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utahimeow · 5 months

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even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep.

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk.

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory.

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief.

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest.

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses.

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do.

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer.

He does just that.

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed.

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him.

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery.

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love.

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern.

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you.

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask.

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow.

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not.

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures.

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you.

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being.

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible.

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time.

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks.

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan.

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?”

“Please.”

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes.

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care.

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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nothingbynova · 2 months

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Luke Castellan Headcanons

summary: 20 of my personal headcanons that i’ve created about our beloved luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 570

warning(s) : lots of fluff, some kissing, cute moments and luke being luke

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note: i need this man so bad.

dedications: my bestfriend @dalgonacafe :)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🤍 ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🤍 ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🤍 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who holds your hand every time he knows something is scaring you. Nodding his head toward you to signal that everything will be okay because he's here.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who wipes the tears off your face and does his best to reassure you. Rubbing his hand across your cheeks and telling you how amazing of a person you are.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who places sweet and gentle kisses along your jawline when you're ranting about something stressful. Whispering about how much he loves you, showing you how much he cares both mentally and physically.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who fights off anyone who tries to pick a fight with you. Even challenging million year old gods in order to protect you.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who taught you how to wield a sword so that you knew how to defend yourself. Standing behind you, hand around yours as he swings the sword in your hand, showing how to slice properly

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who steals chocolate from the other cabins everytime you tell him that you're craving it. Even if he gets in trouble its always worth it to see you happy

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who makes you slow dance with him in the middle of the forest. Having the plants make faint music while his hands grip your waist and guide you to follow his lead.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who studies anything you mention to him once. He wants to understand all of your hobbies to the deepest level that he can, because he loves you.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who talks you through your emotions and feelings. He would rather spend hours discussing what he can do better than to ever lose you.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who tells all his friends how much he adores you and then gets embarrassed when they tell you what he said.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who sits on your bed and reads your books to you when you're tired. He knows how comforting they are and they always help you fall asleep faster.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who kisses you like his life depends on it. Always saddened and pouting when you pull away from him.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who was able to sneak your favorite animal into camp because you wouldnt stop mentioning how badly you wanted one.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who never lets you hold your own bags. Always carrying them for you without you ever having to ask.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who always watches your favorite mortal made movies with you inside your cabin.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who begged percy to turn the ocean’s water a little warmer so that you guys could go swimming in the middle of winter.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who traveled through 6 different dimensions in order to find you after a minotaur kidnapped you.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who purposely gets the dining pavilion before you in order to make both of you incredibly large and delicious plates of food.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who taught himself how to weld in order to make you guys matching promise rings.

☆ Luke Castellan, the boy who sacrificed his own life because you were going to be killed by Kronos.

#charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke castellan pjo #percy jackon and the olympians

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thesirenisles · 10 days

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Pluto’s Sirens 🦂

beauty, love astrology observations ✨

scorpio sun, scorpio moon, scorpio mars, scorpio ascendant , Scorpio lilith, Black moon lilith

8th house placements including Lilith

Lilith aspects, Pluto Aspects, Venus Opposing Trine Conjunction Square Pluto, Ruled, Dominant

Pluto in the 1st house, Pluto in the 8th house

“She knew death quite well. She often drowned. But, never in fear. The storm waters of love, pain, and sorrow filled her lungs and from their depths, she rose metamorphosed — a captivating phoenix of the sea.”

please do not steal any of my original work.

🦂Child of Pluto,

The stunning dark beauty that disappears intermittently, only to reemerge a brand new person.. having lived another full life to it’s completion.

You have walked the Valley of Death and your essence was fortified by means of eternal hellfire. There’s really no wonder why you’re so intimidatingly hot. 🔥

As a water sign, this is similar to the siren-like energy of Neptune. However, a Neptunian might unwittingly lure suitors to their death, but you, Plutonian Goddess are the siren who wants the kill.

🥀You are the siren they fear.

You are a mistress of the deep, a beacon of light through the annals of life’s taboo topics like sex, death, occultism, and mystery.

When considering Plutonian energy, I imagine the scorpion deep within a fierce ocean of emotions, burrowing deeper and deeper into the sand… searching and feeling…

Deep within these depths is where you thrive. The drowned woman… I say this because Scorpio is a fixed sign, meaning its energy can be stagnant.

So, it is literally fixed water or stuck water. Being stuck underwater can symbolically connote to drowning.

This is also where the big misunderstanding of Scorpio comes from because… a scorpion does not belong underwater?? Yup, you’re an anomaly.

But, hence this is literally why you cannot stay under water for too long. You’re meant to dive deep beneath the surface, transform yourself, others, and your surroundings BUT only for a little while.

If you try to resist and stay submerged, life literally pushes you to transform and resurface for fresh air. By the end of your journey, you come out reborn anew, carrying nothing but the wisdom you’ve gained.

At your core, you are here to transform yourself and others.

With this energy, you are always digging and craving depth wherever you go, whether you realize it or not just like the scorpion. This could be for emotions, the truth, or other extremes.

Your plutonic vibrations sometimes does this for you and easily charm souls into revealing their darkest and deepest desires to you.

Pluto has gifted you with a gaze that certainly helps to compel information, while also commanding authority and exuding power. (It’s giving Vampire Diariesss)

🥀A fierce siren, you wish to take hold of your romantic partners, friends, and families and lead them to the deepest depths of human existence.

But, this is only an attempt to free them from the confinement of the human ego and mundanity.

🦂The Misunderstood

The Scorpio/ 8th house slander is endless. But, I feel it’s just misunderstood. I love Plutonian energy. I find it refreshing, possibly because I have Scorpio 11th house & Scorpio Mars lol.

But, I get them. My longest friendship is with a beautiful Scorpio Sun and I have never had to second guess her loyalty.

She has been through more than anyone would guess, but maintains a heart of pure gold. Her shell is hard to crack though.

This is because you guys have seen the other side of life… death. You are aware most people aren’t living their truths or even knowledgeable of the truths of this Earthly realm… and it infuriates you at times.

It’s not easy being the one who sees a liar in a fake smile or an enemy within a friend. You see people without their masks and you call them out when needed… including family.

This can ruffle many feathers, of course. We all know how truth tellers are deemed in society.

And to some, your intense need to dive deep can terrify them and trigger them because in some way they are not living their authentic truth.

But, it’s meant to!

Pluto in the 1st house natives know this reaction well, as they wear the hellfire mark wherever they go. This triggers those who are not comfortable with darkness or their own shadow self.

Significant Lilith placements can resonate with this energy. Your presence and rebel energy triggers those whose identity is based upon a facade.

A Plutonian is a friend with their shadow self. They have seen the likes of all darkness.

You are the wounded warrior with these placements, (and honestly deserve so much more and so many hugs for what you’ve survived🥹) But, you seldom allow anyone to see you sweat or any weakness.

This need to conceal weakness hides your incredibly, loving heart and loyal spirit.

You can come off a bit brash at times. (Think, Jade from Victorious… Marlo from The Wire.. Matthew McConaughey’s character in True Detective) But, Its hard to empathize with those who seem ungrateful for their less challenging life paths or who refuse to make simple life changes out of fear.

You are like a butterfly. You have lived several lives, experiencing completely new things at each stage of life, but ultimately improving yourself each time.

While painful at times, that’s your superpower. ✨

The ironic part is that people see you in your Butterfly phase, ornate wings and beautiful colors, and assume you have not had it hard.

Until you sting. 🦂🩸

Absolutely incredible and yet so misunderstood.

Believe me when I say, it is such a GIFT to be able to transform in a world where Saturn’s energy reigns supreme.

🥀A piece of advice I leave to you all is… while understanding death.. DON’T forget to LIVE. Take a page out of the book of your sister sign, Taurus or Planet Venus… pamper your soul. 💅🏾

You are allowed and capable of just as much happiness and soft living as any other soul. Do not be afraid to open up and love or allow yourself to be loved.

You ARE loved over here! ❤️🫶🏾

🦂La Petite Mort “Little Death”.

To possess significant scorpio or 8th house placements is to live through many small deaths to be born anew.

Ironically, while Pluto rules sex, the French saying for an orgasm is Le Petite Mort … or “Little Death”.

Perfectly fitting.

With these placements, you can transform yourself and others through your sexual encounters.

🥀Your sex is transformative!

The sexual energy exudes from your pores, thanks to Papa Pluto and those around you can smell the fragrance.

When a suitor spots you, perched upon a rock amidst the chaos of the ocean… they can’t look away.

They don’t know what it is about you, but they are drawn… hooked and captivated by your watery siren gaze.

You call to them on the shore… and they approach only to be grasped and delivered to the bottom of the ocean for an unforgettable awakening.

This is why Scorpios/ Plutonians/ 8th housers rule the sack. There is less inhibition, less hesitation, and your goal is sink your prey… to the depths… and transform them. (This gives me chills to think about… very powerful stuff!)

Both men and women of Pluto have this quality. Even if they aren’t perfectly symmetrical or dreamy, you have to admit they are HOT AF & their raw sexual energy caught your eye and made you wonder if you even possess the endurance to swim in their waters…

Keep transforming the world Plutonians! We need you!

Thank you for reading! Wishing you blessings💋

Neptune Energy Observation is here. ♓️⬅️✨

MERCURY energy observation here. ♍️♊️

Other planets coming soon!

Alton Mason (Scorpio Sun) and Kofi Siriboe (Scorpio Pluto, Moon, Jupiter STELLIUM 😮‍💨)

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fushic0re · 1 year

Text

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

⁀➷ “anak” - child.

⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.

⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”

⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”

⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."

⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"

⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.

⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.

⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.

While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.

Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.

You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?

─

From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.

What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.

He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.

“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”

Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.

He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.

Namor was without love in more ways than one.

─

You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.

Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.

It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.

Come to me.

Come home.

In yakunaj.

In k’áate’.

Come home.

Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.

The explanation you vied for never came.

As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.

When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.

“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.

Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.

“Magindara.”

Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.

Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.

“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”

Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.

“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.

The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”

K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.

His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.

She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.

“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”

The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.

“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”

Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.

“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.

“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.

Namor shook his head.

“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”

“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.

The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.

“She is lost.”

─

Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.

Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.

“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”

She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.

“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Could you expla—”

“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”

With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?

You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.

The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.

Come home. Come to me.

Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.

My love. My soulmate.

Home. You needed to come home. It was time.

Come home.

Just a couple of more steps.

Come home.

This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.

Come home.

With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.

A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.

This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.

That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.

Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.

But you did no such thing.

Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.

“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.

Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.

─

You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.

The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.

“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.

“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.

Welcome home, my queen.

Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.

The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.

“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”

They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.

“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”

“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.

“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”

“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”

The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.

“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”

As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.

From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.

“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”

You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.

“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”

Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.

“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”

He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.

“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”

Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.

“Why the tears, my love?”

You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.

“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”

“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”

The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.

“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”

With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.

“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.

“Are you ready to meet them?”

He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.

“I’ve never seen…myself.”

“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”

The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.

Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.

Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.

Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?

A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.

“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.

“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.

The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.

“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.

Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.

“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”

─

Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.

But you were no longer lost.

It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.

A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.

You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.

“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”

“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”

Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.

“You have me, my love. Always.”

His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.

With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.

“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”

You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.

“Namor!”

He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.

“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”

At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.

“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”

He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.

“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”

“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”

With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.

“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”

The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.

The beginning of your story.

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x poc!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor the sub mariner #namor fanfiction #k'uk'ulkan #k'uk'ulkan x reader #tenoch huerta #tenoch huerta x reader #tenoch huerta smut #tenoch huerta mejia

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permanentswaps · 10 days

Text

Rings in Rio

Marcelo’s POV:

Under the scorching sun of Rio de Janeiro, I found myself captivated by the pulsating energy of the city. My husband Valentin and I had been dreaming of this vacation for months, longing to escape Brasilia and just hang out by the beach.

As we walked along the ocean, the gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen. I held Valentin's hand tight, savoring the warmth of his touch against my skin. I couldn't help but feel thankful to be sharing this moment with someone as amazing as him.

You see, I came out later in life – about a decade ago – when I was in my 40s. It hadn't been an easy journey. But meeting Valentin changed everything. We first crossed paths about five years ago – he was a vibrant 27-year-old then. I still remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I was attending a gallery opening, feeling out of place among the younger crowd, when our eyes met across the room.

Valentin approached me with a smile that lit up his face, his confidence and charm drawing me in immediately. We struck up a conversation that flowed effortlessly, as if we had known each other for years. He was unlike anyone I had ever met – bold, unapologetically himself, and utterly captivating. And from that moment on, we were inseparable.

I'll never forget the day he proposed to me, his eyes shining with excitement as he got down on one knee against the backdrop of a rushing river.

His confidence was magnetic, a trait I wished I possessed. We exchanged vows two years ago, surrounded by friends and family who celebrated our love with us.

But despite the happiness we shared, there were moments when envy crept in. Seeing Valentin so carefree and liberated reminded me of the youth I never had, the years spent hiding my true self from the world. But even in those moments of insecurity, Valentin's love was a constant source of comfort.

As we walked along the beach, we stumbled upon a run down ring kiosk. Intrigued by the display of colorful trinkets, Valentin tugged at my hand excitedly.

"Look at how cool these are, babe," he said, his eyes lighting up. I couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

"Ah, you have a nice eye," the shopkeeper remarked, his gaze lingering on the rings in Valentin's outstretched hand. "These ones are actually quite special – they're enchanted."

Valentin's eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned to me. "Did you hear that, Marcelo? Enchanted rings! How cool is that?"

I raised an eyebrow skeptically, exchanging a glance with Valentin. "Enchanted, huh? What kind of enchantment?" I asked.

The shopkeeper chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, you see, these rings have the power to grant the wearer's deepest desires," he explained, his voice low and mysterious. "They can bring love, luck, and even transformation."

Valentin's grin widened, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the surface of the rings. "That sounds incredible," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you think, Marcelo? Should we get a pair?"

And as I watched him try on one of the rings, the metal glinting in the sunlight, I couldn't help but think about how hot they looked on him.

I hesitated for a moment, but as I looked into Valentin's eyes, I felt a surge of warmth wash over me. "Why not?" I said with a smile, reaching out to take his hand. "It could be fun."

After paying for the rings, the shopkeeper handed us a small book which he said explained the rings’ power.

---

Later that night, back in the comfort of our hotel room, we eagerly opened the small book the shopkeeper had given us. Its weathered pages revealed ancient symbols and cryptic instructions, which seemed more like a page out of a fantasy novel than anything grounded in reality.

"It says here that if we trade the rings – which we've been wearing all day – it will swap us into the other's body," Valentin exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement as he scanned the text.

I couldn't help but arch an eyebrow skeptically. The idea seemed far-fetched, to say the least. But the thought of slipping into Valentin's skin, of experiencing life from his perspective, was undeniably enticing.

"Wait, we should totally try this, babe," he urged, his enthusiasm infectious.

I hesitated, unsure of what to make of it all. "I don't know, Valentin," I replied, trying to downplay my own excitement. "It's probably just some silly myth."

But Valentin was undeterred. With a confident smirk, he reached for the rings, his fingers brushing against mine. As we exchanged them, a strange sensation washed over me, like a surge of electricity pulsing through my veins.

Before I could react, I felt myself being pulled, as if my very soul was being forced out of my body and into his. The world spun around me, colors swirling into a dizzying blur, until finally, everything came to a halt.

As I blinked away the disorientation, I found myself staring at my old body – now inhabited by Valentin's spirit. My heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, unsure of what this newfound experience would bring.

But amidst the confusion, there was something else stirring within me – a primal, raw desire that I couldn't ignore. Seeing my old body through Valentin's eyes, I couldn't help but feel a surge of attraction towards it. The familiar contours and features that I had grown accustomed to suddenly seemed incredibly alluring.

Valentin, on the other hand, wasted no time in admiring his new form. He approached the mirror with a confident stride, his movements fluid and graceful. As he stood before the mirror, I watched him subtly flex his muscles, the faint ripple of strength beneath his skin, and run his fingers along his jawline, his touch gentle yet possessive.

With a nod towards the door, he turned to me. "Well Valentin, what do you say we go hit the town?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

---

Valentin’s POV:

As Marcelo and I strolled along the sun-drenched beaches of Rio, his hand tightly clasped in mine, I was overcome with gratitude for the man by my side. Marcelo wasn't just my husband; he was my anchor, my sanctuary amidst life's tumultuous waves.

We first met five years ago, an encounter that forever changed my life for the better. Marcelo's presence was like a beacon of warmth and wisdom. Despite the age gap between us, he welcomed me into his heart with a kindness and understanding I had never felt before.

Marcelo often complained about his age, lamenting the passing years and the toll they took on his body. But to me, he was perfect. With his salt-and-pepper hair and chiseled features, he had a timeless charm that I found irresistible. Marcelo took impeccable care of his body, maintaining a level of fitness and vitality that men half his age would envy.

However, while Marcelo exuded a quiet strength and maturity that commanded respect, beneath the surface lay a well of insecurities and doubts. There were moments when his gaze lingered on younger men, a wistful longing flickering in his eyes. When that happened, all I wanted to do was infuse him with the confidence and self-assurance he truly deserved.

That's why when we stumbled upon the rings, I was so happy. The prospect of swapping bodies with Marcelo, even temporarily, could give him the chance to see himself like I saw him – strong, resilient, and sexy as hell.

Exchanging the rings, I couldn't suppress a thrill of excitement. Marcelo's body certainly didn't disappoint; his rugged features and well-defined muscles radiated an undeniable magnetism that was impossible to ignore. I couldn't help but admire the way my new face looked in the mirror, the sharp contours and strong jawline making even Marcelo in my body flustered.

---

We made the decision to remain swapped for the duration of our vacation, and I must admit, I was thoroughly enjoying the experience.

The change in people’s perception was undeniable. While I had always been accustomed to the occasional flirtatious glance and admiring looks when I inhabited my former body – I'll admit, I was quite the catch – the response now was on a whole other level.

Hotel concierges greeted me with deference and respect, always calling me sir. And waitstaff at restaurants fell over themselves to attend to my every need, no doubt aware that I was the one who would be footing the bill.

The intimacy we shared that week was also nothing short of extraordinary. Marcelo's enthusiasm and skill in the bedroom were unmatched, and he was an expert in pleasuring his former body, leaving me breathless and craving more.

He had always been a power bottom, and even in my former body, he wanted to keep it that way. Railing my former body, I was consumed by arousal, the sensation of my cock buried deep within him sending waves of pleasure radiating through every fiber of my being.

