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ilynpilled · 1 year

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I feel like as the resident dishonor/honor guy enjoyer I have to speak on honor as a construct and how it seems to operate in asoiaf in my eyes. I will be stating the obvious here imo but: violence IS inherent to it. Be it directly or through the enablement of it. “Honor”, as a feudalistic moral construct, revolves around the reinforcement of a status quo. It is a moral construct that is embedded into a feudalistic structure, one that is inherently violent. It can be deeply flawed and destructive as a result of deeply rooted systemic issues. Being “honorable” is very complicated because, again, it does not exist based on a very sensible moral framework. It ends up contradicting itself because the way society is structured in Westeros.

Almost nothing embodies this more clearly than the KG. They are supposed to be the paragons of honor: an unsoiled white cloak.

Vows are social contracts this society is built on. This is why Jaime is very restricted in a lot of ways in his world by his label. Breaking one of the most important contracts (one that happens to be key in reinforcing a feudalistic structure: it places the king’s will above every single other moral or ethical code) makes it so he is not believed or trusted and he is unable to operate properly within their society in a lot of circumstances, as we witness in his chapters. It is honorable to protect the weak and the innocent, but it is honorable to protect your king in all circumstances and reinforce a status quo. To obey your family and play your societal role. To obey laws, even if they are unjust. To keep your word, to be honest. Loyalty to a tyrant has to be inherently more honorable (especially in certain positions) to maintain this status quo, even though it contradicts other oaths and we know it is inherently immoral. Balancing values is the most interesting aspect of characters dealing with ‘honor’ and morality. Feudalism is what makes the honor system collapse. Honor itself can be a more vague concept, “the quality of knowing and doing what is morally right”, but the way it is defined and how it operates within this society is so fucked. The KG appear in the weirwood dream (mirroring the imagery of The Others, conflating the honorable white cloak with snow and cold and death.) “You swore to keep your king safe” “and the children as well.” Yeah, the innocent children of kingslanding as well, that would have burned to ash. It is honorable to save your king, to protect the weak, to save the children, to save the innocents of KG, to obey your father. He tells this to them in the dream, he explains his reasoning for killing Aerys, but they do not budge. That is what Jaime fears the most, the complete collapse of everything that holds meaning to him, heroism becoming undefinable with these conflicting moral codes, which is likely another huge part of him keeping it a secret. It is something he feels powerless against. The way things are prioritized is wrong. Morality becomes skewed. In Jaime’s mind the enemy and primary source of doom is this nonsensical moral construct that contradicts itself represented by institutions that make no sense. It is what makes his symbolic fire go out. His moral code conflicts with this society’s code of ethics, which eventually leads him to cynically accept amorality. It is disillusionment that tears the idea of heroism and being “honorable” apart and leads to moral nihilism.

Another aspect of the honor code and its violence is the fact that it places more value to individuals based on class. It is dependent on class and a flawed social structure. This is despite the fact that vows of knighthood call for the protection of those that are too weak to protect themselves: the underprivileged. Jaime keeps having this epiphany of an inherent equality in death that seems to contradict the way society is structured. Aerys’ life is worth inherently more according to the honor code than Rhaella’s, than the lives of thousands of innocents, than Jaime’s. Yet, a lowborn hand, no one, seems to die harder than Aerys does (and nobody cares). A crown is worth nothing when crows feast on victors and vanquished alike, and the rightful heir himself. We are all equal in death, so the text is indicating that something is not right here.

When it comes to characters and their relationship with honor the important through-line is examining whether they are being “honorable” in the abstract sense, if they base their actions around empathy and a sense of actual justice, or if they are abiding by made up flawed constructs. Being viewed as honorable by this society does not make you a good person. In fact, in order for you to abide by the honor code you would likely have to turn into an amoral individual. For example, if you try to keep the cloak pure white you will metaphorically soil it. Like every one of Aerys’s kingsguard did. To keep their oath to the king, they broke vows to protect innocents and protect women. They should lose their honor by a lot of definitions, but that would mean the status quo collapses. Jaime’s knighting for this reason is very much like a boy being sacrificed at an altar. It is not just about drawing a parallel between young girls and boys being sentenced to bloody doom by violent constructs created for their gender.

“Blood is the seal of our devotion.” He bleeds on his plain white tunic. It was never “pure white”, it was always all tainted in blood. It is inherently violent. You can argue that is when “the boy died.”

Very rigid and hypocritical honor codes built for feudalism lack nuance and lead to amorality. I think George aims to address, interrogate, deconstruct, and then reconstruct honor, as with most other key concepts present in fantasy. Honor can be redefined. Examples like “No chance, and no choice”, among many others, are at the root of that reconstruction. Even then, the reconstruction does not conflate it with pacifism necessarily. For example, Chelsted did the ‘honorable’ thing, in the abstract moral sense, of quitting his job and not supporting a tyrant anymore, but that act achieved nothing in preventing the wildfire plot. Same with essentially everyone important at court abandoning the situation that is Aerys, turning away from a gaping wound and not addressing it before it was too late. Jaime had to soil the ‘white cloak’ and disrupt the status quo and lose his “honor” within those terms by murdering his king and his pyromancers as a kingsguard and actually save half a million lives. It was not glorious, nor was it anything like the songs, and the city is still doomed because there is no way to get that festering corruption out of there at this point, metaphorical of the greater problem with KG, but it was heroism, a choice with meaning, and a form of triumph, even if the consequences break Jaime down the line. He gets no answer to the question of what it means to be a knight and a man of honor if society’s version of it is so skewed. Then, Jaime and the readers get an answer in the form of Brienne: “I dreamed of you.”

#anyways what is honor? a horse #valyrianscrolls #theres also the aspect that honor is kind of individualized #its ‘your’ honor etc #like i think there r nuances in whether its treated as something internal or external #and at the end of asos hope is rekindled in jaime #but he desperately blinds himself trying to make the contradictions compromise #thats y he is suddenly reconstructing his thoughts about the kg and escapes int delusion #bc he has too many things that he still wants like cersei like his family and loved ones like the possibility of making ppl view him #as something redeemable someone good #but feast concludes that that is not possible #so all there is left is a pivot and brienne’s light #and a confrontation w so many things that have been repressed in order to keep him from essentially killing himself tbh #and nothing encapsulates that dilemma bw honor vs ‘honor’ than jaimes punitive justice against outlaws and his vow to cat #thats y its so significant that he abandons it to go w brienne alone to save sansa instead of pursuing the blackfish #and how he doesnt torch the village or even break in even if they hold info re the brotherhood #and then the irony is that that key choice will lead him to them #and what happens there is gonna be so interesting

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seventh-fantasy · 6 months

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阁下！不用理由就会相信、没有力量也要保护的人，阁下难道没有吗？ your excellency! someone you would believe regardless of reason and protect despite being powerless - does your excellency not have someone like that?

