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roturo · 4 months

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⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WATCH IT!

Gojo Satoru didn't predicted this move... So he ended up fucking you lol ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ G!Satoru x afab!reader and sex pollen!

tags: smut, sex pollen, unprocteted sex (wrap it and pee after sex), overstimulation (like A LOT), use of nicknames (princess, baby, good boy, love...) multiple rounds, praise kink, angst if you squint your eyes till you cry like gojo, sub(ish)!gojo satoru, god complex, fluff if you take one eye out, crack, belly bulgde, creampie, breeding kink, crempie kink, A LOT of cum, dumbfication, cock warming, npr.

A/N: happy holidays! might be my last writing of the year so i wish you lots of love and happiness <3 i might write pt2 for this one and 'she's back', which one would you like first?

o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

DAY 1: HOW IT STARTED

How the fuck at his grown ass age Gojo Satoru could be this stupid. And that’s big coming from him, because this man considers himself the senior of seniors and god of gods. So, how come he falled into this?

And you know what? Maybe it is his fault! For believing he’s a superior and underestimating such a weak and useless curse he just killed. But, this weak and useless curse has him going crazy. That really was karma paying back to him because motherfucker- Why is he feeling all giddy and hot all of sudden? This has never happened to him before, so that’s why he’s losing his mind right now and almost sprinting into his room because of how bothered he was feeling to just teleport.

Everything was like hell. Really, like hot as hell. And how does Satoru know that? Uh well, because he’s living it right now.

He couldn’t bear the sensation anymore and dialogue Shoko’s number like it was a habit.

“What do you want, Gojo? I’m in the middle of trying to know how Yuuji’s body is capable of being Sukuna’s vessel. Like- It’s quite important right now, and more than debating about some of your dumb tv shows you-”

Shoko’s voice was interrupted by a whine coming from Gojo’s line, seconds of silence continued the awkward moment between the both of them, while all Gojo could do was breathe and maintain his whines inside of his body before he started literally moaning.

“Are you okay, Gojo?...”

“Fuck, no. Some fucking curse sprayed me all over with some fucking stinky pollen. Didn’t even taste great, by the way. And now I'm just feeling really hot, sometimes dizzy… or kinda giddy? fuck. And my breathing became irregular. I’m fucking sprawled out in my bed trying to find a comfy position but my legs won’t cooperate.”

A loud laugh was heard coming from Shoko’s line. It was clear she’s been holding it all this time just trying to make sure she’s gettin it right.. and well.

“Gojo.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Silence.

“You know what? I’m sending Y/N over there with some medicine. You’ve been sprayed with sex pollen by the way.”

Sex- what?!

Before he couldn’t even ask Shoko any question since she quickly hung up. Leaving a needy and confused (and hard) Gojo.

Knock. Knock.

No answer, but a weird sounding moan? You gave yourself permission to enter Gojo’s room since no life signals were heard. But- holy fuck. Was this a reward or a punishment from the gods?

He was kneeled down on his bed, one of his hands used as a support placed in his bare calf while his other hand was as fast as possible jerking himself off. You stayed still some seconds before rewinding back to what Shoko told you before coming here.

“He might be another type… of… Gojo?... Anyways. He’ll be really needy and like a lost puppy looking for some salvation. I gave you this backpack with all you would need, yeah? Thank me later and good luck.”

So that’s why her flat ass was quickly sending you off with a backpack full of water bottles and snacks. Sex fucking pollen. Great.

It’s not like people don’t know that both of you have been crushing into each other lately, hell- even his newest student asked about this. But you never expected for it to be like this.

“G-Gojo…?”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it’s like a hawk located his next prey because of how instant his reaction was just for your voice. A drunk smile on his face, while both of his hands fall infront of him trying to hide the act that was going on minutes ago. His sculptured white as snow body covered in a hot layer of sweat. Not being able to catch a breath thanks to this sight, somehow he’s in front of you.

“Are you here to help me? Y/N?”

His voice sounded so different. But at the same time it was just Gojo.

A small nod was all the reaction he got. You could smell that sweaty smell, looking down you found yourself looking at a large wet spot staining his black briefs. While his cock does nothing to imagination, marking perfectly the shape of it. Moving your gaze to his v-line, a white happy trail proudly adorning it. Eyes moving up, you found yourself looking at his clearly erected nipples, But all this examination was over once he interrupted your thoughts.

“I need a verbal affirmation, princess”

Ah, the nicknames. If you weren’t wet by now, you’re pretty sure you’re leaking right now all because of him.

“Yes Satoru, I’ll help you.”

His knees felt weak. Literally. He kneeled down in front of you, it was like he hypnotized and somehow could smell through your body into emotions. His hands were cold but hot at the same time he roamed your body.

You tried warning him by calling his name while he started kissing the softness of your thighs, telling him to at least move you towards the bed. And his body was doing what you said like if you were controlling him, while his mind was somewhere else. He moved the both of you towards his bed, making you lie down. His head not wasting any second between your thighs until his nose touched where you needed him the most and you whimpered at the feeling. Clearly triggering a new kind of need inside Gojo.

Everything happened really fast. Between some kisses and moaning, Gojo ripped your shorts and pantoes a muffled noise coming out from him of what you suppose was “I’ll buy you new ones later” but right now you couldn’t care less.

Not when his tongue slowly started tracing the way from your entrance until it reached your core. Teasing it with kitten licks, while his hands remained on your hips from preventing moving them.

His tongue quickly found a rhythm between your entrance and your clit, forming infinite signs between them. And the simulation was too much you couldn’t notify Gojo about your orgasm- But he was so lost in the feeling of your thighs suffocating him and the taste of yourself in his lips, he swears he could die as a happy man right now.

And like it wasn’t enough, Gojo kept eating you out even after your intense orgasm. Overstimulation taking over your body, trying to take him off your core, ended up with annoyed groans coming out from him.

“Satoru, love, fuck. I need you to stop, please.”

The nickname had him exploding with happiness, he really looked like a puppy from this angle. His eyes looked ethereal, his mouth covered with your fluids and his face was with a cute smile while he called out your name.

“Will you please let me fuck you?”

A small giggle came out from your mouth, Gojo’s face looked a little sad and embarrassed, but was quickly erased when you pecked his lips. And that was all he needed to clumsily take off his briefs and while he climbed back to the bed, taking off your top while doing so. His eyes were full of adoration looking over your body, before he pressed his lips into yours, locking them for a long moment, clearly enjoying the moment, before the kiss turned more heated and he started kissing every part of your body again.

His tip was now wet thanks to your folds, Easily slipping through it.

“Ffuck- Ssatoru- Be a good boy and put it in, please?”

Gojo needed no more words before thrusting his cock whole into you with one swift movement, hitting perfectly against that spongy spot that made you see stars. But something didn’t feel right. Not in a bad way. Since you re-opened your eyes to find a glassy eyed Satoru mumbling a lot of ´sorry’s´ while he kept thrusting.

Oh.

He came with just one thrust and was overstimulating himself, still rock hard with no break while he hid his face in the crook of your neck while marking it as his and tearing down from the pleasure.

You’re pretty sure he came again, when he whimpered your name and moaned against your ear but still continued thrusting into you perfectly. And he was so lost in the pleasure of overstimulating himself he didn’t realize once he confessed to you.

“You’re so pretty- ffuck– I really want to make you mine now. So no one could look at you, not even in a friendly way. Just… have you all for me- sshit. I love you.”

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, thinking it was all because of the moment, so you just had to enjoy it for now. His thrusts were so fast and hard, but somehow still felt romantic. Like this was a normal routine on a daily basis. And you would be disgusted by the pool of cum forming under the both of you if you weren’t so close to your third orgasm this night. No matter how many times you told Gojo to stop for a moment and take a break, he would cum again, and still be hard so he had to keep thrusting.

Your mind is lost now. All you could ever think about right now was Gojo Satoru and his immense cock. He wouldn’t stop mumbling praises to you, saying this was all for you to feel good and he would stop once you cum at least 3 times more than him. A hard dare to get over with. Or maybe it already happened?

You begged for mercy, not thinking he could get another orgasm out of you. Hell- to even get an orgasm out of him. His hands interweld into yours, and moved it down towards your tummy.

“Do you feel it, baby? I'm right here. Ahh~ I’m pretty sure my cum is there too heh. Your tummy is full of me and my cum.”

He sounded drunk. Like. Really drunk. But his words took off your last orgasm of the night, apparently your reaction making his trigger off and cum… dry?

How many fucking times did Gojo Satoru came inside you?

Will pills even prevent a pregnancy?

“Ah- shit baby.”

You couldn’t pay attention to him anymore, quickly slipping into dreamland. Gojo not once leaves your side. Literally. He was cock-warming, still hard, but no energy (and cum) to continue his misery.

You were here at 7.45 o’clock, one last look at the clock and it was 3.23 in the morning.

And it was like you just blinked, because a whimper came out of your mouth. Looking again into the clock, it was 10 AM, and Gojo was not over.

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anteomnia · 5 months

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just endlessly thinking about blue eye samurai.

thinking about how akemi, taigen, and mizu are if a coin had three sides or maybe just the two and mizu is the bridge of metal between them.

akemi being the ideal image for women, for the life they endure. she was simultaneously a princess, a prostitute, and a prisoner. her entire life was men making decisions for her, even the ones that had good intentions, and she believed her deepest desire was freedom. it still is, but she has been revealed to this heinous predicament of her gender, and she’s realized that to reach true freedom as a woman is to be the bird in the cage, to play nice and to earn the love of a man until he buys her a bigger cage and a bigger cage until he trusts her not to fly away. and it'll never be true freedom, but it will come with power. it'll come with the freedom of only one master rather than many.

taigen being the ideal image of a man. not all powerful, but not weak. he had a taste of what it'd be to succeed, and when it was taken from him, that easy success, he mistook it for his honor. he hunted mizu down to kill him, and instead he saved him. he saved him and saved him and he came closer to killing mizu when they were on the cliff's edge, and just when he gets to the point where he may actually fight mizu, he's tortured for information on him. he is tortured. Literally tortured within an inch of his life, enduring such a heinous violence, and he refuses to break. this man was a fight, was the torturer, and the victim of his torturing could've been his salvation from pain but he refused. mizu gave back taigen's honor but not by fighting him.

akemi wanted freedom and learned she would need power to have it.

taigen wanted power and learned that the violence that came with it was infinite and dishonorable.

and then there's mizu. mizu who wants revenge, wants acceptance. arguably the same things as them both. mizu wants acceptance, the freedom of living and the freedom to love and be loved. mizu wants revenge, which follows after violence and power, to get said acceptance. she thinks she must do both, have both, to live peacefully, and she's blatant about how she will not live without either.

she's given acceptance with the blacksmith, her "mother," her husband, but she sees the flecks of avoidance in it.

the blacksmith will not hear of her true gender. her "mother" will not acknowledge the crime of her birth. her husband can't find tolerance for the violence within her, the man of her.

and so she has to balance the woman and man of her, the ronin and the bride. taigen and akemi. and it's meeting mizu that they start to unravel their own identities.

mizu, who is both, and akemi and taigen who thought themselves one but turned out to be neither.

god.

#complexities #and comparisons #i think they are so much more than what i’ve said but just #the cinematography #and the metaphors #the underlying theme of birds #blue eye samurai #the poetry that you are #it feels like every scene was specifically crafted #like they did not make one undeliberate mark #like it all has meaning #i’m insane #mizu #taigen #akemi #mizu x akemi x taigen #the ronin and the bride

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ellecdc · 2 months

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Baaaaabe 😫

Ive been sick for the last couple days, and as always, that first day was horrible. Ive had my brain legit decide it wants to inflate bigger than my skull capacity (long story short, pregnancy 🫡) and i got to re-experience that feeling for the first 12 hours 💀

BUT i came back and i was sooo excited for your updates!! They were soo good (please tell me theres a part 2 to that angst....pls 🥺) And i love our discussions in the comments 🫶

I do have another request though if you have the time love. Another possessive!wolfstar buuuttt..... make reader Jamie's sister (twins?)!! Its troublesome enough for James to keep Sirius' hands to himself, but full moon Rem?? He's a brick wall. Like somethings happening between the 2 and Jamie is chasing reader, then she spots Rem and hides behind him. James tries to reach for her and Rem is just kinda like "???? Excuse me, thats mine. Dont touch. James Fleamont Potter. DONT. TOUCH." without even knowing whats going on. James is incredulous (because thats HIS sister) and Siri is chuckling but it looks like Rem might actually bite Jamie's hand off so he moves between them to seperate them but Rem is also like "ExCuSe YOU??? Also mine. *to siri* dont touch him. *to James* dont touch them or you might not have all your fingers when you wake up!!"

And just the repercussions of this where James isnt allowed alone with either until a couple days passed the 🌕

Hope youre looking after yourself darling 🩵

I love James' sister trope - something about it screams fluff and perhaps a little angst but just in all the best ways. I would imagine his sister to be so much like him: mischievous, funny, and full of love. Thanks for requesting!!!

poly!wolfstar x potter sister!reader

There were quite a few perks that came along with being James Potter's twin sister. One said perk was having a built-in best friend from the moment you came into the world. Another was that whilst you were attending school, you had the benefit of no one being willing to mess with you on account of the company you kept - namely, your brother and his infamous friends who called themselves The Marauders.

What being James Potter's twin sister couldn't protect you from? James Potter.

What could protect you from being James Potter's twin sister? Being the girlfriend of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

You and James were leaving Care of Magical Creatures together, heading to meet up with Remus and Sirius near the Greenhouses when one Lily Evans walked by - graciously bestowing James the time of day for quite possibly the first time ever - when you decided that this was the perfect pranking opportunity.

You really couldn't be blamed for what happened next: it truly was a gift bestowed upon you by the great pranking gods, and who were you to deny it?

"Hello, Potter." Lily said, causing James to gasp dramatically.

"Hello, Lily! Beautiful day out today, innit?"

Lily couldn't help but snicker at the sickeningly wide grin that took over James' face.

"Oi, Jamie. I forgot to tell you: mum sent that rash cream you were asking for. She said to remind you it's only safe to put around your anus, not in it." You proclaimed loudly, pretending to read from a 'letter' your mother had sent.

The courtyard became incredibly quiet before what you recognized to be Barty Crouch Junior's laugh echoed the space, triggering the snickering of all those present.

"You are so dead!" James sneered and you didn't hesitate to take off in a sprint - knowing your brother was a mere few paces behind you.

"You slithering little snake! She finally starts coming around - are you kidding me!?" He shouted as you swerved between bodies standing in your way whilst he just barrelled right through them.

Suddenly, you saw salvation in the form of one Remus John Lupin.

Now, granted, Remus didn't always protect you from your squabbles with James. Part of the reason for that was because half of the time you sort of deserved it (much like today), and the other part was that he claimed he didn't know what proper protocol was in sibling relationships on account of him being an only child. Sirius, a brother himself, had no such qualms and always took your side.

However, you knew that the full moon was in a mere two more sleeps, meaning Remus was at his most protective (read: possessive) which did not distinguish James Potter as friend, sibling, nor pack.

Right now: James Potter was only a threat.

And, let's be honest, being James Potter's twin sister, and a girlfriend to Remus Lupin and Sirius black also meant you were mischievous as hell. So you had no trouble using this to your utmost advantage.

You squeaked in terror as you slid behind Remus' lanky frame a moment before James - the bastard - slammed into his form and all but bounced off of Remus. James was admittedly more muscular that Remus, but Remus' height and werewolf strength left him towering above James as the dumb sod picked himself up off the ground.

"What in the buggering hell is going on?" He spat at James as one of his arms wrapped behind him, shielding you from your fuming brother.

"That sneaky little witch just embarrassed me in front of Lily!" James barked, looking like he was still trying to figure out how to get around Remus in order to strangle you.

"Please," Sirius drawled as he walked over casually, "like you need any help in that department Prongs."

You tried to hide your snicker, but from Remus' glance at you through the corner of his eye, you knew he caught it.

"She told the entire courtyard I needed cream for a rash on my anus!"

Sirius doubled over in laughter and you preened when you noticed Remus let out a soft chuckle himself.

"It's not sodding funny you wanker! Lily spoke to me first today! I'm going to kill you!" James snarled, moving his attention from Sirius to you.

As James stepped forward menacingly, Remus grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Prongs, enough." He barked.

Sirius was still laughing when he moved to stand between Remus and James, releasing James' shirt from Remus' fist.

"Okay, down boy." Sirius snarked, patting James' shoulder consolingly.

"Oh, sod off." James muttered, elbowing Sirius as he moved to step away.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and tried to even out your breathing; lungs still burning from your run.

"You okay, dove?" Remus asked you so gently as he bent down to make eye contact with you. His face screamed love, attentiveness, and care, making you feel slightly guilty for having shoved him in the middle of your tom foolery.

"I'm fine, Moons. Sorry for causing trouble." You answered solemnly.

His face picked up slightly at your words as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't causing trouble, love."

Your tender moment was interrupted by a yelp, causing the two of you to turn only to notice James and Sirius wrestling. James seemed to have gotten Sirius into a headlock, and the sod wasn't willing to tap out - still kicking and clawing at James in anyway he could.

"Oi!" Remus shouted as he plucked Sirius out of James' grasp and shoved him in the direction of the castle. James used his momentary distraction as an opportunity to set his sights back on you as he lunged, tackling you to the ground.

"Fuckin' hell Jamie! You weight a tonne!" You shouted, kneeing him in the gut. James doubled over and rolled onto his side in the fetal position.

You didn't even get a chance to right yourself before you were thrown over Remus' shoulder who was still shouting at Sirius to "get back to the dorm. The both of you are staying within my sights for the next foreseeable future" as you all left James with the wind knocked out of him, keeled over on the castle grounds.

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mimikyuno · 8 months

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love and hope and kindness being the running motifs in madoka magica and the forces that can single-handedly save and curse someone.

madoka’s love and kindness being what saves homura from her suicidal tendencies, but also what ultimately dooms madoka to die at the hands of the walpurgisnacht. homura’s love for madoka and undying hope to save her what curses her to repeat time and traumatise herself over and over again, while also increasing madoka’s karma and by default, cursing her too. madoka’s refusal for homura’s hope to be in vain being the driving force that grants hope to all, but also ends madoka’s existence. sayaka’s love for kyousuke and her altruistic, heroic ideals being what gives her confidence and hope at first, but when confronted with misogyny and unrequited love (even when you told yourself you would not expect him to love you back just because you sacrificed yourself for him) being what curses her. kyouko’s love for her family being the catalyst that leads it to break apart, because in all her childlike devotion to her parents, she couldn’t see her father for who he was. mami’s kindness forcing her to put up a brave face and resulting in her demise.

but it all does not end in despair! sayaka’s newfound love for kyouko being the reason kyouko is no longer lost and angry and alone. mami’s kindness finding a recipient in nagisa, to whom she can finally be a parental figure. in one universe nagisa was the one to end mami’s existence, but now they can both heal and not be alone anymore. madoka’s love for homura encompassing time and space and saving her, every time, over and over again. even when homura does not want it. even when she refuses her hand. madoka will always reach for her and find her and save her and show her kindness, even when homura thinks she does not deserves any, even when she’s willing to die in her own personal hell. homura’s love being yes, what commits the unforgivable sin and tears god apart, but also it is only through her “selfishness” and “terrible” act that the others get a shot at a normal childhood/adolescence. kyouko and sayaka can be together at last, mami and nagisa find each other, madoka can live with her family again.

this is what i hope will be explored in the next movie. this intrinsic relationship between hope and despair, love as a lifeline and a curse. kindness and selfishness coexisting and influencing each other. i hope the girls manage to finally tip the scale between hope and despair towards the light. i hope madoka’s love will keep on reaching homura even when she thinks she’s evil incarnate, a devil. even when she thinks her existence as antithetical to madoka’s true nature. even when she thinks herself beyond salvation. i hope they get a shot at happiness, together this time.

