eivor nods, though guilt still weighs heavily on his heart and will until he sees you safely returned to Ravensthorpe and tended to. He turns farther into your hand until his lips brush the center of your palm —a soft kiss, another promise.
Sýnin croaks, splashing in a puddle, and breaks yours and Eivor’s trance, reminding you both that you’re still in a cave, far from home and where you belong. He slides his arms beneath your knees and around your shoulders, rising with you. “You’re safe,” he repeats, more for himself to hear than you. Eivor breathes a deep sigh when he steps onto the beach, holding you close in his arms. Sýnin flies overhead, as do a pair of ravens — the same pair Eivor has seen in dreams of late. He smiles as he sets on the path carrying you up the cliffside, knowing Havi and Frigg had both heard his prayers.
[taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!
#Eivor#Eivor Wolfsmal#Eivor x Reader#m!Eivor#m!Eivor x Reader#male Eivor#male Eivor x Reader#Eivor Imagine#Eivor Fanfiction#Havi#Havi x Reader#Havi x Frigg#Assassin's Creed Valhalla#Assassin's Creed#my writing#requested#withered-poppies#hmmm#dont know if im super happy with this one or not#squinty eyes
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Imagine Satan is feeling needy but MC isn’t there. And in his room he starts rubbing himself and soon is jerking off thinking about them. Their touch, their warmth their sounds.
♡. Drabble time! Thank you for the inspiration, dear nonny!
♡. Tags/warnings: 18+/NSFW GN!reader, masturbation, daddy kink, thoughts of sex, lots of cum.
♡. NSFW below the cut!
Satan lies supine on his bed, a book cradled between his hands. Words appear before him, meticulously written, a tome he’s read hundreds of times before - one of his favorites. The crisp sound of pages turning, coupled with the gentle crackling of lit candles, cuts through the silence of his messy but organized bedroom, books stacked nearly floor-to-ceiling. This is a silence that is not the tranquil kind, however, but a nearly unbearable kind; because it is a silence that is not being shared with you.
Fuck.
His eyes drift from the book before him to the empty space next to him on his bed. It had been nearly a week since he had been able to taste your skin last. He craves you. Stolen kisses in the hallways of R.A.D. in between classes, quick pecks on the cheek before and after meals, exchanging of D.D.D. messages and typed-out “I love you”’s aren’t nearly enough to satiate his need. You were being whisked away to meetings, weighed down with the hefty workload of assignments, endless exams.
Satan offered to let you stay in his room, to help you with your tasks, but you had politely declined, insisting it would be too much of a distraction. His lips turned up into a knowing smirk, understanding the implication, proud that he is able to affect you in such a way; but part of him was sorely disappointed, nodding with understanding, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before you turned around and headed back to your room. You paused, turning back to wink at him before those soft, pretty lips parted to speak.
“Don’t worry, it will only be for about a week. I’ll more than make it up to you after, Daddy.”
As he recalls your words, Satan feels his cock twitch beneath his pajama pants. His head falls back to rest against the pillow - the book, still open, lay against his chest. He finds his hand slowly reaching to the front of the fleecy bottoms, gliding his fingers over the slight bulge. Rubbing back and forth, softly, gently, touch just a bit heavier than featherlight, he bites his lip, his eyelids fluttering.
“Ah- fuck- harder, Daddy, don’t stop...”
The memory of those sweet, sweet words that fall from your lips - they’re delicious. Satan’s cock twitches again, growing harder as he continues to fondle himself through his pants. His breath hitches before exhaling slowly, hooking his thumbs beneath the stretchy waistband, pulling them down until his cock springs free. Thoughts running at the fastest speed imaginable, he nibbles his bottom lip.
He circles a thumb around the head of his cock, now rock-hard at its full length, and resting against his abdomen; the clear fluid of his obvious arousal weeps from the tip, dripping, pooling onto his stomach as his chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly, breaths turning ragged.
Satan moves his hand down, wrapping his fingers around his stiff, swollen length. His head rocks back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut, lost in thoughts of you. Thoughts of your feverish skin against his, the way you look up at him as you writhe underneath him, eyes half-lidded and blown out with lust. He begins to stroke himself, slowly and methodically.
A moan escapes him as he thinks of your own, the way you gasp with every thrust as he gripped your hips and lifted them, wrapping your legs around himself, slamming into the deepest parts of you. Your legs shaking, squeezing harder as you thread your fingers into his hair, moaning his name into his ear.
He groans, pumping his hand faster, letting his thoughts run amok with you. Satan arches his back, the book all but forgotten as it lies on his chest - his mind so clouded over with pleasure, properly putting it away is the last thing he wants to think about.
Small beads of sweat appear on his forehead, and he groans, desperately wishing it was your hand getting him off instead of his own gripping his aching, needy cock. A pinging chime sounds from his D.D.D. on the nightstand, indicating a received text, but he ignores it, lost in ecstasy.
The feeling of your tight, warm walls gripping him as he enters you, pulling back, dragging his cock between your walls before pounding back into you. Stretching you out with his sheer size, quivering around his cock as your arousal wets him. Satan increases the pace of his hand in tandem with the memory of his quickened, merciless thrusts into your pliant little body writhing beneath him, calling out his name; the two short syllables stretching into loud, gasping moans that rise in pitch with each effort, bordering on a scream of pleasure.
“Ah! It f-feels so good, I’m going to cum, Daddy-”
Fuck! Satan clenches his jaw, stroking faster and faster, desperately chasing his release. Gripping the sheets beneath him with his free hand, he bucks his hips into his own hand, pressing his skull hard into the pillow as his cock twitches. Fuck, I’m so close...
It’s the mental image of your eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you cum, gripping him tightly as you scream his name into the late hours of the morning, fucking into you throughout your release that finally pushes Satan over the edge. Mere moments later, the tension between his hips snaps, fire pooling low in his belly and blazing to life as his orgasm shudders through him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he lets out a series of loud moans, sounds of pleasure shattering the thick silence of his empty bedroom. Thick, white ropes of cum pulse from his cock, coating his hand and subsequently landing on the book that lay on his chest, coating the cover with evidence of his desperation. Chest rising and falling rapidly with the effort of his labored breathing, Satan groans, letting his head drop back against the pillow as he wipes his brow with the back of his free hand.