#being feminine in a world so dominated by masculinity that it's inhospitable to your presence you have to conceal your face #and then you become a mystery. and never become yourself again #hlht #lhl #鹤唳华亭 #莲花楼 #my posts #lwx would be lxy if she was a guy. lxy would be lwx if he was a girl #but either way it's about how being a girl in the world is very hard. THANKS FOR COMING TO THE TED TALK. MIC DROPS #OKAY so this post has been in my drafts since last week #but ana's thoughts from today is so spot on for it!!! about llh being made to wield a sword time and over literally slowly killing him -#as a performance of masculinity by someone who doesn't want to do it but is burdened / forced to do it -#out of overwhelming sentimentality and emotions to fight for / defend people very important to him.#then you have lwx gripping onto the other end of the blade cutting herself and don't care. in order to protect her family. HELLO!!!!!!#they're holding both ends of the sword and it's killing them.#and they'll do it to the bitter end bc there's no turning back no home to return to #HLHT/LHL BRAINROT FOR MARK AND MEEEE and ana too if u r into this ily <3 #credits to mark for planting the lwx/llh comparison in my brain!!!#i can finally release this into the wild!!! 😭😭 it's so important to me. if you even care

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ficsforeren · 10 months

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Hey Kana! I've been a fan of your writings since the past year and I just wanted to say I love them and the way you reply to your asks ❤️ I just wanted to ask a question. How do you deal with the hate comments? Like doesn't it hurt when someone questions your writings? I'm kinda a baby when it comes to tumblr and I just received my first hate comment and it felt really bad. I'm really sorry if I'm bothering you. I just felt like you're someone I should consult about this.

Hello, darling! Thank you so much for sending me a message and you're not bothering me at all! I'm happy that you reached out to me! I don't think I'm the best person to seek advice from but I'll try my best to help! It gets a bit long under the cut, I'm sorry 😭

I have received a few hate comments in the past when I just started writing. Some of them were pretty traumatizing ngl and I had to take like a year break because of it 🥲 so I know how you feel and how upsetting it is. I'm so sorry that this happened to you, sweetheart 😭I'm sending you the biggest hug right now. Nobody in the world deserves a hate comment, especially when you're a writer/artist who creates stuff for free.

I just checked your blog to see the hate comment you were referring to (I hope you don't mind 😭) and I saw that some anon was mad because you wrote a smutty fic involving a character that's still a minor in canonverse.

Now, honey, I'm 10000000% on your side because a) it's your fic, your work, your blog, as long as you've put up some warnings, you can write whatever the hell you want. b) you've aged them up in your fics but even if you didn't age them up in your fics, that still doesn't make it okay for these people to be rude and attack you for it cause they're FICTIONAL. These characters are not real people with real life problems, they're literally just a bunch of drawings. That anon is spending their energy defending lines on paper and hurting a real person in the process.

Tbh I feel like this happens pretty often no matter what fandom you're in and I find it super weird that some people are actually upset about this. It's fiction! It's not real! And it's not like you support the stuff that's happening in the story! Like if you write about character A killing someone, it doesn't make you a murderer. It doesn't mean you support the act. If you write about incest, it doesn't mean you want to sleep with your dad or your brother. It's simply just for the plot, to make the story interesting. To share your ideas and be creative about it. And, the most important thing is, you're not forcing these people to read your fics, are you? They decided to read them on their own. And if you already wrote the warnings and they CHOSE to ignore them, that's their fault. It's like you see a bowl of hot peppers and you know they're spicy as hell but you choose to eat them anyway and when your tongue is on fire, you get angry "WHY IS THIS THING SO SPICY" like what????

A message for that anon: When you read stuff you don't like (stuff that someone wrote for FREE, stuff that someone spent hours or days creating it), the easiest thing you can do is just close the tab. Literally it takes zero energy to do it. Don't attack these writers with hate comments. Don't hurt their feelings. You don't know how hard they've worked on the story, their struggles in real life, or how insecure they are about their writing. One bad comment and they might stop writing forever, even when it's something that brought them comfort before. There are millions of other fics out there that you can read. Just scroll away and move on.

#stop! attacking! real! people! over! lines! on! paper!!!!!!#I don't get as many hate comments as I did in the past about my writing these days #they usually just call my writing mid but I know that already LOL #but I remember like a year and a half ago when a few anons bombarded my inbox #calling me names #saying that I'm stupid #some of them even told me to kill myself and that they'll r*pe my family #simply because I don't like AOT's ending and the fact that I prefer Erehisu than... that other ship that must not be named LMAO #it's insane how the internet makes it so easy for people to hurt strangers #“you don't think m****a is best girl??? DIE BITCH”#honey please i can get an eraser or a tipp-ex and turn your best girl into a dot #sit down child go drink your milk #anyway I didn't mean to make this about me sadlfjsdalkf I'm sorry 😭#if you ever need someone to talk to I'll be here okay?#stay strong and take care love ❤️#kana answers stuff

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helmarok · 2 years

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#jesterdorf #team rocket #babygirl #alrazzo family #i thought of this after another rocket fic where he hates love #he hates to see bisexuals winning and im just...#well no hate at all (he is a villain that kills people so duh fandom characterization portrays him as such)#but i think the team rocket song and motto are real in my canon lol #the r does stand for romance and romanticism teehee #though he keeps an eye on jessies partners to make sure they dont hurt her too bad #when i say cassidy got demoted HARD.... yeah. part of her grudge against jessie in my canon is gigi's bias #and how unfair it was that their breakup lead to her being screwed over at work cuz her boss had family connections #though cassidy's dad was also the best breeder in team rocket and yeah gigi could only go so far before losing someone so valuable #so he was just yeah youre getting demoted but get on my good side and i might just let everything slide #and she DID #i went into a full blown ramble on this meme oops #gancanons #LITERALLY THE 2ND TIME IVE TAGGED A POST WITH THAT FOR THE TAG RAMBLES ALONE

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tteokdoroki · 7 months

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ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy.