#im going crazy if you cannot tell #im still running a fever so im sorry if this is like. nonsense #madoka magica #pmmm #puella magi madoka magica #walpurgis no kaiten #madohomu #kyosaya #madoka kaname #homura akemi #sayaka miki #kyouko sakura #mami tomoe #nagisa momoe #holy quintet #mine

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honeyhoshi · 2 months

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deathless death

summary: Wonwoo isn’t religious. But he knows other ways to pray and other gods to revere.

this is a part of the playlist universe

genre: pwanp - porn with absolutely no plot

wordcount: 4,317

pairing: wonwoo x afab!reader x gyuhan

warnings: foursome, bi mingyu, switch mingyu, bi jeonghan, switch jeonghan, voyeur/cuck wonwoo (but not really), soft dom wonwoo, afab reader, mentions of female anatomy, oral (f & m receiving), breast play, spit kink (bec i wrote it), creampie (again bec i wrote it), use of religious terminology and imagery, slight bulge kink, edging, squirting, finger sucking, THEY ARE IN LOVE!!!!

author's notes: It’s not a lie when I say there’s no plot in this but it is part of a bigger universe which I intend to expand later on. For now, no thoughts, just vibes with this one. Enjoy!

Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner

She is a sinner in the eyes of the world, but to Wonwoo she is a goddess and who is he to offer her anything less than what she wants and deserves.

Wonwoo gives her what she wants when she wants it and how she wants it, indulges her and spoils her. How can he deny her of anything when she grants Wonwoo salvation every time she says his name?

He is powerless as she whispers her request to him, the dirty, filthy words dripping with sin. Wonwoo is weak in her hands but he is willing to grant her wish and takes comfort in her conditions.

To keep the goddess by my side She demands a sacrifice

So Wonwoo watches with eyes glazed over as his girl lays in bed unclothed, fingers of one hand threaded through Jeonghan’s hair as he presses kisses onto her stomach, going down, down, down and bites and sucks on her thighs. He makes no move to stop them but his fingers twitch as he watches her mouth part in a silent scream, her eyes shut in the feeling of bliss at Jeonghan’s descent.

Wonwoo is silent as her breath hitches when Mingyu fondles her chest, sucking one nipple between his lips, his thumb rolling the other in time with the movements of his mouth. He laves his tongue on her bud before his eyes flicker to her face. With a wicked smile, he bites lightly and a whimper escapes her mouth. Trying to keep himself grounded, Wonwoo tries to lean back on the armchair. The Little space he adds between the obscenity before him and himself does little to quell the simmering heat in his blood.

He doesn’t know how Jeonghan or Mingyu feel but he knows how she feels. She feels euphoric. She feels bliss. She feels salvation. And that is what this is. It is salvation in its purest form, devoid of religion or rules or statutes. It is the salvation he has pledged himself to—to give himself willingly to her and she to him.

The beads of sweat on her forehead and the way her brows furrow pulls Wonwoo’s focus. She is lost in the feeling but she is far from through. She wraps her slender fingers around Mingyu’s length dragging her fingers down his abdomen lazily as she blinks up at Mingyu, finally gaining some focus back. Her eyes speak volumes but only Wonwoo is well versed in her to easily decipher how the gears in her mind turn. There’s theology in every gasp and every whimper, the rolls of eyes and heaviness of lids.

This was a unique request from her. Its a topic that’s never been brought up—something they’ve never considered but the way her body moves between Mingyu and Jeonghan’s lithe bodies seems almost choreographed. She knows how to play the two men like she was playing an instrument, knowing which strings to pluck, when to get the most beautiful harmonies, and Wonwoo has never heard a symphony more beautiful than this

The three of them shift and Wonwoo almost wants to laugh. Both Mingyu and Jeonghan position themselves off the bed. Mingyu stands with a clumsiness he’s known for, the weakness in his knees at their actions is an effect she has on men that Wonwoo is intimate with. Mingyu’s eyes catch Jeonghan’s, his hand pumping his length as Jeonghan kneels on the floor opposite him. Before them a feast is being laid on a king-sized bed with mussed sheets. She moves to lay between them, on her back, and getting comfortable. She locks eyes with Jeonghan and pulls him in with a crook of her middle finger and spreads her legs to present herself to him.

Jeonghan chuckles at the playfulness and recognition that he’s being played like a fiddle. Whatever his usual position and dynamic is in another’s bed is overruled in here. She will call the shots tonight. With his own lascivious gaze, he relinquishes control to her and moves to his position, hooking her legs over his shapely shoulders and spreads them wider.

“Fuck.” It slips out like an accident, like he didn’t mean to break the silence but can’t help himself as her beautiful cunt bares itself to him. Still wet from when he first tasted her just minutes prior, even her thighs are wet. He licks broad stripes at the wetness on both her thighs, not wanting any of her essence going to waste. She’s mouthwatering and he uses that to make her even wetter, quickly collecting it on his tongue and harshly spitting on her pussy.

She squeals at the harsh and warm contact but can barely get the laugh stuck in her throat out as Jeonghan dives into her cunt to spread the spit from her slit up to her clit. A wicked smile spreads on her lips as Jeonghan finally makes good on his reputation with his tongue. When he finally sinks his tongue into her hole, Wonwoo can see how she relaxes. Finally, she moves to lay back down, leaning back on her elbows and her mouth ajar at the pleasure stemming from her center.

The room sounds wet and disgusting with panting to break the sounds of tongue and spit and cunt.

Wonwoo eyes trail up the length of his girl’s body, starting from her curling toes and delicate ankles in the air and her plush thighs caging Jeonghan’s face. The heaviness in her breathing is causing her to suck in her stomach and he longs to trace her ribs and roughly grasp her tits, thinking they must be cool to the touch with no one fondling him. He thinks that’s where he would be better at Jeonghan.

He would have praised her everywhere at every given moment.

As his gaze moves up to her face, he starts when he catches her eye. She’s been watching him watch her. She bites her lip suddenly at a particularly harsh suck from Jeonghan. She has just enough time to send him a wink before she lays herself down on her back and looks up. Wonwoo can only smirk because he knows what she means. Its a reminder. A reminder of this evening’s conditions and that the night is young and that there is so so much left to be done.

What you got in the stable We’ve a lot of starving faithful

Wonwoo’s will remains strong as he keeps his eyes locked with her body. Even when she moves her hands to grasp her breath and to pinch and twist and pull at her own nipples, he doesn’t look away. When she lays her head back letting it fall off the bed, she licks her lips and opens them wide, Wonwoo does the opposite and grits his teeth. She sticks out her tongue in invitation at Mingyu who has been quiet and good and reverent, waiting for his turn. Wonwoo has to bite his tongue when Mingyu finally grips onto her jaw, fingers slipping onto the back of her head and tangling with her. It's to keep her mouth open and wide as he finally sinks his cock into her throat.

The image playing before Wonwoo is beautiful, he thinks. The way Mingyu’s eyes have slipped closed as he fucks into the tight wet heat of her mouth beautiful. Her lips wrapped around him tightly and how she sucks down on his cock in time with his shallow thrusts, is beautiful. The way Jeonghan’s tongue slides against her folds and dips into her center, causing her eyes to flutter, is beautiful. Wonwoo finds beauty etched into her face even when her hair is mussed, her hips are bruised from another’s hands, and her lips are swollen from sucking someone else’s cock.

Beautiful.

She is an expert lover and is eager to please as she lets Mingyu’s impressive length fuck her throat, relaxing her throat to take him as far as she can. Mingyu hisses as her lips stretch over his length and feels her throat constrict around him. The loud groan Mingyu lets out only spurs her on even when he pulls out to catch his breath and grip at the base of his cock. Wonwoo gets it. He doesn’t want this to end so soon.

The loss of Mingyu’s cock upsets her, empty feeling in her mouth as she pulls away only to take him back into her mouth again, slowly this time around. She is patient as she sucks lightly on the delicate head of Mingyu’s cock, digging her tongue into the slit for good measure. She opens her mouth wide again in invitation. As Mingyu fucks his cock back into her mouth, she hollows her cheeks and moans lowly. Wonwoo knows just the look of it is driving Mingyu wild, the bulge in her throat hard to miss. She moves quicker, now, sucking faster, a hand above and behind her to pull Mingyu even closer, knowing that Mingyu is not too far from release. He’s concentrated, focused on finally coming and he pulls of off her to jerk himself off with long thick fingers wrapped around his cock. Her lips press kisses to the skin of his thighs, his stomach, whatever she can reach in her position. She eyes the head of his cock and quickly laps up the drop of precome from Mingyu’s slit and turns to look back over to Wonwoo with a cheeky glint in her eye.

“Mingyu,” she says, voice sultry and smooth, “come down my throat.”

Her every request is a command and every command must be followed. She quickly takes Mingyu back into her mouth, and Wonwoo knows it’s too much for Mingyu. He cries out and spills into her mouth as she eagerly swallows and sucks around him. Wonwoo’s fists are clenched so hard as he watches the few drops of come that collect around the side of her mouth. She continues to suck even as Mingyu’s shoulders start to sag and the muscle on her lower stomach starts to twitch in response to his sensitivity. It’s just as Mingyu pulls away, almost tripping over himself backwards, and she could even make a move to clean off the come on her lips, her face crumples in pleasure.

All this time Jeonghan’s been patiently lapping at her center, digging his tongue into her hole and sucking on her clit.

Her self-control is commendable as she sits herself up and pulls Jeonghan off of her even when she’s so close to coming. Jeonghan pushes her almost roughly onto the bed with her head on the pillows and Wonwoo feels himself almost standing. Jeonghand presses kisses down the length of her body, from her neck to the valley between her breasts. Jeonghan is a thorough lover, always biting too hard or fucking too quickly, but she loves it almost when fucking is slow and almost torturous. Jeonghan nips and licks at her stomach as his hands knead at her chest roughly. He pinches at her nipples and smiles as she squeals. He looks up and behind himself at Mingyu expectantly, and Mingyu, without missing a beat, swoops down to press a kiss to Jeonghan’s lips.

Wonwoo can see the jealousy in her eyes as she watches the exchange before her. She wants the taste of someone’s tongue on her lips but she tries to tame the hunger. She whimpers, wanting to avert the attention back to her body and both Jeonghan and Mingyu pull away with a small smile on their faces as Jeonghan continues to move down her body.

Jeonghan nudges her to spread her legs and she obeys with a knowing smirk. She bites down on her lower lip and Jeonghan settles in between her legs. He uses two fingers to spread her folds and Wonwoo can see how wet she is from Jeonghan’s prolonged torture. She loves it though. She loves getting close to release and falling just short of it, having to build up to it all over again. She says it makes the orgasm just so much better. It doesn’t take much for Jeonghan to get her thrashing on the bed. He licks broad stripes against the length of her center and sucks harshly on her abused clit. The way he dips his tongue into her with his thumb rubbing tight circles against her nub has tears in her eyes.

When Jeonghan slips two long fingers into her curling them upwards and scissoring them inside her she whimpers out his name like a prayer. It's when Jeonghan slips in a third finger and roughly curls them inside of her repeatedly that she allows herself to drown in her first release. The stretch feels delicious and she can hardly stop herself from spilling onto Jeonghan’s fingers. Wonwoo’s ears perk up as her moans grow erratic and she calls out a name.

“Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo stands from his seat across the room with a determined look on his face. All night he’s been patient. All night he’s had to watch her writhe in pleasure without making a move, without saying a word. Now it was his turn.

That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work

Wonwoo has tunnel vision when he looks at her. The only thing clear is her and everything else can fade away. She is the only thing he sees. He pays no mind to Mingyu breathing heavily beside her, or Jeonghan who is pressing kisses down her thighs. All he can see is his girl biting down on her lip and the fire that's dancing in her eyes. She's breathing hard and heavy and there is nothing Wonwoo wants more than to feel her breath on his lips.

Wonwoo stands at the foot of the bed and pulls his shirt off in one smooth move. Her eyes are clouded but as he moves to unbuckle his belt, she calls out to him to stop.

"I want to do it," she says and Jeonghan finally releases her from his grasp and lays back on the pillows to wrap a hand around his weeping cock.

She on the other hand moves sluggishly towards Wonwoo, but he loves the way she looks. Languid, relaxed, worshiped.

She kneels in front of Wonwoo, the height of the bed makes it perfect for her to look into his eyes as she reaches down to unbutton his jeans. Her fingers move deftly and Wonwoo pushes them down the rest of the way.

It's quiet in the room—no one dares to make a sound as she and Wonwoo are eye to eye. The air around them is static and it's almost solemn how the two look at each other. This wasn't sex, and this was most definitely not just fucking. This is an offering, a celebration, a sacrament only she and Wonwoo would ever understand. Mingyu and Jeonghan were mere bystanders, only hoping to feel a semblance of elation that she and Wonwoo share with one another.

For the first time that night their lips meet and Wonwoo can finally breathe. There is no second guessing, no hesitation or shyness. There is only love and adoration. Wonwoo is a starving man and only her kisses could feed him, nourish him, and bring him back to health. This was one of this evening's conditions. Neither Jeonghan nor Mingyu could kiss her—only Wonwoo could claim her lips, breathe in her air, and taste her tongue in his mouth.

She pulls away only to press more kisses against his face, down to his neck to lick hot stripes against his skin. She latches onto his collarbones, sucking and biting, determined to make her mark. She does the same to the defined muscle of his chest and moves even further down to finally wrap her lips around his cock.

On any other day Wonwoo would let her take her sweet time sucking on his cock, until he cries out and spills all over her face, but today he has no patience for such pageantry. He is starved and he has been patient for far too long. He allows her to sink down on him one more time, feeling the tight, wet heat of her throat before he pulls on her hair and meets her eyes.

They share another heated kiss before Wonwoo pulls away to roughly push her back onto the bed that is finally vacated. She smirks at his rough handling but the way she spreads her legs is an invitation. She wants this just as much as he does.

Wonwoo presses kisses onto her feet and up her calves. He nips and licks at the meat of her thighs and she holds her breath, praying for him to press a kiss where she wants him most but he smirks at her knowingly. He leaves her core untouched and opts to suck a bruise on her hip, the first of many she will be getting tonight.

She holds Wonwoo's gaze as he dips his tongue into the hollow of her belly button. Wonwoo can feel her skin humming under his lips. She threads her fingers through his thick black hair and tugs impatiently. Wonwoo smiles against her skin as he wraps one of her legs around his hip. He moves quickly and captures her lips again in a heated kiss, cradling her face in his large hands. She rolls her hips pathetically, trying to ease the need for friction, moaning desperately. Her hands grip onto Wonwoo's broad shoulders for dear life and Wonwoo hisses as she digs her nails into his skin, littering his skin with small crescents.

When Wonwoo pulls away he runs his thumb across her cheek and looks into her eyes. Her eyes are glistening with something secret that only Wonwoo can read. They read vulnerability, hunger, trust, and above all things, love. He smirks down at her before he presses his thumb against her plump lower lip, opening her mouth.

"Open up, baby girl," he says as her mouth opens up and her tongue flicks to lick at Wonwoo's thumb, "Now, suck."

Both her hands fly up to hold onto Wonwoo's larger hand and bring two of his fingers up to her mouth. She presses her tongue flat against the digits in her mouth and sucks earnestly. Wonwoo smirks, pleased with her compliance. His eyes leave her for a moment to glimpse at Jeonghan and Mingyu who are locked in a deep kiss with Mingyu pumping steadily at Jeonghan's cock.

His eyes go back to his girl as he grinds down to feel how wet she is on his cock. She groans around his fingers at the feeling of how heavy Wonwoo's cock feels against her.

"Patience, baby," Wonwoo whispers as his head dips down to lick a broad stripe against one of her nipples, "I want to worship you."

He finally pulls his fingers from her mouth with praise and presses his fingers against her center. He slips both fingers into her easily with how wet she is and he sucks on a nipple. At first his slender fingers move slowly, easing into her but he speeds up until his pace is almost punishing.

"Wonwoo, please!" She yells out, eyes clamped shut.

Wonwoo releases her nipple from his mouth to send her a lopsided smile, "Please what, baby? Tell me what you want, sweetheart," He says before taking her nipple back to his mouth.

She only groans in frustration and that isn't good enough for Wonwoo.

"I don't know how your wicked little mind managed to think this up," Wonwoo whispers as he adds another finger into her, "Are you having fun? Is it all you ever wanted?"

He's taunting her, she knows it. He wants her to know, to feel even just a fraction of the agony he felt as he watched her being pleasured by hands and mouths that aren't his.

"Is Jeonghan's mouth as good as mine? Huh, baby? Did you like sucking Mingyu's cock? Did his cock fuck your throat as well as mine does?"

She can barely get anything more than a whimper out of her mouth now that Wonwoo is rubbing tight circles against her clit.

"Not too mouthy now, are we?" Wonwoo smirks, watching as a single tear falls from her eye. "Just tell me, baby. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

She groans in frustration, "You. Wonwoo, I want you."

"What do you want me to do, baby?" He asks, teeth grazing her collarbone, tongue laving at her flesh.

"Wonwoo, please," she whimpers, unable to get the worlds out of her mouth, "Please f-fuck me."

Wonwoo loves when she gets impatient, nearly crying in frustration, because he knows it'll feel so much better when he finally fucks her.

"My pleasure," he says as he slips his fingers from her to pinch her clit between his fingers while his teeth clamp down on her nipple.

She groans at the sensations flooding her body but screams when Wonwoo finally pushes into her.

Offer me that deathless death Good god, let me give you my life

There is something about the way she and Wonwoo move that's different. There's something in the way her mouth falls open and in the way Wonwoo mouths at her jaw, pressing open mouthed kisses on her damp skin. Wonwoo's hips move languidly, like they have all the time in the world, and it seems like they do.

It is as if the whole world has stood still to pay respect to such a ritual—two godly creatures becoming one to shower praise onto each other.

This is the way it always was with him and her. She begs for him to take her, like a woman starved, someone lowly praying to the divinity for sanctification, as if she were the one in need of salvation. In reality it is Wonwoo who is the sinner. It is Wonwoo who falls to his knees for her, the one to give offering to such a high being. He is the one who needs to be cleansed, he is the one in need of salvation.