Silence returns to his room, though only for a few fleeting moments - the sound of his bedroom door unlocking fills that void, almost amplified by the previous stillness. Satan’s heart thrums wildly in his chest, watching with widened eyes as you stride through the door before turning around to close it behind you, setting your book bag on the nearest chair.
“I texted you, but you didn’t answer,” you tell him, reaching to grab your D.D.D. from your bag before turning around. “I need a break, so I thought-”
Your words cut off suddenly as you finally turn around. The sight of Satan on his bed, a hand wrapped tightly around his cock, coated in cum as he pants, his eyes glazed over in pleasure. You can feel yourself grin, sauntering up to him, keeping your eyes trained on his as your hands make quick work of unbuttoning your uniform jacket, dropping it to the floor.
Satan’s heart thrums wildly in his chest, like the rev of a racecar gas pedal pressed to the floor. He licks his lips, delighting in the sight of you, moving the cum-soaked book to the nightstand, not caring at all for the damage.
“Kitten,” he rasps, continuing to pant. “I-”
“Missed me that much, hm?” you purr, leaning over him to brush your lips against his. “I did say I’d make it up to you, Daddy, didn’t I? I suppose I’ll have to clean you up first...”
#obey me#obey me satan#satan obey me#shall we date obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me satan x reader#obey me satan x mc#obey me fandom#swd obey me#obey me!#obey me swd#satan swd#swd Satan#obey me lemon
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bare my burden
[illumi zoldyck x fem! reader]
summary: feeling powerless and out of control due to his mission not going as planned, Illumi makes you feel the same way.
warnings: 18+, nsfw, rough sex, deepthroating, face-fucking
word count: 1,956
It had been a week since your husband, Illumi Zoldyck, left the estate to complete a mission. He said he’d be back two days ago, and he wasn’t back yet. Punctual as he is, he normally arrived before he estimated. You liked to lie to yourself by thinking he did this to surprise you by his early arrival, but you know that he actually used his timeframes as a deadline and made sure to complete things before then.
The weather out was gloomy on this evening.. Storm clouds filled the sky and heavy rain fell right onto the buds of the beautiful flowers in the Zoldyck Estate. It was always such a sight to see. You had just finished taking a relaxing bath, enjoying a cup of tea and were laying down under your warm comforter when you heard a familiar knock at the door. This knock was Illumi for sure, his signature way to let you know it was him and not one of the butlers. As unapologetic as he was, he always made sure to knock before entering. Two days after his predicted arrival, you were thrilled to finally have him back after missing him and being so worried that things had gone awry.
“Illumi~.” You sang in a tired voice when you heard your door open. Turning around to face him while laying in your bed, your eyes followed his muscular build walk straight into the bathroom as he closed the door behind himself. You thought nothing of this since Illumi loved to jump straight into the shower after he returned from a mission. As you lifted the comforter off your legs, you heard the bathroom door lock. ‘That’s weird’ you thought to yourself. Illumi never locked the bathroom door, since you two always showered together upon his return from a mission. It was routine that you’d jump in and help him clean off and unwind. You then heard the shower water start, and decided to lay back down. He was 2 days late and locked the door behind him, perhaps he needed some time alone. The sound of heavy rain hitting the windows, the warm comforter over you and the subconscious protected feeling of having Illumi back home quickly lulled you to sleep.
“Get up, Y/N.”
“Wake up. It’s too early to fall asleep for the night right now.”
“Y/N.”
You were woken up after hearing Illumi speaking sternly beside you and feeling his grip on your arm shaking you back into reality. You sat up rubbing your eyes and looking over at the time. It had only been an hour since you’d fell asleep and were grumbling that Illumi wouldn’t allow you some rest especially since he needed some as well.
“Illu.. I missed you. You were gone longer than you predicted. Did everything go as planned?” Finally opening your eyes completely and meeting Illumi’s glare, you took note of the scowl on his face. His glare was colder than normal, and if looks could kill then you’d be dead. This could’ve meant a million different things but you assumed it was regarding his mission and attempted to slice the tension in the room by leaning over to kiss Illumi. He leaned back and grabbed you by your chin. “No. It didn’t. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Illumi’s tone was sharp and full of annoyance. He knew that you could pick up on his moods and were always analyzing him to figure things out because the nature of his personality. It was going to be a long, merciless night. Illumi rarely became stressed out about his job. Years of torture masked as “training” subjected him to so many different scenarios that the man could quite possibly survive and endure anything. But when he felt powerless or out of control, you were the one person who felt that wrath while things were temporarily out of his reach. Illumi would always be sure to complete the job even if he has to restrategize, but not before subjecting you to the same feeling he has at the moment.
Illumi leaned back against the headboard and sighed. You crawled over and onto his lap, looking into his eyes that could burn a hole in hell if he wanted to. You wished he would melt into your touch but his frustration engulfed his tense body just like your desire to help him feel better. You fell into his hands so easily all the time, making it your number one responsibility to always ease Illumi into feeling like the human he never got a chance to be. You began to straddle his waist and wrapped your arms around Illumi’s shoulders, leaning your breasts against his chiseled chest. Threading your fingers through his hair while kissing and licking his neck, Illumi didn't give in to your ministrations. “Y/N,” Illumi spoke out, voice void of any emotion like usual and you leaned off of him to meet his gaze. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your lips into a harsh, needy kiss which made you moan out at the unexpected force. His tongue delved into your mouth aggressively, tongues dancing and heavy breaths eliciting from you that filled the previously strained room with lust. Illumi’s free hands grabbed your ass, playing with your cheeks before spreading them and bringing his hand to your already soaked pussy. He swiped at your wetness and brought his deft fingers to play with your clit. His fingers swirling perfectly, the coil in your stomach began to build while you moaned his name out desperately. Your hips grinded harder against his hand and you leaned in to make out with him, needing something to ground you from your growing orgasm. A few more ruts onto his hardened cock, swollen lips fighting each other and his fingers precisely rubbing your swollen bud made your orgasm hit quicker than you hoped and you rode out your high as much as Illumi allowed.