But it wasn't just the physical pleasure that fueled my desire; it was the profound sense of control and dominance that I felt, commanding Marcelo's massive body with an authority that bordered on exhilarating.

---

Two nights before our departure, with the gentle glow of moonlight casting a soft sheen over our hotel room, I found myself poring over the pages of the book once more. My fingers traced the intricate patterns etched into the pages, searching for answers, for a solution.

And then, there it was – nestled within the text like a hidden gem waiting to be discovered:

"After transformation, should one be without the rings during the climax of sexual intercourse, the transformation shall be forever sealed."

I glanced over at Marcelo, sleeping peacefully beside me, his features softened in the gentle glow of moonlight. He looked so content, so at peace in my body, unaware of the decision that weighed heavily on my mind. And yet, as I gazed upon him, a sense of clarity washed over me. I reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, before leaning over and kissing it, saying “I love you”.

As I put the book down, a surge of determination swept through me. This was it – my chance to make our swap permanent.

---

Marcelo’s POV:

Laying in bed on our last night in Rio, the cool breeze from the open windows danced across my skin, carrying with it the scent of the sea. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving this vibrant city behind. But at the same time, I couldn't deny that I had enjoyed every moment of our vacation, relishing the opportunity to experience life from Valentin's perspective.

Being in Valentin's body had been nothing short of exhilarating. I felt a newfound sense of youthfulness coursing through my veins, an energy and vitality that I hadn't experienced in years. And the sex – well, let's just say it was beyond amazing. Valentin knew exactly how to work my body, his confidence and expertise leaving me breathless and wanting more.

But amidst the excitement and the pleasure, a question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind. A few days ago, I stumbled upon a passage in the book that would seal me in this body forever. I hadn't told Valentin about it, but the temptation to make our swap permanent was undeniable. It wasn’t fair, but the thought of returning to my old body – to the limitations and insecurities that came with it – filled me with dread.

---

Fiddling with the ring between my fingers, I carefully placed it in the bedside drawer. Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and Valentin emerged, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm halo around him. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he padded towards the bed, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Hey there, handsome," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. As he slipped under the covers beside me, I couldn't help but marvel at the effortless charm and confidence that radiated from him. I smiled in response, my heart fluttering at the sight of him.

Pressing me down onto the bed and entwining his fingers with mine, Valentin’s strength and dominance overwhelmed me. With each thrust, I lost myself in the raw intensity of our connection. But amidst the haze of pleasure, a realization dawned upon me – Valentin wasn't wearing his ring either.

The revelation sent a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins. Could it be possible he wanted this too? Valentin's lips found their way to my neck, planting tender kisses along my skin. "I love this body so much," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm against my neck. "I don't think I can ever go back."

My heart swelled with a mixture of love and desire, knowing that he cherished my body as much as I cherished his. Smiling softly, I ran my bare hands down his back. "I took off the ring too, babe," I whispered. "I want your body now and forever."

A playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he met my gaze, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. Without a word, he quickened the pace, driving us both to the brink of ecstasy once more.

As the intensity of our passion peaked, I surrendered myself fully to the moment, losing myself in the raw, unbridled pleasure. With a primal roar, he released his load into me, our souls locking in our new bodies.

Basking in the afterglow, I felt a profound sense of fulfillment wash over me. With Valentin's strong hand tracing lazy patterns across my bare chest, I couldn't help but smile, knowing that this, right here, was all I could have ever asked for.

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

FREEFALLING. — gojo satoru x male reader

wc: 1.7k

additional tags: male reader, established relationship, spit(ting), fingering, penetrative sex, frottage, gojo’s a little mean but sweet at the same time, petnames, kissing, praise, dirty talk, subspace, daddy kink (but only briefly + in a joking manner), author was sooo sleepy while writing this

genitalia terms: cock, hole (though if you don’t have that it’s still ambiguously written!)

a/n: im not ignoring requests!! im just very busy with school and it’s kinda hard to find motivation…. gojo just happened to be on my mind + i was in need of comfort so……… anyway i hope it’s okay! it’s definitely not my best but i think it’s okay for the long break….

Your metal keys clink in your hand, keychains and miniature decals swaying gently as you unlock the front door of your shared apartment— which remains quiet and almost vacant, save for the distant sound of ever-changing television channels. Sluggishly carrying your tired body through the door, you slip off your sneakers with a quiet huff. You press your palms against your eyes until you see an amalgamation of blue and purple swimming into your vision, teeth bared in frustration. Your jaw aches, your throat feels sore, and your tongue, heavy.

School was beating your ass.

When you get home, you expect departing sunlight peeking through the curtains— warm, pink rays of light that dance and flicker across blue irises. Warm, pink rays that caress your cheek like the knuckles of your boyfriend, the palms of his strong hands. It’ll overwhelm you at first, you think, so bright and unapologetic as your weary eyes adjust and focus, but you’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation is comforting. It’s home.

Home— the only thing distracting you from the heavy textbooks weighing down your back and uncomfortably bending your spine. Home was Satoru.

…Satoru. You miss him, even if you had seen him just a few nights ago.

Huffing once again, your socks pad against the hardwood floors of your apartment as you make your way to your bedroom, backpack slowly descending down your sore shoulders. With each step you take, the foggier your vision becomes, and you feel as though you’ve been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into your ribcage. The static in your ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst your eardrums. Instead of the inviting (though somewhat frustrating) laughter of your boyfriend, the cruel sea storms forward against your chest, shoving it back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against your body as your knuckles turn white and your vision starts to spot.

Back and forth, you come undone.

“‘Toru..” You sniffle, absentmindedly dropping your bag down with a loud thud the minute your eyes land on your partner. He’s laying on his back, white hair catching sunlight like a makeshift halo, as specks of dust dance around the room and shimmer over his eyelids and lashes. Gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, and if you look close enough you can see where his happy trail begins to disperse lower. Just a sliver of his stomach can be seen, where he rests a large hand beneath his black t-shirt. Angelic.

“Ah, you’re home!” He chirps as if he didn’t know you were home before you’d even actually got there. His blue eyes flicker to meet your face, his wide grin slightly dropping once he sees the tears welling in your eyes. His eyebrows raise along with his body, his forearms flexing as he sits forward and onto his knuckles, leaning forward to get a closer look.

“I missed you,” Your voice comes out barely as a whisper, knees buckling as you fall forward onto the soft mattress. It dips under your weight, and Gojo makes an effort to cup your face as you fall. You find yourself leaning into his hand, eyes fluttering closed to sedate the burn consuming your senses. He hums, waiting for you to continue. “…Had a bad day.”

“Oh,” Satoru purrs, because he’s a little mean, and he’d be lying if he said you didn’t look pretty with tears in your eyes— even if it does tug on his heartstrings. Still, his hand is warm and comforting, as he snakes it down to the back of your neck and pulls you into a hug. He sucks his teeth, and you can feel the gentle shake of his head. “My poor baby.”

His trimmed nails gently scrape against the nape of your neck, rubbing soothing patterns into your skin. Your next huff is much more content, as you melt in his embrace and sink further into his arms. Gojo always knows what you need, even when you don’t. You notice it much too late, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he pulls away to kiss your forehead.

Satoru’s pupils are blown wide, sparkling irises almost enveloped by deep black pupils as he presses his plump lips against yours. The kiss is soft and sweet, fogging up your brain and leaving your mind blank as you press your skin against his. He hushes you, lovingly, gliding his tongue against your own.

“I thought about you all day, all I could think about.”

You’re both breathless, gasps leaving your lips as he all-but consumes you, veiny hands slipping beneath your clothes. Your shirt slips off easily enough, and your body arches against his fingertips as he moves to unbutton your pants. You wish you could burn it into your skull, the sight of his pale hands tugging down your jeans. As if he can feel your gaze, Gojo looks up at you through his lashes.

“God, you drive me crazy. So fucking sweet, aren’t you? Sweet voice, sweet hands, sweet hole.”

Like a broken record, you whine, “I need—”

“I know, shh, honey, I know,” He laughs, wholeheartedly and dizzy as he presses a kiss to your stomach, white hair spilling onto your ribs and tickling your sides. His cheek presses against your hip, and he inhales deeply before murmuring: “You got me. I’m right here. Gonna let me fuck you, baby? Nice and slow, or—”

Your legs spread on instinct, hands sliding down your skin as you reach for your boyfriend’s, lacing your fingers together as he results in using his teeth at the band of your boxers. “Hard and deep? Wanna watch you take it, get you all sloppy and wet, hit that spot that gets you whiney and pliant.. Fuck, hold on, baby.”

The imprint of his dick against his boxers is prominent, your eyes widening as you watch him grip his shaft through the cloth, squeezing gently as his cock twitches in his hand. Satoru’s gasp is choked, and his head falls forward as he tugs once, twice, three times for temporary release. Your skin prickles and ignites as you reach for his waistband, almost jealous of his hands but completely flustered by the idea of being so hot to him that he can’t help but jerk himself off. “My sweet boy, sitting around rude people who don’t appreciate the work you put in— my sweet boy, dealing with so much stress when all he needed was some dick.”

Gojo grins, dimples pooling at his cheeks as he watches you free yourself from the confines of your underwear and buck your hips forward, almost trapping him between your legs. He grabs two handfuls of your thighs, pulling you in to rut against your inner thighs. Your cock twitches, jumping at the contact of cotton against the sensitive head.

Your open-mouthed pants have Satoru’s eyes rolling into his skull, and he reluctantly moves a hand to gently tap your cheek, “Open, sugar. Wider.”

“Ohh,” You moan, opening your mouth to catch the spit leaving your boyfriend’s mouth. He smears a bit of it against your cheek, later placing a kiss directly on top. He makes a comment about slapping his cock against your tongue, how deep you’d take it down his throat, and groans at the sound of your appreciative moan. “‘Toru.”

“Okay, m’sorry, Daddy’s being too mean, huh?” He tacks on a nasally voice, high pitched and condescending as if to say you sound like that. And if you could, you’d slap his chest for the remark, but seeing as he’s stripping before your eyes, you have no complaints.

His cock claps against his abdomen, leaking and throbbing as he spreads your knees up to your shoulders. Subconsciously, you hold onto the back of your knees, watching as his lubed ring finger— when did he get that? — gently prods at your hole. It sinks in slow, immediately rubbing against the bundle of nerves that has your eyes crossing and fingers curling.

“Fuck, this hole,” He groans, watching it clench and unclench around his finger. There’s an obscene squelch, and Gojo has to manually swallow the drool pooling in his mouth. “Gonna let me fuck it baby, hm? Gonna let me use it over and over again? Make it mine, fill you up?”

“Uh-huh, please, I can take it,” You babble, squirming down to take his finger in deeper. There’s no resistance as he adds another finger, curling and stroking your walls deeper than you could ever imagine when doing it yourself.

“Oh honey, of course you can,” Satoru hums, placing a kiss at the back of your thighs, right below your ass. You tremble, sobbing into your arm as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out, in and out. “Even if you couldn’t, Daddy’ll make it fit.”

He swats your arm away from your face, his left hand trailing down to your neck to lightly squeeze. Your hands hold onto his wrist, and a shy smile graces your swollen lips. “Let me see your pretty face. I wanna watch you while I feed this greedy hole with my cock.”

On queue, the thick head of his dick slowly presses into your hole, and your grip on his wrist tightens, eyes fluttering shut as you squeal, throbbing around him. Satoru coos, slowly pressing in further as he reminds you to breathe in and out. Like clockwork, you can feel the vein in his shaft sink into you, drool escaping your parted lips.

Eventually, his cock pistons in and out of you, deep and thorough as you whine, only able to hold onto your lover and take it.

“That’s it, that’s it. Such a good boy, you take me so well. This is all you needed, right, sugar? Whenever you’re upset, just need a cock deep inside this pretty little hole to feel better, hm? It’s all mine, right, honey?” You nod, frantic and rushed as you reach down to rub your cock along with his thrusts.

“All yours, s’yours— my- s’your hole.” You wail, toes curling as Satoru’s thighs slap against yours, loud and competing against your shared moans.

“Atta boy.”

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 2 months

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In the Light of Day

After years of buried feelings, you and Crosshair wake beside each other, the line between friendship and romance blurred. In the light of day, you both confront the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

Pairing: Post-Tantiss Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: softness, fluff, implied night together, very very minor spoiler from the leaked official S3 clip, character growth, Cross is trying to embrace feelings, a lil' saucy.

Translations: ner kar’ta - my heart

The palm leaves outside the open window dance with the first light of dawn, casting dappled shadows across the peaceful bedroom. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, remnants of a night intertwined in passion. As the soft, warm breeze wafts through the room, carrying the scent of the ocean and nearby blossoms, Crosshair lets out a soft sigh. Eyes flitting around the space, he takes in the golden glow from the rising sun - such a stark contrast to the months of dark coldness he’d once accepted as his fate.

Shifting a little among the rumpled bed sheets, his gaze lands on you, lost to sleep beside him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. Last night had been…unexpected. For years, you’d been the object of his deepest affections, a love he had buried deep within his heart, covering it up with wit and snark, fearing rejection or the potential loss of your friendship. Yet, here you were, nestled beside him in the soft embrace of dawn. Every stolen glance, every suppressed longing, had led to this, where the line between dreams and reality blurred into a blissful haze of possibility.

You’d been with him and his brothers since the start of the war, acting as a liaison between them and Command. You’d driven him insane at first – all smiles and laughter, always up in his space – but as the days had dragged into months and then into years, he’d found himself gravitating towards you. Your laughter had become his favourite sound. He'd worried when you weren’t in his line of sight. Somehow, you’d wormed past his walls and planted yourself there, occupying space he’d once reserved solely for his brothers.

But then everything had fallen apart, and for a year, he’d only caught snippets of you – while tracking you and his siblings across the galaxy, as Kamino burned and sank below the waves, and then when the torture on Tantiss had been overwhelming. His mind had needed something to hold on to. Shaking away the memories, Crosshair draws his right hand towards his chest, his left hand cradling the back of it to stop the irritating tremble that was now his norm. He turns his focus back to you.

You were so beautiful and had been even more radiant last night – the life and soul of the equinox celebration that had taken over Pabu. He’d been content to linger nearby for a while, keep an eye on you as you danced and chatted with the island residents, but the large crowd had quickly made him uncomfortable. He’d fallen back into form, taking refuge on a nearby rooftop.

He’d missed the sound of you clambering to his vantage point and flinched with surprise when you’d sat at his side. You’d reached for him, a soothing hand on his arm, and asked him to walk along the quiet shoreline with you. The pair of you had been halfway down the beach when your hand had slipped into his, and once you’d reached the docks at the far end of the sandy shore, you’d cautiously pushed up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

The rest was a haze – how he’d tilted his head to capture your lips in a desperate kiss, the building anticipation on the route home, the slam of the bedroom door, clothes discarded, the scent of you and, finally, the soft curves of your body in his hands.

You embraced everything about him. From his prickly attitude during the war to the desolate version of himself he’d been after his rescue, to who he was now – slowly healing, working through things that plagued him, and rebuilding his bond with his siblings. Gratitude flows through him, and he reaches for you, slender fingers dragging along the fullness of your cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the sight of you resting amongst the pillows.

A feather-light caress stirs you from your slumber, your eyes fluttering open, meeting the hawkish gaze of the man beside you. Warmth sweeps through you, soft feelings that had slowly taken root in your heart over the years, no longer able to hide in the darkness. A gentle smile spreads across your lips. “Good morning.” You whisper, not wanting to break the tranquility of the moment.

Crosshair returns your smile, his fingers still tracing the curves of your face with tender reverence. “Good morning.” He murmurs in reply, his voice a low slink that sends shivers down your spine.

As you hold each other’s gaze, the galaxy seems to pause, waiting with bated breath.

“Last night... it was...” Crosshair breaks the silence first, trailing off, unable to find the words to articulate the depth of what he’s feeling.

Reaching out, you gently trace your fingertips along his jawline. The flicker of vulnerability in his eyes is a new development he’s learning to accept and embrace. “I know.” You murmur, your voice soft but sure. You’d been worried about making a move, concerned he wasn’t ready for it yet, but the enthusiasm with which he’d reciprocated had eased your worries.

Try as he might to hide it, a mixture of relief and disbelief washes over him. “I never thought...” He starts, his voice trailing off once more. With a heavy exhale, Crosshair lets the weight of his emotions settle, still learning to sit with them. “I’m not good at this.” He admits with a scowl, frustrated that he’s floundering.

“And that’s okay.” You respond, your voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Your fingers thread with his and come to rest on the pillow between you, a gesture of comfort and understanding. You take him in for a moment – still a little gaunt with dark circles under his eyes. Among the knotted scars on the side of his head is a new one, a thin straight line, the only evidence of his chip being pried out once he’d been rescued. It was unsurprising that the Empire had lied to him about removing it.

Crosshair’s shoulders relax slightly at your reassurance. You’d always been patient with him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. “I’ve never been one for relationships.” He confesses, his gaze fixed on yours. “But with you, it feels...different.”

Your heart swells at his admission, the sincerity in his words washing over you like a gentle tide. “I feel it, too.” You reply softly, drawing your intertwined hands up to kiss the back of his hand, ignoring how it trembles.

“What…do we do now?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper as his brows furrow once more, uncertainty marring his features.

You pause, considering his question carefully. “I think we have a choice.” You answer honestly. “We can either retreat back into the safety of what we know, or we can see where this takes us.” There’s no doubt in your mind which path you want to follow, but you don’t want to lead him. He needs to decide for himself. Too many decisions have been taken from him throughout his life.

Crosshair nods slowly as if mulling over your words. “And if it doesn’t work out?” He ventures.

“We talk about it.” You assure him, sincerity ringing in your voice. “We work through it together. Just like everything else.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as Crosshair weighs up the options, and you take the opportunity to soak up the feeling of being in bed together, just in case this is the only time you can experience it.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost miss the subtle shift in Crosshair’s expression - a flicker of determination, a silent resolve. “I want to try.” He says suddenly, his voice low but firm. “I want to see where this goes with you.”

His words hang in the air, and, for a moment, you’re speechless. It’s a leap of faith, a step into the unknown, but as you meet his gaze, you know he means it. A smile tugs at your lips. “I want that too.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Relief passes over Crosshair’s eyes as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss - as easy as breathing.

You return it without hesitation, letting go of his hand so you can cup his face and anchor yourself in this moment.