So he offers her his body, his heart, his soul. And she consumes him whole.

Wonwoo continues to move at a leisurely pace, wanting to feel how she tightens around him whenever he pushes into her so slowly. It's beautiful, the way her face crumples up when his pace is this gentle. It is a far cry from the way he touched her earlier. But this is all part of the plan, the ritual.

Her leg around his hip tightens around him, a silent plea for him to move faster, take her to the edge quicker, fuck her, praise her, love her harder.

Wonwoo smirks and quirks his eyebrow at her before he moves to adjust her leg, lifting it so it's placed comfortably on his shoulder. The position allows for him to move deeper, quicker, rougher.

Her eyes squeeze shut as Wonwoo slides in deeper, pressing into that spot that drives her crazy just right. She can't form any coherent thoughts, her brain is a jumbled mess. She can barely remember the events of the evening with only the ghost of Jeonghan's tongue on her body and Mingyu's cock down her throat.

She opens her eyes to see Wonwoo smiling down at how and she can't help but return the small gesture. Yes, she thinks, this beautiful, amazing, gifted man is mine and I am so wholly his.

And this is how they dance, how they love, how they topple over the edge. This is how the world stops and listens to the ragged breaths and the whispered confessions.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then I am human Only then I am clean

Wonwoo removes his lips from her neck to press kisses up to her ear. He bites lightly at the lobe of her ear before he slows the movements of his hips.

"I want you to come now," Wonwoo says, teeth still pressing down on her lobe.

"Make it worth my time," she laughs breathlessly.

Wonwoo takes it as a challenge. He quickens his movements, pounding into her as quickly as his body lets him, and she quivers around him, her body arching off the bed. His pace is punishing, but this is exactly what she wants—what she needs.

Wonwoo moves his arms from beside her head to grab onto her hands, bringing them above her. Their fingers are intertwined, a show of intimacy despite their carnal act.

Wonwoo sucks a deep purple bruise on her neck as his hips continue to move, a little sloppier now that he's nearing his end. She's about to come too. Wonwoo can tell by the way her moans hitch, how her breathing is more shallow, and how her eyes are screwed shut.

“Open up, love.”

Like clockwork, her jaw falls slack and her eyes weakly open to gaze up at him. Pleading. He wants this–Wonwoo wants this forever. All it takes is for Wonwoo to harshly spit in her mouth and finally spill all of his come into her cunt for her to finish and cry out his name.

Her breathing is ragged and her skin is damp, but Wonwoo thinks she looks vibrant. He pays no mind to Mingyu and Jeonghan who are kissing on the bed, both sated and have sleep heavy on their eyelids. Wonwoo untangles one of his hands from hers to brush her hair away from her face, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Wonwoo may very well be condemned to hell because he’s committed countless sins and cares not to seek forgiveness. He pays it no mind. Not when there are better ways to pray, more important things to revere, and beings far more perfect to praise.

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you. this is an older work of mine that I revisited after YEARS and felt would work well with these members. let me know what you think!!

#frizzy fiction #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #mingyu #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #au: playlist

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flowerandblood · 2 months

Text

The Song of Songs

The Gate of Salvation Universe Oneshot

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: soft sex content, fingering, masturbation, smut, sexual tension, anxiety, doubts related to faith, religious guilt ]

[ description: Her relationship with the Pope becomes more than complicated, especially since it looks like he has no intention of giving up on her or their relationship. His efforts lead to her being assigned a special room in the Vatican, where he visits her at night. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

This oneshot is the events that take place a few months after The Gate of Salvation. This is a special chapter written to celebrate my one year on this platform, which falls on March 22. I used fragments from the biblical Song of Songs, hence the title oneshot. I recommend everyone to read it, it is the most erotic and at the same time one of the most poetic and beautiful parts of the Bible.

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She was not sure how her presence in the Vatican had become her daily routine, spending more time in the quarters surrounding St Peter's Basilica than in her flat.

Although she tried to protest, the Pope personally made sure that a room was prepared for her to sleep in the private part of the complex reserved for guests. She knew he was still adding to her workload just to make sure she stayed there overnight.

At first, he visited her sporadically, saying he couldn't sleep; he came to her room and spoke about his thoughts, doubts, premonitions, and sought her advice on spiritual and everyday matters.

She listened to him sitting on her bed, not knowing what she should do, how to respond, his worries as Pope were something incomprehensible to her, something she had never thought about before.

Only later did she realise that he did not expect her to solve his complicated problems.

She was his solution.

He only showed her what he really needed later, when he sat down next to her, when he touched her cheek, brushing it with his fingers, his gaze was dreamy, warm, full of tenderness, it made her feel hot in her lower abdomen, a shiver ran down her back.

"My sweet flower." He whispered softly and she drifted off completely, closing her eyes, focusing on the wonderful touch of his hand, her heart pounding hard as his forehead pressed against hers, his shaky breath enveloping her face.

Her fingers found his cheek, his jaw, his hair and his neck, she heard him sigh softly as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

"I need you." He whispered; she could hear how hard it was for him to get those words out, a shy moan escaped her lips as his mouth found hers in a tentative, soft, sticky kiss, her body responding to his closeness with an embarrassing wetness between her thighs.

His kisses became bolder, louder, stickier with his saliva, his warm breath mingling with hers in her throat, his scent filling her entire lungs as he lay on his side, pulling her onto the bed with him.

After what was happening between them at night, he usually needed a day or two to calm down, overwhelmed by how intense their closeness was.

He risked a lot when he started sneaking into her room more often, strolling through the dark marble-lined corridors dressed in his snow-white tracksuit with his hood over his head until he ended up at her door, and fearing that someone would see him, she always let him in, helpless.

"You shouldn't sleep here, Holy Father. What if someone catches us?" She muttered, looking at him pleadingly, already wearing her pyjamas, the same ones she had worn when he had visited her in her flat for the first time.

He looked at her, surprised, pulling the hood off his head, combing his short hair with a careless flick of his hand.

"Do not fret, child. Have faith. God is watching over us." He replied calmly, putting his phone down on her nightstand, pulling his white sneakers off his feet, slipping under her duvet as he did every time he visited her, intending to fall asleep in her bed.

She felt both heat and fear at the sight, swallowing hard as he reached over to the bedside lamp and turned off the light, acting as if this was his room and what he was doing was perfectly normal and ordinary.

She moved uncertainly towards him, knowing there was no point in resisting him and lay down next to him on the bed, sighing quietly as his arm immediately embraced her, snuggling her into his chest.

"− did you say your evening prayer? −" He asked in a whisper, a wonderful, hot shiver ran through her entire body as the tips of his fingers began to comb through her soft hair.

"− yes, Holy Father −" She muttered, feeling that she was losing the battle with herself as she did every time, his closeness, his scent, his voice were addictive to her. Involuntarily her fingers tightened on the material of his sweatshirt at his back, her face snuggled into him, seeking refuge.

"− good − sleep −" He murmured, his lips placing a warm, soft kiss on her hair. She sighed quietly, twisting in her place, feeling how at the sound of his voice and his tender touch her walls clenched tightly, already sticky with her wetness.

It had been two days since he last visited her.

He forbade her to touch herself, saying it was a sin.

She closed her eyes and tried to comply with his request, but she couldn't calm down, feeling his heart pounding fast, his manhood in his sweatpants twitching once in a while, pushing softly against her stomach, making her involuntarily start to rub against him.

"− I'm sorry −" She whispered helplessly in a voice full of shame; she felt him kiss her forehead. His hand immediately slipped under the material of her shorts, running tentatively over her soft buttock before his fingertips found her hot, puffy womanhood, sticky with her moisture.

"− I have obeyed you, Holy Father − I swear −" She mumbled regretfully, panting quietly into his sweatshirt, moving her hips in rhythm with the strokes of his fingers, already experienced in how and where he should squeeze her to give her the greatest pleasure. She heard him gasp as she spread her thighs in front of him, the tips of his fingers beginning to dig into the fleshy structure around her clit with her cry of pleasure.

"− I know, sweet child − I am with you − I will reward your suffering −" He whispered in a low, deep, trembling voice from which a shiver ran along her spine. She clenched her eyes shut, holding back a sob as two of his fingers finally made their way inside her, stretching her throbbing, wet muscles painfully slowly − she clasped her fingers against his back, rising and falling against it with a loud click, feeling that his manhood was already fully hard, throbbing impatiently in his sweatpants.

"− let me, please −" She mumbled pleadingly, lifting her face towards him, his tongue slipping between her lips as she heard his quiet, tender shhh, joining her in a hot, thirsty, sticky kiss.

Even though she begged him to let her relieve himself, to touch his manhood with her hand or lips, he never let her.

He felt that he could not bear the remorse caused by the thought that she had contributed to his sin, that as long as he was the only one touching her, she was not as guilty as he was, and though she disagreed, knowing that she wanted it as much as he did, she tried to respect his decision, to poor effect.

She squirmed loudly as he swapped two of his fingers for his thumb, with which he pressed a spot inside her, his middle and index finger brushing her bud again, teasing her encouragingly.

She felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, a helpless whine escaped her lips, his free hand sinking into her hair.

"− please, let me, please, please, please −" She begged, feeling her tears begin to run down her cheeks − she heard him draw in the air loudly, involuntarily pressing his length against her stomach, rubbing against her, searching for any source of relief, his thumb thrust deeper into her wonderful spot making her cry loudly into his mouth, his tongue deep inside her throat.

"− I can't − God, I can't, my sweetest −" He muttered heartbroken, his kisses greedy, full of pleasure, of suffering, of desire, of affection, of tenderness, full of their teeth, their tongues, their lips and their saliva.

She had the feeling he wanted to devour her, her wetness dripping down his hand, her walls beginning to tighten around his thumb, sucking him inside.

"− Holy Father −" She mumbled out with difficulty, hearing that he was panting and moaning along with her, holding her close, his hand pressed against her womanhood as she tilted her head back, moaning in fulfillment, his lips kissing again and again her red, tear-drenched cheeks.

"− I love you − I love you, I love you, I love you −" He whispered in a trembling voice, his hand slid down to her buttock and clamped down on it, pushing her closer, his hips rubbing hungrily against her, trying to chase his own fulfilment. She threw her arms around his neck, joining him in a kiss − he murmured into her mouth in delight, pulling away from her after a moment, looking at her with dreamy eyes.

"− please −" He whispered, stroking her cheek with his shaking hand, her fingers immediately beginning to undo the buttons of her shirt, revealing merely part of her naked body, not uncovering her breasts.

He groaned helplessly at this sight, pressing his forehead against hers, looking down at her exposed skin; she threw her thigh against his waist, responding to the rocking of his hips, and he gasped loudly, turning onto his back with her, his fingers trailing over her sternum down her bare stomach.

"− please − please, please, please −" He breathed out again and tilted his head back with a loud sigh as she began to rub against him, bucking her hips back and forth, his throbbing, swollen cock hidden under the thin material of his sweatpants, leaking already with his precum between her thighs, his fingers tightened involuntarily on her buttocks forcing her to speed up.

"− say it −" He muttered, and she moaned softly, feeling how her hard, popping nipples begin to peek through from under the material of her shirt, betraying her arousal, her insides clenched at his request in pleasure, all moist from her fulfilment.

"− I am yours, Holy Father − both now on earth and after death in heaven −" She whispered sweetly, she saw his lips part in a low groan as she grasped his wrist guiding it to her breast, exposing it with a movement of her shoulder and immediately covering it with his hand, his fingers clenched greedily on her delicate skin, making her merely moan as she felt his cock begin to twitch and throb beneath her in pleasure.

"− so soft − my beautiful sweet flower −" He muttered, lifting himself into a sitting position, his free hand sinking into her hair, the other squeezing her breast greedily, not even for a moment exposing her, his lips swollen with desire sunk into hers, his hips rubbing against her more and more intensely with his throaty moan of desire.

He wanted to come so badly.

He never asked her for it out loud, but she could see it in his gaze as he pressed his forehead against hers, panting loudly, that pleading, ashamed, misty look asking for relief.

She lifted herself slightly then, slipping the material of her shorts off her legs with difficulty, his eyes fixed on her face the whole time as he lowered the material of his sweatpants with his lips spread open at the same time.

"− don't look − come here −" He gasped, pulling her back, groaning loudly as her leaking womanhood pressed against his naked body, his swollen, hard cock throbbing all over and twitching between her thighs, dripping with his precum. The tip of his nose sunk into her cheek as he placed his hands on her naked waist, rocking his hips back and forth, his manhood rubbing against her slick folds.

"− good God − you are so devoted to our Lord, are you not? − always so wet for me −" He exhaled delightedly, speeding up, his lips pressed to her chest, kissing her bare, smooth skin between her breasts, between which hung a small gold cross, a gift from him, which she now wore instead of the one from her grandfather, so that he could have the feeling that a part of him was always with her, touching her naked body.

He never looked down, focusing only on the sense of touch, not wanting to deprive her or himself of their intimacy, to sin by thinking of physicality instead of the spirituality he found in this act of union with her.

"− yes −" She mumbled out with difficulty, responding by bucking her hips to his movements, teasing and squeezing him so that she could hear the loud, sticky click of her own moisture from which they both quickened their pace. Her fingers clamped in his hair, hugging him tighter into her, his fingertips digging into her buttocks, each of his strokes rubbing her clit, making her walls begin to throb wonderfully inside her again.

"− if only I were your husband − if only I could − I'd fuck you every day, morning and evening − after prayer −" He added, as if this was an essential part of that fantasy; she tilted her head back, whimpering with pleasure, his hands sliding lower, between his and her thighs. The thumb of one of them began to brush her clit in circular, sure motions, and the other grasped his manhood, using her moisture as lube − she heard him squeeze himself with a sticky splat, panting loudly, his face pressed against her chest.

"− Holy Father − so good − ah −" She babbled with difficulty, completely absorbed in her own pleasure and his closeness, rising slightly on her knees. She saw him look at her with horror and desire as she positioned herself over the leaking tip of his manhood, but not looking down, resting her hand on his shoulder for balance, letting its fat, pink head push against her fleshy, hot slit.

"− ah − n-no − please − oh fuck − don't stop −" He breathed out, simultaneously trying to escape and thrusting his length deeper between her moist, slick folds, as always he tried to fight with himself, to no avail, his swollen manhood was already halfway in, throbbing like mad.

She pressed her forehead against his with soft moan of delight, closing her eyes, focusing only on the fact that she felt him, that he desired her, that he was loosing his mind because of her.

Once he was deep inside her, his fingers involuntarily dug into the plump skin of her buttocks, shudders of pleasure and disbelief ran through her every time he slammed into her quickly and confidently with greedy, desperate jerks of his hips, unable to contain himself, surrendering to the euphoria that was overtaking them both.

"− God − so tight − so warm − fuckk −" He babbled, opening her wide on his fat cock with each thrust of his hips, she felt every vein on his thick manhood perfectly, every twitch of it, was ashamed of how lewd her moans were, how greedily her walls squeezed him and sucked him in, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− please, please, please, save me −" She mewled sinking up and down on his throbbing length, at the mere feeling of him inside her stretching her fleshy muscles so wonderfully, uniting with her in that final way she came again, tilting her head back with a sweet, surprised cry of pleasure.

She heard his loud, throaty groan when he heard her words and felt her fulfilment on his cock, her moisture running down her thighs, as usual when he felt his was close he slid out of her quickly, cumming into his own hand with a loud sigh of relief that shook his body.

As always his orgasm made tears of pleasure, regret, delight and shame run down his cheeks, which she wiped away quickly leaning over him, snuggling into him, panting loudly, his clean hand immediately embracing her, stroking her back.

She grasped his other wrist, feeling him resist her, wanting to raise his hand higher, to her lips.

"− n-no − stop − it's dirty −" He mumbled through tears, sniffing loudly and sighed, simultaneously heartbroken, helpless and enchanted when she slid his fingers, sticky with his semen deep into her mouth.

"− we have already discussed this − wasting it is a sin, Holy Father − is it not? −" She gasped between flicks of her moist tongue − she heard him swallow hard, looking at her as if charmed, letting her lick his pearly, sticky liquid off his naked skin.

"− I shouldn't − you don't have to −" He began in a trembling voice, watching closely her treatments, unable to look away from this perverted sight.

"− I want to −" She hummed softly, kissing his already clean hand tenderly, smelling of his fulfilment and her saliva; she leaned towards him, hugging her face to his, their hands stroking each other reassuringly.

"− you are the love of my life −" She whispered in his ear, and he sighed quietly, despite the fact that she had repeated it to him so often, he still clearly did not believe that it was true, that she reciprocated his feelings, that she was not disgusted by him, that she had no intention of deceiving or abandoning him.

"− will you forgive me? −" He muttered, and she smiled softly, pressing her face against his hot cheek.

"− I'll forgive you if you forgive me −" She hummed tenderly, hearing him swallow hard.

"− I forgive you, sweet flower −"

"− and I forgive you, Your Holiness −"

She felt him slowly begin to calm down − he wiped his cheeks and she slid off his thighs, quickly putting on her shorts as he headed for her bathroom, locking himself inside to get himself cleaned up.

When he came out he was still quivering.

It seemed to her that the experience of fulfilment was something almost frightening for him, even more so with her when he obviously loved her so dearly.

She reached out her arms to him and he snuggled into her like a small child, pressing his face against her bare skin between her breasts and took a heavy breath, focusing on her hand that covered them tightly with the duvet, then began to stroke his hair with the calm, tender brushes of her fingers.

"Until I met you, I did not understand the Songs of Songs written down by King Solomon. I couldn't get through them, considering them to be sinful texts, I didn't know how they could be part of the Bible. But now I understand. You are my beloved. My bride." He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her throat at his words, recalling the lyrics of these poems, so filled with metaphors of physical affection that it seemed like a book made for lovers.

How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies. You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace. How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much more pleasing is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your perfume more than any spice!

Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; milk and honey are under your tongue. The fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon. You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.

"That would make you my beloved, Holy Father." She whispered quietly, gently brushing his hair with her fingers, feeling how quickly her heart began to pound at this shameless confession.

She heard him hum under his breath, delighted, moving his lips over her bare skin, kissing tentatively a small part of her soft, plump, exposed breast.

"Indeed. I have never felt the presence of God so much as when I am with you. Inside you. When I kiss your naked body. I think then: God must exist, since He has placed such a perfect being before me to be my joy and comfort." He muttered, his lips leaving again and again the sticky, warm trail of his mouth on the bare skin of her breast.

"This is my heaven on earth." He whispered into her warm skin, running his large hand down her back under the material of her shirt, and she smiled at his words, for some reason fulfilled and happy.

"As is mine."

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schwarzkatje · 18 days

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dark!orphan!ellie x nun!reader || part 2

disclaimer: this contains religious themes and slightly interiorised homophobia so if you know this is not for you don't read any further. i hope you like this descent into the pits of hell of both religion and my hunger for introspection (and also please tell me the story flow makes sense). not proofread bc i hate doing it with a passion. also, this is taking an angsty turn that i didn't mean but oh well.