Your face was flushed, mind clouded and full of desperation for him to make love to you but you were snapped back into reality when he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up while scooting himself off the bed. He took his briefs off, long slender cock springing out while you positioned yourself on your knees. When he looked down at you it was with dangerous eyes. You knew the pleasure you felt previously was only a build up for whatever merciless fuck he wanted to put you through right after he used your throat.
You began swirling your tongue around the tip of his length before attempting to take him in fully. Illumi’s cock is big, and you always had to focus on not hitting the back of your throat too quick. Before you could even bring Illumi’s sex fully into your mouth, he weaved his fingers in your hair and began bucking his hips into your mouth. Drool spilled out the sides while you’re focusing your breathing through your nose & bobbing your head back and forth. Low grunts left his lips and hearing his husky, lust filled noises made your entire body feel warm. You didn’t understand how gagging on his cock could bring you such euphoria. Bracing yourself to deepthroat him, you repositioned yourself to get the best angle and began slipping your mouth further onto his cock. You wanted to send him over the edge. This was a dangerous game to play with Illumi. His fingers that were laced in your hair found their way to your scalp and he then moved one hand to the back of your neck before slamming his cock all the way into your throat, your nose touching his body. Illumi’s quite literally fucking your face at this point, and you’re trying so hard not to pass out, squeezing his thighs with your fingers in hopes that he’ll notice you’re nearly past your limit. He continued his ministrations, bucking into your mouth hard just to chase his release. Black is starting to encompass your vision and you think you’re going to pass out before he pulls you off his cock. A slick line of spit from your mouth to his penis breaks and falls onto your chest and you finally bring air back into your lungs. Illumi looks at you with a dangerous, cold look, before grabbing your soaked chin and making you look at him. “Up, now.”
Illumi began kissing you while guiding you backwards onto your comfortable bed. Pushing your shoulders down once you fell seated onto the bed, he crawled above you, caging you between his arms. You leaned up, sucking and biting Illumi’s neck, trying to mark him up. Much to your surprise, he wasn't complaining or resisting even though he always verbalized how much he hated the look of hickies. Humping you slowly, you feel his aroused length prodding your inner thigh and shudder. You want him so badly. He can see that you’re practically begging him to have his way with you, release some tension, you want to feel close with him, you want him to know that he can let go of his frustration with you.
Illumi lined his cock up with your wet slick, rubbing the tip against your clit deliciously before inching himself all the way into your cunt. The stretch always so pleasantly painful. He began thrusting at a slower pace, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and hitting the perfect spot that made you moan out his name incoherently. Illumi leaned towards you, kissing and biting your neck, repaying you for leaving marks on him. You can hear his breathing hitch in your ear and it sent more arousal to your core. “Fuck.” Illumi moaned while continuing to thrust into you with perfect precision. Physically you were there with him, mentally you were on cloud 9. “You’re, squeezing me, so tight.” Illumi emphasized every word with a hard slam into your pussy, all of which threw you back into reality.
Grabbing both of your legs and folding them onto your body as far as they would go, Illumi brought you into a mating press. Using your ankles as leverage, he slammed into your abused cunt with all of his body weight. Each thrust forced a whimper out of your mouth and Illumi loved the helpless look on your face as he overpowered you. You could do nothing but enjoy the onslaught in this position. The room was filled with your wanton moans, his heavy breathing and it felt like everytime his cock hit your cervix that you were about to be sent over the edge. A few more heavy and hard thrusts caused the coil to break again, your orgasm coating your inner walls and spilling all over Illumi’s cock. He continued fucking into you as you came down from your high, so overstimulated at this point. His orgasm hit soon after, and his grip on you became even tighter. Desperate to ride out his orgasm, he continued plunging into you, slower and gentler while he filled your core with every drop of his seed. The feeling of his dick twitching in your cunt was amazing. Pulling out of your cunt, you missed the feeling of him inside you already. He released your legs from his hold, your legs falling onto the bed as he looked at you all fucked out and beautiful for him. Chest heaving, heavy lidded eyes, you stared back at him with adoration. “Feeling better, Illu?” Your words sounded desperate, almost sorry, and definitely vulnerable. Illumi leaned forward and kissed your forehead, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “A little, but I’m not done with you yet.”
#hxh illumi#illumi zoldyck#hxh smut#hxh imagines#illumi x reader#hunterxhunter#hunter x hunter#phantom troupe#illumi smut#n/sfw#hxh scenarios#hxh#hxh writing#hxh x reader#hxh illumi zoldyck#hxh fanfic#hunterxhunter fanfic#hunter x hunter fanfic#forcefulkitten
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Goddess (Orestes x Reader)
GODDESS
(Hi. I wrote an Orestes story - it started as a joke about the way Apocalypse says “my goddess”, and then I was like “oh man I want Orestes to call me his goddess” and then as usual, I don’t know how, but this happened. It’s rather different than most things I write, but I quite enjoyed writing it and I hope you like it. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)
Word Count: ~4400
Summary: Orestes is a constant in your life and has a particular way of constantly reminding you.
Warnings: Mentions of character death (briefly described but not graphically.) Implied female reader. Definite probable historical inaccuracies taken for poetic license and dramatic effect. ANGST (I made myself cry while I was writing this.) Christians doing morally void but historically accurate things. Fictional timelines.
When you are four years old, your parents leave everything they’ve built in Rome - their jobs in the palace, their lives in the city, your father’s position on the council -upon the orders of the Emperor and move to Alexandria. Your father’s new role is to assist in turning that city into a bastion of the Empire, to help strengthen the government and support the supremacy of Rome. Your mother is to be a gentle guide to the women, in hearth and home and higher society. And because you are theirs, you go with them.
They meet with the prefect upon your arrival and he welcomes your family. He is bright and cheerful, yet loud and pompous and booming, stern but wise, and while he is a kind man, his volume frightens you. You cower behind your mother’s skirts, steadfastly clinging to her and refusing to join in any pleasantries.
Another woman suddenly appears, a small boy with curly hair and bright dark eyes holding her hand. The boy regards you curiously and asks why you won’t come out and say hello. His mother tells him you’re shy, while your mother encourages you to release your death grip on her gown. Finally, after much coaxing, you relent and she pushes you gently towards the little boy.
His mother says you should go play in the garden while the grown-ups talk, and he reaches a tiny hand out to you, wide-eyed and smiling. His name is Orestes, and he is six.