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head.

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne.

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation.

how ridiculous is that?

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for.

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes.

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too.

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it.

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you.

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on.

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see.

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party.

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose.

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.”

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin.

satoru gojo belongs on his knees.

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you. mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties.

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress.

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown.

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark.

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand.

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…”

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be.

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin.

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick.

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull.

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did.

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time.

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune.

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess.

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda.

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time.

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.”

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies.

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt.

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.”

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible.

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.”

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé.

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls.

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.”

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.”

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth.

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!”

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru.

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth.

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.”

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!”

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth.

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either. his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again.

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with.

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place.

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic.

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring.

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. ��you can’t even say his fucking name.”

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.”

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold.

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo.

but the entire time, you never look back.

you don’t even look at gojo — and that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd.

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

#୨୧ KINKTOBER 23’#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojo thirst #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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seraph-bile · 1 year

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When the conservative talking point burrows in your brain like the most disgusting little worm

#big tw in the tags #and tmi #hahaha I love when my brain is like #um actually you weren’t r*ped you just hate your ex #I was watching a video about G3orge santos #n I know he’s like #not worth listening to about anything but damn #hurted #the issue with the considering it only rape if there’s a police charge n if not u just woke up one day and decided it was rape since you #hate ur ex #which hits in a way bc it took me months to unpack it #it took me months to realize how horrible and not normal I was treated for FOUR years #ooooo I love not being sure if I was actually raped multiple times almost every weekend for years between the ripe age of 14-19 #but I was allowed not to have sex if I wanted !!!! I just would have to deal with him getting extremely angry about anything!!!!#and him trying to kill me!!!! or throw glass at me!!!! or make a sense in front of his family!!!!!!#scene*#it was totally normal that he bragged to his friend about how he got off to making me cry!!!#and my friends too!!!!#very normal unprovoked behavior!!!!

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gutsby · 1 month

Text

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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blingblong55 · 4 months

Text

Soldiers, am I right-141

Soap: we're soldiers, of course I know how to salute

Gaz: we're soldiers, I've obviously heard a gun shot before

Price: I'm Price, I know how to find your family-

Gaz: No, that isn't the trend *camera cuts*

R/N: we're soldiers, of course I've committed war crimes

Soap: okay, we aren't doing that, R/N *camera cuts*

Gaz: we're soldiers, of course I know how to do push-ups

Ghost: we're soldiers, in 2003, I killed a man because he-

Gaz: no no no

Soap: I'm tired of this bullshit *camera cuts off*

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jnkgrnde · 4 months

Text

— dating hc’s, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — dating hc’s w pookie

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of apollo)

authors note — some of this is inspired by a clarisse fanfic i read the other day w a child of apollo reader ☝🏾

⭑ alr first things first y’all r the definition of black cat gf + golden retriever gf WALK W ME!

⭑ like when u first got to camp clarisse was v.. she thought u were different but in a good way.

⭑ she expected u to act like how an apollo kid would except u were like 5x sunshinier and smilier.

⭑ when u decided to hang out w her more often after u arrived people were starting to question things

⭑ like how clarisse wasn’t throwing you in the lake

⭑ the only reason she hadn’t done that yet was because she was starting to like having you around, even if she didn’t act like it

⭑ you’d talk to her about your day, spar w her, etc etc

⭑ that was up until the night you realized you liked her more than friends

⭑ you were pacing around your cabin, biting your nails anxiously; when you got to camp, you decided to read about your father, and that included all of his tragedies family wise and love wise.

⭑ you didn’t want to continue that tradition, so you came down to the decision of avoiding clarisse entirely.

⭑ it started becoming noticeable after about two or three days.

⭑ clarisse was more irritable, and people noticed you weren’t around her as much. a lot of the time you’d write in your journal about it.

⭑ whenever you were at the archery range, you’d up and leave as soon as you saw clarisse.

⭑ she wasn’t happy about this

⭑ this had been going on for what felt like forever; clarisse trying to subtly look for you, and whenever she found you you always managed to leave as soon as she was approaching.

⭑ she would’ve never admitted this to anybody, but she missed you. how you would talk non stop about your day and always ask how hers was going. she missed the way you would get shy whenever she called you sunshine because of your descent.

⭑ she ended up having enough when she called out for you at the archery range and you blatantly ignored her, which is how you two got where you are right now

“y/n!”

you cursed to yourself as you started walking the opposite direction, not even bothering to put your bow down.

she didn’t let you go this time, running up to you to turn you around. you had a slight look of anger and fear on your face, and it hurt clarisse to see you look at her like everyone else does.

“why are you avoiding me?” you avoided her eyes. you weren’t really prepared for what would’ve happened when or if she decided to approach you. “is there something you wanted to tell me? any explanation? at all?” she persisted. “i just- it’s hard to talk about, clarisse.” clarisse frowned. you almost never used her full name. “it’s just me, sunshine. just you and me.”

you breathed deep to calm your aching heart. “i like you.”

clarisse stood dumbfounded. “what?” “i have a crush on you, and i was scared to tell you because of my dad and his history with love. i didn’t want to possibly get you killed all because i loved you.” clarisse looked at you for a moment then put her lips with yours.

her hand found your waist as you gripped her forearm. why and since when was she a good kisser? it was getting heated so you pulled away. “why did you do that?” you asked her breathlessly. “we have more of a chance of dying solely because we’re demigods. if i have to die early, i’d rather die knowing me and you were together through everything.” you nodded. “okay.” you whispered out.

“okay?” she repeated. she looked at you with so much love held in her eyes. “okay.” you started grinning.

⭑ let me wrap this up before it gets too long lmao

⭑ to reiterate what i said earlier, yall are the definition of black cat gf + golden retriever gf

⭑ whether its in capture the flag or just strolling around the campgrounds, clarisse is very protective of you

⭑ i’d like to believe she would steal some of ur lotion n stuff cs u got GOOD stuff don’t ask me how i know

⭑ you’d also help eachother out w ur hair like braiding them for games etc etc

⭑ she loved ur voice btw. like u had a naturally pretty voice bc of ur dad, so she’d love to hear u talk. bonus points if ur one of those ppl who sing peoples names instead of js saying them normally

⭑ it took her a minute to get used to it, but atp she does not care about pda; she’s showing u off whether u like it or not

⭑ okay thats it clarisse is my girlfriend #confirmed

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson

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hhnguyen · 1 year

Text

life of a traitor

I’m really sorry if this one seemed a bit messy, because I was trying to convey the feelings from multiple POV’s at the same time instead of just one. ps. i will drown in the Lo’ak x Tsireya ship. My OTP for life.