> for part 1 click here || for part 3 click here

"ellie!" was what could be heard all over the courtyard and what eventually became the reason why the person whose name you shouted dropped her usual insolent smirk.

the incident of the previous day had left you in disbelief. you reckoned that it had more to do with your own lust driven conduct than it had with ellie's. you were an educator there, your role didn't involve letting one of your alumni have her way with you, no matter how legal of age she was and how little of a age gap was between the two of you. it had been immoral, shameful, a pure fever dream to which you were willing to remedy.

and what about you being a nun and still indulging in such wicked behaviours? had you perhaps forgotten your religious vocation? the fulcrum that had been dictating your whole life and on which every decision of yours had depended. and you could still play pretend that your attraction to women didn't play a huge part in your decision to confine yourself in a convent or wherever you were needed, but that would be your umpteenth sin, lying.

acknowledging your mind was beginning to wander in dangerous territories that could tarnish your renewed courage and substitute it with coward uncertainty, you refrain from further dwelling there and instead focus on what you had came to do.

before you was ellie, her grimace now an upright expression of disgust as her head hinted to the girl in front of her to leave. at least she looked like she was reading the room, recognising you had the urgency to address a serious situation and that this called for a certain degree of privacy.

you were fast proven wrong and the devil's laugh echoed in your ears, teasing you for not giving up on ellie and still tumbling in the illusion of reading any of her actions as redeemable or without the wickedness the other sisters had been warning you about.

"wasn't the last time enough for you that had to come for more?" was spat out in what you now considered a torment, given the frequency of this filth. however, it now strengthen the force of the damage it meant to inflict as it had a thick skin to wear. it wasn't just a decontextualised question without a standing and stable ground. ellie was obliging you to revive your blasphemous encounter in which she had menaced you with something so inconceivably disgusting that you deemed as outrageous as a capital sin and so offensive towards god to even give it a mere second of life in your memory.

without giving you the semblance of a chance to defend your dignity, she began her usual and monstrous journey of tearing as much of your integrity and hope as possible.

"what, are you gonna inform mother superior about me smoking a blunt?" the mentioned item was discarded with nonchalance. "or did a single orgasm with me made you so obsessed that you now are jealous i was talking to another girl?" was the grotesque addition to her first equally absurd insinuation.

needless to say, no matter how much you had grown accustomed to ellie's way of tainting her speech, you still couldn't help but remind your chest to let the stored air out, trapped in an aching press around your heart.

what dealt the final and most destructive blow was the ever insinuating belief that ellie simply was beyond control and beyond salvation. a realisation so unbearable that your ego pressed so intensely to push all reasoning aside and out of your mind. the same ego that would have rather died than accept that the time you had spent believing you could make a change had all been wasted bullshit, that you had in fact been dead wrong when you had taken ellie's side against the abuse of power perpetrated by the other nuns.

you were torn between screaming in frustration and crying in pain because of just how much you were supposed to take and let sink in you and once again negotiate in order not to accept defeat and it was starting to weight so much you—

"why don't we talk about what seems to be an unhealthy obsession that you have with fucking a nun?"

shit.

you gained awareness of what you just had vomited when ellie, even though for a brief moment, found herself not knowing how to comment on such an unexpected outburst.

what the hell did you just do? all the big talking about being the mature and reasonable one and it took the time of a snapping of fingers for you to descend on the level of a petty teenager quarrel. ellie didn't make a show of her respect to elders with spotless reputation, so what chance did you stand of wishing for ellie to come to her senses thanks to your guidance?

ellie taking advantage of the situation and turning it to her favour was typical of her and it happened faster than you could expect.

"well, well... and what if that is the case, mh?" the humming sound was accompanied by the slight tilt of her head to the side, as if to find a fashion to penetrate deeper inside the remnants of your crumbling facade. not to mention, this was becoming more than she could have ever bargained for and the hunger in her eyes was proof that if anything she was finding your destruction the most amusing event she could recall.

"i would call an exorcist and put an end to this foolishness," you were conscious that this, if anything, was but fuel to ellie's debauchery.

"i quite like that. would you have them exorcise me before or after you get the chance to ask for god's forgiveness after coming all over my face while screaming his name?" ellie was giving voice to anything that came to her mind at that point. she was slipping, drowning in her own depravity and thirst for the unquenchable rush of heat that followed the vision of your face transmuted into something uncontrollable.

and infuriated you were. putting god into this hellish game, using his name in vain. you had just one objective in mind and ellie tore it down before you could even attempt to have her admit her wrongdoing. what you had been saying was coated in venom, tracing the path of ellie's poisonous temptations and completely detached to your first intention.

you were dancing on ellie's palm, the same way everyone in the orphanage was. you were no exception and it was feeling more and more like a death sentence.

before you could let go of the last droplet of willingness and accept that you were now a slave to her sick play, you slapped her on her face.

you were no longer your own person, you were a shell to somebody else's actions because you had spent your years learning to hate physical violence masqueraded as a educational mean.

you couldn't care less. and for this reason when ellie threatened you with the promise of making you pay for that, you bathed in a perverse anticipation for what she could possibly have in store.

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x reader smut #ellie williams smut #ellie x y/n #ellie smut #ellie x you #the last of us smut #dark ellie #ellie williams x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou

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katakaluptastrophy · 1 month

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"I’ve already pretty much revealed that Alecto begins with the descent of Christ into Hades." - Tamsyn Muir

That's right...it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where Western liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Holy Saturday. So Jesus died on the cross on Good Friday. He rises from the dead on Easter Sunday. But what happened in between? His body lay in the tomb...but his spirit was otherwise preoccupied. Because on Holy Saturday, Jesus went to Hell.

But why would Jesus go to Hell? Because the resurrection was not just about saving the people who came after it - it was a bit more...wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.

To be a bit more specific, he didn't visit Hell Hell. The place Jesus visited isn't Hell in the sense of eternal punishment of the damned, but Hades or Sheol or the Underworld or Limbo - a place for those who were mostly good but lived before Jesus' resurrection had made salvation possible. So before his resurrection, Jesus went to make that salvation retroactive. Particularly, according to tradition, to major figures from the Old Testament, including Adam and Eve.

So Nona the Ninth ended with Harrow walking off into the River in search of theological truth. And Alecto the Ninth apparently begins with Harrow in Hell:

Alecto the Ninth, ACT ONE HARROW IN HELL CHAPTER 1 At a point in the slit she was carving through life, Harrowhark Nonagesimus woke to find herself lost in a dark wound. She had been walking when it had all gone black– any path ahead or behind was blotted out; now she was here. - Tamsyn Muir reading at TorCon

This is riffing heavily on the beginning of Dante's Inferno:

"In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost." - Dante Alighieri, Inferno

But lots of people go to Hell. What's so special about Harrow going there? Because the traditional name in English for Jesus' chthonic salvation adventures on Holy Saturday is "the Harrowing of Hell." "Harrow" comes from an Old English word meaning to attack or despoil - a very martial way of expressing the idea of Jesus as the victor over sin and death.

Harrow ended NTN realising that she cannot trust John's account of metaphysics. That she needs to discover the reality for herself. The faith of the Nine Houses and John's own styling as god rests on the foundation of the Resurrection - John is the "ransomer of death, scourge of death, vindicator of death", his power is understood to be absolute: "Let the whole of everywhere entrust themselves to him. Let those across the river pledge beyond the tomb to the adept divine."

And yet even that prayer - "let those across the river..." - introduces doubt. Magnus jumps in to silence Abigail when she expresses her heretical belief in the River beyond, and Harrow herself scoffs that "it has been thousands of years since anybody bothered to believe in the River beyond." Abigail believes that John knows nothing about what exists beyond the River. And what about Hell? In HTN, Ulysses the First is described as "languishing in Hell" after his run-in with a Resurrection Beast. John himself describes the stoma as "the mouth to Hell", "a portal to a place I cannot touch - somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless."

In the Book of Revelation - the Bible's account of the end of the world - Jesus holds "the keys of death and Hell". John may have resurrected the dead, but he does not comprehend what is beyond it. Both the destination of the good, the River beyond to which the souls of little Isaac and Jean should have traveled lightly after their short and brutal lives, and the Hell that lies beneath the stoma are outside of his power. He is a few keys short of the full divine bunch. He can manipulate death, but he is not really its master.

And so Harrow walks off into the River to look for something or someone she can call god. Harrow, who shares a name with the defeat of death across time and space. Harrow, who is of the unbroken line of Anastasia. Anastasia was kind to Alecto, who like Eve is the mother of all and like Adam walked on the empty earth with god.

In Orthodox icons, the Harrowing of Hell is depicted with Jesus triumphant, leading Adam and Eve by the hand from their tombs. The traditional term for this image is an anastasis, the Greek term for resurrection. Adam and Eve, whose sin broke the intended shape of reality, are restored to wholeness with god.

How will Harrow answer her questions about god? What really is beyond the stoma and what would it mean to conquer it? What does it look like, metaphysically, to restore the world of The Locked Tomb to wholeness, and what will it cost?

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #harrowhark nonagesimus #john gaius #alecto the first #anastasia the first

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catfern · 18 days

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deliverance

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: priest!abby anderson x afab!sinner!reader

music: the deliverance playlist

word count: 5k

summary: your mother is dead, and you're left returning to a home that never really was to pick up the pieces. memories are haunting creatures, insistent on destroying you. luckily, your redemption may come by the hands of god yet.

WARNINGS: READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED ─ themes of religious trauma and abuse, hint of encouraged disordered eating, mother issues, non-major character death, some internalised homophobia

you never thought you had missed the magnolia trees. you had very little thought about the soft, white flowers of your youth after you left, scattered the pieces of yourself across the midwest to rot, forgotten.

a foreign pit sits in your stomach now as the jaunty convertible rolls across the dirt of the road. pillowy cream petals line the overgrown grass, dance in the wind and fall in your back seat. a concession. the only welcome you’ll ever get.

the soft smile on the solicitor’s face is a cruel, mocking joke. you don’t know how long he’s been waiting for you to roll down the long drive, but you can see the imprint of his shoes on the decaying wood steps, the scuffle of his path through the dead leaves, the rotten petals.

you had gotten the call late at night, breaking through an unwelcome silence. not from the hospital, but from the state. your mother was dead, and a team of lawyers had chased a harbinger trail left by your sixteen-year-old self to find you.

you left those breadcrumbs, in delusion, for your family. a final call, love me, love me, love me. years passed, no one followed.

you pull the car into park, the echo of the radio dying across the empty plains.

“miss-“ his voice is syrupy, a deep rasp coddled in the kindness of an all-american accent. he’s cut off by the slam of the car door, the scratch of your heels on the gravel driveway. you eye him, slowly, the foreign entity on your mother’s porch. stood by the neglected swing, the smell of rust and sand and infestation clinging to him, inane.

“can’t you leave me to clear this place out in peace?”

he stutters something unsure, you can feel his eyes draping over you, a quick flash of something delusionally hungry, “w-well, miss, there’s the matter of the funeral. your mother named you executor of her will.”

of course she fucking did.

you sigh, something innately powerless nipping at your heels. your mother’s last laugh from the grave. well, from the morgue, really. if you could let that woman sit in a faithless freezer, an eternal purgatory, you would. she’s not worth the embrace of her god’s dirt.

“fine.”

you supposed you had hoped to get it all done in two days. pack everything in flimsy cardboard boxes and dump it in the parking lot of the nearest salvation army, purposefully forgotten.

and now, with the door forced open, the warm, unmoving heat of the sun pouring through and eating at your back, ghosts of a slighted childhood tease you, in the rotted landscape of your home. perhaps once, there was something happy here, but the domain of a conformist hoarder shows you no such peace.

the looming feeling of the cross your father nailed above the fridge when you were fourteen was something you had hoped to never feel again. a jittery taunt as the light inside it comes alive,

‘god sees your gluttony,’

clearly, considering the only thing left in the fridge was the whispering stench of rotted milk. you hold the carton at arms length as you toss it in the small waste basket in the pantry, and weigh your waning options.

spend a hundred bucks on food delivery fees, or make an appearance in town, for the low, low price of the dignity you lost years ago.

summer hasn’t changed, in the breast of the small town you grew up in. nestled between the buzz of marshes and the sprawl of empty, overgrown farmland, stately buildings with wasting foundations cast shadows, small reprieves from the unforgiving burn of the sun on the pavement.

the small chatter of young housewives echoes in the quiet of the late afternoon as you step out from the shield of the air conditioned supermarket, heaving your bags in tow. you forgot how much the underhanded heat sneaks into your body, lays in your bones. even still, with the foreign freedom of shorts and a shirt your mother would have never let you wear, summer sits in your crevices, uncomfortably in the hollow of your skin.

something flashes in the corner of your eye, something unfamiliar hiding in the sunlight. you squint, a misguided effort to chase the feeling settling deep beneath your stomach, pushing in on your organs. awareness abandoned, you stand in wait like a dog tied to a pole outside the corner shop, lips ajar as you stare into the blown light of noon, eager.

slowly, the anomaly comes into blurry focus.

that’s new.

gold catches in the sunlight, a soft sheen of sweat like diamonds in your eyes.

a woman. you’ve never seen her before, and this place is hardly somewhere people choose to come.

She was shaking the hand of Mr. Collins, your neighbour. God, he aged poorly. Next to the shrivel of a man, she looked as if sculpted by god. a gift, the contour of her muscles beneath the relaxed fit of her shirt a taunting appraisal. cargo shorts and a graphic tee, not the expected attire of a woman. she definitely looked out of place, especially here, but the air of comfortability she carried said otherwise. people were happy to see her. her face, made so harsh and angular, was soft in conversation. figures.

you, an abomination. her, this stark difference to everything you were ever taught, welcomed.

your name echoes across the tranquility of the plaza, and for a moment, your eyes meet. the woman swallows.

“i thought that was you! my stars, i never thought i’d see you again!”

a manicured hand grabs at you, and you’re broken from your haze.

prudence was smiling at you. you’d never seen her smile, only snicker and whisper.

“i haven’t seen you since high school!”

for a reason. you clear your throat, and manage a strained smile. friend, tormentor, you were always unsure whether she was going to unhinge her jaw and swallow you whole. you had hoped to never see her again.

“how’ve you been!” her voice was too sugary, too loud for the daze of a summer afternoon. you felt hungover.

“hm? fine, i’ve been fine.” you’re trying not to sound distracted, disinterested. you’re watching as the woman from earlier disappears around the corner of the store. her face, curious and kind, lingers in your mind.

the oppressive heat of the morning breeze wisps through your hair, beating the tenets of unease down onto your skin. the church stands foremost, casting a shadow that offers no cool relief, no reprieve. per her last wishes, you will bury your mother in her congregation.

the solicitor assured you that the old pastor has passed since you left.

an early morning appointment, for privacy, to discuss the burial. the way to go about it.

might as well get it over with.

it hasn’t changed, since you were young. you remember sticking to the pews, sweat melting your skin as you leaned to find a whisper of a breeze. the walls do well to trap the swelter of mid-year.

“for a minute there, i was sure you weren’t coming.” a low, calm voice echoes in the emptiness of the hall.

there, the woman from yesterday stands, not yet looking at you. instead, she opts to fiddle with the cuffs of her blazer, her golden hair tied back in a neat braid, falling down her back and shimmering in the artificial light. when she meets your eye, there’s that flicker of curiosity and disquiet, the way she looked at you in the square.

she clears her throat, holding her hand out. “i’m abigail. you must be-“

“yeah,” you say all too quickly, taking her hand tenderly.

there’s a beat of silence, your bravery seeming to pin you looking at each other, unable to shake the gaze of the other.

finally, abigail speaks, “why don’t we-uh, do you wanna? let’s sit,”

you nod, following her as she leads you back, through the twisting, turning halls, a path so densely taken by you once. you knew the way, but you followed behind her all the same.

her office is .. different, to how father mckenzie decorated it. where his walls were bare, imposing, quiet and godly, abigail’s is showered in kindness, in humanity. pictures of her soccer team, of her volunteer work, her smile a littered memory through all of them. her degree in theology from a far off university is pinned proudly behind her.

learned, real, tangible.

“i was.. sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. i’m sure it was quite a shock to you as well.”

she uses that voice. the voice of pastors, the voice of god. for years, you’d wondered how long they practiced it. walking the line between genial and authoritative, the voice that brings others to kneel.

you nod slightly, remembering your obligation to reaction. your throat is dry, “yeah, well, we hadn’t spoken in a few years, so…”

she frowns, skin deep, a purchased expression, “i’m aware. she often confided in me her troubles, she was… kind. i can imagine a life without her support must have been difficult.”

a vicious laugh half erupts from your throat before you struggle to contain it, but you half expect abigail to shoot you a knowing smirk.

kind?

“are you sure we’re talking about the same woman?” you eye her now, slumped back in your seat, like a defiant child. tongue in cheek, you let your head roll back, “speak to anyone, i’m sure ‘kind’ isn’t the word they’d use.”

abigail clears her throat again, shuffling around some papers on her desk, letting the discomfort of the room get to her, “dutiful, then. i apologise if i struck a cord.”

“no, no,” your gaze is scrutinising, painful to be underneath. in a way, gratification snuck under your skin with how easy it was to upset her, to finally be the bigger, badderperson in this godforsaken room, “she was kind to you,” your eyes flutter over the heave of her body as she breathes, “you’re lucky then. that’s not a courtesy she extends-extended to many.”

“well, then i’m particularly grateful.”

“you should be.”

a stalemate, almost. your words sit dry in the air, hanging like a taunt.

“right, well,” abigail begins, looking down at your mother’s will, “your mother requested that i speak the sermon at her service. i know you aren’t particularly religious, but i would encourage-“

“did she tell you that?”

she looks up at you, her eyes hanging through her eyelashes. perhaps she grew tired of your contempt, perhaps she grew firm, “would it be such a bold assumption either way?”

that actually brings a laugh from you, harsh as it is. a beat, “no, i suppose not.”

you watch as she continues, skimming through the will and taking anecdotes with her right hand, penmanship on show. you can see the etching of her arm even underneath the cursed wool of the jacket, the broadness of her shoulders hiding beneath her holy uniform. you wonder how long it took for her to carve that out of herself. you wonder if the clergy collar was the thing stopping you from something you would’ve usually done.