And when you take his hand with a shy little smile, his voice comes out as a whisper and tells you he thinks you’re a goddess, and he drags you towards the garden to show you the little blue flowers that dot the grass, and you believe him.
***
When you are eight years old, one day you finish your chores early and decide to spend your extra time in the yard, weaving some wildflowers together into a chain while the mid-afternoon sun warms your shoulders.
You are quite happy to be alone and not around the grown-ups for now; they’re so loud, sometimes too loud. You crave the quiet, seek it out often, and you bask in it.
Until a rush of dark curls and bright eyes tears past your house, into your yard, and grabs you by the hand, knocking your flower chain carelessly to the ground. He insists you come play with him on the hill nearby and with a squeal of indignation, you let yourself be dragged along behind him.
Your ire over the discarded flower chain is soon forgotten as your squeals become laughter as you roll and roll down the hill together, grass and dirt sticking to your robes and tufts sticking to his unruly curls.
When you tell him he looks silly, he tells you he doesn’t, and you insist that he does and he protests that he doesn’t. And so it goes back and forth and back again, until you push him or he pushes you or someone pushes the other and you both go tumbling down that hill, end over head over feet, your descent only stopped by a patch of mud at the bottom.
He might be the son of the prefect, and he might be your best friend, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t an enormous brat sometimes.
For a minute you’re both panting and red-faced and near tears, until he starts to giggle and you can’t help but join in, and only laugh harder at his outraged gasp when you hit him square in the chest with a chunk of mud.
And on the way back to your house, when you’re worrying your bottom lip thinking on how to explain to your mother why you’re covered in dead grass and damp bits of dirt, your robes most likely ruined, he tells you with the kind of confidence only possessed by a boy of ten years that everything will be fine, because you are a goddess and brave and strong, and you believe him.
***
When you are twelve years old, you hear of the school that Hypatia is running, because Orestes tells you about it when he starts going. You don’t like that he’s doing something without you. You don’t like being left behind and left out and you want to go to this school too.
Your mother would easily say yes, but your father is reluctant, and it’s not that he thinks a woman shouldn’t learn philosophy and how to read and do arithmetic; it’s more that enough other people in the city do think like this and he is convinced it will not be safe for you.
You care little for your safety. All you want, all you desire, is to be part of this group of scholars and to go to this school and learn. And what danger can possibly be there, when a woman is the one in charge?
So you beg and plead and bargain with your father, until a boy - now a young man - with curls like nighttime and eyes nearly as dark and twinkling with stars, steps in and says he’ll watch over you during your classes, and your father gives his permission. And so you start attending Hypatia’s school.
And when the older boys, boys who were nearly men and should know better, start to bully and deride you for desiring knowledge, when they taunt you and steal your scrolls and yank the ribbons from your hair, he steps in and tells them in no uncertain terms to leave you alone. Neither of your fathers, especially his, are particularly thrilled with the tussles he gets in on your behalf, or the black eye that one petulant snipe Cyrus gives him when he connects a punch when Orestes isn’t properly paying attention.
You frown at him as he sits in a chair next to the washbasin, a clean wet cloth clutched in your hand. He winces as you clean the blood from his cheek and gingerly probe the bruise swelling around his eye.
And when you softly ask why he’d do such a stupid thing, he tells you that even a goddess needs a hero to protect them sometimes, and even though you think him entirely ridiculous and heat comes unbidden to your cheeks, it makes you giddy to believe him.
***
When you are sixteen years old, you watch the boy with the wild ebony curls and liquid chocolate eyes fall in love with a girl. Only it isn’t a girl, it’s a woman, and you realize he’s been doing it for years.
Ever since your first day in the new city, he has always been by your side and you by his, an inseparable duo. You thought that would never change, but here you are, finding yourself forced to watch your best friend slowly but surely let his heart be ensnared by your very own teacher.
All he can talk about now, it seems, is Hypatia and her philosophies; Hypatia and her scrolls and the amazing things she is currently reading; Hypatia and her outlandish theories on the universe and the stars. Always Hypatia, all things Hypatia.
You never knew you could hate someone as amazing and wonderful as Hypatia.
It doesn’t seem to matter that his attentions are not equally returned, that she never fully indulges his lovesick whims and overreaching attempts to gain her attention. She continues to treat him as a student, and outside of class possibly even as a dear friend, and he continues to pine.
One afternoon you’re among the stacks of scrolls at the library, trying to find the parchment necessary to complete an assignment Hypatia has given you. You honestly would rather not find it and not even bother finishing your assigned work right now, and you must have some kind of look on your face because he takes the scroll you’re clutching from your hand and leads you to a mostly hidden nook in the room. And he stops talking about Hypatia for a moment to ask you what is wrong.
You want to tell him you miss him, that you want him back, that he’s making a mistake, but you can’t, you don’t. It takes a bit more coaxing, but you finally tell him you’re lonely and you wish there was someone you could find, someone you had to love as much as he had his person, he smiles and tells you that one day you will, because you’re a goddess and the right person will be pulled to the love and light you always emit. You smile back weakly and blink and look away and you want nothing more than to believe him.
***
When you are twenty years old, the library at Alexandria is destroyed.
It happens on a sunny afternoon not unlike so many others that have passed before, when suddenly the doors are broken down and the Christians rush in and the chaos ensues.
You’re sitting at a table with a quill in your hand, carefully writing your thoughts on a piece of parchment, when you hear the shouting in the entryway. And before you know what’s going on, shelves are being knocked over, papers tossed into the air like so much confetti, scrolls being thrown left and right. The air is beginning to smell acrid; you can see a few people setting small fires in some of the stacks.
The windows above you shatter as others throw rocks and even a chair, and you look around wildly for a way out. You don’t know which way is the right way to go, or even if there is a right way to go.
Everything is madness.
A pair of arms suddenly shoot out and grab you around the waist and your scream pierces the air like the horn on the top of the lighthouse trying to guide a ship to shore. Instead you realize you’re trying to drive this ship to its ruin, to free yourself from its depths with wildly swinging elbows and kicks, until you hear a familiar voice shouting your name over the ruckus.
You take in your assailant, all frantic curls and impossibly wide, dark eyes, and collapse into him in relief. Orestes tells you that you need to go, you need to get out, and to find both your fathers in the nearby council chambers and they’ll know where to go, where it’s safe. You ask him to come with you, but he shakes his head.