♢ Pairing: Dad!Jake Sully x Oldest daughter!Reader, Lo’ak x Tsireya, Dad!Jake Sully x Lo’ak

♢ Word count: 4k

♢ Genre: angst, family comfort - Warnings: cursing, Jake being a bad dad for once but we still love him

⌲ Description: “You have shamed this family.” Words hurt and they sting. Yet you make sure your dad gets to feel that very pain in the wake of Lo’ak’s return.

M A S T E R L I S T

“The Sully boy has been found!”

“The oldest is with him! They’re both back!”

You were holding your breath, you realized, as the village got closer. The lit-up lanterns that seemed like mere specks of stars in the night from a distance not long ago now seemingly looming over you with intimidation for what was to come. Both of you were perched on the backs of the Metkayina warrior's mounts that had spotted the two swimming back into the reefs after sending the tulkun off.

And with Atanzaw flying above your heads, shining in the dark with his bioluminescent marks, it was an easy spotting as an uproar had started.

Your brother reached the dock first, thanking the one who helped as you followed up shortly after doing the same.

As if as one, both yours and Lo’ak’s gaze locked onto Ao’nung standing at the very front beside his parents. He was silent, though you didn’t know if that was due to the aftermath of his scolding or guilt for nearly killing your brother.

For his sake, it better had been the latter.

You merely stood back as Lo’ak was ready to pounce on the boy himself until your dad quickly intervened with raised hands of peace, and you could not stop the disappointed roll of your eyes.

“Hey…” Jake was trying to make eye contact with him, but sensing how his youngest son was too busy death glaring at the Olo’eyktan’s heir it was a futile try. “Let’s have a look at you.”

“He’s fine, he’s fine. Just a few scratches,” your dad declared, obviously nervous and trying to appear calm.

“Define fine,” you muttered, not bothering to be too discreet and catching both the eyes of Tonowari and Jake.

Your mother was next, as she threw herself down on the lower ledge and grabbed Lo’ak by his shoulders, nails probably digging in uncomfortably for a short moment. There was clear distress for her child on her face, but also the aggravation of him getting into trouble again. A very familiar combination when it came to your baby brother, admittedly.

You still made sure to be closer to him as you stepped up, shoulders just barely brushing your dad’s arm in passing and hovering a mere few inches behind. A silent shield to be used if needed.

“I pray for the strength that I will not rip the eyeballs out of my youngest son!” She growled with a frustrated grab at his face - Lo’ak did nothing but lean away, face stone cold in all the chaos.

His indifference was worrying you as you reached out to subtly hook your little pinky around his own. An action that only the two of you and Kiri could do with your extra fingers. His body didn’t reveal anything besides the slight twitch at the touch, but he didn’t pull away, and you took it as a good sign.

For now.

“No. My son knows better than to take him outside of the reef,” Tonowari pushed Ao’nung down to his knees by the back of his neck, a sight that gave you immense satisfaction as your lips curled up into a small smirk. “The blame is his.”

Your father was trying his best to de-escalate the situation, you knew that. And although you had a lot to say, things were going smoothly at this point, so they were held back.

“Okay, let’s go,” Jake accepted it, urging Lo’ak to get a move on and you started to follow until the next words made you freeze in shock.

“No. This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea.”

What the fuck was he doing?

Stupid, stupid boy!

Your heart was starting to pump, the disbelief at that flat-out lie from Lo’ak not making it any better. And you made sure to voice it.

“Lo’ak!” Your hiss was hardly low in volume, or gentle in its approach. It was a harsh, aggressive sound that made several people look as you grabbed your youngest brother’s arm and pulled him to you. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

You were pretty sure your nails were digging into his skin much more painfully than your mom’s did.

But as the idiot that he was, he wrenched away from you and continued on as if you hadn’t spoken. “Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really.”

Lie, lie, lies!

The word thundered in your head as you pinched your eyes shut with a rigid sigh. Your parents had so clearly lost their patience as your dad went up first, your mom grabbing Lo’ak either in anger or confusion. “Lo’ak!”

You weren’t sure of anything, to be honest.

“I’m sorry,” he finally finished.

“Come on,” Jake’s voice was sternly laced with exhaustion as you both followed him. “I got this one.”

How many times hadn’t you heard that sentence?

There was a tense moment of silence as your family walked away, but Tuk was absent you noticed. Which was a good thing in itself, supposedly. She didn’t need to see this ugly side of your family so young - there were certain moments for learning, whereas others would just create minimal trauma. Just like now.

“Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids, that was what I was trying to do-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

You cautiously straightened up at the apparent held-back anger and glanced at your mom, hoping she might help to diffuse the situation. But her glare was still firmly settled on Lo’ak, as you licked your lips anxiously.

This situation was not reached its peak yet, the comprehension of the current mood washing over you.

“Dad…”

“You brought shame to this family.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs and stones beings violently shoved in their stead, eyes widening at the horrible words your dad…no, Jake Sully just blatantly said to your brother.

Because this was not the dad that you knew.

How could he?

Saying such words when Lo’ak was already struggling with himself.

Couldn’t they see that?

It was so clear, your confusion nearly befuddled you enough, but not quite.

Because your anger was there. Simmering, boiling - ready to erupt at any moment - because this wasn’t fair.

Your baby brother was being so strong.

Oh, how his expression squeezed your heart almost painfully. The way his shoulders just only drooped before straightening back up and fists clenching as his cold mask slipped back over the hurt that had been there only for a single second.

“Can I go now?”

Don’t go. Please, don’t go.

“Any more trouble I’ll tie a knot in your tail, you read me?”

Stop.

“Yes sir.”

Just fucking stop.

With a flick of his eyes, your dad dismissed Lo’ak like he was one of his soldiers, and as you tried to reach out for him, your baby brother ignored you with a visible lean away.