“just do it according to what she wanted,” you say quickly, readjusting yourself in your seat as you break from your own glaring, “i suppose i’ll pay for it either way,”

abigail looks at you, a stare akin to a kind, confused dog. “oh, alright, well,” she stands curtly, going to shake your hand once more, “thank you for coming in then. it was good to finally meet you,”

you nod as if to say the same, but the words don’t actually fall from your lips. turning to leave, your name in her voice hooks you,

“i would encourage you to come to the sunday service, if you have the time.” she says, her face painted genuine, generous, “perhaps peace with the lord is something that you find you’ll need.”

it’s not like the invite was a mockery, you tell yourself as you buckle your heel. she was extending something kind. maybe she read you better than you did yourself.

you hadn’t exactly packed for a formal occasion, disregarding the knee length black dress you borrowed from walmart the day you found out you were staying for a funeral.

this was the next best thing.

dark red against the bare of your skin, your dress barely brushed mid-thigh, although the omission of fabric on your tits would be welcome in the afternoon trapped in the church. you eye the ornate glass cross your mother kept propped up on the console table,

oh, well. if god loved you, you suppose he would just have to forgive you.

you resolve to be david attenborough, you think to yourself as your convertible jaunts into park on the dirt road leading up to the congregation. scholar of these creatures in worship.

you can feel the town eyeing you as you take your first brave step, whispers a background to your arrival. makes you feel special, at least. you hardly have the time to act tough before prudence rushes you, husband on arm.

“we didn’t think we’d see you today!” she smiles, “you remember anthony?”

of course. anthony, the frightened young boy you had once shared a cigarette with outside the hubbub of the church’s youth mixer. you had comfort in you, back then, enough to share. you had told him once that his ‘weird feelings’ toward another boy at school was nothing to be scared of. nothing trumps the fear of god, though. he ran home and opened his mouth, he got you run out of town.

you stifle a laugh, and nod as you follow the swarm of people inside.

you know it’s narcissistic to assume that all eyes are on you, that every slighted giggle was directed at you, but right here, right now, it’s true. your mother no longer around to backhand your rebellion, you bare it full force.

you slip into an empty pew at the back, not scared, but rather hopeful to capture the breeze of one of the two standing fans.

the torrid heat already getting to you, a sheen of sweat is sitting on the cup of your cleavage that’s bare, heaving with each thick, heavy breath. your eyes trail abigail as she takes to the pulpit.

“i am so, so happy to see you all here with me today, under the eyes of the lord,”

something about summer agrees with her, you suppose. the brutality of it doesn’t seem to cling to her, her stride and keen smile unbroken. you can still eye, from the back, the details in her hands as she flips through the paper of her sermon.

there’s strength behind how gently she carries herself.

for one neurotic moment, you think you see her eyes dance over you, meeting yours before flittering away. you cross your legs and shake the feeling.

instead, you find yourself swallowed by the steel of her gaze. the authority that so well suits the sharpness of her features. you can tell she was not built to be generous, that god believed her stare to be absolution. the benevolence that she wears, that so illy sits on the brawn of her body, was never meant for her.

you wonder what abigail was like when she was mean. you wonder if she ever was.

“before we begin today, i want to remind you all that we will be bidding farewell to an esteemed member of our beloved community tomorrow. i beseech you all to attend if you can,”

softness doesn’t belong to her.

maybe, in another life, you would’ve seen the abigail god intended. crossed paths in the dive bar you frequent in the city, found her in the bathroom of a club, framed by the deafening beat of bad music.

you think to what her hand would feel like, rough and blistered with work unholy, pinning your wrist to the grime of a bathroom stall.

the warmth of her breath, coddled in whiskey and smoke, on your skin, the scent of her determined.

you eye her fingers as they turn the page of her notes, and imagine the strength of them pulling you apart, twisting you to her desire.

“i urge you to keep her soul in your prayers, so that she may find her way home to the lord,”

you feel the trickling of heat up your neck, your ears burning, your breath quick and scattered. something sick and swallowing sits in your stomach, you can feel eyes on you, but when you look up past the congregation, you see nothing.

it’s like you’re being smoked out, a sinner in church. you almost fall to your feet as you scramble out into the aisle, chest heaving as you rush out the open door.

you break through the stuck door of your family’s home, arid and heavy. your grip on your mother’s glass cross is titan, as you toss it, watch it shatter across the floorboards.

this was a joke.

the soft, rhythmic flap… flap… flap of Mrs Dixon’s black bone hand fan was the drum procession of which you were to bury your mother.

considering the climbing heat of the day, it was a wonder her bones hadn’t already rotted in the cheapest coffin you could’ve found. the sun high and taunting in the cloudless sky, it burned down on the congregation, the swelling crowd that had come to worship the life of that creature. that tormentor.

the old women of the church, the same who had once chewed their cheeks over the skirt length of your sunday best, who had counselled your mother over her faithless daughter, stood crown among the sea of black, eyeing you, scrutinising you, as they had always done. and like a hare caught in the crosshair of a hunter, you found yourself shrinking, as you once did, when you were fourteen.

you purse your lips, and try to steel your withering facade.

“we gather here today, to put to rest our sister in christ,”

abigail’s voice was commanding, you had to give her props. gentle, but worthy of attention. you can imagine a kind word from her was heavily sought after, amongst the faithful, chasers of praise from the workers of the lord. you watched her, embraced by the back of the daylight, the skin of her neck glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath was heavy but not scattered, the rise and fall of her shoulders, broad, something mesmerising, oddly comforting.

her hands tighten their grip on her sermon. you can spy the cursive writing sifting through the back of the paper, bathed in sunlight. she must feel the bristle of your gaze.

“a pillar of the community, a hero of the faith,”

you studied her, like you would a specimen, cut open and bare. there was something about her, something in her that your mother liked, enjoyed, despite her many ungodly flaws. like the indeterminable, you stood in fascination. what was it? what was it that she had, that you had lacked?

was she merely hiding behind the cross, behind her steadfast dogma? you could have done that. you didn’t, but you could have.

you could have stayed, here. played your part. you could have been that child of the church. you could have done it, had you not chosen your own convictions. would, then, have abigail still appeared, had you stayed and been your mother’s daughter? a perfect echo of everything you weren’t?

was she just a spectre, summoned here to mock you in your failings?

the pit in your stomach is decaying, swallowing you whole. you knew perfectly well that had you stayed, you still wouldn’t have been what your mother wanted. you never were, never could be. you could not have deigned to touch the pedestal that abigail sat on.

a tear stings at the baseline of your eye, a foreign feeling, and you swallow the sharp presence in your throat.

abigail finishes, tucks her sermon away neatly in her pocket. the coffin is slowly lowered into the ground.

you never could’ve done the right thing, had you had the chance to go back and change it all. for your mother saw you, and saw everything she hated. every quality she herself turned away from god.

after all, filth begets filth.

the harsh clicking of the lighter broke a holy, suppressive silence in the halls of the church. you stare up at the great stained glass mural behind the lectern, fractures of colour scattered across the carpet. you pull the cigarette from the purse of your mouth and watch as the smoke swirls up, splits and ebbs into the clean, pure air.

“you can’t smoke in here,”

her voice isn’t harsh, or reprimanding, but rather, lost. quiet, unsure, like a mouse. something cowardly.

you hold the cigarette out to her, not risking to look back and face her. she takes it gingerly, but doesn’t bring it to her lips, doesn’t dare to put it out.

“my mother loved god. more than she loved my dad,” you look over your shoulder to meet her eyes. her brow furrowed, her expression meek.

“the lord is easy to love,” she steps forward, to stand level with you. her blazer brushes against the bare of your arm, soft cotton. you scoff quietly, mockingly.

“i never felt that.” you take the cigarette back from abigail’s hand in one fowl swoop and take another drag. she says nothing, “god is difficult.”

she looks at you, as if you were a mystery, quizzically, “you take His name in vain so easily.”

you meet her gaze and almost laugh. she’s frowning at you with the face of a child, with the same innocence that’s almost insulting, “yeah, well,” your words fall as you suck in smoke, “Him and i are old friends.”

there’s a sudden, shifting silence between you. the ash of your cigarette falls contrast on the red of the carpet, but you make no move to clean it. you hold your gaze at the cross at the front of the hall, almost daring it to look away first.

“i understand you and your mother had a complicated relationsh-“

“you know nothing about me and my mother,” you say quickly, sharply, negating any comfort. suddenly, you’re pinning abigail under your gaze, and her graciousness falters.

“she told me a great deal of things,” abigial says firmly, almost cementing herself in place against the wind of your unwavering disposition. for the first time, you see in her defiance, a challenge.

you step forward for a moment, unsteady on your tiptoes, and the fine details of abigail's features become briefly clear. the light, sun kissed pink brushed across the high of her cheekbones, the crook in her nose where she undoubtedly broke it once, the gold in the baby hairs that escaped her neat braid to frame her face wildly, contrast to the carefully kept order of her appearance. you had hoped to push her back into uncertainty, back into a quiet disposition, and perhaps you have. you watch her swallow headily. your closeness could melt you if you weren't careful, the heat from her breath swirling against your skin. you want to celebrate the nervousness creeping into her eyes, but instead you just feel... enthralled.

"and what did she tell you about me, hm?" you hold your chin high with a wicked cruelty in your smile, "did she disclose to you my many sins?"

her voice is a quiet choke, as much as she fights to keep it steady. she looks at you, examining you like a human to an animal, "you're troubled, you lack guidance-"

"your guidance? or god's?" your eyes flicker but you couldn't say to where. oppression is a symphony, in the house of the lord, makes the air syrupy, dazed. there's a blur in this moment between you, "is there any difference?"

you can hear her breath catch in her throat, the space between you thick, immobile.

“tell me, am i exactly how my mother described?”

“more than.” she stifles an unearned breath, “you test me.”

you take a final drag of your cigarette, stamping the butt into the carpet. abigail says nothing, does nothing.

“is that what she told you would happen?”

she swallows, her breath shaky.

“you’re tempting me from god,” she sounds unsure of herself, even now. you, despite your air of ego, beg to close the distance.

“is that what this is?” your voice is barely a whisper on her lips, prickling at her skin.

in one fell swoop, she moves on you, wretched and despairing and yearning. her lips run down your neck messily, unsure of herself as she falls.

a jealous mantra, “forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,” as her face drags in the skin between your thighs, peppering fevered kisses with her warm breath up your dress.

you throw your head back in a quiet, celebrated ecstasy, ambrosia humming beneath your skin. you hear her pleas just faintly, “what?”

something simmers in her throat, a frenzy, her hands, so gentle, so firm, unseen from hard labour, drag up the silhouette of your body, bunching the fabric of your clothes up past your hips. laid bare, she means to worship you,

“for my sins, dear god,” she hums, her words a soft hum brushing your clit, your nails clawing wood from the pew,“forgive me,”

all grace forgotten, all discipline jilted, she’s tentative at first, so soft and unsure, her tongue dragging gentle, lazy traces, just to taste you. but you, oh you, weep ichor, something so velveteen and compulsive, something that sits in her throat and leaves her needing. her hands grab at the flesh of your ass, an anchor or a desecration against you as she moves, pinning you in your seat. shaky moans reverberate inside of you as she takes her fill, restless against you, her tongue an abuse that leaves you in threads.

your hands curl into the tight kempt of her hair, shaking her braid loose until it hangs on her shoulders, your nails scratching at her scalp.

“fuck, abby,” it falls from your lips before you catch it, not that you have the right to care anymore. “right there, right -god- right there.”

abby, never before knowing this need, is ravenous, a temptation lost in your touch as she consumes you, greedily, a sharpness, a predatory unfamiliarity that is so unlike her.

“god, oh god,” her lips drag sloppily up your body, smearing your own cotton slick against your stomach, your dress, a patterned trail to your lips, warmth resting in the friction between your bones. you taste yourself on her, but you smell her on you, pine and cheap cologne and sweat.

“tell me to stop,” she chokes in a moment when she leaves your lips. she’s almost dragged back to you, a magnet to metal. “please, tell me,”

her hand is crawling down your body, down to rest between your legs. her fingers dance, hesitant, just brushing your clit. it stings, and your seethe melts into moans, “i don’t-i don’t want you to. don’t.”

“fuck,”

her fingers stretch you so uncertainly, so kind, content to just knowing the feeling of you. the push back you give her as your back arches, your breathing shivers.

control. something so rarely desired by her, something you won’t give her. but for a moment, as she starts to find your heartbeat’s rhythm, her fingers pulling and pushing like the weight of the tide against you, she feels that rush. that supremacy she so desperately searched for. it only eggs her on for more of a taste.

her speed picks up, her forearm so lazily draped across the plain of your stomach, she looks up at you. pinned in your seat by her weight, your hair wild, your face contorted. a flush falls over your body, heat dripping down the dip of your chest as she pulls whine after whine from the swell of your lips. her.

“pastor abigail?”

prudence.

if pitchforks and torches were still in style, you’re sure an angry mob would’ve chased you, high on your heels, out of town. instead, you settle for a mournful, cowardly escape.

you slam the trunk shut, the sharp sound sending cacophonies of disruption through the magnolias. echoes of blue jays take flight across the muddled grey of the sky. the humidity is sticking to your skin, a sleekness that feels like an insult to the fragility of the moment.

abigail’s truck rattles down the distant drive, the silence of her despondence drowning as she screeches to a halt beside you. she stumbles out in a stupour, aberrant with an emotion difficult to recognise.

“you’ve led me to the slaughter,” her face is red, the heat clinging to her hairline, her chest heaving. christ, the redeemer, is slung around her neck, lopsided, “I will live forsaken from god.”

the taste of sulphur sits on your tongue, like a burnt match rotting in your throat. you look at her, and she looks at you, her pupils blown with pleading, like a child who has just become conscious of death.

what have you done to her? brought her down to you? pulled her down from the pyre, stripped of her defences;

has that made you happy? have you finally settled inside yourself, with this victory? looking up at her, seeing a pleading servant of the creature that turned you away, are you happy in her defeat?

you purse your lips, an ill attempt at forgiveness, at apology. moving past her, you feel her hesitance, her corroding need to reach out to you, like wading in waist high water.

in the car, your fingers wrap around the steering wheel, a vice grip. the last tether to this plane of existence, this piece of yourself.

“take it from me,” your voice is a soft croak, unsure of itself. you look up from the driver’s seat, and see her. is her own god forgotten in her eyes? you swallow,

“your guilt won’t purify you.”

─ psssst, hey! you made it this far! great! just wanted to let you know i've opened up a kofi to help support time for my writing. if you like my work and want to show your support, even just 1 buck would go a long way for me right now.

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x afab!reader #abby anderson

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ur-mousey · 4 months

Text

Time Moves ~

Yandere! God! True Form! Sukuna x Disciple! F!Reader! Prt 1.

Part two

summary Sukuna demands attention from his out of breath disciple for leaving him alone. 2.2k warning mature, smut, possessive themes, mentions of bondage/imprisonment, pussy-eating, dub-con.

..............................

A god lies and waits, practically neglected. His legs are spread, his head rested on his hand, and that elbow dug into his thigh. These trips of hers get longer and longer, he thought to himself. He fought the urge to resist stroking his red-tipped hard-on. His other three arms found purchase somewhere on his hips. With other disciples, he didn't care for their comings and goings. He could easily find solace buried in another cunt.

His little pet, however, he needed to hold her down by a leash. Maybe it's because she's the only one at his side.

Sukuna, the God of Curses, was the first to cultivate spite, revenge, and war against the human race. But, he was needed more whenever your hands were held in a prayer nowadays. He was aware that the town below held wavering faith in his powers. Their earlier malice for other tribes settled throughout the centuries. And it is true that as a God, he has been weakened due to this time of peace.

It disgusted him to no end.

The smoke below was no longer a symbol of families' homes ravished by flames or hunkered-down soldiers. But, of baked goods warming in the oven.

You had begged for months to see the village below. The ghost of Sukuna's name from your lips weighted his balls with cum for you to drink. You gave kitten licks to his head, coaxing his pre-cum to splash the tip of your tongue. You earned your right to venture and partake in the new year markets below. Obedient to his demands despite how absurd.

Once a year, he had promised. And a god can lie.

The first year, you had left and came with a bounty of sweets. Most of which you had forgotten existed: sweet red bean buns, daifuku, green tea cookies. And a plethora more that Sukuna had cared less for. He scolded you for the lack of satiating meat in your haul. "Then you go," you whispered into his ear with a sharpness that bit.

"If only I could go without lifting a leg," Sukuna waved off.

That time, you sank to your knees, looking up at him. "My God! What is it that you want to try first? A sweet bun?"

So he took his favorite dessert. Your first year out of his sight bared its weight on your thighs. He discarded the bought goods across the floor. You had been gone merely three hours. However, Sukuna could not lift his head from your heat. Your saltiness kept his tongue pushed deep into her sopping hole.

Your feeble arms pushed against Sukuna, who has strapped you down at your waist. He knew that you were crying profusely. He wanted you to break down more upon his tongue.

Your nails drew blood from his shoulder blades as he held your legs wide. You had struggled to kick out at his thighs. Now, they twitched at the bite of his teeth on your clit. Sukuna would have chuckled at the pleas you made to unlock your neck. But, the collar that secured you to the floor fit you so snug. You were his perfect pet.

He sucked in between your flesh, tasting you over and over again to never forget that you were perfectly made for his sinful desires.

He overreacted. Ten days were spent in his personal heaven. And Sukuna couldn't tell if she enjoyed it herself.

>>>

Your salvation is at the top of the mountain where your God resides. At least, that's what you had told yourself at the base of those stone steps.

When you were staring up into the endless sky. When you could feel the trees wave and the birds sing blessings upon your journey. Now, all within your heart was the sound of ringing, the pumping of blood which aided in the spasm of your muscles. How much longer?

You thought you hated making the trip down in fear of toppling over, but it was the climb up that made you appreciate the respite of the poor village. It felt more humane talking to the workers below than doing endless cardio.

But days like these were rare. The villagers do not recognize you anymore, nor do you recognize them. Every day spent in the village are new faces and you are just a humble stranger. You doubt that whatever family you had left out there would know it is you.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

Your body felt like it would fall apart at the seams. Your bag was filled to the brim with food: savory meats, dried jerky, and sweets galore. You looked at the upcoming archway that marked the journey as being a third over with. The pillars hold familiarity fore this was as far as your God allowed you to step off of the immediate property. You can see the works of your crafted talisman plastered on every vertical surface. It’s maddening. Black ink smeared upon crimson parchment. Sukuna had glared at your work but he shrugged and let you be. That was long ago when humans gathered for his harem. You were the only left.

You knew that your God lied to you. Yearly visits to the mortal world easily showed you that more time has gone by. Today, a girl named Yumi worked at your favorite stall selling pastry goods. But the year before, it was the newly wedded Hiragashi couple. You remembered the young wife brimming with light, belly round and ready to pop. And you remembered how the husband begged his wife to sit while he handled the bustling night market. When you asked about the two, Yumi sighed, "They are my parents."

Hiragashi Yumi was that baby yet to be born, now she stood before you in her twenties. Her parents are significantly older when you're not.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

What were you to do? Your God wouldn't want to hear any of your plight. You doubt that this is a matter he would allow you to fight for.

He'd taunt you. He'd ask if it even matters when at the end of the day, you got to take the excursion. But, it terrifies you that you cannot tell the difference between a year and twenty.

You had to let it go.

You had taken the moment to set down your bag. The pillar felt like stone against your forehead. It was obviously made out of stone and the realization slammed into your pounding head. It's hard and grainy like time. You realized there were no memories before you laid eyes on your God. You try to calm your breath. Did you even have a family or a childhood? When did life begin for you? Will your life ever end or will it be determined by your God?