Crosshair deepens the kiss, his hand reaching your hip, pulling you closer as if afraid to let go. When you finally break apart, a soft smile lingers on both of your lips.

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast.” You insist, still adamant about helping him regain a few more pounds. Pressing one more kiss to his lips, you pull back and sit up, the sheets slipping down your body.

Crosshair’s gaze snaps to your naked frame, sharp eyes roaming over every curve as his smile switches into a smirk you’re all too familiar with. “You on the menu again, ner kar’ta?” He teases, voice raspy with desire.

Your pillow connects with his chest before he can stop it, earning a deep chuckle from him. “Behave.” You chide playfully, though the warmth in your eyes betrays the affection behind your words, and you can’t deny how your heart races at the new pet name. As you slip out of bed, you pull on his discarded shirt. “But you might want to save room for dessert...”

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees

#the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb x you #tbb x reader #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair bad batch #bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x you #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars clone wars #ct 9904

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kiisstuff · 3 months

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The Bakshi Family

Summary:

"The Bakshi Family" is an interactive fiction inspired by the sitcom Full House. After the untimely death of their mother, Rakesh Bakshi finds himself navigating the challenges of parenting his four children— The twins Alisha & Asim, Bevis, and the youngest, Darsh. The family's dynamics are further complicated by the arrival of their 25-year-old aunt/uncle, the MC, who must balance their own life while helping the Bakshi family cope with their loss. Amidst the chaos, the MC encounters five potential romantic interests: Bo Wu, Rakesh's best friend; Rakesh himself; Grace Clarke, a celebrity; S Smith, the neighbor; and Charlie Andrew, the teacher. As the MC forms bonds and supports the Bakshi family, they discover that love and laughter can heal even the deepest wounds in this heartwarming and entertaining interactive narrative.

Aunt/Uncle MC: Play as the 25-year-old aunt/uncle, juggling personal life and responsibilities to support the Bakshi family in the aftermath of their mother's death. (decide to play male or female and create a personality and a appearance)

Diverse Romantic Interests: Choose from five distinct romantic interests, each with their own personalities and backgrounds. Will you pursue a relationship with Rakesh, the best friend Bo, the celebrity Grace, the neighbor S, or the teacher Charlie?

Coping Mechanisms: Witness how each family member copes with grief in their own way. Delve into the emotional nuances of the characters as they navigate the healing process.

Parenting Challenges: Assist Rakesh, the father, in overcoming his chaotic and embarrassing parenting style. Navigate the ups and downs of family life while trying to understand the needs and emotions of each child.

Slice-of-Life Situations: Experience everyday situations reminiscent of the Full House sitcom, including heartwarming family moments, humorous mishaps in the kitchen, and the joys and challenges of raising children.

Bo Wu:

Personality: Bo is a 28-year-old Asian-American with a flare for the dramatic. He exudes arrogance, flirts unabashedly, and considers himself the coolest person in the room. Despite his rude exterior, there's a mysterious charm that draws people in.

Appearance: Bo has fair skin, dark brown eyes, and shoulder-length black hair tied in a small ponytail. Standing at 6'0ft, he embraces a relaxed and effortlessly cool style.

Rakesh Bakshi:

Personality: At 36, Rakesh is the Indian father of the Bakshi family. Despite his embarrassing and chaotic parenting, he is genuinely nice and friendly. He enjoys baseball, snowboarding (though it always ends badly), and casual cooking sessions that often result in culinary mishaps.

Appearance: Rakesh has tan skin, messy brown hair, a casual stumble, and stands tall at 6'4ft, giving him a laid-back and approachable look.

Grace Clarke:

Personality: Grace, a 23-year-old British celebrity, is sweet, insightful, outgoing, and enthusiastic. She enjoys singing, acting, dressing up, surfing, yoga, and cooking. Grace brings a positive and vibrant energy to every situation.

Appearance: Grace boasts porcelain skin, mid-length wavy auburn hair, and ocean-blue eyes. Standing at 5'3ft, she carries herself with a sensual and graceful demeanor.

Scott/Skye Smith:

Personality: S a 29 American Person, is the athletic neighbour with a shy, spontaneous, logical, caring, and strategic personality. They have a love for various sports and photography, bringing a unique dynamic to the neighborhood.

Appearance: Scott, at 5'8ft, features blond, bald hair, a beard, sharp features, rosy skin and an athletic, sporty look, while Skye, standing at 5'6ft, has blond hair in a loose bun, sharp features, rosy skin and also an athletic, sporty look.

Charlie Andrew:

Personality: Charlie, the 28-year-old Native American teacher, is efficient, reliable, playful, and intellectual. They enjoy reading, hiking, and drawing.

Appearance: Charlie has shoulder-length aqua blue hair, brown eyes, golden brown skin, and a professional look, standing at 5'8ft. They radiate a calm and intellectual aura.

demo: tba probably April

forum: tba probably April

other: soulmate-if , TBFamily-If

#interactive fiction #if wip #wip #no demo #romance #family #interactive novel #interactive game #TheBakshiFamily #The Bakshi Family #second if

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mercurianchild · 2 months

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Venus in the 12th house

🌌 A Cosmic Ballet of Love and Solitude 🌌

Ah, Venus in the 12th House, where love meets the ethereal realms of dreams and shadows. It's like a clandestine affair with the universe itself, where romance intertwines with solitude in a delicate dance of secrecy and enchantment.

In the 12th House, Venus wears a cloak of mystery, weaving her magic behind the scenes, hidden from prying eyes. Here, love is not always seen or understood by the world, but it pulsates quietly in the depths of the soul, like a secret garden blooming under the cover of night. Those with Venus in the 12th House are the dreamers of love, the poets of the heart, who feel the whispers of romance in the silence of solitude. They may seek love in the hidden corners of the world, finding beauty in the shadows and depth in the unseen.

But beware, for Venus in the 12th House is not without its challenges. It can bring moments of longing and melancholy, as love dances just out of reach, tantalizingly close yet impossibly far. It's like trying to hold onto a starlight in the darkness, a fleeting moment of beauty that slips through your fingers like grains of sand. Yet, amidst the shadows, there is also a profound sense of connection—to the divine, to the universe, to something greater than oneself. Venus in the 12th House invites us to surrender to the mysteries of love, to embrace the beauty of the unknown, and to find solace in the depths of our own hearts.

Venus in the 12th House casts a spell of enchantment upon those who cross its path, weaving a tapestry of allure and intrigue that captivates the hearts and minds of others. Like a siren's song echoing through the depths of the ocean, it beckons with a magnetic pull, drawing souls into its embrace with an irresistible charm. Those with Venus in the 12th House exude an aura of mystery and allure, as if they carry the secrets of the universe within their very being. Others are drawn to their enigmatic presence, unable to resist the allure of their hidden depths and the promise of adventure that lies beyond.

Yet, there is a sense of elusiveness to Venus in the 12th House, like trying to grasp a fleeting dream or capture a wisp of smoke in the wind. Others may sense the depth of their emotions and the intensity of their desires, but they struggle to fully understand or penetrate the veil of secrecy that surrounds them. In the presence of someone with Venus in the 12th House, others may feel a sense of longing or yearning, as if they are drawn to something just out of reach. It's like being tantalizingly close to a treasure trove of beauty and wonder, yet unable to fully grasp its splendor.

Yet, despite the veil of mystery that shrouds Venus in the 12th House, there is also a sense of magic and romance that permeates the air. Others may find themselves swept away by the intoxicating charm of these individuals, lost in the enchanting spell of their presence.

In the end, Venus in the 12th House leaves an indelible mark on those who encounter it, like a whisper in the wind or a lingering echo in the night. It is a reminder of the power of love to transcend the boundaries of time and space, and to touch the deepest recesses of the human soul. 🌊🕯️🔮

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #zodiac #astrology community #astro placements #venus #venus 12th house #12th house #12th house Venus #Venus trough the houses #Venus observations #venus astrology

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rcksmith · 1 year

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Untouchable - Five Hargreeves

You can find the 2 request here: anonymous 1, anonymous 2.

Resume: The villain falls in love with the girl.

Trope: “ Who did this to you?” “Touch her and you are dead.” “i´ll find you in every lifetime”

Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem!Reader.

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGST, swearing, mention of death, blood, fight between the Hargreeves and the Sparrows,a little enemies to lovers in the end, fluff, SMUT, degrading talk.

Word count: 15k.

A/N: Spoiler from season 3.

OMG THIS IS HUGE JAHHSHDAHSDJAHDHND it turned out bigger than i expected.

Because I have a lot of requests in my box, I compile orders that are similar and put together, but I took care to added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down.

We not tolerate any pedophilia here!! I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter, MHA and others fandoms.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are OPEN. Love you ❤️

-----------

Honor comes from the Latin honoris. Indicating a person who lives with honesty and probity, basing their way of life on the dictates of morality. A principle that leads someone to have a righteous, virtuous conduct, which allows to enjoy a good reputation in society.

Five Hargreeves thought of himself as a callous man with no honor and, somehow, able to drown out the voice of morality in his head. He was very knowledgeable about literature and history, and his physics and math skills could surpass Tesla's, but philosophy for him was a bunch of weak principles and dictated by people who didn't really know the world, who didn't pass 1% of what he passed by, who did not see what he saw. Not even Socrates, Plato or Machiavelli had known the worst of humanity like him, the truth about realities. A big part of his existence came down to surviving, fighting, winning, crushing everything that threatened his life.

His cynical outlook on life led him to pragmatism, and he knows that if he wants something done, he will have to do it himself.

His actions were more about getting things done than about displaying a display of rebellion or power. However, Five was not afraid of pain or even killing. He didn't mind being the author of the worst massacres if it meant going back to his family.

Five Hargreeves don't give a damn about being the villain of the story. He did what had to be done.

It was why, when The Handle ordered him to carry out the death sentence of a Duke and Duchess in 1730, Five did not question or hesitate.

Even though in the back of his mind, in a very small part of his brain, the question arose as to why people from such an old and outdated date, he did nothing about it, much less pulled the thread from the ball of yarn that would trigger a series of questions in a row. His job was not to ask why, to investigate step by step, to go through file by file. Five wasn't on The Commission to know the reason for each death, he was on the execution.

So he went, letting the suitcase unfold before his eyes an ancient era, from a faraway time, introducing him to carriages, flowing dresses, gigantic balls. And, as much as some people considered that era poetic, Five never liked lack of practicality.

So he killed the couple as quickly as possible, determined to escape from the need to spend more hours in that old-fashioned place.

It was like any other murder he had committed over the years on The Commission; he came, killed, and left. No looking back, no questions, no hesitation. Drowning in the deepest wave any second feelings that might have submerged, ensuring his emotions were chained very well at the bottom of the ocean.

It was easy, normal, routine. He was once again the villain, and could sleep very well the night with that.

But something began to change gradually in the atmosphere, in the air.

On some mornings, it was as if Five's hands were tingling for no apparent reason, eager to catch up something he had no idea what it was. On some afternoons, his heart vibrated in his chest, like a ground being punished by an earthquake, shaking his balanced state of mind. And, on some dawns, Five's mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert, thirsty for something that not even the coldest water could appease.

Wherever he was the air stayed suddenly thin, stuffy. And sometimes, in the middle of a mission, the wind seemed to blow in only one direction, hitting Hargreeves' back as if pushing him to go in a path. At those moments, his heart returned fluttered in his chest, as if he knew that one north was calling him and was that where he needed to go.

Everything inside Hargreeves began to be affected by strange reactions, spurred by banal, mundane events.

An in a few seconds, if Five stood completely still, silencing his thoughts and hollowing out any inner voices, he could hear something in the wind calling for him. Small seconds that swept away any balance that one day he ever had.

Five Hargreeves was going through a peripeteia, and he had no idea what was causing it.

What hell is going on?

It was wen, on an afternoon where the sun hid with shame among the dark gray clouds, The Handler gave him another murder.

In 1750.

His soul shuddered inside him in that second, echoing through his bones, keeping Five's egyptian green eyes fixed on the paper in his hands, unable to look away from the bold numbers that indicated the date of his next mission.

The icy breeze ruffled his dark hair, but he didn't move. There seemed to be something important and unspoken in the air, and this time, the voice calling his name on the wind grew softly louder. Now, it didn't seem to come from the back of his mind anymore, but from a place far away.

Five looked around, in an instinctive movement in the pathetic and vain attempt to find the source of that voice.

Nothing. As always.

“Five.” The Handler snapped her fingers in front of his face “May I have your precious attention?" The irony didn't go unnoticed, but his eyes flickered to hers. “As I was saying, the time and place of this mission is strictly important. Viscount Sebastian needs to be killed in his office at midnight, in the middle of his daughter's debut ball, not a minute less and nowhere else.”

Hargreeves gave a nod. Not because he had devoted all of his attention to her, just because he wanted her to stop talking. Much of his concentration was still on the way his body and the hemisphere around him behaved. Mission times and places were standard, no need to focus on this nonsense and listen to someone reiterate the rules as if Five were a child. He was 26 years old, a child was the last thing he was.

Something seemed to be happening, occult like a current that rattles under the sea. And the knowledge that he couldn't see the bottom of the ocean unnerved every cell in his body. Hargreeves couldn't stand things he couldn't perceive, understand how it works, take it apart and put it back together again.

This time, when Five returned to the eighteenth century, with 20 years having passed in that time after his visit and only 2 weeks for him, what hit him first was not the impracticality, the carriages, the big dresses. But the wind. Strong, cold, bringing with it the voice who called his name for weeks, now loud and clear.

The dark strands of his body prickled, and he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Suddenly, anxiety snaked through his body like venom, stirring every fiber in his body, pumping something into his veins that made his blood heat like lava. An emotion he couldn't name what it was.

In the last mission, Five had a string of complaints about the way the black waistcoat squeezed the white linen shirt over his abdomen, and how heavy the straight-cut coat felt heavy under his shoulders. But in this time, he wasn't bothered with the clothes he had to wear so as not to attract attention and go unnoticed. Now, with his heart pounding in his chest, his throat dry and the constant feeling that he had to be somewhere urgently, his clothes were the last things on his mind.

It was an emotion that squeezed the pit of his stomach, made his hands itch and his body shot with an adrenaline that screamed that he needed to move. That he had a more important place to be. All the sensations he'd felt leisurely over the weeks now came back with absurd force, as if he were getting close to the source of it all.

What was happening?

The moon in that far away era shone sovereignly in the sky, blessing the houses, carriages and large mansions with cascades of distilled light in the purest color of silver.

Las time, the feeling that came over Five was to get out of there as quickly as possible. But now, looking around in search of the source of the voice calling him in the wind, the last thing on his mind was leaving.

His watch still read eight o'clock, but the sensation was like he was already late.

The most practical plan was to stay hidden somewhere near the mansion where the ball was being held. Avoiding crowds, witnesses, minimizing risk and being a shadow. As always did. The most rational thing to do was to stay away from that place at all costs, until the inevitable arrived and he was forced to enter through one of the windows.

He should have done it. But he didn't.

Just as a sailor follows a siren's song on the high seas, Five followed that voice on the wind. His brain screamed for him to seek a hiding place, but his soul rebelled with an absurd ferocity, ricocheting tremors through all his bones and ordering his legs to follow a path his conscious did not know. His whole mind was confused, but his soul carried a certainty that no other living being had ever had in they life.

With no other option, stunned by the sensations in his own body, he found himself walking towards the front door of the only place he was supposed to avoid until midnight.

If Five Hargreeves had to describe what was happening to his five senses, he would say that his vision was mildly blurred, as if were searching for focus. The smell was of climax and the ambient sounds were drowned out by his own heartbeat. It was like being there in flesh and blood, but not in soul.

He didn't focus on the details of the world around him, but he knew when he finished climbing the front steps. He couldn't focus on the conversation around him, but he knew that a few people were walking beside him.

His mind saw everything, but processed nothing.

It was a mistake not to be 100% aware of the environment, not to study each individual's body language, not to constantly calculate the odds of a move going wrong. But... it was as if something prevented him from emerging to the surface.

Five didn't respond when the butler greeted him at the entrance to the great hall, but looked around as the wind from outside hit his back and his name rang in his ears once more.

It was a female voice. Now he could tell.

Going deeper into the hall, the melody of the orchestra invaded his ears while thousands of people, talking, dancing and drinking, took his view. Everything resembled a blur on a painting, the sounds were still muffled as if Five were at the bottom of the sea, and the smell transitioned between flowers, feminine perfume and poetry.

Five Hargreeves was a pragmatic, cynical and austere man. Everything that made up his being was based on rationality, laws of physics and mathematical concepts, he wasn't oscillated by tender things and he certainly wasn't carried away by things of the heart or soul. He always followed what rationality dictated. Until now.

Until now.

Like a violin string that ruptured, Hargreeves was gripped by the feeling that something very important was about to happen. Something that would not only change his existence forever, but change him for eternity. This fact stared him at back, bold, warm and as inevitable as the setting sun. And very hair on his body stood on end at once while everything inside him pulsed with a brutality that could shake his bones.

Now, the sound of the orchestra was drowned out by the soundtrack of his life, which was coming closer to apex by the second. It was like being submerged in a slow-motion, in a moment that preceded an momentous event.

As magnets are pulled one by the other in an impassable way, his eyes, as if they already knew where to look, were drawn to a figure among the others who danced in the middle of the hall.

You.

Was like an explosion. Loud and brutal. He suddenly submerged from the bottom of the sea, bewildered, desperate, out of breath. The stupor released itself all at once, bringing his mind back to the reality. Instantaneously, nothing was blurred anymore, sounds weren't muffled, and he abruptly returned to his conscious state. But his soul was not so lucky. Like being whipped by live eels, his heart pounded in his chest with such fury that he leaned over forward millimeters, his throat was drier than the Egyptian desert and now his hands itched in a hellish, bestial, uncontrollable way.

Five Hargreeves has released himself from a wave of numbness only to be hit by a tsunami of sensation.

His eyes were seeing everything clearly now, but he couldn't take his attention away from the female figure dancing in the middle of the room, her bouffant gown swirling gracefully across the floor as if deities were blowing the fabrics.

There were a lot of people around him, in front of him, behind him, but Five Hargreeves only had eyes for you.

In an insane, magical and inexplicable logic, Five had the purest certainty that it was your voice that called him in the wind, that was by the desire to touch your skin that his hands itched. Five would never be able to explain it to other people, but at that moment, there was nothing more concrete on Earth, in physics and science, than the certainty that was because of you that his soul felt, so many times, that he should be somewhere else.