An action that hurt you more than you realized until now.

“Where were you?” Your mom spoke for the first time, turning to Neteyam.

Someone that had nothing to do with this whole fiasco.

“Yeah, what happened to keep an eye on your brother?”

You spoke before he could. “Where were you?”

Both of your parents turned to look, identical frowns on their faces as they stared you down at your tone. But you would not budge at their intimidation.

“Excuse me?”

“How could you?”

“Y/N this is not the time for one of your tirades again.”

The disbelieving laugh that you let out was so out of character that even Kiri’s eyes widened warily.

Your sister was someone who often silently observed those around you. And she knew that at this point there was no going back. You were clearly losing it.

“Y/N…” Your mom noticed the same, sensing the seams of your sensibility started to fray at the edges as you and Jake were locked in a stare-down.

You grinned widely, all teeth on show as your arms spread to the side. “You know what? Thank you for suggesting that dad! I would love to actually!”

Tirades were your favorite part time after all.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, a finger hovering in the air as Jake hissed in a breath before muttering out harshly - his eyes flickering to the curious audience gathering at your volume. “Watch yourself, young lady.”

“Why?” Your reply was all but spat out. “Are you embarrassed? Ashamed perhaps?”

“Y/N, you do not speak to your father like that!” Your mom’s voice snapped up, gaze hard with a hint of surprise which you assumed was due to your attitude.

Admittedly a side that you had never shown before. Or at least managed to hold back in tense moments.

“Why the hell not?!” your words were met by the gasps of Kiri and Neteyam at the audacity, but they were easily ignored as you whirled to look at your father.

He had his lips peeled back in a mid-snarl, his animalistic side coming out to warn you of the hierarchy in this family.

“You always speak to us like that! Whenever your emotions are too much to handle and you lash out at us. You say it’s our fault all disguised under your excuse of being a worried parent!”

“Lo’ak is fourteen, dad!” Making sure you had his attention you stepped closer. “Four-teen. He’s fourteen and already thinks he’s a fucking failure - and do you wanna know why that is?” there was no pause in your words as you threw them at his face. “Because of you.”

“You do not get to talk to me this way, Y/N,” Jake was clenching his jaw to the point he was sure his teeth would shatter. “I am your father-”

“-what father tells their child they’re ashamed of them?” You offered him a bitter smile. “The one I know sure as hell doesn’t.”

“Your brother made his choice. These are the consequences that follow-” your dad was having a hard time holding back with the way his voice raised mid-sentence before forcefully stopping himself and releasing a breath. “-that follow along with his actions. I am trying to teach him a lesson.”

“Did you ask him?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Ask. Him?”

Jake sighed in frustration, his hands coming up to grasp at empty air. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you even bother to ask your son whose fault this really was?” you weren’t interested in hearing his answer. “Do you even know your son? Because I do, and do you wanna know why again? Because I damn well pay attention!”

The laugh coming out of your dad made chills appear on your skin, but you were already far too deep in to turn back. Things were already fucked up, then why not cross the line a little more.

“Okay then, you little smartass. Are you telling me I don’t care about my own kid?”

He thought he had you there.

“Caring and knowing are two very different things.” This time you were the one who had him. Shutting down his own retort.

“You say you love us. You say you care for us. But also that we worry you, and that we disappoint you. Fine - that’s fine dad. But you don’t get to say that we have shamed you.”

For once during this entire duration, you hesitated.

Your next words were waiting on the tip of your tongue, heavy and loaded - something you didn’t want to say, but a part of you needed to let them out. To let your dad, or even Jake Sully, the former marine soldier hear them to his face from someone close to him.

To feel the same stabbing pain that Lo’ak most certainly did earlier.

Your aggressive protectiveness came victorious.

So you let them loose.

“You don’t get to say that; because we’re not the ones who betrayed an entire race to be where we are.”

Jake stumbled back in shock as if those very words had shot him right in the chest and he couldn’t stop them. Stop the truth that they were covered in.

It was like a pin dropped in the heavy silence that followed between the loose circle your family stood in. Your mother for the first time in her life since giving birth to you hissed in protectiveness over her mate - at her own daughter - your brother sprung to your side and twisted you away with a snarl of your name, in warning, not scolding. Whereas Kiri remained still, eerie gaze never leaving you.

However, you weren’t done.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” your voice croaked as Jake’s eyes slowly raised to meet yours. “Words.”

You left without saying anything else.

Warm. Gentle. Comforting and so loving.

Tsireya’s hold on his hands was always a welcoming feeling.

Her touch seemed to ground him more than he sometimes realized. A feeling that was unfamiliar to him mostly, and one that always reminded him of you.

But right now, with the two of them sitting on a boulder on the edge of a patchy space of grass and gazing out into the star covered night together, it was a touch that calmed the stabbing hurt from earlier and made the night all more bearable.

Lo’ak had no idea how many hours that passed since the chaos that had ensued after returning with you. His hearing basically stopped working after his dad’s true feelings had slapped him in the face with their words - that stung more than an actual slap would have.

He would have rather taken that slap.

“Are you okay?” Tsireya’s voice was soft and light, so sweet in its tone that he couldn’t even stop the small smile on his face after the tumultuous day.

“I will be,” he admitted honestly. He would always be somewhat okay after a few days, that was the truth.

The real question was if he would ever heal from it. That one he wasn’t so sure about.

Lo’ak might not have been mistreated or even abused by his family. A minimum that was expected for a happy life. Because in a certain perspective, he was fortunate in the life that he did have.

Two caring, protective parents.

Four loving siblings.

A grandmother for Tsahik.

And a home. Kind off.

Then why didn’t he feel fortunate?

“You can always rely on me, you know that right?”

Eywa. How beautiful her large eyes looked staring up at him from her place, where her head was previously leaned on his shoulder.

They were sparkling, he swore. The aquamarine color of them stood out even more in the darkness surrounding them. The bioluminescent lights of nature surrounding them made her all the more ethereal in his gaze.

So large and so loving and caring in the way they always looked at him.

And not for the first time, Lo’ak found his own gaze wavering - flickering down lower on her face and to her lips, which were adorably pulled down in a slightly concerned pout for him.

They might be young, just fourteen-year-old kids still growing. But he wasn’t stupid or ignorant at his age. He was well versed in romantic feelings and commitment to your partners, and how to cherish each other if the right one ever did appear.