Vines coiled up the stone pillar, its leaves brushed against your flushed cheeks. You watched them grow each day. Water droplets slid from them to you, on you cheek. A cause from the earlier drizzle, you presume. It made you wonder if it was safe to cry. After speaking to Yumi, you admitted that you wanted nothing more than the comfort of home. Despite knowing better, there is nothing for you outside of the arms of your God.

"Pet, why the long face." Your body went rigid and you shot your head up the path. The moon shows half its face to the world. And like the moon, your God sat encased primarily in shadows. His eyes showed bright vermillion.

"My God, why have you come this far from the shrine?" You panted through the coils in your chest. You quickly gathered yourself to the best of your abilities. First, you start by kicking off your hard-to-walk-in sandals. Then you shimmed your hair from its tight bun, allowing the terraces to flow. The black rose pin that held the style together, you placed behind your ear. Lastly, you make work of the kimono. You had pestered your God to help tuck and tie to perfection. Now, it’s folded fabric that you set on top of your traveling pack.

You stood straight to be beheld. "Here, I bare myself to you." You do not own undergarments, you don't remember a time in which you would have. You bowed till you were sure that your whole body felt flatted into the mountain's steps. "My God."

"Come," Your God beckoned. "Drop the God."

"Yes Sukuna," You huffed out. "Shall I bring you any food or dessert? The night market was more lively than the last! I could hardly handle the long lines. And I thought we would have more fun watching the fireworks from within the courtyard."

"Quit yapping and come. I couldn't care less for mortal foods."

You make your ascent up the remaining steps separating you two. "Aw, I guess that I'm the only mortal food you'll eat." You let out a giggle through the racing questions. "I hope that you know that you are getting my stuff from below, it has been quite tedious for this mortal to make it this far."

Sukuna looked up into your eyes. You have made it in between his parted legs. You swayed there for a little bit before assuming your kneeling position. Your finger grazed Sukuna's hair before using his shoulder to brace your knees when hitting the slab below. Back straight. Bum placed directly over heel. And, your hands cling to each elbow behind your back in a straight line. "Bold to order me around."

"It was a suggestion."

"A hell of one." Sukuna placed his finger under your lips "Your chin should be lifted. Do you need a reminder? And where should your eyes be?"

"Retraining won’t be necessary." You lifted your chest higher to prove the point as you focused on Sukuna's manhood. His white robe left little to the imagination especially since he never ties it properly. His tattoos frame his sculpted abs and draw the eyes to his glorious v-line. And it's only if you don't do a double take of the smirking mouth protruding from the middle of his stomach. You are used to it and you have been more than aquatinted to how perverted it makes you feel.

"The long face, pet?" Your nickname was held off long enough to feel somewhat like an afterthought or an attack on your ego.

You sighed, "At the market... This girl I met was twenty, but when I met her last year, she wasn't born yet. I had talked to her parents."

You dared look up into Sukuna's four eyes, searching from one to the other which all stared back at you. "Oh pet, are you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Why no, pet," Sukuna whispered. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against yours, coated in a film of sweat. "I could make you forget the thoughts running in your dumb head. You are a pet that only needs to know of her master." He scraped a finger behind your ear, taking the black rose pin and with his other hand, he swept your hair back to his liking. "But, if you are mad, I will allow you to pierce me with this. Hold out your hand."

You did as told. Now the metallic warmth of the pin weighed heavy on your conscious. "I don't wish to hurt you. And if I do this, you'll punish me."

"I lied. Pierce me for all I care. You are mad like me.” His blazed eyes hunger for the fear in yours “Your punishment will be a light one."

You shook your head, "No! No no no. I want to let this go! Let's enjoy the food and the fireworks. Please!" Before you could yank your arm away, your God gripped tight enough to bruise. With full awareness, you watched as Sukuna used your hand to shove the pin repeatedly into his chest.

At first, the skin doesn't break. Your hand throbbed from the forced handle you had to take. Your arms ached all over as you tried pulling away from the slashing. Screaming felt foreign but not unheard of coming from your throat. Moments like theses caused your mind to wonder. Were those cries even yours or someone else's? A spectator could be in the woods regarding the nakedness of your skin.

They could be the one screaming. The spectator has front-row seats to view the enormous stomach mouth gulp down blood. Or they were the one fighting, not you, to get away from Your God.

"Su-uuh kuna! Wh- why, why! Why are you doing this!?" You bellowed through gritted teeth, smacking against his chest.

"What did I even do wrong?" You felt the crash of your lungs. You felt the heaviness of your knees losing balance on the pavement which caused you to smack into Sukuna's right thigh. Your face felt hot. "I can't be mad! I don't have the right!" You shook your head, whipping hair everywhere. Snot ran down to your lips as you kept screaming. "I don't care if you lied! Why should I! I'm nothing more than a pet who would be nothing without their god!"

Sukuna squeezed your hand as he pushed the sharp pin in one last time before ripping your arms away. You fell backwards. catching yourself on the step below you. Your main find at last year's market, the black rose pin, looked dimmed when coated in blood. It stuck out of your God's chest where it rises and falls to the normal beat of his lungs. Whatever compelled you to buy the article of jewelry made you gag into your hands.

"Pet, I hate these excursions of yours. You know that."

.............................. Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt on making a smut! There will be a part two because I wanted to get this out on new years day! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here! I have an idea of where I want part two to go, but there is always room to stir the pot. HAPPY NEW YEARS!!! (technically a day late)

>>>

NEXT JJK POST: Yandere! Landlord! Geto Suguru x F!Reader

#sukuna smut #yandere sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #male yandere x reader #smut #smut fic #dom/pet #female reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen

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brailsthesmolgurl · 1 month

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Salvation

In another parallel universe, the legend was retold. The God of Sea and his bride has A heart so great that it holds the power to bring Lemuria back to its olden days glory. The bride however, is untouchable. If so, who is going to be salvaged?

Here comes the parallel universe ending! I know it was long awaited, but thank you for waiting patiently as all of my written stories are planned meticulously hence it takes up a LOT of time.

Read the start of this series: Damnation

Read the sequel of the Damnation: Retribution

Warnings: Angst, Spoilers for Rafayel Lore, Character Deaths, Gore and Blood (tbh its a common theme for this series already). A little bitty suggestive heh cause my hormones are raging for this man. Smol surprise at the end :)

"Tomorrow marks the day." Rafayel's slender fingers ran through y/n's curls, a smile slowly stretched across her lips, her cheeks evidently turning rubescent under the moonlight's sheen. "Tomorrow is the day I shall bring you to visit Lemuria." The purple haired god laid next to his soon-to-be bride, on her bed, in her chambers. The thing he could do to her right here and right now were endless. And none of them involved any items of clothing. That was how much the young god was holding himself back.

The smile on her face never faded, as her small hands reached up to cup both sides of his cheeks, his face warm and soft to her touch. "I can't wait. Hearing all of those stories from you, no pictures nor drawings could possibly compare to the reality of seeing your kingdom with my own eyes." She said, eyeing Rafayel glistening under the moonlight, the shadow on his face does not cover up his ethereal looks. Rafayel leaned in closer to her, his breath mingled against her cheeks. "You know we should not kiss until tomorrow, right?"

Her reminder of the pre-wedding taboo made him grunted, his lips formed an immediate pout and he threw his head back, clearly frustrated. "I should be the one to ban such traditions next time." He grumbled, but calmed down to look at her when her hands cupped his cheeks again, thumbs smoothing over his chiselled jawline. "How could one possibly live with not kissing their bride the day before their wedding?"

His childlike remark made her giggled. "Your people had done it for ages, and I figured it would only be right if we were to go along with such customs. As I shall be the first mortal bride afterall. I do not wish to upset any of your merfolks." She raised her hand up, surrendering herself and Rafayel leaned forward to hug her tight within his arms. Laughters erupted from the both of them.

When they looked into each other's eyes, their laughters slowed down, mesmerised by one another's gaze. Y/n could barely believe that this very moment is happening to her. It felt like yesterday when she had rescued Rafayel from the sandy shores and released him back into the ocean after he had promised to return to her some day. Now, here they are, awaiting for a grand wedding tomorrow, an official bond to be tied between the God of the Sea and his mortal bride.

The once cherubic looking Rafayel had grown into the dashing young god he is today. With misty purple locks that are naturally wavy---although he constantly claimed that it was the sea water that turned it wavy. Eye colour a mixture of lilac purple and lapis blue, that could change colour depending on the lighting and his mood. A personality that not many can and would want to handle given his nonchalant-ness. Mixing in good looks and his non-chalant attitude, he is like walking trouble amongst mortals.

But she knew Rafayel better than anyone. She knows the way he talks, although condescending to some, she knows that he is not just a talker, but also a doer. He nags her over the smallest of things, be it her dress colour not matching her lip colour for the day or whatnot; she knows that he cares for everything, even for the smallest of details. He yaps like he knows what he wants and gives off the vibe of an independent individual, but deep down, he is just a needy young man, seeking for her constant comfort, validation, love and affection.

These are just some of the small characteristics of Rafayel that made her fall for him even more. She watched as Rafayel inched in, his lips aligned with hers. But before she got to utter a word, he quickly moved his lip upwards and pressed a big kiss onto her forehead. "If I could not kiss your lips, I would just have to settle for kisses on your forehead and cheeks then." He teased her and continued barraging her face with kisses. Their laughters for the night were endless.

Rafayel sat at the edge of her window sill, turning around to watch her as she was fast asleep, her brunette hair messily tousled all over the bed, but she looked picturesque, with the silvery moonlight painted across parts of her face and the steady breathing of her chest made her a living art in Rafayel's eyes. "I shall see you later, my beloved bride." Not wanting to wake her in her slumber, he dived into the water below.

...

"Your highness! Stop running so quickly!" The maid, Natasha cried out, struggling to keep up with the bride's quick feet. "Your dress might get dirty and unkempt! And I did not receive any other gowns from them!" Sadly, the maid was the only one who gave her blessing to y/n's marriage. The king and queen could care less as long as Rafayel kept their pockets loaded with gold.

"Come on Natasha, lessen the apprehension, would you?" The bride slowed down her footsteps and turned to flash her maid a wide smile. "Today is a big day after all and I know, everything is going to be alright." Seeing the bride's grin, Natasha sighed in defeat and trotted behind the bride, exhausted but still anticipating to watch the union ceremony.

When they arrived near the sea stacks, Natasha handed her a red velvet box. Upon opening the latch, the box opened to reveal a veil, one woven from silk that could only be harvested from sea anemones that grow in the far West, the ones that only glow during the winter times. The veil was translucent, with an iridescence of silver glow whenever the light refracted off of its material. The crown that goes around her head is made out of pearls that were harvested from oysters that could only be found in the southern region of the seas. Collected and crushed by the merfolks and infused with a rare blue gem that only Lemurians possessed to create the crown for the veil.

The veil shorts of nothing extravagant, as expected of the God of Sea's taste. Rafayel ensured that this veil was done 6 months prior to the wedding as he does not appreciate any mishaps especially when it is related to his bride. Y/n took the veil out of the box and she carefully placed it on top of her head, Natasha going behind her to dust off the excess sand off of the back of the wedding gown. She also took the time to adjust the veil behind y/n's head, wanting to make sure everything is in place before the ceremony begins.

"It has to be perfect. Perfect." She remembered the way Rafayel nodded his head towards her, spelling the word PERFECT to her just so she could understand him. But Natasha caught him the moment he said the first sentence. Although she just waved him off that time, she knew that on the day of the wedding, Rafayel is the last person she would want to upset. Who knows what would happen to her if she made him upset. The thought itself sent a shudder down her spine.

"How do I look?" Y/n turned to face Natasha and the maid's heartwarming gaze gave her just the answer she needed to hear indirectly. "I can't wait for this Natasha." She held onto the maid's hands tightly. Horns started blaring loudly and the two women looked towards the sea stacks together. The sun rise made the sea blended in with the sands on the shore, the saturated warm glow casted upon the surface of the waters a sight to behold indeed.

Trumpets and choirs joined in with the blaring of the horns and y/n knew it was time for her to present herself walking towards the sea stacks. "Your Highness, your bouquet. Don't forget it." The maid shoved a bouquet of flame lilies and the bride muttered a thanks, hastily holding onto the bouquet before she stepped out from the backs of the huge rock.

The appearance of the bride made the merfolks gasped in awe, the off-shoulder wedding dress was made out of fine silk, and it did a great job in outlining her bodyline and curves perfectly. Her dress cut off at the mid of her thighs, but a big ribbon was attached to her right hip, aiding in the aesthetic and transitional fabric from fine silk to a chiffon tail. The tail of the dress was completely see through, with droplets of diamonds sewn on it. The bride glowed under the ray of the sun and nobody could have dreamed of a better start to a wedding.

Rafayel emerged from the waters, in his mundane form of course, riding on top of two orcas and he was delivered right onto the top of the sea stacks. His clumsy stumble made her giggled, hands going up to cover her mouth. Rafayel donned a full white suit, with a swallow tail at the back of his tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, probably with the help of his people. And the left side of his pocket peeked a corsage with flame lilies, same as the ones she has as a bouquet in her hands.

Upon seeing his bride, Rafayel was enthralled at her beauty, his jaw dropping slightly ajar before one of the merman spit water at him thus he only managed to snap himself back to reality, glaring at the merman who spat at him as he reached up to wipe the stain off of his sleeves. Not like the water did anything to his outfit either, but he had to be sure of it. It is their big day after all.

"Ain't this my bride." Rafayel said confidently when he walked to the edge of the sea stacks, reaching out his hand to her, for her to take so he could guide her onto the sea stacks. "Careful, I do not wish for my bride to be unable to walk before the grand night tonight, yeah?" His wink made her face flushed instantly and she smacked his arm playfully.

Standing next to him, she felt like everything was set in stone for her finally. She got to marry the one that she had always been in love with and she will be one of the very first mortals to visit this forbidden land under the waters. "Here, we rejoice in each other's company. One of merfolk and the other of mortal." Amund, Rafayel's trusty friend took the opportunity to solemnize the wedding.

"This moment shall mark the first of its kind in mortal and merfolk's history. A reunion to be witnessed between the God of the Sea, Rafayel, and his bride, a mortal. y/n. Shall there be any objections towards this blessed reunion..." Amund trailed off, eyes scanning the crowd, both in the waters and the only human on land before he continued. "You shall not be entertained." His sentence took everyone by surprise and everyone shared an understanding laughter. "Hence, Rafayel, would you take y/n to be your beloved wife? Through all suffrage, illness and happiness?"

Rafayel nodded, facing her and confidently saying. "I will always say yes to that. For I will love you for ages to come."

"How about you y/n, would you accept the God of the Sea, Rafayel's intentions of having to love you through all?" You immediately nodded and Amund shouted. "This reunion is blessed, you may kiss the bride!" Rafayel's lip immediately pressed against his bride's, the kiss shared between the two erupted a huge reaction from the crowd. Claps and whistlings and shoutings could be heard from all directions. The choir then resumed its melody when Rafayel pulled back from her lips. "Y/N?" His smile faltered as he watched his bride's irises had turned into a shade of blood red, matching the same colour of the liquid that was oozing out of his chest, staining his white suit into crimson red.

...

Y/N jolted awake in her own bed, beads of sweat littered all across her face. Running her palms across her face, surprised that her face is cold to her touch despite the current season is far from winter. Reaching over to her bedside drawer, she fetched her goblet and drank the contents of it.

A couple of knocks could be heard from her oak door. "Come in." The door slowly opened to reveal one of the maids, Clarrice. The red head walked in, silver tray in her hand, ready to be served to the princess. She bowed partially as a sign of respect, then placed the tray by the highness' study table before she walked over to pull open the heavy drapes of the curtains to reveal the warm sun rays shining in from the windows.

"It seems like your highness has chosen to sleep in today, hence I had drawn your curtains whilst you were in deep slumber." Clarrice smiled, her pink thin lips a contrast to her pale complexion, brown freckles strewn like constellations on her face. Y/N sat on the bed, eyebrows knitted together, not being able to figure out why Natasha is not greeting her as per usual. Given Natasha was the maid that was specifically assigned to care for the princess.

"Have you seen Natasha anywhere?" The princess questioned, taking another sip out of the goblet in her hand. Milk cold to the inside of her mouth, when the princess had always been accustomed to warm milk in the morning.

"Your highness, Natasha was nowhere to be found within her chambers at dawn." When the maid replied, she watched the princess' eyes narrowed and nervously added on. "It seems like Natasha had left the palace in a hurry. All of her items remained within her chambers, including her uniform. All that was missing was her common outfit. She could have left for the farmers market?" The hesitation in the maid's tone does not sit right with y/n.

"You may head on with your day now. Thank you." The princess spoke promptly and the maid hurried out of the chambers. Placing the goblet back onto the bedside drawer, y/n started retracing the dream she had earlier on. All she remembered from her memory was her being at a beach...the beach near the sea stacks!

The princess catapulted herself off of the bed, still in her outfit. Her outfit. She did not noticed the outfit she had on while she was in bed. She is wearing a gown. Specifically a fancy one, one would wear for a wedding. Wedding ceremony. Natasha. Rafayel. When the pieces started to piece together, so did her heart rate quickened. Raising her hands to her vision, she caught sight of splatters of crusted liquid on her palms, a brownish shade with specks of what seems to be blue fairy dust.

Realisation hit her with a truck and she grabbed the rope and tossed it out of her window, sliding down it as fast her hands would allow her to, the pain of the rope burn unregistered into her senses. Guards at this hour were most likely deployed to their stations within the towers hence allowing her escape all the more easier. Once her feet touched the ground, she ran with her bare feet and went out through the gardens behind the palace that leads her straight towards the seas.

Her bare feet carried her past the sandy shores, the strong currents of the sea breeze accompanying her speed. Coming across the huge rock that leads towards the sea stacks, she slowed down her footsteps, seeing bloody imprints on the sand, foot prints that belong to a human.

When she came to the sea stacks, the scene in front of her made her heart stopped beating for a good while. There laid Natasha, on the shore, with a pool of red replacing her shadow. Some parts of her blood on the shore were darkened, a natural occurrence of oxidation of the bodily fluids. The princess screamed for her maid, her friend, and ran towards her, tears uncontrollably rushed down her cheeks. She turned the maid over, only to find the young maiden was covered in stab wounds all across her torso. "Who did this to you?!" She shouted in agony, pulling the deceased into her arms as she cried, while cradling her friend.

"Y/N...." A voice cut through her cries and the nightmare does not end. "Y/N..." Just when she thought she had to suffer losing Natasha, she was met with the image of the God of the Sea, her beloved husband, her forever lover, laid on the sea stacks, blood emitting from the side of his mouth, his eyes losing their usual glow as he tried to call out to her. "RAFAYEL!" The princess cried, laying her friend down carefully onto the sand before she rushed over to Rafayel's side, stumbling her way up the sea stacks and having barnacles cutting into her skin. Yet again, her physical pain were not registered to her senses as of this moment. "RAFAYEL!" Her cries were unstoppable now, eyes turning bloodshot as she pulled her lover into her arms. "What happened?! I will go and get help..."