He tells you he needs to help save as many of the books and scrolls as he can, and you tell him to give you all you can carry and when you run, you’ll take them with you. So he loads your arms full to bursting, and when a rock flies by inches from your face and you drop the items at the top of the pile, he ignores that and pushes you roughly in the direction of the side exit. He says you must leave now, and he’ll be behind you before you know it.
He presses his lips to your temple ever so briefly, spares you a pained smile, and says you’re a goddess for the small bit of assistance you are giving.
As you run for safety, or what might be further peril, you spare a glance over your shoulder and see him helping Hypatia grab as much of the library’s contents as they can, and you don’t have another second to spare on deciding whether or not to believe him.
***
When you are twenty four, it’s your wedding day and everyone tells you this will be the most joyous day of your life so far. Your mother helps you dress in the softest, most expensively beautiful gown you’ve ever owned, and one of your sisters weaves a crown of laurels for your hair. Another sister makes a chain of wildflowers to wind around your wrist. You have never felt as beautiful as you do on this day.
Your father comes to the door of the chamber where your preparations are taking place, to let you know that the guests have all arrived and the groom is nearly ready, and it is almost time. He gives you a kiss on both cheeks, a gesture not common from him, and tells you he will be waiting out by the garden gate when you are ready. Your mother and sisters each kiss your cheek and leave as well, giving you a moment to yourself to gather your thoughts and emotionally prepare for the ceremony.
The door opens again a few minutes later and you turn to face the person behind it, Your eyes go wide, confused, as you take in the man before you. His dark curls are smoothed back and elegantly styled, his robes are regal and dashing, and his eyes are bright and nervous.
You tell him he shouldn’t be here.
He tells you that he knows, but he can’t help it, he has to see you. That he has been thinking of you all morning, wondering how beautiful you look, how happy you must be, and he just had to see you before you walk down the aisle to take your vows.
You bite your lip and tell him, again, that he shouldn’t be here and you can’t stop your voice from shaking. You turn your head away and look anywhere but at him.
And he repeats that he knows this, and he knows it’s wrong, it goes against all protocols, but he can’t help himself, can’t stop thinking that this is the last time he’s going to see you, see your smile and maybe hear your laugh, might be the last time your eyes can gaze upon each other and the last time he can hold you in his arms as his best friend.
You can’t think of a single thing to say to him, and even if you could, you’re certain your body will not cooperate.
Because he is not the one you are marrying. No, this marriage was arranged by your father and the Emperor, and there is the overwhelming chance that you must go back to Rome, and if you and your new husband leave Alexandria it is not likely you will ever return.
This might be the last time he can tell you that you shine with a light brighter than all the heavens, that you are beautiful and he hopes you will be happy, and you truly are a goddess among mortals.
And so Orestes does. He kisses you softly on your forehead, staying there a bit longer than propriety suggests, and quietly slips from the room. And you can’t see for the tears swimming in your eyes, and you want with all your heart to believe him, but you can’t help but find his words hollow and realize this will be far from the greatest day of your life.
***
When you are barely turned twenty-five, there is a knock on your door in the middle of the night. Perhaps knock is not the correct word, it’s more of an insistent pounding, and you swear under your breath at what could possibly be so important to rouse you out of bed at this unacceptable hour.
You pull a robe over your nightdress and open the door, and all the air leaves your lungs.
Four centurions are standing on your stoop, with a man who looks vaguely familiar; is he a general, maybe, or a captain? You can’t remember where you’ve seen him before, but it doesn’t matter, when he greets you solemnly and begins to speak, and tells you that your husband will not be returning from the front.
You did not return to Rome, as had originally been decreed. You stayed in Alexandria after your marriage because skirmishes had broken out along a few of the empire’s borders, and your new husband was called to action to fight for his ruler and the kingdom. Deep down, you could not have been more glad of it, for though you were born there, Rome had not been your home for over twenty years, and starting a new life there with a new husband would not have made it any more so.
Your knees give out from under you and you consider for a moment that you should be crying, but you aren’t really sad and it strikes you as odd, but you can’t force the tears to come. You love your husband, in a way, but you’re not sad that he won’t be coming home. You’re relieved, and the instant that thought hits you and sends a jolt through your body, you start to laugh. The general, or captain, or whoever he is and his guards look at each other, then at you, and back to each other in utter confusion as you continue to giggle.
It all happens in mere seconds, and you’re sinking to the stone floor beneath, and a very familiar voice, one you have not heard since the day you were wed, tells the guards to stand aside and strong arms catch you before you can tumble completely.
His hair is wild and curly like he was just pulled out of bed himself, and his dark eyes shine with worry and compassion, and he asks you if you’re alright, and this is what finally breaks you from your laughter and brings wetness to your eyes.
Orestes holds you as you cry into his chest and you don’t see the pointed look he gives to the captain and the guards, nor do you see them pull back enough to close the door and wait outside.
You don’t know how long you sit there on the floor in the front hall, or how you’ve possibly gotten his robes that soggy, but eventually you calm and the thoughts roll through your brain again. You are crying because someone has died, you realize this is true even if you’re not so very sad it was your husband. You’re crying because it was your husband and now there will be the mourning period you must dutifully attend as a grieving widow. And now that you’re a widow, eventually you will be expected to take another husband, if one even dares to want you.
And you’re crying because the one reason you were glad to stay in this forsaken city - in the Alexandria which had become your home - the one reason you hoped every day to lay eyes on again and every night resigned that you never would, was suddenly here, his arms wrapped around you and his voice whispering words of comfort into your hair.
You’re not sure when he picks you up and carries you back to your bed, carefully laying you on your pillows and pulling the sheet up to cover your shoulders. You’re not sure how long he stays, holding your hand and brushing stray tendrils of hair from your face. And you’re not sure how long you drift in and out, emotional exhaustion finally catching up and pulling you into nothingness, but before you fade out completely, you feel his thumb gently brush the remaining tears from your cheek, and feel the soft press of his lips on your forehead as he calls you a goddess and tells you to rest.
And as you finally give yourself to the twilight, you aren’t sure if you imagined it, but you choose to believe him, and you cling to it.