Like the indubitability that you need oxygen to breathe, touching your skin has become just as indispensable. It was a matter of needing, something that now not only itched his hands, but corroded the bones in his fingers.

There was no reason for all those absurd feelings, Five had never even seen you before. But rationality had no space in that moment.

There, in that rift between the past, future and parallel realities, there was no discernment, lucidity, judgment. It was a hideaway free of any cohesiveness, with the smell of romance, an atmosphere full of emotion, passion and poetry. A distant era that allowed, for the first time in many years, that the soul of Five Hargreeves to take control of his body.

He moved, one step after another, his focus petrified on you. With each centimeter closer to your body, the more he felt able to breathe again, relieving the brutal anxiety that had been beating him for weeks, giving a truce to the martyrdom that lacerate him day after day without even him even knowing why.

You had finished your dance, clapping along with the other guests for the orchestra that started the new melody, this time more lyrical.

Your hair, the tone of which seemed to be the personification of poetry, of art, was tied in a bun that allowed a few strands to fall under your neck, the skin of your bust was speckled with a few little droplets of sweat, the perfect amount to glisten under the yellowish light of the candles in the chandelier, making a divine, almost celestial aurora radiate from you. The dark blue gown referred back to the night sky in its greatest splendor, highlight your full breasts at the straight neckline and opening at the hips in a skirt that preached the illusion of you being floating across the hall. Your lips were a red that Five had never seen in his life. A red that seemed to exist only to serve you, enhancing the color of your eyes.

You were like a mirage. An oasis in the farthest desert. One of those paintings that people come from all over the world to see in person, capable of sweeping, taking they breath away, making they cry for having to live with the burden of never having the possibility of knowing you in life.

The romantic period was going on in that century, society was tired of trends in intellectual thinking, rationalization, industrialization and the veneration of science. People longed for an escape into emotionally charged images and fantastical fiction in the visual arts and literature. And Five Hargreeves was certain that you were one of the greatest inspirations of this movement. It was so clear that you were the influence of John Waterhouse's paintings, sweeping the hearts of artists and illuminating poets. Lord Byron was thinking of you when he created the short lyric poem “She Walks in Beauty”, completely fascinated by you.

That thought shuddered Five's soul even more. And an acidic emotion rose in his throat and burned his eyes. In his chest was injected the feeling that he was facing one of the greatest beauties in history, the person the poems and paintings were based on, the inspiration for so many names of literature and art that would become renowned.

There, in front of him, was more than a person. It was a piece of history, art, literature, a beauty that was immortalized and that would be admired even after centuries. Five had already gone to different times in the past, but nothing touched his soul as much as now. As much as you.

Five Hargreeves went in your direction like a sailor following a siren's song across the seven seas.

You were relatively distracted when he got to you. Lungs catching breath from the last dance, body preparing for the next, your mind was on that ballroom but your heart was far away. It was universally true that girls your age should revel in balls like this one. Full of potential husbands, dancing and music, governed by a perfect night for falling in love. You came to like it in the past, but now, after so many similar events, everything didn't have the same magic anymore.

You've heard enough stories - filled with adrenaline, pirate ships and dangerous waters - to crave adventure in your life. It was also noticed that you spent too much time with your books, and that the consequence of spending so many hours in the fictional world brought you very high standards for men and love. The whispers through the darkened streets were that you would end up a spinster. Since you took no interest in any gentleman who courted your hand.

In your defense, it wasn't your fault. The men in your reality were terribly...tasteless.

That was until he showed up.

You don't know where he emerged, or what lineage he was from, much less his name. But he came towards you like that was more important than breathing. In a virile, perfect posture. As if he knew all the secrets of the world and was able to show you them.

One of the first things you noticed were the eyes. The room was partially dark, lit only by the flickering candles in the candelabra, but the darkness only made his eyes clearer. Intense greens. Of such a pure emerald tone that it shone like a mystical cat, calling you to sink in his greenish sea. The stranger had hair as black as midnight, which fell softly and romantically over a face with firm features; jaw as sharp as a razor and a nose full of masculine personality. Although was well dressed, all his clothes, with the exception of the white linen shirt, were as dark as the strands of his hair, something unusual among the sophisticated gentlemen who were invited.

Looking at that gorgeous face, you were left speechless. The deities had been generous to this man, gifting him with bold, aristocratic features and iris as green as Egypt's most precious jewels. The mystery and secrets contained within in those eyes were a fascinating contrast.

“Can I have this dance?” Just a sentence.

He didn't introduce himself, he didn't say who he was. He just dropped that sentence as if it was the only thing he really cared to say.

The gravity of his words made your heart flutter. What a beautiful voice that man had. With a provocative huskiness, a touch of superb, as if he were an oracle at his peak in ancient Greece. The sound seemed to seep into your body and run through you like warm honey.

The truth was, you had reserved the dance for another gentleman, but in that second, you couldn't care less.

“Of course, milord.” That's what you said, accepting the hand he extended to you.

Never taking his eyes off yours, an unfamiliar sensation washed over your mortal body and engulfed everyone around you. You wondered if it was just the stuff of your imagination or if he too felt the electricity whip through his body as he positioned you closer to dance.

Single women weren't allowed to touch men's hands if you weren't wearing gloves, and that rule had never bothered you. Until now.

Until be affected by an insane, visceral desire to feel that man's skin. Of experiencing the heat radiating from his hand against yours, of feeling those white fingers, slender and pale, holding your denude skin. You've never been touched by a man without a layer of clothing intervening. No brushing of elbows, no bumped of fingers, no errant caresses. And you wondered what it was about that man that made you aware of this deprivation. That stranger radiated secrets in an inexplicable but extremely palpable way in the air and you wanted to feel the touch of mystery on your skin more than you wanted to breathe. A will as strong as fear, as intense as hunger.

Your soul screamed in frustration because of the dress when his hand cupped your cover waist. In a touch so firm it only existed in the romance novels you read. Your heart raced, your breath disappeared, and you didn't notice when you rested your hand on his shoulder and your feet began to follow the rhythm of the waltz.

It was pathetic the intensity of your emotions for a man you had just met and didn't even know his name. But, it was like you'd found something didn't even know you'd lost.

Well… if it was the lack of knowledge of his name that was making things a little difficult…

“Aren't you going to tell me your name? Mine is Y/n”

Your voice, sweet as molasses, velvety as suede, made the hairs on the back of Five's neck stand on end. He recognized the timbre now, he had already heard you calling for him in the wind, but nothing surpassed hearing you from inches away.

This was one of those moments where, if you asked Five why he was doing this, he couldn't answer. He couldn't find any logical answers to his actions, reactions, thoughts. But, once again, this rift in space and time was an environment free of rationality. He didn't need this here. He felt he didn't need to. Not when had you in his arms.

A name…

Five Hargreeves was the name of a villain. Someone who would carry on his shoulders to the grave the weight of the thousands of souls he killed. Someone whose hands were marked, eternally, with thick, hot blood. A proof that his destiny was traced directly to hell. His name was the personification of a freak created to be a hero, an orphan in the apocalypse, a man who belonged nowhere in the timeline, someone without family for many decades.

He looked at the hands that held you. The hands of a serial killer. And then he looked at you, full of beauty, life, happiness and innocence. It was like committing a crime against nature to hold something so pure in such infamous, disgraced, death-scarred hands. And something inside he twisted with something like pain…disgust, for the fist time.

His soul didn't want to hold you in the hands of Five Hargreeves.

Five Hargreeves was the villain. And he didn't want to be that man right there.

His mouth, which looked so beautiful yet so dangerous, softly approached the foot of your ear, while the body of you two continued to follow the steps of the waltz. "We don't need names here."

A current of electricity slammed into your body like a whiplash from a live eel, raising goose bumps on parts of your skin you didn't even know you had. My goodness, it was a sin for a single man to have that much charm.

Sensible young women would have turned away at once. Practical girls who appreciated rationality, sincerity and transparency, who had no estimate for games, mystery and sensuality, would have rolled their eyes. But you were not sensible, practical or appreciative of the good customs of the epoch.

You were romantic, hungry for a good charade, adventure. And that man seemed to be built by those two things.

The world was just a shapeless blur, other people were no more than wandering silhouettes, and the atmosphere was enraptured by the flickering orange light of the candles in the candelabra. The smell was of poetry, romance and freedom, which intoxicated the brain and alcoholize any common sense. Was like a magical place in the middle of space and time, a rift that allowed just being. Time passed slowly, as if dancing together with you two.

‘One second can change many things...’

Just as Five could hear his father's voice saying 'I told you so' during his years in the apocalypse, he could hear his words now.

‘you can crumble empires, win battles...’

Five swirled you around before pulling you into his arms once more, his heart pounding with each passing moment. Neither of you realized it, but every second you spent together, every step, more messed up the timeline.

You smiled full of romance and magic as he leaned you back, his hand firm on your spine, bringing you to the surface and returning to dance around the hall with the waltz that dandle yours bodies.

‘you can fall in love.’

With every strong step the two of you took on the floor, in an apocalypse dance, realities were immediately misaligned. With each spin, lines of events were exploded into other universes. With each look shared, with each smile, with each heartbeat full of romance, people were erased, born, disappeared.

An apocalypse was brewing somewhere because of his hands on your body. A mystical waltz that brought the ascension of chaos in other timelines.

Neither of you two knew about it. But if Five knew, he wouldn't keep his hands off you anyway. Five Hargreeves was the villain in many realities. And he would accept the burden of being in a few more if it meant having you in his arms.

In an inexplicable and irrational way, what was happening now had more importance than everything he had ever lived and would live through in his entire life.

"You dance very well." You praised him, and his hands on you tighten a little more.

"No more than you". Then he gave that smile.

The half smile that lifted only one corner of his mouth. Malicious, sagacious, sphinx. Who promised to know all the mysteries of the world and show you all the sins of life. What man was that? So full of charm, sensuality, beauty. He seemed out of this world and you found yourself wishing that time would freeze in that moment, that you could hold onto your chest and live in that dance for the rest of your life.

There was something different in the air. A soul-deep feeling that whispered that your life would never be the same again.

Not after this man.

“It is not difficult to find women who dance.” You joked. "You've certainly danced with others to know."

Yes, with his mother and Allison.

But even if he had been dancing with all the women in the world, they would have disappeared in that moment. No memories memory experiences with other women could stand out at that moment.

"If I danced, they all disappeared the moment I waltzed with you." He realized he might have said the right thing, because he could see the breath go out of your lungs and cheekbones flush deliciously.

God in heaven… this girl was breathtakingly beautiful.

Five led you around the hall masterfully, committing your features to his mind like the tattoo on his wrist. Permanently, eternally. Suddenly, he was struck down by the insane desire to know more about you. To hear more of your voice, to taste the way the words flowed from your lips like the purest honey.

You were like a drug, an obsession. An addiction that had stuck with him since the first time he came into that century, since he breathed the same air as you, since he coexisted under the same night sky as you. There was insane logic in the fact that his soul felt your presence without even seeing you on that first mission. He would never be able to explain it, but somehow it made sense inside in him.

Five Hargreeves didn't think about what would happen when he had to leave. He didn't think about the withdrawal his body would suffer when he was away from you. Much less noticed the way there seemed to be something important in the air. If he had been in full intellectual faculties and grounded in rationality, he would have managed to understand that that something was the temporal lines collapsing, an apocalypse forming elsewhere, pure and perfect chaos destroying parallel realities.

But he was not being led by rationality. And even if he was, he wouldn't have minded a few worlds burning if it meant having you next to his body. He didn't care. But The Commission was a different case.

But Five Hargreeves wasn't thinking about any of that.

He conducted a conversation with you the way he conducted that waltz. He discovered that you liked the high seas even though you were never allowed to be on a ship. You loved nature and enjoyed good books. He heard your eagerness to know the world and learn about different cultures, that you wanted to unravel the mysteries of Egypt, see the architecture of Greece, visit Spain and wanted to go swim in the beaches of Brazil. You were an adventurer, and Five's heart skipped a beat for it.

But in a corner of his soul, deep down, he felt an ache reverberate through his bones. The urge to tell you about the world came with overwhelming force, and something inside him died when he realized he could never tell you the truth about the subjects you cared about.

He could never tell all that the world already knew about Egypt, about its tombs and its pharaohs. He could never be able to show the beauty of Brazil's beaches that become famous tourist spots, and he reserved a note in his brain that you would have loved to visit Genipabu in Brazil, a beach with huge sand dunes that seemed to be the junction of a huge desert whit a beach. He could not tell you what science, oceanography and marine biologists already knew about the oceans. He could never say about the cruises that roamed the seas in all the luxury and comfort, much less about the planes.

Five Hargreeves would never be able to show you the world. And his soul decided to torture itself even more thinking about what it would be like if you were from his time. The things you would do, the freedom you could enjoy.

He could show you anything you wanted, tell you the secrets of the universe…His secrets.

When the waltz was over, on a note as dramatic as the situation, you couldn't say goodbye to him. Your soul, enchanted and completely enraptured by the man in front of you, vehemently refused to remove your hand over his. It seemed that every molecule in your body, every corner of your spirit, every fiber of your being, had defined that it was with that man that they wanted to stay. Forever.

What was foolish.

The truth was that the sensation of poetry, romance and magic that surrounded you two throughout the dance, had evaporated from the air like mist in the sun. Now the sure that you two weren't meant to be together hung in the air like a black cloud, thundering and flashing. This feeling oppressed you with an overwhelming force, so tangible it was possible to cut it with a razor.

No words needed to be said, but it was stamped into the environment, filling every millimeter and gap, putting that magical dance into a category that would never go beyond that: a dance.

A feeling of melancholy jabbed your throat like a scorpion's sting, injecting an emotion of sadness and helplessness into your blood like distilled poison. You didn't want that to be the end. You didn't want to say goodbye. Even with everything in the air indicating that whatever existed between the two of you, ended here, now.

Five's eyes seemed to exude the same as you. Feeling the end heavy and resounding in the air, reverberating like thunder, as every corner of his soul roared the opposite. The green sea of his irises looked like it was in the middle of a storm. Full of pain, anger. With colossal waves and revolts, which promised to destroy everything they saw ahead. Just like the oceans did in the apocalyptic events in the era of Younger Dryas.

Somehow, without having to utter a single sentence, you both knew you were feeling the same thing. Wishing, with all their might, that this wasn't the end, that they were able to hold time against their chest in a tight, desperate embrace, an attempt to freeze the pointers.

At that moment, Five clamored, to any god who would listen, that you not be taken from his arms.

However, like the evil joke that was his life, his thoughts were cut short by the chiming of the clock. 11 chimes. That echoed in his soul like the trumpets of hell, laughing at him, mocking him, making fun of a murderer thinking he would be graced with something like you.

Five Hargreeves was a villain. And he was destined to have the things villains deserve. And none of this things included someone like you.

In that sadistic moment, Five finally understood a sentence from one of the books Grace read to them at night; ‘If I were to kiss you then go to hell, I would. So then I can brag with the devils I saw heaven without ever entering it.’

Yes. Now he understood. Five Hargreeves leaned in, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, laying a kiss that, however much it was impeded by the muslin layer of your glove, he prayed that this kiss could transmit all the feelings he could never say. This are the only kiss he could give you. That sentence echoed in his head like a fact, as sure as the sky is blue, as true as the salt in the oceans.

And when he went to the core of hell, paying for all his sins, he would brag to the other demons that he had been to heaven without ever having entered it.

You wish you'd said something, asked where he was from, stopped him from going. But none of that happened. This was one of those moments that we regret forever, that are branded in a red-hot iron in the soul, in the mind, in the body. Everything inside you was screaming to go after him when Five turned arund and walked into the sea of guests. But he disappeared in the waves before you could even move your feet.

No one had to tell you, but you knew you'd never see him again. And your heart would never beat for another.

-----------

Five Hargreeves has had to do a lot of horrible things over the years. Actions he wasn't proud of but he knew needed to be done, nights awash in blood and the smell of death.

But nothing has wobble him as much as you have.

His soul, body and mind, trained since he was a child not to develop any weakness that would prevent him from being a perfect hero, then perfected and aggravated by the Commission to be the unbeatable assassin, were rarely stirred by feelings.

He was cynical, hard-nosed, crotchety and arrogant. He never got carried away by emotions and, as much as his desire to save his family is pure, he will cross any ethical lines for the greater good. And all of that made him the Commission's best weapon.

Until now.

Until his emotions messed up not just one, but thousands of timelines. Created catastrophes, formed apocalypses, killed people. Hargreeves meeting you was something that could never have happened. Repudiated not just by nature but by the gods. Having you in his arms was like a crime against the timeline, against the balance of the world.

And heavens and hells would make him pay. With work, blood, or his heart. Promising to take not only the soul, but any hope of laying eyes on you once again. As Icarus had his downfall for the sun, so Hargreeves had for you. In a triumphal ruin.

“Do you have any idea what you caused ?!” It was the first thing The Handler said as soon as Five returned from his mission, seconds after he had killed his target.

Her voice was loud, suffused with anger and rage and… despair. Five frowned, soul still aching from having to leave you, your warmth still in his arms. He didn't have the head to deal with her right now. Not when he had so much to process.

“A death.”

“Don't play smart on me!” Her roar was loud enough for Hargreeves to realize that something really serious was going on. The Handler was many things, but she never got worked up without good reason.

The clatter of her heels echoed through the room as she walked towards him, her eyes full of fierce emotion.

“You had only one job to do! One! Kill the man and get out of there. Like always!" Her voice was as rough as desert sand. “But not only did you mess up entire timelines, but created apocalypses on thousands of worlds that were to happen only thousands of years later!"

Five's mind was racing like a Catarina wheel, spinning at full throttle as it tried to put the pieces together. He blinked once, twice, his heart starting to race with the feeling that something devastating was about to be revealed.

He looked at The Handler, who understood his look. "That's right! Your little feat of dancing with that girl shattered thousands of timelines! People were killed, disappeared, events took a completely different course because of your little impertinence!"

She pulled his arm towards the thousands of screens that monitored infinite realities. And what he saw was chaos. Pure and perfect. Some worlds succumbed to fire, others to water, others to war. But they had devastation as a resemblance.

Five can hear the voices of other Commission workers in the background, in another corridor, other rooms. Some sounded desperate, others irritated, and others helpless, but all seemed concerned. He couldn't even say that he didn't know that little things had chain reactions. Because he knew. There was nothing to justify his actions, for he didn't even have a good reason for himself.