As she wanted to stand up to leave, Rafayel grabbed ahold of her hand and she regained the memory of the actual cause behind the happening.

...

The vision was murky but she could clearly hear a conversation taken place between two individuals. It seemed to take place within a cave, a female figure, with a singular eel-like tail and a merman, were having a talk. "If she remains untouchable, your kind shall perish." The feminine voice spoke, long, crooked fingers holding onto a round, translucent ball with spikes on it. She seemed to be studying the ball as she spoke. "Eradicating either one might be beneficial for you, as long as the heart is willing to be given."

"Does this mean I have to kill off the God? With my own hands?" The merman spoke, hesitation laced in his voice.

"Do not fret." The woman chanted a spell and a blue pearl appeared within her fingertips. "The mighty gem of Lemurians right? Infuse this with the crown that you would be making for her and the spell shall happen upon their kiss of rejoice, as husband and wife." She handed the blue pearl to the merman and added. "At least now, you won't get your hands dirty."

The merman kept the pearl in his pouch then placed a huge woven basket in front of the woman, a compensation of sorts for her 'service'. The merman turned to exit the caves and y/n gasped when she realised that the merman was Amund.

Her vision then flashed forward towards the moment when she wore the veil. Upon kissing Rafayel, she immediately got possesed by an unknown force, but an entity of evil origins. A dagger was summoned into her hands out of thin air and she stabbed Rafayel right in the heart with it. Y/n screamed out, but her voice was muted, playing the role of a bystander as the vision continued unfolding itself. The God of the Sea was taken aback as he had never thought he would be killed by his very own sworn lover.

His eyes looked into hers. Pupils blown out of the usual proportion before he spat out blood, splatters of it hitting her wedding gown and her face, but the possessed bride was unfazed. Merfolks were horrified as they hurriedly scattered into the seas. For an entity so evil that dares to challenge the God of the Sea, the merfolks know that they are powerless against this possessed individual, be it a mundane. So they chose to flee, hoping that the warrior amongst them, the longest friend of Rafayel's, would come to the rescue.

But Amund just stood by the shore, now in his human form, as he watched the blatant massacre happening right in front of him. A small smirk creeped up onto his face when he knew right then and there, the future of his people are secured. The foregone of a God shall mean one or two of the foretold endings. The princess willingly sacrifices herself to save Lemuria as she knew how much Lemurians mean to Rafayel. Or Amund shall dig the heart out of her if she chooses to be selfish. All with the end goal of him being viewed as the hero, salvaging Lemuria from its end days.

...

The vision ended, with y/n in shock, eyes staring blankly at Rafayel's body in her arms. The God of Sea finally letting his tears run astray, flowing down his cold and blanched face when his bride slowly came to her own realisation. The young god had once told his bride about the specialty of her heart, for he had given half of his heart to her when they made a promise during their first meet.

That moment, Rafayel summmoned a small blue fish within his palms, stating that blue fishes are emissaries of the sea, but he lied partially, knowing the moment she wanted to release him back into the ocean, he had fell in love with her and was sure that she will be the one. Hence, a bonding vow was made without her knowledge, and part of his heart was given to her as a contribution of his love.

The princess turned out to be the bait, the bait to kill Rafayel when he least expected it, just so Amund could gain the heart of either the God or the bride and to return glory to Lemuria. But Rafayel, although wanted to marry a mundane, had never once thought of abandoning his kind. His plan was to bring her to live with him within Lemuria, and with both of their hearts within the vicinity of one another, it could restore glory to Lemuria and no bloodshed would take place. And obviously, this plan was only known to the God of Sea himself. As a God only does what is best for his people and his actions shall reap what he sows.

"Im sorry!" Y/N's lips are only wired to speak these two words, body shaking and voice hoarse, mentally and physically pained, watching the dying God in front of her eyes. "I can't do this without you, Rafayel." Her hands cupped his cheeks, his blood painting her palms in red. "Please don't leave me..." She continued begging. "I could never forgive myself...Please don't go...."

"I am here...I will always be here..." The bride's cries would not stop, eyes avoiding his as she knew that he was stating the opposite of what he actually meant. Until her eyes landed on the dagger that was laid beside Rafayel. The same dagger that she had used to stab Rafayel in his heart, and the same dagger that Amund had used to kill Natasha as to eliminate any witnesses. Rafayel's eyes caught on eventually, but with him on the verge of death, he was physically unable to stop her.

He watched his bride, with eyes widened in terror while choking onto his own blood, trying to form words. "I love you." Were her last words before she stabbed herself with the dagger, right into her chest as well, where his and her heart lies. What comes afterwards was her choking and simultaneously spitting blood right out of her mouth, a sign of her haemorrhaging.

If nobody could take his heart, she shall not give up hers as well. A smile of relieve dawned on her face, the rosiness of her cheeks gradually fading as crimson tears replaced the redness of her cheeks. For she is a mundane, she could not hold on any longer like how Rafayel did, as it takes a while for a God to be fully bled dry.

Her whole body fell limply, like a puppet torn from its strings, and her face landed right in front of Rafayel, forehead touching his. The last breath the God of Sea took, was surrounded by the sounds of the clashing waves, basked within the warmth of the sunrise, his lifeless eyes stayed open, tear streaks are the only colours apparent on his pale face, just like his bride's.

...

Hundreds of years had passed. Linkon city's renowned museum held a grand exhibition, displaying all there is for one to know about the hidden city Lemuria, and its people, Lemurians. The exhibition featured paintings, artworks, artifacts and even 'theoretically-accurate' skeletal structures of the Lemurians. As this exhibition, does run on nothing factual but relying heavily on theories and legends arising from sea explorers.

Y/n held an information pamphlet in her hand, browsing the exhibition before she stopped at one of the large paintings with the title 'God of the Sea'. The painting featured a merman, a tail with two fins for the bottom half of his torso, while the upper is made of a man. Her eyes glanced over at the God of the Sea's face, a fish head that looked all too similar to a sardine fish.

"Don't you think this artwork is suspicious?" A voice travelled from beside her, the tone of the sentence laced with disgust. "In fact, I think this whole exhibition is a total scam." Y/n turned her head to face the source of the voice. A towering young man stood next to her, wearing a white V-neckline shirt and paired with a pair of black slacks and black dress shoes, his midriff secured with a wide belt. "What do you say?" He turned his head to face her, his dusky purple hair matching the shade of his purplish-pinkish-bluish eyes. A smile evidently plastered on his handsome features.

"Who are you to say that?" Y/n crossed her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrows.

"The name's Rafayel." He confidently spoke, eyes glinting with amusement. "Anyways, mind grabbing a cup of coffee with me?"

... DUN DUN DUN!

And this shall officially mark the end for the pain! The story although still had mentions of angst and still caused some evident damage to your hearts, but I made sure I shall give you guys a good ending okay! Do not confuse this timeline with Damnation and Retribution as those are coexisting with this current timeline. SO yes! If you paid enough attention the details, the sea stacks... the sea witch blah blah..... IT IS ALL INDIRECTLY CONNECTED (depending on how you piece it based on your understanding). But yes, my story is written in this specific manner because I purposely wanted the worlds to be connected!

I really really hope you guys had enjoyed this series as I shall be writing more series as such in the future, either with Zayne or Xavier so please stay tuned for that!

If you could, drop me comments on what you think about this story as well! Even if it hurts you, makes you wanna smack yourself (pls dont do that), or whether it leaves you unfazed, I am nosy and I wanna know how this series has affected you mentally! Check out my other works as well on my page!

Wardrobe Malfunction ft LNDS boys

You forgetting a date with the boys *gasps in horror*!

Thank you for reading this series of mine. LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCHIES, MUACKS <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds #rafayel sfw #rafayel x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel angst

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katebishopshands · 4 months

Text

┏━━━━━•❅•°•❈•°•❅•━━━━━┓

A Nonsense Christmas 🎄

Kate Bishop/reader

“Lookin at you got me thinkin Christmas”

The holidays have really gotten to you. Busy with classes and the usual holiday shenanigans has led you to spending barely any time with your favorite archer. Christmas being her favorite time of year, Kate invites you over to help decorate her apartment , what kinds of nonsense could you two get into while you’re at it??

(18+, fluff and smut)

((Inspired by Sabrina Carpenters song of the same title))

┗━━━━━•❅•°•❈•°•❅•━━━━━┛

New York during Christmas time was both the most magical time of the year, and the worst. Between the typical holiday hustle and bustle and then the inflated tourist population that all come to gawk at the Rockefeller tree, the sidewalks were packed full.

Pushing and shoving your way through the crowd, you attempted to balance two cups of hot coffee in your hands without spilling. The typical carolers were out, men and women in Santa hats ringing bells for the Salvation Army. The wind licking at your nose, making it begin to lose feeling and turning it a bright red.

It was just a few more blocks to Kates apartment. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been over to hers. It was normally her coming over to your place as of recently. Between spending time with your family and your college finals, time for just you and Kate had become few and far between. You missed her, you really did. And with the superhero gig, it was hard to not be worried about her when you didn’t see her every day.

Having a superhero as a girlfriend was no easy feat, sometimes the only time you’d see her during the week was a quick glimpse of her on the news. Of course you talked daily, but you craved to be face to face with her for a little bit.

Kates building came into view. Her invite over was warmly welcomed, as she promised a night of takeout, decorating her apartment for Christmas and some quality time with each other. You could afford a night off of homework duty to spend it with Kate. Christmas was her favorite holiday after all.

“Guess who??” You said as your knuckle pressed the rusty, paint chipped buzzer that connected to Kates apartment.

“Oh my god !” Came through the buzzer, the last half of god being cut up so it sounded more like “ gof” .

Another buzzer sounded, signaling to you that the door was unlocked and you could head up.

Still very carefully, as you had two coffees in hand, you opened the door and made your way up. Not a ton of people lived in her complex, probably had something to do with the fact that it was above a dingy pizza parlor or the fact that Kate had literally doxed herself and gotten Molotov cocktails thrown through her windows last Christmas.

As you turned the corner to her hallway you could hear Christmas music playing from her unit. You chuckled to yourself as you continued down the hall to her door. A shitty “Merry Christmas!” welcome mat stared up at you as you stood infront of her apartment. You fumbled with your keys for a moment, finding the spare key Kate had given to you when you started dating. Inserting it into the lock, you let yourself in.

Kates back was turned to you, preoccupied with stringing a row of clumped up colored lights on the tree that sat in the corner of her living room. You smiled a little bit to yourself, as you watched her for a moment. She cursed quietly to herself as she found a knot of lights.

“Fuck” she muttered as she threw down the lights, accepting defeat.

“Katie…” you giggled, setting the coffee down on her kitchen counter.

Her head whips around, blue eyes locking onto yours. Before you know it she’s across the room. Her arms wrap around you, squeezing you close to her. She picks you up slightly, leaning back so your toes just barely graze the ground.

You breathe her in for a moment. She smells like clean laundry and her usual lavender chai perfume. She’s warm, she always is but it’s welcomed more than usual against your cold face and hands.

Kate sets you down, leaning back to get a better look at you. She’s all teeth as she grins at you.

Her hands go to your face, calloused fingers rubbing over your chilled cheeks. She’s kissing you. Sweet and slow. You kiss her back, letting yourself melt into her. Your hands finding a home in her hair monetarily.

“I missed you” she pulls away momentarily before going back in for another peck,

“So so much” she continues the next time she pulls away.

“I missed you too” you smile at her, letting one of your hands rest on her face.

She’s wearing a dark blue sweater and light jeans. Her dark hair is down in loose curls. Some festive reindeer antlers sit atop her head. She looks cute.

“You’re cold” Kate frowns at you , her arms wrapped around your waist, holding your hips flush together. You shake your head laughing a little,

“Well yeah, I walked here from class..and it’s December..in New York”

“Touché” Kate shrugs, removing her arms from your hips.

At this point Lucky had realized that you had arrived, getting up from his bed and wedging himself between you and Kate.

“Awh how’s my best boy?” You say as you kneel, making sure to scratch at his ears . Kate had put him in a festive bandana, red and green stripes popping on his golden coat.

“And you’re not gonna ask how your best girl is?” Kate feigns offense as she hangs your jacket up next to hers. You roll your eyes at her, standing up and brushing dust off your knees.

“And how is my best girl?” Hands on your hips as you look expectantly at her. You make sure to exaggerate your words to highlight how ridiculous she’s being

“Much better now that you’re here” she wraps an arm around your waist again, pressing another kiss to your lips.

She’s smiles into it, and you do too. Just existing in her apartment with her eases you a bit. Feeling like some form of normalcy has been regained.

“Mhm, I got you something” you say as you pull away, reaching over to grab her her drink.

“Shut up” she says as she takes the hazelnut latte from your hand. She lets go of you for a moment, only to grab onto your hand and guide you over to her living room.

That was one of your favorite things about Kate, her want and almost need to always be touching you in someway. It was so sweet. Either her nonchalantly holding your hand, playing with your fingers as you sat on the couch, playing with your hair. It was disgustingly endearing and sweet, as was much of your relationship with her.

“So we kinda have a problem” Kate sips on her drink as she looks from the pile of lights on the floor to you.

“I didn’t untangle them before I put them on the tree, and now I have a giant knot, and I think we have to take all the lights off to get the knot out” she grins at you, it’s a shit eating one.

“Katie…” you sigh at her, already defeated . She takes another sip of her drink and smiled at you again,

“I love you” she says and she hands you the light clump.

“Mhm…sure you do” you groan taking the lights from her hand. She practically vibrates with excitement as she pecks your cheek as a thank you.

It takes you two at least an hour to untangle and remove the lights from the tree. It would’ve taken half that time but Kate had decided that undoing the knot was a two player game, and let’s just say that knot undoing was not Kate’s strong suit.

You catch up on each others lives, asking Kate about Clint and if the mysterious Yelena had made an appearance in her life yet again.

Kate’s convinced that she made Yelena up in her head because she hasn’t seen or heard from her since Christmas last year, but you’re not convinced. Rolling with avengers pulls all kinds of sketchy characters, so it’s perfectly believable that Kate had met a real life black widow assassin.

“And how were your classes today?” Kate looks up from placing an ornament on the tree. You groan, not wanting to relive the hard day of finals you had.

“The worst. I think that professor is going to fail me”

Kate scoffs.

“That’s literally impossible, you’re like the smartest girl ever” her gaze softens as she looks at you.

“I dunno, this professor really thinks the opposite of that” you shrug, continuing to decorate the tree. Kate sighs and rolls her eyes, making her way over to you. She wraps her arms around your center and rests her head on your shoulder . You give a content sigh as you rock slightly with Kate, continuing to decorate the tree. She hums along to whatever Christmas song is playing on her speaker, eyes closed.

You lose track of how long you stand like that, it could’ve been hours and you were more than alright with that. Kate stirs a bit. Her hands beginning to travel upwards. Eventually landing on your tits.

“Pervert” you mutter, but let her have her fun.

“What can I say, I missed them” she gropes you a bit. It had been so long since you were able to have some true one on one time with Kate. The slightest touch from her was able to get you all hot and bothered.

“Is that all you missed, Katie?”

She hums, letting her hands find their way under your sweatshirt.

“No..” she kisses at your neck,punctuating a few of her kisses with squeezes to your breasts. A small moan slips out.

“I missed your noises” another noise escapes your mouth.

“Shit..” you mumble.

Kate turns you around , only separating your mouths for a mere second before reconnecting your lips. She’s pushing her tongue into your mouth. Her hands now clutched at your hips, yours intertwined with her black locks.

“Kate..” you whine pulling away.

“What?” She looks at you slightly annoyed. A lazy smile grows on her face as she chases you for another kiss. You pull away, dodging her kiss.

“What about the tree?” You look towards her half decorated tree. She rolls her eyes.

“Can wait, need you now” Kate dives into you. You give into her, ripping the antlers off her head. As cute as they were, they were getting in the way of more important business. Kate eagerly strips herself of the sweater she wore, leaving her in a purple sports bra.

“I like your bra” you smirk. She giggles a little before grabbing at your sweatshirt.

“Your turn” she says before pulling it swiftly over your head. You shiver a bit, nipples perking up at the cold air that washed over your body.

“You look cold, babe” Kate’s working kisses down your neck, your arms lazily thrown over her shoulders.

“Lemme warm you up” she chuckles lowly into your ear. You can’t help but groan at her awful flirtations.

“Oh gag !” You half groan half moan as she manhandles you towards her couch. She’s desperately clawing at your leggings. You shimmy out of them as you make your way over, leaving a trail of clothing in your wake. Kate pops the button on her jeans and you help her out of them. She’s in nothing but her bra, a seamless thing and some stupid fuzzy socks that have snowmen on them.

They stare up at you two and you pause for a moment, before Kate gives a mortified look and rips them off. She bunches them off and tosses them behind her

“One more layer” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at you. You bite your lip at her and pull on your underwear a little.

“Unwrap your present baby” you punctuate your words with a snap of your underwear. Kate moans as she grips them, pulling them down so quickly you could’ve sworn they ripped.

“Katie! Be gentle, I like this pair!” You scoff at her, astounded that she’d be so careless with your belongings.

“I’ll buy you a new pair” she’s kissing you again, and shoving you down on her worn leather couch. You moan at the subtle flex of her money . It shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

Kate gets you laying down on the couch, head resting on the armrest. She’s sat on her knees in between your thighs, legs spread just enough so she can sit pretty there.

She’s so gorgeous. Kiss stained lips, pupils blown, all lean muscles and abs. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. She looks like she could eat you alive.

She’s kissing you again. Her hands starting at your breasts, leaving teasing touches all the way down to your exposed core. Her fingers play with your clit and you whine into her.

“There you go” Kate knows how you like it. Rapid circles on your nub as she kisses you stupid.

She’s sucking marks under your jaw. Your hands pushing her head deeper into your body as she makes her way down your body.

Kate teases a finger into your cunt. Your back arches upwards at her touch. Barely any prep but yet you were already soaking from a few hot and heavy kisses with Kate.

Kate mouths at your throat, licking a stripe up it as she pumps her fingers in and out, thumb still toying with your clit.

“Oh my god” you moan out, Kate slips another finger into your pussy.

“Feel good?” She giggles at you, having taken her mouth off of your neck to sit back and admire you. You nod your head frantically at her. The familiar pressure of an orgasm already beginning to blossom in your core.

It never takes long with Kate, she essentially has your body committed to memory. Plus it had been so long since the two of you were actually able to bang, you were itching to release for her.

“More please” your hand grabs at Kate’s face. Dark red nails popping against her pale skin. She grins at you before turning and kissing your thumb ever so gently.

“Such good manners, even said please. Someone’s on the nice list this year” she snorts at her own joke before she slides down to lay on her stomach. Her knees are bent, feet in the air. She kicks her feet back and forth as she peppers your thighs with kisses. Kate bishop is about to eat you out and she’s kicking her feet like a school girl writing in her diary.