And his dad made good on his promise to teach them all about teenage hormones and urges, and how to control them in a respectful manner. To know when it was too early to start exploring what he wanted or not.

Lo’ak wanted to kiss her. He knew that. It wasn’t a secret.

But it was too early. And in the aftermath of his falling out with his parents, it seemed too…raw.

He didn’t want to use someone he was growing to care more for each day as a way of making himself feel better.

And Tsireya deserved better, being the kindhearted person she was. And he wasn’t quite there to give it to her yet.

But one day, he hoped he would be.

“Thank you,” was all he managed to say in reply offering a small tug of his lips as she stared at him for a moment longer before turning away, the clear tell of redness on the tip of her ears as she realized their proximity for the first time.

He didn’t see a reason to tease her about it, not wanting to break the serenity that they were currently in. It was somewhat possible to block everything that happened.

He did say somewhat.

The rustling of bushes becoming louder made both of them straighten up and turn back, only to see Jake coming closer in a slow yet determined stride.

Lo’ak felt his heart starting to beat faster, a sudden change from the steady calm it had managed to find in the last couple of hours.

The reality was catching up to him again at the appearance of his father.

Tsireya turned to look at him with her concerned wide eyes again, he didn’t manage to answer her before his dad had reached them - but Lo’ak didn’t expect to notice the nervous fiddle of his hands as Jake stopped only a few feet away.

“Hey kids-” his pause was out of character. “Do you mind if I speak to my son a bit, Tsireya?”

As if Lo’ak couldn’t fall for the girl more than he already did. Because instead of letting the presence of his father and Toruk Makto completely intimidate her, she turned to him first; Silently asking if he wanted her to leave.

Jake seemed to be surprised himself, although pleasantly so. He has been so used to everyone outside of his family doing most things at his beck and call, both as a clan leader and war hero. He had clearly underestimated the relationship between the two young teens in front of him.

Tsireya stood to leave quickly at the assuring nod of Lo’ak, before parting with a polite smile in Jake’s direction and going back to the village with one last look over her shoulder.

There was a moment of complete stillness before Jake came and sat down on the space previously occupied next to Lo’ak. The boy didn’t even bother to acknowledge his father, simply staring out at the lapping water, shoulders hunched over.

His two braids on the side of his face felt like the only shield to cover him as he let them hang, avoiding eye contact firmly.

Jake let out a heavy sigh, having already expected the cold behavior of his youngest son.

He didn’t blame him either.

He had acted like a grade-A asshole, with the biggest A to exist in the universe. And towards his own child too.

Jake Sully has never claimed parenthood to be easy in any way. It was a hard, taxing journey that he obviously was still trying to learn from. It was a road that never stopped no matter how old his kids got. He would always be a father, but he’s admittedly been a shit one as of late.

And that wasn’t only according to you.

Your words had hurt. Like a damn punch to his face. Or ten.

That was true - Neytiri knew it too. And that made him think and regret. If those words stung him as they did, how much had he hurt his own kid by saying something he didn’t even mean?

Not really at least.

Jake had been angry at the moment. Pissed off, to be honest. But it was also the overwhelming worry of his kid’s disappearance that made him act out. But it was no excuse for anything he had said.

You were still avoiding him. Well, ignoring is more like it. Which was even worse. Besides your siblings, you were actively shutting out the presence of both him and Neytiri despite their tries in the last few hours to speak.

Kiri was the one to voice out your thoughts. “She won’t speak unless Lo’ak forgives you first.”

Was it strange that Jake was still proud of you? You owned the same pride he did as a young marine and his first moments on Pandora.

An unyielding pride that often got him in trouble.

But for you, it was a pride that protected your siblings even against your own parents.

“You know, sometimes I think you deserve a better dad.”

Lo’ak didn’t reply, but the shift in his body assured Jake that he was paying attention.

“I never wanted kids. Never even thought of having them until I met your mother. The world was already shitty enough as it was, so I didn’t see a point in bringing new life into it. And after my injury, that thought cemented.”

“Well, I’m sorry for ending up being your kid,” his low mutter was an inner thought not ever planning to see the light of day. Especially in front of the man himself. But he couldn’t stop himself.

Jake let out a shuddering breath, finally realizing how deep this…trauma his youngest son was experiencing. And you had been right again; it was all his fault.

“No, no Lo’ak,” moving closer, his son didn’t resist as he gently grabbed the back of his nape to push their foreheads together.

Despite his bitter words, his body still relaxed at the comforting feeling. Because it was obvious - even after everything, he still loved his dad. Still craved the comforts of his protective touches, and his overpowering hugs that were rare but much needed whenever offered.

“I’m sorry, son,” Jake whispered, eyes clenched shut and voice wavering with tears. “I have not been the father you needed since the war started, I know that now. I will try to improve, and I can’t promise I won’t fuck up further in the coming days, but I will never not love you.”

“Dad…”

Lo’ak wanted to cry.

And in the protective embrace of his dad, he did. He let those long held tears flow loose, dripping down his cheeks and starting to obscure his vision as his breath started to heave at the force of it all.

“What I said wasn’t true. I am proud of the man you’re starting to grow into, and you have never shamed this family. I am the one who should be ashamed, never you.”

“I-I am sorry-”

“Stop saying sorry,” Jake demanded pulling his son closer. “Your sister was right. My burdens should not fall on your shoulders. You’re still young and deserve to be a child, not a soldier. So I am sorry.”

Pressing his lips against the crown on his youngest boy’s head, Jake only held him as his silent tears turned into soft sobs. All the pain and hurt that he had bottled up because of him, finally being lifted off his young shoulders that should have never been born them to begin with.

“Will you ever forgive your old man of his faults?” His dad asked after several minutes he finished crying, his deep voice hoarse with nerves.

Lo’ak had no idea how long his meltdown lasted, only letting out everything in the presence of his dad without restraint until he had no more tears left. It could have been five minutes or ten. Who knew at this point?

“You’re my dad…” he had whispered in return. “I will always forgive you.”

There was a thankful smile on Jake’s face, wrinkles crinkling in the corners of his wet eyes. “Then you’re a far better person than I have ever been. Thank you.”

He swallowed, and for the first time in a while, his next words had never been more genuine than at this moment.

“I love you, dad.”

There was a firm, warm squeeze around his body at hearing that.