But the truth was, even staring the apocalypse in the face across nine different monitors, he felt no…remorse. There wasn't a part of him that would have done differently, that wouldn't have touched you, that wouldn't have known you. Deep in his soul Hargreeves knew he didn't care how many worlds he had destroyed just by touching you. He was going to hell anyway, it was better to have a memory of you to remember for eternity.

"...we'll have to kill her." It was just that sentence that Five's messed up mind paid attention to.

Then everything stopped.

The weather, the conversations. The world seemed to have held their breath, suspended, staring at Five. Everything inside him fell silent into scary silence, and he turned slowly toward The Handler, all his senses heightened, heart still, mind clear.

She seemed to notice his state. "What did you expect?! You know how things work. Causers of apocalypse get killed, that's our job! And because of that dance of yours, this girl has caused nine different apocalypses.”

There was a kind of insane, evil logic to the situation. The last riddle of gods and life to see Five Hargreeves on his knees. Broken, empty. To punish his sins, taking from him what he took from so many people. They engineered his downfall perfectly, writing with a red-hot iron on his soul the sentence that he could never be happy. His curse, the price to pay. Cosmic fit.

What the fucking hell.

“I'll send some agent to kill her immediately and...”

But Five Hargreeves has never been one to accept sentences imposed on him with his head down. Limitations, rules. He made his own destiny, no matter what he told him, and lived with the consequences. No god, destiny or universe dictated his life.

Everything inside him roared like a beast. Exploding, bursting, sending any control flying away. In an action without any hesitation, delicacy or ambiguities, his hand closed on The Handler's arm. In a firm, strong, tense grip that started hurt her very soon.

She looked at him in a mixture of shock and annoyance. There were very few people in the world willing to face a woman on her level, some too fearful, others who value life too much. But Five Hargreeves was none of those things. He'd never known any predator he should fear, everyone knew he was capable of anything and everything. Maybe there was no line he was able from crossing, or plan he wasn't capable of executing.

Five Hargreeves was the predator she should fear.

And The Handler realized that. For in that pair of eyes she saw danger, rage, pure and perfect hate. His sea of green gave way to red, glittering waves, shining with all the blood he had already spilled. And with a warning that he wouldn't mind spilling more.

“Stay. away. from. her. ” he guided each word with a tighter grip on her delicate arm, sure to leave marks that won't go away anytime soon.

Bewildered, she looked at him like a man possessed, filled with a rage that could fuel hell all by itself. The Handler had never seen him in that state, he was always angry, annoyed, acidic, but that… that was hatred, a bloodthirsty hate.

Five Hargreeves promised to go to hell and drag anyone with him without saying a word.

For the first time in her life, The Handler was afraid.

“Five...you know her need to die...”

"Listen to me" He vociferate, shaking her by the arm. “I don't give a fuck what you have to say. I swear, for all that exists in this world, that if you lay one finger on her, there will be nowhere on earth you can fuck hide from me.”

Five Hargreeves was a tall, masculine man, wrapped in a macabre and sinister aura when he wanted to. He pulled The Handler closer, his face filled with colossal rage being etched like a tattoo into her soul.

“I don't give a fuck about how many worlds are ending, I don't give a fuck if fucking people are dying! You won't touch her until the day I'm dead! And you can bet that, even seven feet under the ground, I'll find a way to take you with me to hell if you do fucking something to her."

You were untouchable.

All of his work on The Commission was about killing a number of people to save even more. But he would never, ever, sacrifice you for the greater good. Not even if it meant millions of dead people.

It didn't matter as long as you weren't one of the dead.

Without waiting for further discussion, he led The Handler towards the exit door, leading her out of the room and locking the door when he returned. Five wasn't stupid or naive to think that she would follow his orders. The handler might be afraid of him, but she knew how to get what she wanted, no matter how long it took. And now that he'd bruised her ego, Five knew she'd make it her primary mission to kill you.

Something he would never let happen.

If someone asked where so much anger, so much sense of protection came from, Five Hargreeves couldn't say. Because he didn't even know. In the same way that he still didn't understand everything that had happened, everything that he had been feeling, he still hadn't reasoned where such primitive, territorialist impulses came from. He had no idea where it all came from, but he was sure he could never let anything bad happen to you.

In a twisted and somewhat obscure way, you had gained a villain as a protector. A fallen angel who didn't promise to do good to people, but only to you. Who swore allegiance not to humanity, but solemnly, exclusively, to you.

It was a sensation that filled his entire body like boiling lava. And Five put his hand in the fire for the certainty that he would never be able to get rid of his feelings for you again.

His soul said that, as long as he was alive, he would be yours.

Making his mind work faster than it ever had before, Five Hargreeves concluded that every record of you had to go. There could no longer be documents proving that you were part of humanity. That once you had a name, a house, a reality. Five would have to erase you from any and all records. Forever. The only way to keep you out of the hands of the people who had access to every form of terrestrial existence, was to erase you from the world. Only then, hidden from the Commission, could you live happily. Fully.

But throwing all your documents away was signing the sentence that he was took the risk of never getting to see you again. Without them, finding someone was nearly impossible, much less accessing their reality. Five could start a calculation to find you one day, but that could take years, ages, and even if he memorized your documents number by number, did the calculations and managed to get to you without any side effects, The Commission could follow him and find you.

And finding a civilian's documents was much easier than finding a special agent like him and throwing them away too.

Once again, his life was a cruel joke of the gods, which served as entertainment for any higher power. Five strongly believed that, if there was anything above or below him, they designed his life for they own amusement.

Five Hargreeves spent hours in the file room, locked in that cubicle, not letting anyone in, not getting out. Once he disappeared with your documents, he would be declared a traitor and deserter, where his punishment would not only be more years of work, but death.

The world was spinning. Head ached. A sound gnawed at his mind, a scratch without melody, like a rustle of paper. Someone had taken a scream, a memory and a fear, crumpled it into a jagged ball, and used it to stuff Five's skull. He need to think of a plan that covered all the rough edges, but his eyes were bombarded with futures he didn't want to think about. Every time he blinked he felt the tragedy lurking in a dark and dismal corner, ready to catch him in their sharp mouths and take him somewhere he feared to go.

A place where the worst had happened to you.

Suddenly, the world was filled with secrets, fears and terror. Just as his soul took control of him in that night, it was the same in this moment. Five Hargreeves wasn't someone to get carried away by anything, but the feeling that something very bad was about to happen to you haunted him to the bone. That would be the perfect ending to his sinful life story; having the one person who touched his feelings so powerfully killed in the same way he killed so many other people.

Life was taking its toll on all the things he had done. For a second, he was afraid of that reckoning. Because the worst is not the bullet hitting yourself, but someone you like.

The feeling outside of being torn apart. All the patches and pieces of what it was to be Five Hargreeves - which he had been painstakingly piecing together throughout his life - were coming loose again, all at once. The clock was ticking, the hours were ticking, and he knew that just as he was coming up with a plan, so was The Handler.

It was a macabre race against time, in which if he lost, he had the feeling he would never fully recover. Not without a part of his soul dying along with you.

When he found your documents, the photo they had of you was a portrait made in that last century, a small painting of your face, eternalizing your smile. Suddenly, the memory of how you'd smiled at him like that gripped him like a demon. And when the memories of you intensified, they brought no comfort, just only fear and dread. Five Hargreeves could not live with himself if those memories were tainted by the knowledge that he was the cause of his tragedy. He would never be able to remember those tender moments again if memories of you were vandalized by images of how you were killed.

It was too late to remedy the consequences of what he had unleashed. The macabre possibilities of what The Handler could do to you were there, tattooed on his brain, as if they would snap open and bolt to reality at any moment. So, as panic rose, Five Hargreeves' mind slammed shut like a heavy book. He wouldn't let any of that happen. Never.

After scheming and checking all the plans in his mind, Five decided that he had already orchestrated the almost perfect scheme. He would destroy all of your documents and, when he had done that, he could no longer remain on the Commission. Thus, he would steal the mission from one of the agents about killing John F. Kennedy, the time that most closely matched his calculations to return to the family in 2019. Then Five Hargreeves would evade The Commission and deal with them without being an employee anymore. And even if they went after him, they would never find you.

Not even Five.

And so it was done.

-----------

Five Hargreeves went through the reunion with his family, faced the commission agents coming after him to kill him, dealt with The Handler and put up with his siblings drama.

In a matter of weeks, he had already gotten himself into so much trouble and confusion that sometimes he didn't even have time to breathe. Processing events and digesting them had become a luxury he no longer had, and saving the world from one apocalypse and falling into another had seemed to become a family pastime.

But there were nights. Cold, when the moon reached its apex in the sky and the rain poured down on the ground, when he was finally able to be alone and clear his mind. In those rare moments, the only thing on his mind was you.

Always you.

His point of peace, his refuge from his constant stress and pressure was in the images of you. In the way your body fit perfectly in his hands, in the way your gaze, enchanted and completely shining, did not leave his. Five Hargreeves felt that, like him at that moment, there was no other place you would rather be.

Twenty years could go by, but he would still feel what it was like to have your warmth in his arms, in the smell that your perfume exhaled and in the way the candles in the candelabra glowed on your skin. You were like a goddess, dancing at that ball as if the world would never be graced with such beauty again.

When Five Hargreeves closed his eyes, he could see you perfectly. Swirling around as if the ground were your clouds and everyone there were mere mortals, watching what the angels in heaven looked like.

It was like a dark paradise. He managed to slake some of that suffocating tightness in his chest whenever he returned to those memories, but it resulted in more flagellations in his poor, tortured soul. The notion that he would never have anything but memories, dreams, and mowed wishes, would skin him alive until his last days. Five would forever be haunted by the notion that, even when he died, you wouldn't be waiting on the other side.

You would be in heaven. And he belonged in hell.

But, it was worth it.

All the pain, all the desperation his soul struggled with, all the shortness of breath that coiled in his lungs, all the feeling of being stabbed with a dagger knowing his would never lay hands on you again, it was all worth it when he reviewed your face in his memories.

Five Hargreeves didn't clamored for relief from his pain, balm for the cuts deep in his soul, a minute's mercy. No, he accepted all of his fate with his head held high. He clamored for you to be okay. Safe, happy. Free from any worries or tribulations. He wished you had forgotten about him, erased that night from your blood, because it would be impossible to live if he knew you were suffering just like him.

Five Hargreeves had never given you a single kiss, tucked your hair in his fingers and tasted your tongue, but he didn't need it. His soul didn't need that to fall madly in love with you.

Yes, pure and perfect passion. It was the only logical explanation for how he felt about you.

Even though he never tasted your skin in his mouth, or touched you without the interference of a piece of clothing, Five Hargreeves was in love with you.

And it would be for the rest of his life.

-----------

All the Hargreeves siblings thought all was well when the Commission was defeated and they got a briefcase to take them back at home. The nightmare of the second apocalypse had already passed and now the feeling that invaded their bodies was one of relief. For a second, Klaus thought that everything would now be back on track; with the family together, stronger ties and improved relationships.

Everyone thought so, actually.

The shimmering blue flash engulfed all the brothers, passing through the barriers of space and time, leaving the Hargreeves in the mansion where they grew up and spent most of their lives. Everyone looked happy, relaxed. And Five also shared the same relief.

Until that fateful moment.

Until a draft of wind enter through the window behind him and hitting his back, bringing a feeling that immediately made every hair on his body stand on end. In a matter of seconds, all sense of relief, calm, and peace were shattered, exploding one by one with the same aggressiveness of a nuclear bomb. The world seemed to stumble and stoped, the colors of the hemisphere fluidized into a vintage orange, flickering, almost as if the lighting came from candles.

As much as his siblings were laughing and making noises, everything for Five was quiet, in a tacit silence. The sound of cars on the streets did not exist anymore, the conversations disappeared, and, little by little, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. Increasing in tempo gradually, like a soundtrack.

Then, in the apex of silence, when Five could already hear the blood rushing through his veins, he listened.

Five.

Your voice in the wind, almost like a whisper. Calling for him. Just like you did a long time ago.

His soul gave a scream that shook him to the very bones, and he didn't notice when his eyes widened and his breath hitched. Suddenly, his whole body came back to life, being pulled sharply from the bottom of the ocean, submerging, desperately, breathless, astonished. Abruptly, the heat returned to his hands, to his cheeks, to his heart. Five could feel warmth coursing through his body as if they had rekindled the flame of his soul.

Was like resurrect.

He looked back in one jerk, spinning in place, heart pounding in his ribcage, his frantic, frantic eyes darting around every corner.

Nothing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Klaus looked back, focusing on his brother, but Five didn't respond.

He walked past Klaus as if he couldn't hear him, his eyes and hands trembling visibly, his step tight. Five chased the wind current as if he were chased his life, oblivious to anything or anyone.

His siblings, finding the situation strange, followed him without hesitation, accompanying the owner with green eyes entering more in the house. They had no idea what to expect, or what to think, but they stopped behind Five as he froze in the middle of the living room, eyes petrified, wide, fixed on a very specific spot at the top of the stairs.

But nobody noticed what he saw.

While all the Hargreeves were taken aback by Reginald's appearance in the outer corner of the room, stunned and petrified, growing more and more stunned as their father went on to explain the situation, Five couldn't take his eyes off the top of the stairs. Nothing in the world would have made him look elsewhere.

You.

Fucking hell...you.

There, standing next to people he didn't care to find out who they were, looking down, observing at the people who had just entered.

Suddenly, everything inside him was whipped by currents of electricity, as if he'd been struck by lightning. An argument seemed to be brewing in the background, but Five Hargreeves didn't fucking care. May the world explode, may everything end up in dust, fire or water. He didn't want to know.

You were there. With the sunlight coming through the large windows behind your back, and illuminating your silhouette as if you were a deity, a goddess, a muse. You shone. Like the gates of heaven. At that moment, the soul of Five Hargreeves fell to his knees in front of you. For you.

An extremely strong emotion invaded him without asking permission, destroying everything he once was. Five felt like crying.

As a war in the background unfolded, the people who were beside you started to descend the stairs one by one. But he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Five. Five.” Luther seemed to call out to him in the background, but he didn't care.

You walked down the steps the same way you glided through that ballroom, as if the floor were your clouds. Yours robes were uniform this time, but Five was pretty sure that behind that high collar, your skin harbored a birthmark on your collarbone. Your hair was down, but he knew how you looked with your strands tied up.

With each step you took, more his pulse quickened. It was like a dream, a mirage, his oasis in the scorching desert. At some point in the battle against the Commission he had died, and that was his dream.

However, Luther's hand gripped his arm, forcing his green eyes to meet his brother's.

“Dude, what's wrong with you? Didn't you hear dad saying that we're in another reality?”

“I am not your father.” Reginald countered. “Not in this reality.”

Five frowned, rationality slowly returning to his body, his brain taking over once more. A parallel reality. That explained a lot. A reality where…you existed.

Holy shit.

Someone said the Hargreeves had better go, and Five would have laughed out loud if he hadn't submerged in thoughts. If they really was in a parallel reality, that meant you didn't remember him. You didn't even know him. The version who have danced with him was still in another century, in a timeline far, far away.

But…Five looked up. You radiated the same beauty of the romantic period as before, your skin still looked feather soft, your lips still where able to take away his complete self-control, your eyes still have… the same glow that he remembered so many times during so many nights.

You didn't know him, but that didn't matter. Because Five knew you.

He suffered the worst of martyrdoms all this time, and now that he'd finally, finally found you once more, he wasn't going to leave. Even if it meant having to make you fall in love with him all over again. In fact, Five Hargreeves would dedicate his entire lives to making you fall in love with him all over again in every reality there is. He would have as many times as necessary a first dance with you.

He didn't realize it, but his lips lifted in a smile. In a snap of fingers, everything reached a apex, higher than the buildings, higher even to the clouds. All the problems evaporated like mist in the sun, and being in a parallel reality, with a father that wasn't his, in a house that wasn't the one he grew up in, seemed to be extremely insignificant.

For the first time in a long time, Five Hargreeves was happy. And nothing would change that.

That's when, amidst all the arguing the Hargreeves and Sparrows were having around, your eyes met his. And for him it was like coming home after an excruciating winter.

You cocked your head slightly to the side, intrigued by the way that man was looking at you so…surrendered. You understood the gravity of the situation, of those strangers breaking into your home and trying to claim everything as theirs. You were also irritated just like your siblings.

But... when you looked at that man… with eyes so green and hair so dark, something inside you caught your breath. A shiver went up your spine. And maybe you were crazy, but you can swear that felt your soul heave a sigh of…relief. A strange, emotional feeling reverberated through your spirit as if…somehow you'd just found what you've spent so long waiting to met again.

It don’t make sense.

As the confrontation unfolded between the two families, you couldn't help but notice that, minute by minute, you found yourself wanting to look at this man more. As if it were never going to be enough, as if the second you turned your head, you were overcome with an insane urge to see more. You should be focused on trying to get those strangers out of your house, not admiring one of them.

But Five realized that. A spark inside him vibrated with hope, and he delighted in being able to relive the feeling of what it was like to be looked at by you again.

But before he or you could even do anything, the physical feud between the two families broke out with astonishing speed, spreading like the plague. Diego, as usual, was the first to go into battle, followed by Luther and Allison.

See, you didn't consider yourself a confrontational person. Your peculiarity was to manipulate the natural elements and, although that made you one of the strongest figures among your siblings, you had a more adventurous spirit than a fighter. There was no such homeric thirst in your blood to be the best, the strongest, the most brutal. Ben said that was the most unattractive thing about you, but Sloane saw this feature with good eyes. Like you, she wasn't much inclined to brutality.

The fight drove you and Five away from each other, separated by rooms, siblings and war. You saw your family appeal to brute aggression very quickly, while, if you're honest, you didn't want to hurt anyone. Is trut that you were irritated by the way they claimed your house as theirs, but you didn't think they were bad people.

Or all this bland resolutions were for the fact that you didn't want to hurt him. Because, in some way you couldn't explain, you knew he wouldn't hurt you.

But that's when Alphonso yelled at you from upstairs. “Y/N! Do fucking something too!”

Everyone was scattered around the house, but you still remained downstairs, in the living room, arranging a way to help without being very aggressive like your siblings were being. You had no intention of killing or seriously injuring them, but you also weren't willing to put up with the scolding your brothers would give you if you continued to be omitte.

So, when one of the strangers came running to get away from something, the tail of his dark overcoat dancing in the air and his black hat toppling along the path, your reaction was to do the one thing that couldn't seem to do any real damage. In a wave of the hand, the windows were shattered by large, sprawling tree roots, that came out of the garden earth like thick snakes and entered the house in a steady stream.