***
You’re not sure when it happens, to be honest. Time starts to blend together after that, you just know that you’re older and that it happens, and it isn’t right and it isn’t moral and it isn’t fair. Not to anyone involved, not to the city, not at all.
Hypatia has died, been murdered in the temple at the hands of those who profess themselves to be righteous saviors, brutally stoned and ripped apart as she stood there, proud and defiant to the end. How anyone could do such a thing to another human, especially one such as her, is beyond your comprehension.
It only gets worse when they burn her corpse on a pyre in effigy in the middle of the agora.
Word comes to you of the horrible events, and your first instinct is to find him, the way he found you, came to you when word of your husband’s death made its way back to the city. You set down the parchment you’re scribbling on the desk in your room and grab a dark cloak, partly to conceal yourself and party to ward off the slight chill from the wind.
You make your way to the prefect’s palace but you’re turned away at the gate by pair of surly-looking guards, and giving your name, and then your father’s name, and then the fact that your father reports directly to Rome makes no difference to them. They have been told to let no one in, and let no one out.
No one except the person you’re looking for, apparently, because somewhere in the aftermath you discover that Orestes is nowhere to be found.
No one knows where he’s gone, and no one knows when he left, just that it was sometime between Hypatia being murdered and the fake funeral pyre. He had words with Cyril, someone told you, and then after that, no one knows.
And the Christians take over the city, much like the library so many years ago, and more people are burned at the stake, more people are murdered, more progress is halted, all in the name of what is right and what is true.
They will kill you, too, if they find you, or find out you’re looking for Orestes. It’s been years since you’ve really been in his presence in anything but the smallest of ways, especially in public, but you know there are still enough people who know how close you were. And if they know you used to be close, you know they won’t hesitate to come after you the same way they came for the philosopher.
So you make inquiries as discreetly as possible, ask the gossips that litter the merchants’ stalls in the most innocent way possible, like you’re just a curious citizen asking what’s happened to the rule of order in the city. You even ask your father, once, but he doesn’t reply and his stony gaze makes you certain to never ask again.
And you bury yourself in scrolls and reading, in star charts and theories; in anything, really, that will take your mind off everything that is happening and your lost prefect. Your lost friend, your best friend.
The man you truly love, even if it’s taken you years of self-doubt and missed chances to fully realize and admit it, and now, perhaps do something about it.
One day as you’re sitting at your desk, quill in hand and head in the clouds, you think of something. Something that may be nothing, but it comes to you in a flash and you have an idea of where to go, where to find him, somewhere that few others might know.
You carefully pack a bag with some clothes and supplies, and a crudely drawn map that you sketch from memory and hope you’ve gotten right. It’s been so long since you were there but you’re fairly sure you remember the way. You know that Orestes would remember.
A long day’s journey and a fitful night’s sleep take you into the next day, and the afternoon turns into dusk when the hillside comes into view. It is not the same hill you tumbled down more than once when the two of you got into a scrum, but it’s the one that you would go when you could both sneak away and no one would notice for a few days, and you’d stare at clouds by day and the stars by night.
There is an outcropping set back from the hill, in the base of the mountains nearby, that a person wouldn’t see if they didn’t know where to look. You’d found it one day during a particularly vicious thunderstorm and taken refuge in the cave there, and you’d both commented on how someone had clearly found it once before you, for it was somewhat set up as a living space, with some mats and blankets and a few rations left on makeshift shelves. Anytime you were on these excursions and it would rain, or you simply wanted to be out of the sun, that was where you would go.
And you hope against hope that this is where your answer lies.
You crest the hill and make your way to the foot of the mountain and you can’t help but smile, just a little, thinking this is where he would have gone, should have gone, as his name means of the mountains. In his abandonment, his escape from the city, could he have taken it literally? You’ve known him so long and it feels like the kind of thing Orestes would do.
The hovel comes into view, and you drop your pack, because he does too. Tending to a fire at the mouth of the cave, his back turned slightly to you, his curls a glorious disaster, and he’s grown a beard since last you’d seen him. It’s a look you’ve not seen on him before, but you quite like it, although you consider for just a moment you’d like any look on him at this moment, because he is real and he is standing right in front of you.
The sound of the pack hitting the ground makes him turn, and his dark eyes shine in the firelight, and he looks at you for long moments but doesn’t say anything. Orestes just stares at you, disbelieving, like you might be some kind of mirage or a trick of the light or even some kind of wicked spirit sent to torment him, and so he just stares.
Until you breathe his name.
He blinks once, and his face is suddenly full of hope and relief, all the tension and disbelief of the previous moments falling away, and your heart soars to the heavens and thumps ever so boldly in your chest, and your smile threatens to crack your lips, and the tears fall freely as words finally leave his mouth.
“My goddess.”
~end~
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"Why Not You?"
Kinda like this, kinda don't. I'm posting regardless.
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Black!fem!OC (can be platonic or romantic)
Warning: Cursing. Mentions of death. Acceptance of the void. Vague end of the world talk.
Finding a quiet place to rest was harder than Tiny thought it would be. Her juniors ran back and forth, calling out to each other and drunk off cheap booze. Envy filled her bones every time she saw someone holding hands or dragging someone along before she released that feeling. It’s not their fault. It wasn’t her fault. Life just worked like that.
Tiny stumbled into the corner by accident. Broken bottles and wet newspaper on cobblestone streets made it difficult for her boots to find traction. The corner looked as good as a resting spot as any other. The thickness of her green cloak kept her body heat from seeping into the cold bricks against her back. Tiny sighed. Tomorrow would soon arrive. And with it, her highly probable demise. There was a chance that humanity might survive. That she may survive. But she didn’t like getting her hopes up, it hurt too much to proved wrong and fucked over.
Hope is how she ended up in this bullshit.
Taking a swig from a flask she kept on her, the woman reveled in the burn traveling down her throat. Alcohol has never tasted better, in her opinion, than right now in a dingy corner, waiting for the world to cave in.
“Should have known you’d find somewhere to drink yourself to death.” The words only encouraged Tiny to take another gulp, droplets escaping by the corner of her lips and trailing down her chin. “Fucking disgusting.”