“God, I love you too, kiddo. So much you don’t even know.”

Maybe he’d been mistaken after all.

Lo’ak doubted this would be the end of their turmoils because life came with them. It was just how it was; parents get angry at their kids, siblings get angry at each other and vice versa.

It was expected, but at least from now on he would be assured of his parents’ love for him, and their presence would be constant and there whenever he would need them despite their own faults as people.

Updates will unfortunately be a bit slow moving forward. My 3rd semester has started and I’ve started to prepare for my MA thesis + 4 classes, so my days are packed 🥲

taglist:

@nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @marit332 @hai-kbai @missroro @lola2004sworld @kage-yaa

#avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar imagine #dad jake sully #jake sully imagine #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter #loak x reader #loak imagine #sully family #sully family x reader #avatar angst #jake sully angst #sully kids #sully reader

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multific · 7 months

Text

Mornings Like These

Zo'toll x Reader

Summary: A simple morning with your family is the best.

Yautja wasn't easy to read.

Their faces stayed the same through every situation.

No matter if they were happy, angry, confused or sad.

But you did learn that their eyes held a lot of emotion.

When you were taken to Yautja Prime and you started living with your Yatuja, Zo'toll, you started to understand more and more about the species.

First, you knew they didn't see you as a part of their tribe. That was clear.

Thankfully as time passed, they got more and more used to having you around.

And now, you were one of them.

After your wedding ceremony with Zo'toll you started to feel the change.

And now, you were no different.

You slept with your Mate every night, he held you close so you couldn't escape.

It was weird to see him hunt, and kill without a second thought and yet, here he was, cuddling you at any given chance.

And you for sure wanted nothing more than to sleep for a while.

However, someone else had a different idea.

You heard the small footsteps and soon felt the bed shift with the new weight it was under.

You opened your eyes just as your Youngling started to click his mandibles.

"Thi'ke," you said as you sat up and he moved into your arms.

Your little one was only six months old and he was already walking around.

You cared for him as a human mother would. You hugged and kissed him. Even when others looked at you with weird eyes as it was not their custom.

But you knew in your heart that Thi'ke would be a great warrior. He had his father's blood after all.

And Zo'toll was proud of his little one.

Thi'ke was a very happy Yautja baby. Not like the others, he was more chirpy and he liked to laugh... well his version of laughter.

He always made you smile with how clingy he could get and your Mate didn't mind it.

When you told Zo'toll that you wanted to have a youngling he had no objection, he wished for a son, yet he was aware that your child would be brought up more as a human because you refused to do the things Yautja did to their children.

When he told you that after a year all of them are collected and put into the forest for their first test.

And when you heard that only the bravest would make it out, you ran into the bathroom in your home and locked yourself and Thi'ke in.

Zo'toll couldn't say no to you, so he promised not to let them take your child.

"Wake up your father." you said as you placed him onto your Mate's chest.

Zo'toll let out a groan as his son began to climb his chest and even bounced on it.

He kept his eyes closed but when he felt Thi'ke lose his balance he immediately caught him.

He sat up in bed as his son watched his face and laughed.

A happy baby indeed he was.

A true Yautja.

Zo'toll was rather disappointed when he noticed that his son didn't look anything like you. Except for his eyes.

Instead of the signature Yautja eyes, his child had your beautiful ones.

Zo'toll put his forehead against his son's and you could only watch and smile at the scene.

His chest swollen with pride as he watched you take your son into your arms and you began to walk into the kitchen to prepare food.

Zo'toll was thankful to his elders for choosing such a great mate for him and he was proud of you for giving him such a strong son.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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shapard · 2 months

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Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

A/n: A little bit late for Valentine, but here ya go! Idk when I'll continue this, but this has been stuck in my brain for a long time.

Goldwing

Chapter 1 > Chapter 2

You’ve heard about the story tales from your Mother Sera. How Lucifer has fallen because of his bizarre dreams. To give humans a free will, which cost chaos to the world.

As a punishment he was forced out of heaven with his Love Lilith. Sera claims that she wanted you to be safe, so there is one top rule she set up: Don’t Question heaven.

You keep on holding tight to this one rule, not like your sister Emily. She gets into a lot of trouble when you’re not watching, which gets you also in trouble.

Big Sister, Big responsibility, that’s what your mother always says.

Sitting on the couch looking down at the apple sign on your wrist. It was a small apple with a snake surrounding it. It’s a Soulmate mark.

Every Angel gets a soulmate, so they get the perfect heir, some angels describe It as a heart pull and ache. You don’t really enjoy that you’re forced to love someone. It’s somewhere unfair that humans can marry someone they choose to love and trust. Meanwhile when Angels reject their bond, it will kill the two Soulmates in a span of time.

Even when they’re too long apart it will show in a disturbing way. Aggression, Not eating, no sleep, the list goes on and on.

Putting your sleeve above your mark, not wanting anyone to see it. You got once because of it in trouble. Not a pleasant memory that you want to re live.

It does remind people of Lucifer, but he got Lilith, his soulmate. So that possibility is shrunk to zero. Why else sacrifice living in heaven for a woman?

Today was the meeting with Charlie the daughter of Lucifer. She wanted to talk about a hotel named Hazbin Hotel.

…Time Skip…

The court room was all a mess, chaos has broken out whispering and hushes echoed through the pearly white halls.

Emma broke the Silence with her soft singing voice “But she was right, Sera. She Showed us the soul can Improve. He saw the light, Sera. Checked all the boxes that you said would.” You Interrupted Emily and for the first-time in your live, you disobeyed the one set rule.

“Prove a person deserve a second chance, now we turn our Backs, no second glance?” Sera looked towards you slightly disappointed but also guilty.

Then the bomb was thrown in the room, extermination. It left you speechless. Why hide something like this and say it was for protection?

It all went down so quick and with one move you started to doubt everything in heaven. Sera was scared, scared shitless that she’d loose Emily and you, but mostly you.

You started to Ignore her and rarely left your room. The betrayal was harsh for you. You trusted your mother dearly and now you find out that your mother kills souls because she feels threatened. Threatened because of Lucifers dreams she said was once foolish.

You started to break rules after Rules, causing a havoc in heaven when you leaked the Information about an extermination in hell. And in less than a week you were in chains in the courtroom.