The man gave a high-pitched scream, but his feet were already entwined by the roots and he was knocked to the ground. The roots, which spilled earth over the floor and exhaled a forest smell, wrapped themselves around the man's body up to his chest, with the only purpose of immobilizing him.

You weren't putting force or brutality, and you were sure the roots were just putting considerable pressure on, like a bandage around an injured arm. But the man didn't seem to notice this, because he kept screaming.

The fear should still be clouding his senses, and you revealed the situation. For it wasn't often that someone was wrapped around by giant roots that moved of their own accord. In your place, you would have reacted that way too.

“Hey, hey” you tried to get closer “It's ok, they won't hurt you and…”

But your speech was interrupted by shrill hum, which cut through the air with force and passed like a bullet in front of your face, shaking a few locks of your hair. The speed were frightening, and for a second your heart stopped in your chest. The fright made you take two steps back immediately, but in a matter of seconds any feeling was replaced by a very strong burning in your left cheek. In the same second, a hot liquid began to ooze from your injured skin like water in a current, spreading pain wherever went.

Two seconds that were able to put you face to face with death. Because that attack was not joking.

The bearded man ran to help the one who was lying on the ground, forcing his freedom between the roots that were now weak due to your distraction.

Unlike you, Diego didn't care about the things he had to do to save his family. He was willing to injure, inflict permanent damage, even killing if that was the only way out. He would have a guilty conscience later, but in the heat of the moment, he wouldn't hesitate. Diego did this to the Commission agents hours ago, and he would do this to you if he had to. As sure as the sky was blue, the Sparrows were the enemy. And he was the hero. Thats it. Two polar opposites, destined to face each other into the death.

And that was why he didn't hesitate to attack when he saw Klaus lying on the floor, screaming as if he were being killed. After getting a small taste of the kind of things your powers were capable of doing, it was pretty clear that you were one of the first ones that needed to go down. So Diego didn't hesitate either when he pulled Klaus off the ground, and wielded yet another dagger. Aiming not to hurt, but to kill.

But love could drive even the smartest minds crazy.

Because when the dagger was thrown in the air, a blue flash invaded the scene and a male body enveloped yours, pushing both of you aside in a rough, protective, intense gesture.

Five Hargreeves was on the stair railing, fighting Jayme, when Klaus's screams grab his attention. He didn't have much time to process what he was seeing, but the moment one of Diego's daggers slashed across your cheek, the primal, visceral instinct he'd felt so long ago, with The Handler on The Commission, roared through him like an angry beast. So when another dagger was wielded and thrown into the air, he didn't think twice, didn't hesitate, didn't blink.

Dropping everything behind, Five Hargreeves dove into the blue flash, having you as the only focus in mind.

As soon as the crash of his body with yours caused you both to leave the deadly path, the arms, masculine and wide, wrapped around your back as if he were holding the only anchorage on the high seas in the middle of a storm. His heart was pounding in his chest, and as much that adrenaline, primal instinct and rage were bubbling through his body, he still managed to feel his soul sighing in deep relief when felt your warmth again in his arms.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"

Diego's angry roar seemed to shake the walls, but didn't stop the obstinate, angry look that swallowed Five's expression.

“Diego…” his voice didn't match the situation the Hargreeves found themselves in. His tone was serious, steady, so calm it was terrifying, like the warning of darkness to the light. “Stay away from her.”

His brother's confused and perplexed look couldn't have been more accentuated. And even Klaus, known for being the least serious about situations, looked completely astonished. Five Hargreeves didn't held you like he was preventing a murder. No. He held you like Cerberus should have held the only person he was ever loyal to.

"You are fucking crazy?!" Diego gestured with his hands “Let go the enemy now!”

The Hargreeves have been through a lot, seen a lot. Many of them being absurd, beyond any rationality or law of physics, moments in which they had to deal with situations that were not possible to be of this world. But nothing, and no one, could have prepared Diego and Klaus for what they heard from Five;

"Never."

The moment was dispersed when Viktor appeared in the room, shaking, hurt, out of his mind. His head fell back in a single gesture, his arms opened up and the fists closed, as white lights began to shoot out from within his eyes and chest.

Five Hargreeves knew what that meant.

He didn't think twice before running to the side, hiding you behind the bar counter and lowering you two bodies to the floor. His body in front of yours, blocking access to the roughest impact in you.

You two had three seconds, three seconds to look into each other's eyes before the flash explodes. And in that three seconds, the only thing that passed in the soul of both of you was the feeling of finally being where should be.

-----------

"They're stupid villains who think they're smart!" Ben was furious in the kitchen, pacing back and forth.

The last few days had passed like this. With Ben angry about the invasion, Ben angry about the fight, Ben angry about Marcus disappearing, Ben angry about... well... he was always angry.

Of all your siblings, he had the worst temper. Fei and Christopher were practically his dogs, going along with all of Ben's stupid plans just because... you really didn't know why they followed him so fervently, but had a theory that it was because they both thought they would have more power when Ben's plans came to fruition.

A hierarchical system that filled the family with toxicity.

On the other hand, there were Jayme and Alphonso. You never really understood the two, but you described them as bullies. A duo who liked the power they had and how they managed to exert it over people.

The only one you could relate to more deeply was Sloane.

"It would have been better if Y/n had made an attack." Alphonso brought your name up in conversation, his gaze full of rancor.

"Fuck off, asshole" It was the only thing you deigned to say, because you didn't have the patience to deal with his comments at the time.

The truth is, since the invasion, you couldn't get him out of your mind.

It was like a drug, an addiction, that had seeped into your blood from the first time you laid eyes on him. There was something there, something you could never explain. He should be the enemy. Your enemy. But…

The way he saved you from the knives, the way his arms wrapped around you. Almost like he already knows how to hold you. How to protect you.

Your heart couldn't slow down whenever your thoughts returned to that man. From the memory of him placing his body in front of you, standing at the forefront of the explosion.

He saved you. Everytime. And there was something that told you he would save you every chance he got.

The truth was…you wanted to see him. Know his name. Talk with him. There was no longer a fiber of your being that saw the situation as your siblingsdid, your body was facing the complete opposite north.

You wanted to touch him, not fight with him.

When time passed, and Luther showed up at the mansion as someone who was kidnapped, you, again, did not see the situation as a beneficial opportunity for your family. But for you.

Suddenly, your entire soul was gripped by a completely unsettling anxiety that made your hands itch, stomach churn, and your legs unable to stay still. Then you were swept by a feeling of deep sadness, as if you'd already experienced what it was like to spend your whole life wanting to see that man and never getting.

There was no more logic, rationality or coherence to what you were feeling, but finding him was as indispensable as breathing.

That's why you volunteered - more like an imposition - that you would be the one to escort Luther home the moment Ben said he could leave.

“It was kind of you to accompany me” The blond man smiled at you, as the two of you walked through the night streets.

"It was nothing." You tried to sound casual, but with every step toward your destination, the more your hands itched, the more your heart was racing, and in a moment, you found yourself picking up the pace to get there faster.

“I have to confess that you were a topic of discussion between my brothers.” Luther laughed, his odd way of bringing up the subject and not mincing words.

But that got your attention. "What do you mean?"

“A-ahem…well…from what I understand, Diego wanted to kill you, but Five stopped him and…”

Five…Five

His name was Five.

Something inside you stirred. An unfamiliar emotion, but one that made a smile rise to yourcheeks.

“Five” you tried to say aloud, and his name just… felt right on your lips.

You went the rest of the way not being able to pay attention to a single syllable Luther was saying. You don't wanted to be rude, but you just… couldn't stop thinking about Five.

“How long before we get there?” you cut off something Luther was saying about Sloane, and the blond eyebrows drawing together in strangeness.

“Actually” he looked at the big hotel in front of him “We already arrived and…”

But you couldn't stop yourself. All of your muscles felt like they had undergone countless electrical discharges, your heart was faster than any living soul has ever been, and your blood was rushing through your veins like marathon runners. You increased your pace considerably, quickly climbing the steps and opening the doors of that building as if you had just walked through the gates of paradise.

You needed to see him.

Luther came up behind you, giving you a suspicious look and walking towards a bar, where the outlines of several people were talking.

-----------

"I returned." Luther's voice brought Five out of his thoughts, and a part of her brain tried to remember the time his brother had left.

And he didn't find any answers.

To his defence, Five's mind had been elsewhere these days. Moments when he rewound in his mind once, twice, three times. Not even the impending new apocalypse knocking on the door seemed to have any effect on Five. To be honest, he… saw no point in trying to save the world this time. Meeting you once was a miracle, but meeting you again, in an entirely different reality and without The Commission making things difficult, seemed like too much of a luxury for him to ignore.

The truth was that in the first attempt to escape the apocalypse he ended up sending the family to different times, with intervals of years between each one. And, deep down, he didn't know if he could handle trying to take you with him to another reality and end up losing you too.

Five had been through this once before. He knew pain too well not to be willing to risk it.

“What is the enemy doing here?!"

Diego's voice snapped Five out of his thoughts, and an electric current shot through his head and reverberated down to his toes. Immediately, without any hesitation, his eyes flew away, finding not just Luther - whit several bags in hand - but you beside him.

You.

Something inside him ignited, his heart raced and, for a moment, the whole world around him fell away.

But just for a moment, because Diego was already getting up from his seat.

“Hey. Hey!” Five teleported away, once again placing the body in front of you . “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“What would anyone do to the enemy! What are you doing? Defending a stranger again?!"

“She is not a stranger, Diego. Now be quiet in your place before I have to do it for you.”

"She is not?" Klaus and Viktor said in unison

"I'm not?" Your voice, the only one that mattered to him, came from behind his back, quieter than the others but loud enough for him to hear.

Five turned towards you, turning his back on his siblings. Unlike how he looked at Diego, his eyes held all the softness and attention in the world when they met yours. A small smile appeared at the corner of his left mouth, a secret smile, hidden from the world but revealed only to you.

"It's a long story," he admitted, having no idea how to start. How to tell something that even to him don't make sense.

“I came to see you.” you rewarded his honesty with another truth, a gleam crossing his eyes like shooting stars. “I have time to listen.”

A smile blossomed on his lips, and Five was overcome by the purest feeling of happiness. Without saying anything, or giving anyone satisfaction, his hand laced into yours, and he disappeared with you in the blue flash.

-----------

Any sensible, practical, centered woman, would have laughed at what Five had just told you. Anyone who didn't get carried away by matters of the heart and didn't believe that two people, when destined to be together, are helped even by the wind, would have turned around and walked away.

But you weren't a sensible woman, nor practical, much less centered. Your being was composed of romance, adventure and magic. You fervently believed in destiny, soulmates and that some loves are capable of overcoming the barrier of space and time.

What's more, if all that wasn't enough, you also felt, from your soul to your bones, sensations that couldn't be explained. Feelings he was also saying he felt too. You believed in him. And that fact came as soft as the droplets of dew, as the brightness of the moon.

After his account came to end, with him letting himself be vulnerable in telling all the thoughts that ever crossed his mind about you, the urge to say just one thing screamed your blood rumbling. “You’re no the villain in my story” your words hung in the air.

“I am,” Five's voice brimmed with a liquid honesty that was able to chill your bones, but nothing in his words hinted at remorse for the things he'd already done. “But i'll be the villain for you. Not to you. I'll let worlds burn again if it means keeping you alive. In a problematic way, that I'll never be able to explain, I don't feel guilty about doing something if it means your safety.”

Five Hargreeves expected many things. Many different reactions. Many words of contradiction. But never what happened next.

Your mouth, without any hesitation, joined his in a kiss that was capable of making his world explode. His body was ignited by a fire that swallowed even his soul, washing away all his sins and giving a demon a taste of heaven.

So what was it like to kiss a goddess? An angel, a muse.

If before, without even touching your skin without the interference of clothing, Five would have happily accepted going to hell, now, with your hot mouth melting into his like warm honey, he would accept the torture of eternal fire with a smile on his face.

And when the small kiss intensified into something much bigger, his hands, warm and masculine, wrapped possessively around your waist. There was no going back. There was no turning back. Five would keep you for himself in the same selfishness that a villain steals a princess. And there was no hero in the world capable of pulling you away of his clutches.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He found the last bit of strength to let you know when your hands untied his tie “I could really hurt you.”

But all good intentions evaporated when your eyes, eager and full of desire, blinked at him. There was an addictive sweetness in that look. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the way your eyes held tinges of delicious submission but hid an incendiary fire behind them.

Fucking damn. He wanted you so badly.

"I don't care." Your breathless whisper invaded the room. But he didn't know if you understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Y/n.” his hands cupped your face. “I spent a lot of time contenting just for the way you looked at me. Spending sleepless nights reliving what it was like to feel the contour of your waist in my hand.” His voice was serious, deep, rough like sand scraping against stone. “Do you have any idea of the things I'm going to do to you now that I can finally, finally, have you?” his pitch lowered a few notes, like a predator talking to its prey.

You didn't know it, but only imagination made yours thighs tighten.

“I can destroy you.” his lips went to the foot of your ear, down to the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent and tasting you. “I can leave your body purple, your breasts bitten, your hips marked by the aggressiveness of mine whenever I enter on you.”

A moan escaped your mouth, fingers tightening on his arms, head lolling to the side.

Oh lord, please he do that.

Five's hands went up to your shoulders, in a touch that became more and more possessive, gluttonous, as if he wanted to swallow you.

“I can spend hours fucking you.” his fingers lowered the straps of your dress, letting the fabric fall unceremoniously to the floor. Five pulled his face away enough to be able to look at your body fully, and a husky growl followed right away. “I can kill you.”

Here, in that moment, Five Hargreeves was giving you one last chance to give up, to make him tame the villain he was and who would destroy you for any other man.

If you slept with Five Hargreeves, you would never stop being his.

"Do it." but you didn't have an ounce of self-preservation in the inner body "please."

You didn't have to beg twice. His hands pulled your legs up, making you place your feet on his hips and hug him with your legs. Your back hit the closed bedroom door as Hargreeves' mouth claimed all it could of his. Twisting your tongue around his, biting and sucking on your bottom lip, he was beginning to mark you as his in a single kiss.

“You have no idea how much I want you.” his confession was more of a hoarse groan, hands fumbling with his belt and lowering the waistband of his pants.

Under other circumstances, he would have sucked you until drive you unconscious, pushing your walls with his fingers until you begged for his cock. But he didn't have the presence of mind to do that now. Not now. Not today. He warned of the consequences of wanting to continue at that moment. But you wanted, you begged, and now he was no longer afraid of being able to fuck you with all the vehemence he needed.

Your moans invaded the room very quickly, your waist, even if limited by the door, moved in his groin, exorcising any common sense and control that Five once had.

He pushed your panties to the side impolitely and entered you in one single, glorious, primal thrust. His cock slid in with extreme ease, being completely soaked by the way your pussy was so slick.

“Oh fucking hell” his growl sent even more waves of pleasure to your uterus, and you pressed your mouth to his neck to keep from screaming.

That's when he withdrew and pushed himself into you. Strong, brute. Hitting until found the bottom of the well. His thrusts began relentlessly, thrusting in and out of you aggressively, possessively, almost animalistic. Five's hands were all over yourbody, fingerprinting every bit of your flesh. The nails digging into your waist when you contracted and squeezed him within your plush walls.

“Fuck. fuck.” his groans mingled with the attrition of the bodies of you two against the door, which sent loud, telltale noises throughout the hotel.

But you would rather die than stop.

His cock suddenly hit a place that made your moans come out too loud. Tears began to pool in the corner of your eyes, and your toes curled.

“Oh do you feel this, baby?” Five teased you, digging himself as deep as possible anatomically and rubbing the tip of his cock there, eliciting sly, desperate cries from you "That's your cervix."

Then he went back to fucking you aggressively, this time pulling his chest away from you and digging his hands hard into the flesh of your hips, pulling you towards him at a intensity that could only be described as animalistic.

This was better than anything he had ever tasted in his life. Better than any sin. Better than any whiskey.

His cock desecrated your pussy like it was the only thing that mattered in the world, pulling thick liquids out of you that enveloped him in pasty white rings. Five Hargreeves would ensure that whenever you thought of any man, your mind was invaded by the way he fucked you.

"I will… I will…" your tearful voice blended with the noise of the door slamming and your bodies bumping into each other.

“Thats right, baby” his mouth covered your “cum for me. cum so I can fill that gluttonous pussy with my cum.”

If the way he thrust in and out of you wasn't enough to make you come, his lines had done the job. You came in a glorious explosion of stars, colors and sensations. Your body contracted with absurd force and relaxed like the best of massages. Your arms went limp around his neck, and you could feel his cock tremble and the hot, thick liquid fill your entire pussy.

The noise of the door stopped, his moans calmed down and now the only thing that could be heard was the heavy breathing in the air.

You thought it was over, until Five climbs a hand to your neck and lets out a broken growl "'You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat, baby."

His cock moved inside you, moving in and out smoothly, pushing his cum even deeper inside you. Make sure you gobble it all up.

“Did you think we were done, princess?” he chuckled evilly, his lips moving closer until they were inches from yours. "I'm just getting started. I'm going to show you how much I've wanted you this whole fucking time.”