“Hello to you too, Levi. How nice of you to check on me.” Her words were like her blades, dull and easy to ignore. Levi stared her down with a blank face. “Were you lonely? Too old to hang with the youngins so you had to find the nearest person with arthritis?”
Levi only leaned against the wall next to her, snatching her flask with his honed muscles and dumping it on the wet cobblestone.
“Little bitch.” Tiny muttered. Her eyes already had a glassy look to them, making her look otherworldly to Levi with the way her pupils seemed to absorb the moonlight. Clumsy footsteps passed the pair in the open streets, the sound of youth and chaos bouncing off the stone buildings. “If I can’t drink now, when can I?”
“After we survive.”
“If we survive.” Soft lips corrected. “Tomorrow’s not promised. I should be able to drink myself to death before then.” Tiny reached up and yanked the ribbon holding her hair in a bun out, freeing her thick hair. “I deserve that much.”
“You’re an idiot.” More footsteps passed by. The silence of their corner felt out of place in a place like this, on a night like this. People were in the streets, shouting and jeering. Parents of young children had already shut their doors for the night and blew out the lanterns outside their homes. Levi imagined what it would be like to be surrounded by a family on a night like this.
“Well, I’m still thirsty. Let's go to the kitchen and make some tea.” He snapped out of his wondering by the movement of the woman next to him. A brown hand clasped onto his forearm tight, dragging him out into the busy street. His gaze stayed on the curly-haired woman in front of him, carving a path through chaos, unknowingly bringing up old memories of her on the battlefield, doing the same thing.
They arrived at the communal kitchen and found it ransacked. Cabinets and drawers were left wide open and empty, food packages littered counter space, and covered wooden floors. Levi scrunched his nose at the mess, already turning to the door to berate his juniors.
“Let it go,” Tiny ordered him, not caring one way or the other if he listened to her. Her boots kicked away debris as she glided to the one untouched spot in the kitchen. “No one touched your tea. Even on the last day of earth, no one was brave enough to touch your shit.”
“I’m honored.” Tiny hummed, calloused fingers busy picking out the leaves she wanted to steep. Levi shoved her out the way, her thighs collided with open cabinet doors. The curse she let out didn’t bother the short man. “Don’t touch my shit. Sit down or something.”
Levi had prepared a pot in silence, bringing the kettle over to the table where she decided to sit. The cups didn’t match but Tiny didn’t care. Without tasting the beverage she drizzled honey into her cup. Levi sneered. They drank in silence.
Cold eyes stared the woman down. Her body was covered head to toe in uniform, but he could see through the fabric and view the healed wounds he knew she had. Her lips and eyebrow were the only visible flesh marred with scars. Even then, they were faint, caused by razor-sharp blades that didn’t dig too deep into her skin.
“Stop staring,” Tiny grumbled as she placed her empty cup down. “Unless you’re going to confess your undying love to me right before we die tomorrow, stop staring. It's weird.”
“Fine.” His eyes didn’t move and she didn’t mention it. Pouring another cup of tea, Tiny held the rim of her cup up to her mouth.
“You think I’m being dramatic?” He shook his head, and shifted his gaze to the door, on the other side ruckus was being made and property becoming destroyed.
“It’s more than likely we’ll die tomorrow, you’re preparing for that outcome.” Tiny cocked her head to the side, a dreary smile on her face.
“Why are you here, Levi? Why are you sitting with me? Hange, Erwin, those brats. You could be with them or by yourself. Why me? We haven’t spoken in months.”
“Why not you?” Tiny went back to drinking her tea, done with her questions. He didn’t react to the hand she placed on top of his, nor the tears rimming her eyes. In the candlelight, the dark green of their cloaks complimented her skin tone.
Tiny sipped her tea and reflected on her life. Her highs and lows. The people she’s lost trying to survive in their cruel reality. She believed she was ready to die, ready to embrace the end. Living felt exhausting, every day she woke up, Tiny prayed to the gods for a reason to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep breathing. When she glanced at Levi, it felt like she had been given an answer.
“We should get some sleep. Old hags like us need all the rest we can get if we’re going to survive the apocalypse.” Levi agreed and rose out of his chair to clean the kettle and put away the dishes. He felt the eyes of Tiny stare him down as he moved. She made no hint to help. Just watched. When He put the last cup away, a hand was there to tug him along. Always tugging him, always leading him into the unknown.
They passed by occupied rooms, the sound of skin smacking together and false promises being made filling the silence. Tiny arrived at his door where she dug into his jacket pocket for the key. “We can sleep together. I know how cold you get. You’ve probably been shivering for the last few months without me.”
“Change your clothes. I don’t want city grime in my bed.” Tiny smirked and followed his request. Two bodies were wrapped in a blanket and smushed on the bed.
“Goodnight Levi, See you on the other side.” Her hand found his and her worry faded to the background. Not gone, just light enough to not weigh her down as she slept. She decided that she could die like this. In the bed with Levi, full of booze and tea.
“Night, Tiny” Their breathing slowed but the noise outside did not lessen. The two found peace in the night, accepting that whatever would happen, would happen regardless if they stayed up or laid down.
Then the world caved in.
#levi ackerman#black oc#aot fanfiction#levi x poc reader#levi x black reader#levi x black oc#aot levi#black writers#attack on titan#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#written by junk💋
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Bread and Water, p. 1
1,116 words | Original work: No Warrior (sequel to Deprived)
Content | Starvation, begging, language barrier, fear, implied: past torture
Notes | It’s a long, complicated morning for Yves and somehow I feel compelled to cover it in excruciating detail, so! Parts!
This may be the weirdest way to represent a language the viewpoint character doesn’t understand, but it’s traditionally used for eldritch horrors and Yves is currently scared out of his mind, so I figured it was appropriate :P
Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi
Yves came to, his body being gently rocked back and forth, his injuries screaming with every movement, repeated with uncanny regularity.
He smelled wood and moist wool, not the stone and metal and the stink of his own filth he had come to expect. Something was draped over him, keeping him warmer than he was used to.
He blinked his eyes open to see, before anything, a giant looming over him.
Memory came crashing down on him. He gasped with fear and regretted it immediately, forcefully, when the man sitting next to where he was lying on what he presumed to be the floor turned his head to look down on him. Why couldn’t he keep silent, avoid attention for a few precious moments longer?