“Do you have any Idea what damage you’ve done Y/n?” Sera’s voice echoed through those now soulless halls. The seats now all almost empty. “What damage I’ve done? You call me the Imposter, but have you ever thought what you’ve done? You lied to your people AND your Family Sera.”

Ouch, you never called her Sera just Mom. “Just do it already, I’m tired of hanging in here and watching my failure of a mother trying to push this longer.” You spat on the cold floor. The coldness reminds you how the last few days felt in heaven. Cold and lonely. “As you wish, do it.” her voice cracked, it was barely audible, but you could hear it.

You shut your eyes tight and with a swift Moment you felt how your wings were cut off, your scream filled these cool, lonely court room. Sera was already gone, not wanting to see how she failed in one of her children.

The rest of your wings were ripped out of your back, making gold blood squirting all over the white floor painting it in a unique color. And then you fell, too exhausted to let out a desperate call for the comfort of your own mother.

She didn’t even stay.

Tears pooled lightly out of your eye. Even though heaven didn’t feel like home anymore, you’ll still miss heaven.

The wind gushed on your Injured back making it only hurt more than it already does, you fell so fast, this is something you never really experienced you never fell as an Angel. But you fell, you fell deep and Landed on the ground.

It the worst you’ve felt in these last hundred years of living. The bone that was connecting your wings with your body broke more into splinters at the impact. It had dirt sticking on your bones making you hiss as you tried to stand up making them move slightly in the dust. No success.

You tried a couple more times, but you feel your stamina running out fast, so you just gave up. You laid there for a couple of seconds before you eventually pass out.

Lucifer sat in his magic room, where his magical creations came from. The only thing besides Charlie what kept him happy. He took final glances at his old façade.

It’s time to move on and move into the Hazbin hotel, even though he hates that radio guy, he does everything for his little Charlie. He walked out of his mansion closing it with a key. Taking a deep breath, he spun around and was ready to go.

Something crashed loud in front of him, swirling all the dirt into Lucifers face. He coughed and waved the dust away. “What the fuck?” He looked at the cause for this early tumult, only to see a very beautiful woman in front of him. It didn’t take him a while to see that she was pretty bad Injured. His eyes dropped at the golden blood. “Oh no.”

The figure tried to stand up but fall multiple times and passed out after a while. No, no, no, no. Turning her around to see the damage, and it is bad.

Three main bones ripped and broken apart, making him note down that she wasn’t just any Angel, she is a seraph. “Let me help you.” He carried her body very carefully, so he couldn’t do more damage towards her back. Teleporting himself and his other stuff in the hotel apartment, he laid you on his bed with your belly pressed on the mattress.

He started to heal your back slowly and washed off the dirt from your face and the injury. He knew he couldn’t fully heal her wings back. But she could survive this with his help. And in an odd reason he couldn’t let her die. Some kind of pull on his heart making him already slightly attach towards the sleeping beauty.

And this routine was repeated every day and when he realized her back was fully healed, he turned her on her back again. Seeing her now in all her beauty.

“How can someone be this pretty?” he moved a hair strand out of your face and held your cheek. Stroking it a couple of times, it is as if he’s hypnotized.

Shaking his head, he let go of her very quickly, “Lucifer you can’t just touch someone, she doesn’t even know you nor who you are.” He bit his long-clawed hand, debating whether he should go or not.

In the end he left the room with heavy displeasure. Somehow not being near you made him angry. You were hurt and needed every protection he could offer.

His mind screamed at him to go back to you, but he didn’t. This feeling confused the king of hell but, His mind and body were almost like two separate people.

He pulled up his sleeve looking down at the red apple mark with a golden blue snake on it, like his halo. It was his Soulmate mark, he loves or loved Lilith dearly, but she wasn’t his mate.

They both thought it may didn’t showed because Lilith is after all a human. Even when he had a soulmate, after landing in hell, he knew he’d never see his soulmate ever.

He pulled his white sleeve again over the mark, not wanting to think about the what ifs. Maybe helping his daughter would keep his mind from you. “Let’s help Charlie.”

After a while Lucifer still caught himself worried about you.

You were laying on his bed for weeks, he healed you every morning and every evening hoping that you’d finally wake up.

The arch angel Lucifer, and now king of hell, was worried about a seraph, what sarcasm.

Getting ready for bed, Lucifer started to dress himself in his night gown and went to the couch. Since you’re sleeping on his bed, Lucifer decided to sleep on the couch. He didn’t want to disturb your healing progress

…

Hugging yourself into this blanket was heaven, and the smell of sweet apple and an alluring scent of musk. You never want to leave this place, for the first time since months you felt in peace.

Fluttering your eyes open, you stretched you arms and legs, but one thing was missing. Your wings. And then reality came crushing down on you. You fell, from heaven. Your mother let you fall down the drain. She lied and didn’t even try to explain it to you.

It was hard to breath as if you’d re-live the horror of falling from heaven down to hell.

You shacked uncontrollable making you Fall out of the bed. Out of habit you tried to fly those few centimeters.

With a shallow thumb you fell on the floor.

You winced from the Impact, and you tried to push yourself up with the next high object with shivering hands.

This was a different gravity situation.

Without your wings you slumped forwards, nothing to weigh your back.

You pushed yourself upwards with the help of the shelf above you. The shelf lets out a creak from your weight and you fall back down with the shelf.

The whole content on the shelf fell and crashed into pieces and you fell right into them.

The ceramic pieces digged into your freshly healed wounds, you know that when you move, you’ll re-open the back wound.

Out of panic your body began to move on autopilot.

With low groans and muffled screams, you leaned on the bed, golden blood smearing around the broken shelf and the white mattress.

You started to sob at the pain.

It was dark and all you wanted was to bathe yourself in the scent of that blanket.

You searched for it.

In the darkness you couldn’t quite figure it out where the blanket was but after a while you found it.

Holding the piece of cloth on your nose just to smell the comforting scent. You yelped when the light flicker on. A figure standing in the light. The figure was about 5’10 tall.

You hid behind the blanket not wanting to look at the sudden appearance at the front door.

…

Lucifer shot up at the sound of breaking ceramic. His mind told him to run towards the sound that came out of your room making him high alert.

An Intruder?

But who’d dare to come into the king of hells chamber?

Then he remembered that you were in his room, and without second thought he rushed towards your bedroom turning on the lights.

“You’re awake!”

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