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lunargrapejuice · 10 months

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hellooo :)))

i love your writing so much and i don't know if requests are open but if they aren't ignore this please :>

i literally would DIE for diluc hurt/comfort anyday i love him so much ☹️💞💞

can i please request diluc x fem reader who is suffering with depression but hides it from diluc because he already has a traumatic background and she doesn't wanna be a burden, and he finds out about her depression when she is having one of her episodes and he just goes all fluffy 🤭 💕

you don't have to write this if you're uncomfortable but have a nice day/night anyways :)) and lola is so cute btw :3

diluc ragnvindr x reader

warnings: no pronouns used, hurt/comfort, mentions of depression but i tried to make it pretty generalized! what i did write was based on my own experience with depression so im sorry if it’s wrong compared to anyone else’s

authors note: thank you so much for your kind words & for requesting! i hope this was okay 🥺🩷 hehe lola is such a lil baby thank you🩷💕

diluc had always told you that you could rely on him whenever you needed, for anything you needed, and when he said those words you had agreed with a smile when you knew just how little you wanted to burden him with anything at all. let alone these emotions you had dealt with for so long, that still seemed to get the better of you from time to time, that could consume you and make the world feel as dark and heavy as the deepest parts of the sea.

so you never reached out, never told him about the emotions crashing into you like a rocky tide even when you felt like you might break under his tender gaze and his worried tone as he asks if you’re alright when you weren’t doing the best of jobs at holding it together. seeing the stoic diluc worry for you, offer you himself just to be sure you were alright.. a part of you felt as though you didn’t deserve it, but he was always so kind, and he needn't worry about you. he already had so much on his mind and that weighed down his own heart..

this was something you could and would keep to yourself, something you had to fight all by yourself, and you did your damndest to hide it from him. even as you fell for him, wanting to give him your heart and soul, including the broken pieces you were trying so hard to put back together, you chose to keep it close to your chest and not let him be burdened by your depression.

but what were you to do when he caught you drowning in the middle of that vast, depthless, ocean and offered you himself to hold onto?

his voice was wrought with emotion as he called your name and caught your attention through your teary eyes. you thought you had been avoiding him successfully, seeing him enough to where he wouldn’t suspect you but with enough distance that he wouldn’t see just how okay you were not the past weeks, but now that he was in front of you, kneeling to meet your body that felt too heavy to carry as you cried, you realize maybe he had known all along and waited patiently for you to tell him or show him.

you saw the black leather of his gloves hovering over you, hesitant to touch you but his ruby eyes told you of how badly he wished to hold you, to comfort you. he was so close you could smell the lingering fragrance of wine and oak on his skin, felt the heat of his body even if he wasn’t touching you at this moment.

“please.. talk to me,” he pleads, his voice cracking at his own emotions becoming too much for him to hold back.

of course he had noticed the signs of your sadness, not knowing the entire depths of it all but nonetheless wanting to help you carry it, remind you that you were never alone and that his strength, no matter the form you needed it in, would always be yours to rely upon. when he came to check up on you, his heart yearning to see you, he hadn’t expected to find you in the quietness of your living room, clinging to a pillow as if it might help stop your sobbing the tighter you held it.

he was quick on his feet to make his way to your side, forgetting about anything other than you and the deep desire to do anything to bring back your smile, but startling you in the process when his fingers touch your shoulder and you jump back in surprise, not having heard him knock at the door or call your name before entering after your sad sounds muffled through the door had him thinking the worst.

“diluc..” you choke out, not knowing what to do other than succumb to how badly you need him right now. in the suffocating ice depths he was the blazing fire that promised to keep you safe, keep you warm, until you could go on; the steadiness of it, of him, a silent vow to never leave your side.

the moment your hands touch his arms, trembling fingers clinging to his coat sleeves with a tighter grip than you intended, he finally lets himself touch you again. his touch is much softer than your own, as if you were made of the finest glass and he was the sworn keeper and protector of such a precious object. warm leather catches your endless tears, strokes your cheeks to try to wipe them away and when he learns it will be to no avail, at least not yet, his gentle hands tangle into your hair and around your middle, pulling you against his chest.

his touch grows more intense then, nearly matching your own that holds onto the back of his coat and some of his hair. it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t bother him, hold on as tightly as you need for he would not waver.

you can hear the beating of his heart in your ears, each thump quieting the thoughts you couldn’t get to stop before. the warmth that surrounds you seeps into your bones and thaws every bit of cold that held you, the softness of his shirt collecting your tears, his quiet ‘i’m here’ and ‘i’ve got you’ wrapping around your heart and encasing it in protective flames.

after a while, never once parting from each other's embrace, your body grows weak, your hold softening while his remained comforting and steady. your eyes no longer weep so unwillfully but your sorrow is replaced with shame and worry. you hadn’t meant for him to see.. wanted to be stronger than this for him and for yourself-

your thoughts are cut off by the hand once lost in your hair now gently pulling up your chin to meet his gaze, nothing but earnest worry and love swirling in his scarlet eyes. for the first time since you grabbed ahold of him, he finally lets go of your middle, long and steady fingers coming to move the hair sticking to your wet cheeks. your eyes flutter closed as his movements and you keep your arms around him, not ready to let go but he doesn’t have any intention of moving away from you.

he whispers your name, his own emotions still at the back of his throat, and your eyes open slowly in response, even if at times under his undivided attention you couldn’t look for long before bursting with warmth and embarrassment. you think perhaps you should be embarrassed now, puffy eyes with wet lashes and your running nose, the mess you’ve made of his shirt, the truth of what you’ve been hiding from him finally coming to light, leaving you vulnerable but you find yourself unable to look away despite it all and your heart beating with hope when he speaks again.

“whatever ails you, no matter what it is, i will always be beside you to help you through it. in any way i can,” his fingers caress your cheek with one hand and along your jaw with the other. you swear you could cry all over again but for happier reasons this time. “i will hold you. i will give you my strength, anything you could ask for. and when you’re ready to share with me, i will listen.”

“‘luc..” your eyes drop, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his coat. you don’t want to keep it from him any longer.. not when he looks at you like this, like you were his whole world. but your worries hold you back.. “how could i possibly burden you with this?” you mumble, like a child not wanting to admit that had done something bad. “after everything..”

before you can say more, compare your sorrows to his own when that was the very last thing he wanted, he pulls you against his chest. the past haunted him, kept a dark cloud over his world, blocking out the sun and moon, but you were his future, his light in that darkness and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you. there was nothing he would let you go through alone.

neither of you would ever have to go through anything alone again, not now that you had each other.

“you are never a burden to me,” he says it like it was so matter of fact but still like it pained him that you thought anything different. “please share your happiness and sorrows with me,” his grip tightens around you, his face now buried in the crook of your neck, breath hot on your skin, soft red locks tickling your jaw and neck. “through it all i swear i’ll be here.”

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bri-sonat · 1 year

Text

Enjoy The Silence

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x fem!knight!reader

Warnings: NSFW!! heavy smut, praise kink, degradation kink, corruption kink if you squint, fingering, oral sex

A/N: i would like it to be known that i wrote this mostly for fun, the idea popped in to my head and i couldn’t stop thinking about it. paragraphs were haunting me and i had to get it out and this is what it became. i will probably write whenever i get a an idea like this again, but will probably not commit myself to the role cause i’ll get overwhelmed. but all that aside, i have an idea for a very smutty follow up if people are interested. oh, and english isn’t my first language so just ignore grammar mistakes and such things. enjoy!

Cold midnight air ruthlessly bit at your cheeks as you made the final round of your patrol. Soothing silence broken every now and then by your armor clad body as you took slow, deliberate steps along the rampart.

You stopped, taking in the wail of the wind, closing your eyes allowing your other senses to become heightened. Taking a deep breath you could almost taste the winter, smell the recognizable aroma of water against steel, hear the slow footsteps of boots against snow.

Opening your eyes you glance down towards the courtyard, where the invading sound had been coming from. A small smile playing on your lips as you watch Brienne cross the open space, her steps confident and a disciplined expression grazing her features. She doesn’t seem to notice you watching her and she eventually walks out of view.

It had only been 12 months since you first met Ser Brienne of Tarth. You were intrigued by the tall blonde knight from the moment you saw her. She wasn’t easy to miss, towering over most people, just like she had the day you arrived.

———

Entering the Winterfell courtyard a year ago, you watched her from a far, taking in her being. Her otherwise soft features overwritten by a stoic look on her face.

Her eyes so blue, like the deepest ocean, observing the fighters she was training. Her cerulean eyes held a certain sadness, hidden by the way she carried herself. Back straight and a hand on the hilt of her sword, she paced, watched, making small adjustments to the men that you couldn’t hear from where you stood.

You were captivated by her, drawn in like a moth to a flame by her beauty and grace. She stepped in, offering herself as a sparring partner to those wanting to practice on her.

You watched as she took stance; blocking, parrying, striking with such elegance you could’ve sworn you were watching an ethereal being. Her feet moving on their own, swords clashing against each other as she took down man after man, a small smirk playing on her pale face as she panted.

You watched as she dismissed the men who walked away grunting, pissed after being defeated by a woman.

Walking up to her, she became taller for every step you took. Stopping behind her, you cleared your throat, grabbing the attention of the taller woman, causing her to turn around and look down at you with a neutral expression.

“Can I help you?”

The voice that exited her mouth was deep, coated in the most delicious accent you had ever heard. You stared up into her blue eyes, even more beautiful up close, accented by her porcelain skin. She cocked her eyebrows as she waited for your answer.

Giving her a small nod and introducing yourself, you watched as she reacted to your knight title, a very subtle smile on her face, disappearing as quick as it appeared. She repeated your name, loving the way it rolled on her tongue, dripping out of her mouth like honey. She gave a nod back.

“I was told to come here and speak to a Ser Brienne of Tarth about offering my services. I don’t suppose you know where I could find her?” Hand resting on the hilt of your sword by your hip, you took a look around the courtyard, it was empty. You moved your sight back to the taller woman, watching her in anticipation for her answer.

“I am Ser Brienne of Tarth. I had been told to expect someone, but I thought it would be a man considering the title. I apologize for the assumption, I hadn’t heard of another female knight.” She shifted her gaze from yours to glance behind you.

You had heard stories about Brienne of Tarth, but you’d never met her. The stories were a mix of praise and disdain, depending on who you asked.

The stories of praise spoke of her abilities as a fighter, her accomplishments. Defeating multiple strong fighters, leaving her known as one of Westeros’ strongest fighters, albeit underrated.

The other stories were not as forgiving. Talking about how she was a great beast of nature, a monster, ugly, not feminine enough. Nothing she ever did to her appearance was good enough, if she tried dressing more like a lady, she was made fun of. When she started following the warriors path, she was made fun of. She could never get away from the constant ridicule, didn’t matter if she tried to fit in, her lack of conventional attraction betrayed her.

The nickname “Brienne the Beauty” ghosted through your mind and you couldn’t understand how that would be used as derision, when what you saw before you clearly made the nickname literal. She was enchanting, the golden-hour sun lighting up her face in the most beautiful way.

“Good. Then I think we have matters to discuss, don’t we?” Smiling softly up at her you watched as the sun casted shadows across her features, “However, I believe I have a short stop to make first. Will you take me to your grace?” Your words brought her eyes back to yours and she matched your smile. It was magical witnessing such a sight, you had to stop yourself from physically swooning, mentally; you did not.

“Of course. Right this way, Ser.” She gestured with her hand as she slightly turned, allowing you to walk past her.

———

The months that followed were filled with training, standing beside Brienne as she acted as a master-at-arms, you offering to act as a sparring partner so she could observe. Both of you allowed yourselves a little healthy competition after dismissing the trainees, known to spar against each other on occasion. She was impressed by your skill, you with hers that you already knew she inhibited. It was a privilege to observe her so up close and personal, her swordsmanship alike nothing you had ever seen before. It was incredible, she was incredible.

The evenings were filled with laughter and stories as you drank and feasted together. Her telling stories of what it was like growing up on Tarth, her stories and travels, you telling stories of your adventures, accomplishments and childhood. Speaking happily about the freedom you had growing up in Dorne, being able to express yourself without judgement.

She had a lot of queries about your home, curious to learn as much as possible. It reminded you of a child the way she couldn’t keep to one question, often asking multiple in one breath. You found it endearing seeing her undeniable eagerness and excitement to learn of the life she could’ve lived. Answering to the best of your abilities, she couldn’t help the smile that would creep on to her face when you told her that women lay with women, without discrimination.

She spoke sadly of a ball her father held, but never went in to detail. Respectful of her boundaries and privacy, you didn’t pry. The more time you spent together, the more you felt yourself falling in love with her.

It was a wonderful feeling, love, but it ached, knowing that she probably did not love you back.

But she did. She too had found herself falling in love with you, much to her dismay. Insecurities and past heartbreak haunting her, plaguing her. The thought that you probably found her as disgusting and nauseating as everyone else, but were too respectful to say anything was on a constant repeat in her mind. Reminding her over and over again that she could not and did not deserve to be loved by someone as kind, compassionate, righteous and honorable like you.

Everyday over the months that passed, you spent time together. Meeting for breakfast in the morning, training during the day, splitting up to do some other mundane but necessary tasks, until you reconvened for dinner during the evening.

Laughs, stories and longing glances were exchanged, until you had to part ways to make your rounds. Ending the day in your chambers, by yourself, heart aching as it yearned for hers. This was all you knew, becoming routine after the first few weeks.

Then one night something happened. You and Brienne had gotten into a fight, a disagreement over something long since forgotten, but at the time seemed like the most important thing in the world.

Your voices loud against the night sky as you exchanged words out in the courtyard, excessively gesturing to get your point across, face red with wrath. Brienne had her arms crossed over her chest, face pulled together in a mix of incredulity and exasperation.

In an act of trying to one up each other, you kept taking footsteps closer and closer. You could feel the anger radiating off of Brienne, yet you couldn’t stop, you were so incredibly frustrated with her, you had to keep going. Letting yourself become consumed by anger, you were no longer in a state of mind to control your actions. She drove you crazy, in a plethora of ways.

It was when you placed a sharp finger to her tunic clad sternum that the both of you froze.

Thick, almost suffocating silence overtook the courtyard, only thing being heard was the low gust of wind, and panting breaths, coming from both you and Brienne. You stared at your finger placed firmly in the middle of her chest with wide eyes. This was the first time you had ever touched.

Your face turning red for a completely different reason this time, Brienne stared down at your finger, taking a hesitant step forward, allowing you to leave if needed, letting her arms drop to her side.

Your hand flattened out, finger replaced with the palm of your hand. Brienne’s heart was beating fast and hard underneath your palm and you almost waited for it to beat out of her chest. The quickened pace of her organ pumping blood beneath your hand was all you could feel as you became encompassed by her, her pleasant fragrance of sweat accumulated over the day was all you could smell as she stepped in to your space.

Taking another step forward you looked up from your hand to meet the taller blondes burning gaze, eyes softening. Your breath hitched at the sight of her, hair messy from running her hands through it in frustration. Blonde locks framed her face, her beautiful sapphire eyes filled with awe, glimmered in the moonlight.

She was waiting for the moment you would realize what was happening, the second your face would shift in to a face of detestation due to her proximity and run away. But the moment never came, you just kept looking up at her, breath heavy, your eyes glossy.

She gazed in to your eyes, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her intense blue eyes flicking from yours, to your lips and back. She watched as you took another step closer, becoming flush with her body. You quivered at the sensation, her entire body radiating heat, your mind turning in to mush at the way her breath ghosted on your skin.

A slow and tentative hand came up to cup your jaw, a thumb caressing your cheek. You sighed and leaned in to her touch, stuttering breaths escaping from your mouth.

All your inhibitions and restrictions fell out the window, you needed her. Needed to feel her lips on yours, needed to know what she tasted like. You had dreamt about this for six months and you were so close to finally have it become reality. Her thumb shifted from your cheek to run it over your bottom lip, causing you to internally scream at the contact.

She loved the feeling of your lip under her thumb, it was so soft, so inviting, almost pulling her in. And oh so very kissable. Releasing a hum of fascination, she dragged her thumb down, pulling your bottom lip with it, slightly parting your mouth. You had to hold back a quiet moan at her gentleness, her sensuality. She was irresistible.

You just needed to take the chance, it was now or never. The second her thumb moved from your lip back to stroking your cheek you spoke, mouth moving faster than your thought process.

“Kiss me.”

Brienne gazed down at you, hand still on your face. She was shocked at your request, she had never kissed anyone before, less have someone ask her to do so. She always thought she would go her entire life without knowing what it felt like to be kissed. Without knowing the burning touch of another, having come to terms with the idea of living and dying alone a long time ago. Then along you came, looking at her in a way that burned her up from the inside, and she allowed herself to hope. Allowed herself to hope that you could somehow look past all the prejudice and love her for who she was. She had so much love to give, it was practically bursting at the seams.

And here you were, willing to receive all the love she had been wanting to shower you with for months. There were so many emotions swirling around inside her, but the most dominant one was fear, the fear of rejection that stayed with her, it followed her everywhere. She had to know if you were playing with her heart. Terrified of what your answer might be she had to ask. Had to know.

“Are you-“ she started. Wanting to break you out of the trance you both had ended up in. Still waiting for that one moment she had seen so many times before. The face she had come to know so well, filled with ridicule, revulsion, and utter disgust; always followed by a laugh, a scoff, or in the best case scenario, a clear demonstration of distance. Making it known that they found her so repulsive that they did not even want to be near her.

“By the Gods, would you just kiss me!” You couldn’t take another tantalizing second, each one spent longing for her, like you had done ever since you met.

She was taken aback by the sudden outrage, but seeing the look in your eyes made her smile, wide. Your eyes were filled with nothing but love for her, looking at her in a way she had never experienced before. The moment she had seen so many times would never come like she had expected it to. Only thing on your face was adoration, fondness, warmth, affection, and admiration. All directed at her.

There would be no rejection, no ridicule. You wanted her love, and she wanted yours. Oh, she wanted it so bad. She wanted to bask, bathe and relish in the warm feeling of being seen. Seen for who she was, past all the hurt, past her stature, past all the stupid stories. She felt pretty under your gaze, beautiful, even.

Leaning down, inching closer, you could feel her hot breath against your lips, her nose nuzzling up against yours. Closing your eyes, you waited for the moment you had pictured so many times before.

Her soft lips connecting to yours sent you in to a world of pure satisfaction, you both hummed in to the kiss, allowing yourselves to relax, taking in the other. The hand that had been dangling by your side was brought up to Brienne’s waist, holding on to her for dear life. Almost like you were expecting her to disappear in to thin air, or that you’d wake up in your bed, all of this just being a dream. Her lips moving against yours in a way you had never experienced before made it perfectly clear that this was indeed happening. No dream could ever be this realistic, her lip between yours as you kissed her with a fervor you never realized you had.

Her other hand on your hip, she held you up as your knees threatened to give out under you. The hand you had placed on her chest snaked up to land around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer to you.

Playing with the hair at the back of her head you slightly pulled, causing her to gasp in to the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen it.

Tongues fighting for dominance, much reminding you of the sword fights you two had. Just like your sword fights, this one also seemed to end up in a tie, eventually yielding, letting your tongues work in harmony to drive out as much of the yearning and pining that was humanly possible. The ache in your hearts vanishing, as they finally found each other, beating in sync.

Breaking off the kiss to get some much needed air, you pulled away to take in the sight in front of you. Brienne’s face was red, lips swollen and her chest heaved, desperate for air. Breathing in each other you stayed in your position, one hand around her neck and one on her waist. Hers on your cheek and hip. You brought your head in to lean Brienne’s forehead against your own, her having to crouch down to make up for the height difference.