“x̴̰̘̚̕x̸̢̦͆,̴̡̹͌ ̵̫͗x̴̬̣̏ẍ̶͈͍́̔ ̵͓̻́̓x̶̝̤͒x̵̬̜̍̓x̸͚̓x̴͘͜ ̸̉͜x̷͓͑̈́x̸̹̐̔ẍ̸̻͂x̸̘̤̽͐x̶̘̀x̷͔͊x̷͖͈̔̃x̴̗̿x̷̤̎ẍ̶̬́͝,̶̞̣͒ ̴̻͒̽x̴͚͉̐̕ẍ̶̖͐x̸̤̑x̸̬͇̅̉x̸̰͕̆x̶̄͘͜.”
The man looked down at him, clearly expecting some sort of response. Yves had no idea what he had said. He had no idea what to do. He only knew this man could break him like a reed, and probably would if he didn’t do the right thing. Quite possibly even if he did. Tears rolled down his face before he could even think of holding them back. “Please...”
His eyes flitted away from the mountain of a man beside him for the briefest of moments, just to find out where they were, what he had to expect-
His stomach sank horribly when he realized.
They were on a ship. He was curled up at the bow, the man beside him apparently on lookout duty or some such.
They were on a ship, and it was full of big, strong people like the one sitting next to him. Currently, they were all going about their business, but now he no longer questioned why he hadn’t been killed along with the knights.
There was nothing he could do, not even obey. He sobbed into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would do any good, but he was still surrounded by the creaking wood and what he now recognized as the ocean’s waves, with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to.
“x̵̧͙̏x̸͙́x̷̞́̇,̵̘̹͘͝ ̴̱̥̀̚x̷͚̿̉x̸̟̾x̸̣̆͘,̵͓̯̿ ̸̧̞̒̿x̵̼̎̄x̴̟͚́̄x̸̰̖́ ̵͉̍͘x̷̻͂̐x̸̬͐x̸̳͘ẍ̵̘͚́̑,̷̨̠̋ ̷̗̒ẍ̵̺̠́́x̸̜͐x̷̬̀͋x̶̝̼͗̉x̵̧̭̄x̴̳̺̽͝ ̵͉̦̅x̸̥̝̋x̵̗̌x̶̲͈͛.̵̡̀“
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he flinched under the touch, whimpering with fear. The man wasn’t hurting him, not yet, but he could only take the touch as a warning.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, I, I’m trying, I don’t understand-” His voice died in his throat. They would make him understand, he knew that, in any way they saw fit.
The man retreated from him, turning away as if to strike him with force. Yves shrank in on himself, his battered ribcage screaming with pain, but things would only get worse-
But the man only reached for something on his other side, then held it out to Yves: a piece of fresh bread.
Yves gasped, his eyes locking onto it like it was as big a nugget of gold; the pangs of his empty stomach suddenly cut sharply through his fear. When had he last eaten? When had he last been allowed to eat more than a few bites at a time? He couldn’t remember.
It was cruel, waving the good, fresh food, the kind he hadn’t tasted in forver, before his nose like that. Some of the knights liked to do that, bring their food to his cell just to watch him pine over it in vain.
Some of the knights had liked to do that.
He shuddered at the thought, and whimpered when the scent of bread crawled into his nostrils.
The man gestured at him with it, speaking again in that language Yves couldn’t hope to decipher. He couldn’t make much sense of the tone, either. It might have been gentle, if the circumstances weren’t so unambiguous.
Yves could only look up at him helplessly. “Please... I’m sorry... I don’t understand. Please...”
The man sighed his loss of patience, and Yves ducked his head until his nose almost touched the wooden planks, waiting for the impact.
But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Instead, he felt his wrist grabbed, and a moment later, something was thrust into his hand.
Then he was released.
He stayed frozen in place for a few moments. What had happened? What was happening? He glanced at his hand, not trusting what he had felt, but indeed he was now holding the bread.
He glimpsed up at the man.
He was smiling, and nodded at him.
He wanted Yves to eat, good, fresh bread, and Yves couldn’t think of a single reason for that. But he didn’t dare defy the man’s expectations. He would have to pay for this, one way or another, he was sure of it, but for now it was all he could do.
He carefully nibbled at the crust, barely noticing the warm flavour filling his mouth while stealing anxious glances at the man... who was now looking out at the sea.
With a sudden rush of panic, Yves realized he’d been set up. It was a test, it had to be. How could he ever think him being handed food like this meant he was supposed to eat it?
It was too late to undo the damage, but he could still keep it to a minimum. It was torture, crouching there with his stomach a glass-shard void, and holding the good bread in his own hands, but he knew that was exactly the point.
The alternative would, without question, be worse.
It was an eternity of raw fear before the man looked down at Yves again.
“I’m sorry,” Yves whispered weakly, unsure whether he was even audible. It didn’t matter. The man probably didn’t understand his language. It probably wouldn’t have mattered even if he did.
“x̷͘҉͏̸̀̀͠x̵̨̡͝͠͡͠͠x̴̸̷̴̀̕͡͠x̶͜͢͏͘͏҉҉x̸̧́̀҉̨͢͜x̧͏̵̧̀̀͜͡ x̴́͢͏̵̡̛͡x̷̴̨̢̨̢̛͘x̶̵̧̨̧͜͢͝x̶̵̵̧̀͟͜͟x̴̶̧҉̢҉҉̷, x̸̡̡͟͟͢͠͡x̵̸̀̕̕͢͟͝x̵̸̵̡̕͢͠͠x̡̀̕͏́͘͠͝x̵̨̡̛͘͞͞͝?“
Yves closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. If only he could understand. Then he could at least try.
He looked up when he heard liquid sloshing in a smaller echo of the waves steadily washing against the ship.
The man held out a canteen, shaking it again when he looked.
Yves looked at him, utterly lost. He was thirsty, as well, but-
The man sighed again, and Yves shrank back. But still, no assault came. The man just unstoppered the bottle, reached out for Yves’ face with his free hand - Yves whimpered, but the touch was gentle, barely even hurting the bruise colouring his cheek - then placed the canteen against his lips, pouring water down his throat.
Yves drank obediently, trying to suppress a shiver at how cold the water was. It was good, otherwise. It was so good.
Far too good for this to last.
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