You smiled at her, she gave you the biggest grin you had ever seen on her beautiful face back. Her breathtakingly blue eyes filling with tears of joy as you enjoyed each others company. Breaking the now pleasant silence, you whispered to her and in to the night sky.

“What were we fighting about again?”

———

The six months that followed after this was heavenly. Heavy make-out sessions, wandering and curious hands, lingering touches and kisses left on warm skin. It was all new and exciting. Taking time to learn what buttons to press, where to kiss, where to touch. It was like laying out a new course on a map, exploring uncharted territory. You learned pretty fast to not leave marks where they could be seen, having been gawked at by the fighters you trained. After that you watched where Brienne’s armor and everyday clothes covered, her doing the same with yours. Everything beneath the dip of your throats were fair game.

Bruised collarbones and shoulders became a regular sight. Marks in all different stages of healing, coloring your skin with shades of yellow, red and purple. You often found yourself running your fingers over them as you undressed in the evenings, remembering her wet and warm mouth on your body. She had become so good at using her mouth, you were astounded at how quick she learned. It took some time for her to get past the initial embarrassment of how much she enjoyed the taste of your skin, but once she heard the appetizing noises you would release it didn’t take long for her to find the confidence to shamelessly and hungrily lick, suck and kiss wherever she could reach.

Staying clothed during your late night meetings, you made it a habit to slightly unlace your tunic, exposing your shoulders and collarbones to Brienne’s hot mouth. Her doing the same. The first time you had seen her bare broad shoulders and collarbones you had to stifle a mewl, wanting to taste her as soon as you saw them, and you did. Hearing the scrumptious sounds that left her mouth as yours traveled all over her upper body had you feral, animal instincts taking over; kissing, sucking and licking like your life depended on it.

About three months in to your arrangement you had sworn your loyalty to her, she had done the same. Offering your swords and kneeling, speaking your love out in to the universe. Swearing to the old Gods and the new, to always come back and stay by each other’s side. The way of the warrior known for being a path with gruesome and early deaths, you did not want to waste any time. Making it known that if either of you perished in battle, you died being loved. You also swore to protect each other, even though you were perfectly capable of physically doing it yourselves, you also applied it to other situations in life. Promising to protect each other’s honor and reputation, to stand up for the love you shared. This, you swore, to the old Gods and the new.

You and Brienne kept your day arrangement going, keeping your usual distance as to not draw suspicion. Only thing that was different was that before going to sleep in your own chambers by yourselves, you would silently stalk to hers, or she would come to yours, using the darkness of night as your cover. It was so exhilarating, the sneaking around. The feeling of being involved in a forbidden romance, like Romeo and Juliet, was dirty. It felt hot, and it turned you on, immensely.

Allowing yourselves a short time where you would be completely alone together, away from prying eyes. You would hold each other, kiss, or talk, but you had never laid.

It was a subject neither of you felt any need to rush in to, but as the make-out sessions grew hungrier, the more the heat between your legs grew, throbbed and begged for attention. Brienne’s large hands exploring everywhere except for where you needed them.

Which eventually ended up with you moaning her name in to the darkness as you touched yourself before going to sleep, imagining it was her fingers. It was a way to cope, to keep you from throwing yourself at her, a way to keep you sane as you yearned for her touch.

She had told you she was a maiden a month in to your relationship, and you told her in return that you would wait until she specifically told you she was ready, however long that would take. For her you’d wait an eternity if needed.

———

The past year had gone by in a flash, your life completely changed after meeting Brienne, in the best way possible. Standing overlooking the courtyard, you watched the midnight sky and it’s residing stars, being just as beautiful as the night when you two first kissed.

Your patrol finished, you made your way to your chambers, armor clanking as you moved swiftly through the courtyard, following the same path Brienne had taken minutes before.

Entering your room, you quickly rid yourself of your armor and sword, placing them on the armor stand by your bed. Not wanting to leave yourself entirely without protection, you strapped a tiny dagger to the waistline of your trousers.

Turning on your heel you left the room, making a direct line for Brienne’s to continue your midnight rendezvous.

You silently knocked on her door. Feet shuffling behind it were heard before Brienne opened, a smile on her face.

“Hi,” she swept over your figure with her eyes. Frowning at the dagger sitting on your hip, “what’s up with the dagger?”

You looked down at the weapon, smiled and looked back up at her. “Just for protection, in case something happens. What if I have to defend you?” you joked. Brienne breathed out a laugh and stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

She was in the process of removing her armor when you arrived, a crackling fire warming up the room. You sat down on the edge of her bed and watched as she removed piece after piece, back turned to you. You knew she preferred doing it herself, so you didn’t interfere.

“Did you have a nice patrol?” You hated small talk, but you were curious to know if she’d noticed you spectating her. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at you where you sat.

“About the same as usual. Only thing worth noting was the feeling of being watched.” She smirked, she knew. Your face became flushed, causing Brienne to chuckle, she found it adoring.

“So you did notice.” It was phrased like a question, but said as a statement. Brienne finally removed her chest piece, leaving her in tunic and pants.

“Yes, hard to not notice when someone as attractive as you is watching. I have to be on my best behavior,” she turned, sauntering towards you.

“Are you not always on your best behavior?” You teased, not knowing where this was going, but you played along; liking this side of her.

“I try to be,” reaching you, she pulled you up from the bed by your hand and you stood, facing her. “I’ve been thinking.” Her mischievous face became serious, worrying you. You watched as she took a deep breath, looking in to your eyes.

“I’m ready. I am yours.” You stared at her, confusion painted across your face. It took you a minute until you realized what she meant. You smirked, eyes darkening, desire taking over. You grabbed a hold of her hips, turned her around, and started leading her towards the bed.

“I was wondering how long it would take,” the back of her knees hitting the edge of the bed signaled you to lightly push her chest, causing her to sit down. You settled your knees on either side of her broad thighs, straddling her, large hands coming up to grip your waist. “I’m starving.” A worried expression takes over her face.

“You haven’t eaten today?” she watched you, your libido-drunk face never changing. “No, you did. We ate together. Are you still hungry?” Her attentiveness and care for you warmed your heart.

“I’m not talking about that kind of hunger. I crave you, Brienne. I want to taste you.”

Blood rushed to her face once it clicked what you meant. Hands starting at her strong arms, slowly moving up towards her shoulders. She watched with bated breath the way your pupils dilated.

She wanted this as much as you did, having ignored the growing feeling of carnal desire for too long. She longed to feel you in her most sensitive and neglected places. As nimble fingers started working on the lace of the blondes tunic, a hand gently grabs your wrist, halting your movements. Your eyes, never having left hers, watched as she opened and closed her mouth, words not coming out.

“Brienne, you know we don’t have to do this, we can keep waiting if you’re not comfortable.” Your hands moved to hold her face, looking at her lovingly, a face of compassion taking over your features. She dropped her hand, placing it back on your waist.

“No, it’s not that,” she looked away, blushing. “I was hoping to give you pleasure, being the only one out of us who has felt it before. I can imagine you’re yearning for it.”

You grabbed her chin, causing her pretty eyes to meet your burning gaze, your face had changed back in to an expression of pure, unadulterated lust.

You smirked at her, “There’s no need to worry about that, I’ve been… dealing with it, on my own,” Brienne’s eyes widened and her teeth tugged on her bottom lip at the realization, images and sounds of you fucking yourself flooding her mind, making the taller knight release a whimper, “what I really want is to take care of you, baby. I want to hear all the noises that leave that pretty little mouth of yours. Will you let me take care of you, baby?” The blonde watched you, nodding faster than she meant to, aching for your touch. She could feel the heat pool between her legs, subconsciously clenching her thighs. You noticed.

“Eager, aren’t we?” skilled fingers moved back to the lace of Brienne’s tunic, making quick work of it. Your mouth catching hers, tongues dancing together in a ferocious fashion.

Almost ripping the tunic off of your lovers broad shoulders, your hands were quick in finding the mounds of flesh, kneading them, pinching nipples, drawing out the most ungodly sounds from the knight under you. You swallowed her groans as you groped, not getting enough of the way her bare skin felt under your fingertips. You pulled away from the kiss, wanting to see the mess you’ve made of the otherwise calm and collected warrior.

You removed your hands from her breasts to dismiss the tunic from her upper body, throwing it on the floor, exposing her to you. You watched as her chest heaved, drawing in breath after breath. Her face was flushed, eyes watching you, lips wet and swollen, she was so incredibly beautiful, you dared think perfect.

“That’s right. Just keep watching me with those pretty eyes of yours.” You cooed as you stroked her face in an act of affection. She looked up at you in a way that drove you absolutely crazy, a look of innocence corrupted with desire.

You moved your head down, taking one of her nipples in to your mouth. Tongue swirling as she throws her head back, your name falling off her lips. It made you shudder, you wanted to hear it again, and again, and again.

Gently biting down and soothing the sting with your tongue, Brienne jumped, a surprised gasp mixed with a moan exiting her mouth. You kept biting and sucking, leaving marks for her to see in the morning when she got dressed, or whenever she was alone. Leaving them as a reminder that she was yours. They would potentially serve as a problem for when she bathes, but you’d deal with that whenever the predicament arrives.

Your hand replacing your mouth, you gave her other nipple the same attention you gave the first. Drawing out more unholy noises from her, noises that a knight of the Seven Kingdoms shouldn’t make.

You had wondered what she would sound like when she came, hell, you had dreamed of it. You could hardly wait to taste and feel her around your fingers, but you needed to be patient, make it as pleasurable for her as possible. You needed her first time to be perfect, your line of work didn’t really come with a life expectancy, so you wanted her to remember every touch, every kiss.

Brienne’s hands moved to remove the dagger hilt from your pants, throwing it on her tunic, before moving up to your lace. Desperation to touch your bare skin acting as fuel made her quick in unlacing the piece of cloth, taking it off, and throwing it on the already growing pile of clothes on the floor. She breathed out your name, her voice an octave lower than usual, husky and coated with lechery. It made a shiver run down your exposed back.

You removed your mouth from Brienne’s breast as you lifted your head and you met her eyes. She watched you with such awe, you couldn’t wait any longer. You needed her.

One hand resting on her bare shoulder, you moved your other hand downwards, slowly dragging your fingers over her abdomen, enjoying the way she trembled, her skin prickling under your touch. Stopping at the hem of her trousers you spoke, “I’ve been dying to know how you’ll feel around my fingers as you cum, screaming my name. I guess we’re about to find out, hmm?” Your tone mockingly condescending. Brienne couldn’t muster any words, her throat dry as she felt your fingertips dancing so close to where she craved you.

The sound of Brienne’s pants unbuckling mixed with her eager breaths, along with the crackling of the firewood filled the room.

Bringing your hand up to Brienne’s mouth, you encouraged her to open it. She took your finger in her mouth, sucking, getting it ready for her. Oh, she was so happy and willing to do whatever you wanted, so ready to please. So good.

Moving down again, dipping a hand under the hem of her pants and undergarments, you dragged a finger over her slick heat, growling at the sensation of it against your finger.

Brienne shoved her face in to your shoulder to stifle the moan that came out. “No, don’t do that. I want to hear you,” she lifted her head to meet your gaze as your finger continued to explore her wet folds, moving up to rub gentle circles on her sensitive clit, “Well done, baby. You’re so responsive.” You had her wrapped around your finger, she was yours, and you hers. It was a glorious feeling to have such a dominant woman moaning for you in this way like some common whore.

“Oh, God. It feels so good. Please, make me cum, I wanna feel you, please.” She was a moaning mess underneath you, begging you, and you basked in the noises she made.

“Well, since you asked so nicely. Who am I to deny my good girl the pleasure she deserves?” Brienne let out a noise at the pet name. She loved getting praised by you. She whined as you moved off of her, but stopped complaining as she watched you get on your knees in between her thighs.

She wantonly spread her legs, lifting her hips up so you could pull off her trousers, her undergarments following. You audibly moaned as Brienne’s wet cunt was exposed in front of you.

Enticed by the strong aroma of the blondes arousal you didn’t waste a second, licking up her slit, you stopped at her clit and circled it with your tongue. You savored the flavor of her, tasting just like you had imagined her to, if not better. “You taste so fucking good,” you murmured against her clit, causing a vibrating sensation.

Brienne let out a guttural moan, almost a scream, at the sensation of your mouth on her clit. She bucked her hips towards your mouth and your hands grabbed hold of them, keeping her still. You mindlessly put one of her legs over your shoulder, giving yourself more access to her wet center.

She breathed out your name, it sounded so sinful on her lips, obscenities falling from her mouth in the most filthy way. It spurred you on.

“More, please.” She was so good, saying please. When she asked you so nicely, how could you possibly resist?

Your finger that had been running through her folds earlier was used to tease the blondes entrance. You looked up at her, growing wetter at the sight.

She was intensely watching you, waiting to be brought to new-found heights of pleasure she had never traversed before. She could almost cum just by the sight of you between her legs, eating her out so ravenously.

“You feel so good, Ser.” Oh, the the way your title fell off her lips in such a sinful way almost felt illegal. You wanted to hear it again.

One of Brienne’s hands flew down to grab on to your head, the other one kneading her breast.

“Call me that again.” You were insatiably devouring the taller woman’s heat, all your senses filled with her. You wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

You slowly pushed in one finger, loving the feeling of her walls clenching around your digit. You worked it in, and out. Curving it, hitting that sweet spot inside of Brienne that made her scream Ser together with your name in pleasure. You smirked against her as the title left her mouth, she was so good at following directions. You had to let her know.

“Such a good little slut, following my requests without a second thought.” She reacted to your new name for her by wailing out a moan, a mix of praise and degradation. It drove her insane.

You kept working her, holding eye-contact as you added another finger once you felt she was ready. Lifting your head to take in her entirety, wanting to see her face and body react.

“You take me so well. I wonder what everyone would think if they saw you now. The Brienne of Tarth, screaming and moaning, like some common whore,” she was growing feral at the dirty words you were spewing as you were fucking her, “perhaps they would even be interested to know how your dominance is mostly for show. You’re really just a submissive slut, begging to be dominated and fucked, just,” you thrusted your fingers in hard, “like,” leaving your fingers inside of her, you curved them, hitting the spongy spot inside of her over and over, thumb brushing over her swollen clit, “this. Isn’t that right, pet?” She was screaming at this point, not caring if anyone heard her, too busy chasing that high almost in her grasp. So close she could taste it. “They probably wouldn’t be too happy to know about you tainting the Gods name either. Blasphemy. Completely unacceptable for a knight. Don’t you know that, Brienne?” You talked down to her, teasingly scolding her, driving her absolute mad with lust, it clouded her mind.

Your mouth back on her clit made her arch her back, your nails digging in to the skin on her hip, sure to leave bruises. Which could also arise as a potential issue for communal baths, but once again, you’d deal with it whenever confronted.

Her moans were quickening in pace, breaths becoming ragged. Her walls were clenching around your digits, she absolutely loved having you inside, stretching her out, sucking and licking her clit. The sounds inside her room were wicked; her loud and whiny moans, your short nosy breaths as you thrusted your fingers in and out, and the ungodly sucking sounds coming from in between Brienne’s long legs.

It was too much for her. With a final brush against the spot inside her and a gentle teeth graze, you watched as Brienne threw her head back and froze, body beginning to convulse as pleasure ripped through her. With a scream of your name she grabbed and pulled at your hair. You looked up at her, fingers still working inside of her, already bringing her to another orgasm.

She looked so perfect reaching her zenith, she was glowing, her facial features contorted in pure bliss as she chased the second orgasm you were happy to provide.

It didn’t take long for her to cum on your fingers and in your mouth again. Slowing down the pace, you helped her ride her orgasm, drawing out every ripple of pleasure she could handle, before she eventually whined from overstimulation. Retracting your fingers, you happily cleaned up whatever escaped her fluttering hole.

She laid panting on the bed as you climbed up towards the blonde, hovering over her. You allowed her to taste herself on your lips before pulling away. She watched as your chin glistened with her juices in the faint glow of the fire, making her groan.

You wiped your chin with the back of your hand before bringing the fingers you used to fuck her with up to her lips. She greedily took them in her mouth, happy to serve. You smiled at her, she looked so good like this, fucked out of her mind, chest rising up and down, trying to draw in all the air she possibly could, your fingers in her mouth.

The throbbing between your legs had only grown, it yelled for attention. Tonight was about Brienne, you didn’t care how uncomfortable it got, you had brought your lover to the height of pleasure and that is what you set out to do. It was worth it, she was worth everything.

You removed your fingers from her mouth before helping Brienne adjust her position so she could lay down at the head of the bed under the covers. You quickly removed the rest of your clothes and moved to join her, her eyes closed from exhaustion.

She quickly took you in to her arms and snuggled her head in to your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You felt a vibration as she hummed in content.

You grabbed one of the hands wrapped around your waist and brought it up to your lips to kiss her knuckles. Hoping it would send her the message you wanted her to receive, not wanting to break the silence. Words were unnecessary, you loved her.

She placed a soft kiss on your neck, and shoulder as she melted around you. She knew, and she loved you, too.

Silence crept in as you took in the feeling of flesh against flesh, your knight holding you in her strong arms. You felt so safe with her, so protected. As long as she was by your side you would fight to come back to her, just like you had sworn. She gave you strength, and a feeling like you could do anything. You were so grateful for her, grateful for her endless love. Thankful towards the Gods for putting you in each other’s path, knowing you could just as well never have met.

The thought of never meeting broke your heart, not knowing how you could exist without her now that she was in your life. Considering the chain of events that brought you to Winterfell in the first place, you realized you were selfish. People had lost so much, so many loved ones.

Despite that, you couldn’t stop smiling. In spite of everything that had happened, you were happy. Happy being where you were, happy with who you were there with, and happy with the life you had started building, as an individual, but also together with your knight in shining armor.

You wanted to bring Brienne to Dorne, so she could see where you grew up, and fall in love with it, too.

You probably wouldn’t settle down there, she was needed here. But, the look on her face when you had told stories of Dorne was like the sun, her smile so bright, you wanted her to see it for herself. Show her around, take her to your favorite places, wanting to bring her to meet your parents. You knew they would love her, just as much as you did.

All you ever wanted, all you ever needed was here. Nothing to be heard but fire crackling and Brienne’s soft snores in your ear, as you let them relax you, finally being exactly where you were meant to be, now and forever.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, at last having her beside you instead of the cold hand of loneliness you had grown so used to.

—————

Follow-up: Life Eternal

tags for the homies:

@na-shoba @pastanest

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #gwendoline christie x reader #Spotify

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