She plants a hand on one of your hips, anchoring you down so you can’t squirm away from her. Kate begins with licking a fat stripe up your cunt. A guttural, almost animalistic sound claws its way out of your mouth. She smiles into you, you can feel it. Her lips attach to your clit, sucking.

You’re grabbing at her hair, her black tresses weaving themselves between the manicure that she had payed for on your fingers.

Kate lips and sucks your folds, letting her tongue occasionally prod into your hole. Your hips buck into her face. She groans into you, her hand on your hip regaining its leverage as it holds you down again. You tug on Kate’s hair again, it makes her moan into you, causing a chain reaction in your body. You throw your head back against the arm rest of the couch, Kate’s name falling from your lips.

“I know baby, I know” Kate looks up at you, her jaw coated in your slick. You bite your hand in an effort to contain the noise that threatened to push past your lips.

Kate dives back in, licking your pussy with a fire in her belly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was spelling her name with her tongue.

You moan as her tongue dances over your clit.

She’s reaching up to play with your tits.

You’re pulling on her hair, forcing her face into your cunt as your release approaches.

You’re gushing onto Kate’s face, and she’s drinking it up.

She licks you clean through your orgasm, and then she’s back up on her knees. She’s smiling at you like a kid on Christmas morning and this is the best gift she’s ever received.

Kate almost rips off her own underwear. She tosses them towards the trail of clothing you two had left by the tree. You’re catching her drift before she even speaks a word.

You sit up, crashing your lips against hers. Christmas music still plays over her speaker. It’s some new song artist you’ve never really heard of before. It sounds kinda like a regular song you’ve heard a few times before.

Lookin at you got me thinkin Christmas

You grab at Kate’s hips, guiding her to sit over your bare thigh. You do the same as she slides hers under your cunt. As soon as Kate’s center makes contact with your thigh, she’s grinding down on you. She’s humping your leg like a damn dog in heat.

You rock your hips with her, attempting to find a pace with her but Kate is too lost in her own pleasure to want to compromise her speed. You laugh at her a little. Her hair sticks up slightly, her lips are swollen and her blue eyes are blown over by her lust filled pupils.

She’s panting, staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. You reach for her pretty little clit while you ride her thigh. Eventually you rock together in unison, your moans drowning out the pop stars song on the speaker. Kate leans forward when you fingers meet her clit. Her sweaty forehead sticking to your shoulder as she pants. She presses a few kisses to your skin there, making you shudder a little.

You can feel Kate soaking your thigh, your ministrations on her clit continuing. You’re so lost in your own rutting and getting Kate off, you almost miss her reaching down off the couch for something. Her hands dangle off the furniture as she searches blindly. You slow your rocking, pulling your fingers away from Kate. She hisses a little before finding what she was looking for.

The reindeer antlers.

She ruts into you a little harder, a grin plastered on her flushed face. Her clit catches on your thigh and she gasps a little. She leans forward, pecking your lips.

She places the antlers on your head.

Kate pulls away, admiring her work.

“My pretty girl” she’s slurs. Her eyes are half lidded and her hair hangs in her face.

You surge forward, kissing her. Your hands grip the sides of her face as you grind down on her thigh, the particular thrust bumping your clit and allowing a moan to slip out of your mouth and into Kate’s.

You don’t even care about the stupid antlers on your head. You want to cum all over Kate’s thigh, so much so that she’ll be cleaning you off of her couch for weeks to come.

Kate’s hands go to your tits, reaching under your bra. She tweaks your nipples a little and you jump and thrust them further into the archers calloused hands.

Kate groans into your mouth. Her humping is becoming sporadic as she chases her high, as do yours. It’s only a matter of a slap to her firm ass and a tug to her hair and Kate’s hips are stuttering to a halt. She soaks your thigh, kissing you all the way through it.

Kate continues fondling your tits, moving her mouth down your neck. She bites, and it’s all over. You’re cumming on her and the couch.

You ride your orgasm for a bit longer, continuing to move your hips until you can’t anymore. You fall forward, your face meeting Kate’s chest. The antlers slid back a little as they hit Kate in the face. She attempts to blow them out of her face like she would a hair.

Kate grabs you tight and leans backwards, laying down the opposite way you were earlier.

Your head’s still on her chest as she rubs your back a little, playing with the hair that touches your back.

You’re both catching your breath. You press a couple kisses to her clothed chest, and then a couple to her neck, and the you’re grabbing her face and kissing her cheeks.

“Okay okay!” She giggles at you before she presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Kate’s Christmas music plays in the background as you both look out one of her windows. It started snowing again.

Kate tears the antlers off your head, tired of them hitting her face.

“I’m really surprised they stayed on” she thinks aloud, still playing with your hair. You snuggle into her deeper, putting your arm over her middle.

“Honestly same, it’s kinda impressive”

“I know!!”

You and Kate both erupt into laughter, because why wouldn’t you. You just had mind blowing sex on her couch and you’re talking about the probability of felt reindeer antlers staying on your head while you rode her thigh.

You sigh, looking up at her again, happy to just be with her in the moment.

“Merry Christmas, Katie”

┗━━━━━•❅•°•❈•°•❅•━━━━━┛

TEEHEE ! ! MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMALS ✨🎄

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azure-cherie · 6 months

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𝑵𝒂𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

✵ 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄 /𝗞𝗮𝗸𝗮

Crow is the animal associated with krittika , pushya , hasta , jyestha , dhanistha

Crows are associated with being the vahan of shani dev , they are a connecting link between the human world and The spirit world , it is believed that our ancestors come in the form of crows to get food and offer us blessings , it is also believed that the caretaker of the crow will achieve blessings from all gods and reach salvation after death

Mythology and lore :

The black crow, also known as a raven in some regions is said to possess clairvoyance by which he can see different worlds,is the tale of KakBhushundi, mentioned in Tulasi’ Das’s epic poem ‘Ramacharitamanas’. Bhusundi who was an ardent devotee of Ram had no respect or devotion for any representation God other than Lord Ram. His guru sage Lomas tried to correct this attitude by teaching him to develop devotion for nirguna brahman or the formless aspect of God. But Bhusundi ignored his guru’s teachings and kept on worshipping Ram as the Ultimate Truth. In a fit of anger Sage Lomasha cursed Bhusundi to become a crow because of his repeated rejection and arguments against the sage’s guidance and advice. When Lord Ram intervened on behalf of Bhusundi, Sage Lomas relented and recalled Basundi who was now in the form of a crow as ‘KakBhushundi’ or Bhusundi the crow and taught him Ramcharitmanas, stories about Rama’s spiritual journey. Thus KakBhusundi in the form of a crow became the ultimate narrator of the events in the life of Lord Rama. He was also blessed with the ability to travel through time and recreate the story of Lord Rama.

He witnessed a cosmic vision in Rama's mouth, observing millions of suns and moons within, and a vision of the sage himself in Ayodhya within each celestial object. He resided within each of these realms for centuries, and returned from Rama's mouth to find himself return to the same moment in time as he had left. Bewildered, he begged for Rama's salvation, and was promptly blessed with the same. He chose to forever remain in the form of a crow as he had been blessed by his favoured deity in that form.

during the shraddha ceremony or oblation offered to ancestors, a ball of cooked rice ( pind) is offered to the dead ancestor. If crows eat ( touch/peck) it, then it is assumed that the dead ancestor’s soul has been released from his or her bindings with the physical body and has embarked on the continuation of the soul’s journey to the next level of existence. In this rite, crows touching the rice ball is considered auspicious and is also seen as a good omen.they are of particular interest in Tantric narratives and Tantric rituals. In the general Hindu context, the crow is often stereotyped as inauspicious and its role limited to that of vāhana (vehicle of a deity). Conversely, in Tantric ritual manuals, the crow’s sphere of influence is based on a broader concept. Such scriptures imply ominous and ‘dark’ aspects of agency in crows, but they do so in a strikingly different way than Hindu classic mythology. Tantra emphasise an ambivalent potential in crows as beneficial to certain rituals and occasionally incorporate a ‘crow potency’ in ritual instructions.

They are the very powerful healers who are able to locate the shadows that create distress for people and bring blind dark spots to awareness in people so healing can ensue. Spending long periods in the dark gives one this Siddhi.Shuni Kah is the Crow of the Dark Moon who has access to the never regions. He is the one in us to bring the eye to the underground sediment that toxifies our lives. If this unresolved sediment it is left in the unseen world there is no healing.Shuni Kah the Crow and gatekeeper to the world of dreams is the grand healer. Just singing his name is a powerful mantra that causes us to see in the dark.

The entrance to Shuni is through the femminine. His Mother is Chaya, the Shadow Woman, and his father is Surya, the Sun. His Mother was not able to realise her power beside her Husband, the sun, for his glow burned and make her feel overwhelmed and insignificant and so she fled leaving behind her shadow.This signifies how the Feminine is brought into insignificance when the Solar or active force is ruled over her.Having left her Shadow with her husband, Shuni’s mother whilst still pregnant performed prayers and yogic austerity to Shiva under intense heat. Her effort was so great and the heat generated became so hot that her child, Shuni, was burned black.This signifies how heat and tapasya (yogic purifying Fire of austerity) reveals the darkness within the unconscious recesses of one’s being.When Shuni was born and seen in his blackness, his father was shocked at how dark he was refused to recognise him as his child, accusing his wife of being unfaithful. He raged greatly and insulted his wife. Seeing his Mother thus insulted raised Shuni’s wrath. Thus Shuni’s gazes is ever down in the underworld and arouses suffering.He Rides on the Crow and his wife rides on the Swan.One is the bird of the underworld and the other is the bird of the Celestial spheres

The completion of Tantrais known as the Kiss of Crow & Swan.The meeting of opposites.She rides a chariot pulled by crows and has a flag with crow emblem (Kak Dwhajini). She has a voice of howling jackals. Dhumavati

In Celtic mythology, the warrior goddess known as the Morrighan often appears in the form of a crow or raven or is seen accompanied by a group of them. Typically, these birds appear in groups of three, and they are seen as a sign that the Morrighan is watching—or possibly getting ready to pay someone a visit.

In some tales of the Welsh myth cycle, the Mabinogion, the raven is a harbinger of death. Witches and sorcerers were believed to have the ability to transform themselves into ravens and fly away, thus enabling them to evade capture.Odin is often represented by the raven—usually a pair of them. Early artwork depicts him as being accompanied by two black birds, who are described in the Eddas as Huginn and Munnin. Their names translate to “thought” and “memory,” and their job is to serve as Odin’s spies, bringing him news each night from the land of men. For the ancient Greeks, the crow was a symbol of Apollo in his role as god of prophecy. Augury—divination using birds—was popular among both the Greeks and the Romans, and augurs interpreted messages based on not only the color of a bird but the direction from which it flew. A crow flying in from the east or south was considered favorable.Genesis tells us that after the flood waters receded, the raven was the first bird Noah sent out from the ark to find land. Also, in the Hebrew Talmud, ravens are credited with teaching mankind how to deal with death; when Cain slew Abel, a raven showed Adam and Eve how to bury the body, because they had never done so before.Philo of Alexandria (first century AD), who interpreted the Bible allegorically, stated that Noah's raven was a symbol of vice, whereas the dove was a symbol of virtue (Questions and Answers on Genesis 2:38)In the Story of Bhusunda, a chapter of the Yoga Vasistha, a very old sage in the form of a crow, Bhusunda, recalls a succession of epochs in the earth's history, as described in Hindu cosmology. He survived several destructions, living on a wish-fulfilling tree on Mount Meru.[24]

The Lesser Key of Solomon: Goetia, The Book of Evil SpiritsStolas, the 36th demon in the pantheon, will first appear as a raven when summoned. Once he becomes a man, he teaches the arts and astronomy, as well as the properties of precious stones and the healing properties of herbs. Malphas, the 39th demon, appears as a crow and won’t change form until ordered. In his human form, he can build homes and fortifications and can give his summoner a familiar

Raven overheard the old man talking to himself about a box he possessed. The box contained a series of ever-smaller boxes, and inside the smallest box was all the light in the world—which Raven decided to steal.There seemed to be no door into the house, so Raven waited until the man’s daughter went to a nearby stream, then changed himself into a hemlock needle in the water, which the girl drank. Raven changed himself into a baby once he was inside her, and once he was born (an odd-looking half-bird, half-boy creature whose true nature was hidden by the darkness), he demanded to be allowed to play with the boxes. One by one, Raven demanded the first box, then the second, and so on. Finally, he convinced his grandfather to open the innermost box and let him play with the ball that was the light. As soon as Raven had the light, he took off with it gripped in his beak.The light spilled from the ball and over the world, but it wasn’t long before Eagle gave chase. As Raven fled, pieces of the light fell to the ground and shattered, bouncing back into the sky to create the Moon and the stars. Other pieces of the light slowly fell as Raven made his way around the world, which is why the light travels across the sky the way it does.Theories suggest that the three legs represent the three ancient clans of Japan or the three virtues of valor, benevolence, and wisdom. Some suggest that the three stands for mankind, heaven, and Earth. Regardless of why Yatagarasu has three legs, he’s seen as symbolic of the navigator, physical and spiritual, and he’s even been adopted by the Japanese soccer association in the hopes that he’ll help navigate the ball into the goal. He’s also closely associated with Kumano, the birthplace of the founder of the sport in Japan

The raven is considered one of the smartest birds. In fact, the raven’s brain is among the largest of any bird species. Ravens also happen to possess an extraordinary number of brain cells compared to the brains of other birds.3When the raven is your spirit animal, you are being called upon to rely on your wits in a given situation or when you are faced with a challenge in your life. Often in life, we can go on automatic pilot, accepting things the way they are, or thinking we don’t have the capacity to change them.The raven spirit animal tells you that with innovation and creative thinking, you can influence outcomes that affect the course of your life. Even if you feel emotional about a situation, remember to rely on the gift of your intellect to solve your problems. This is how you gain deeper intelligence and wisdom.\

Charles Dickens’ Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of Eighty. In both tales, the raven is at first disturbing to the character who interacts with him. But then he provides important insights. Indeed, the raven expands both of the main characters’ level of consciousness.

In many Native American legends, the raven is the wisest of birds, even possessing the ability to speak.8 (In fact, this is an interesting parallel between Native American legends and stories from other cultures, such as Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven, in which the intelligent black bird is capable of human speech.The Egyptian goddess Nepthys, who is the sister of Isis, was the goddess of the dead.13 It’s clear that the ancient Egyptians also connected the raven with death, as they associated Nepthys with this intelligence black bird.

Meaning: Survival and Adaptability

Intuition – Because the raven is so closely associated with clairvoyance and prophecy, on a spiritual level, they remind us of our own ability to connect with our Higher Power and higher spiritual entities through our own minds.

Spiritual Guidance – As they are associated with insight and guidance, the raven is also a symbol for spiritual education. We are all works in progress. Learning about spirituality from more enlightened souls can lead to our own spiritual growth.

Spiritual Transformation – As a powerful symbol of transformation, the raven also embodies the idea of shifting consciousness and opening our minds to greater awareness as we navigate our spiritual journey. reflect on the areas of your life that they might relate to. Even an anxious raven dream can be a gift. It can prompt you to take the time to be an objective observer of your own thoughts. Then, you can improve situations without getting pulled in every direction your thoughts might take.

Sources :

1 2 3

Through various nakshatras

Interpretations are solely based on my understanding and you can have your interpretation as well ❤️

Krittika nakshatra

Krittika is a churner of perfection under the fire of Surya that gave birth to Shani through his mother chaya the first conception of the birth of a crow comes through while Shani is associated with crows , the struggles of not being seen enough is associated here , the outcast themes come through. Along with that the perfection theme while a crow collects the most beautiful stuff to keep in it's nest , it knows what's valuable like krittika sees the value in things , they know what they want and they attempt to take it . Here this relates to the story of yatagarasu believed to be an incarnation of the sun in Shinto mythology. This also associates with Apollo being the god of prophecy and taking the form of a crow , shows that where there exists light ( Surya ) there Exists chaya , they aren't on a scale of horizontal extremes but the flip sides of a coin, one cannot exist without the other , in krittika lies the light so lies the dark , lies the beauty of creation so lies the pain of change .

Pushya nakshatra

Pushya nakshatra ruled by Saturn comes in through the first liberation through pain and trials in the lives of the natives , like a crow one suffers despite what others say , people say various things without knowing about the wisdom of the crow , this forms the initiation of intuition . While pushya relates to the nourishing aspect of a crow , how they hunt for their young ones , how they know pain because they have been the one experiencing it , being outcast only affects them for a small time because they pick themselves up like a true winner. . Here the intelligence and creativity given by the raven shines through with the light of the moon .

Hasta nakshatra:

The playful nature of mercury- moon shines through the crow in being a lover for finer things in life , they are the intelligent ones the smart ones , they are often called deceptive , but that's just cleverness put to use , while the significance here can be seen through the story of raven (mentioned above) stealing the box which contained all the light of the world and convincing the old man to open the box , natives have great communication skills and can easily convince people. As the eagle chased the raven the moon and the stars were created , signified by the moon hasta creates their own pathway through their own efforts. By hook or by crook they get what they desire .

Jyestha nakshatra:

In Jyestha nakshatra comes in the prophetic and astrological nature of the natives . Jyestha nakshatra is associated with the 8th house , hence death and through the mahavidya Dhumavati who is also associated with crows , this nakshatra gives grounding, astrological talent to the one with this nakshatra. When the ceremonial rites of a dead person is performed offering food to a crow suggests the offerings being accepted by the dead , which is suggested here with Jyestha being in Scorpio. In tantra crows are seen as potent symbolism of intuition and transformation in various mythologies, crow is seen as transformation as is seen in Jyestha nakshatra.In the lesser key of solomon a crow reaches the art of divinitions and healing properties of crystals . A Jyestha native transforms throughout their lives and gains knowledge to become a spiritual centre of creativity and intuition. They bring in spirituality and astrology as 8th being the origin of astrology, they are potent in magical arts and healing others as well as themselves.

Dhanistha nakshatra :

When in dhanistha can be explained through the story of kakbhushundi , the disciple who turned into a crow in devotion to Rama , the solar avatar of Vishnu, kakbhushundi explores the spritual aspect of the crow , kakbhushundi who recited stories through ramacharitamanas . Dhanistha associated with Hanuman also shows the infinite devotion the crow bird and the natives of dhanistha have towards their adored and admired one , being a symbol of loyalty they are blessed with spiritual powers like kakbhushundi could travel through time and various realms , Dhanistha are blessed with the power to see various perspectives . Dhanistha natives are associated with the celestial form of a crow , the loyalty , the devotion and the spiritual salvation.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope this thread provided you valuable insights, please know that this is based on my understanding and interpretation I'm open to suggestions and corrections

Have a great day / night ahead 🤍

#vedic astrology #sidereal astrology #astrology #astro community #astrology readings #astrology community #krittika #hasta nakshatra #jyestha #pushya nakshatra #dhanistha

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flowerandblood · 1 month

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The Gate of Salvation NSWF Alphabet

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

NSWF Alphabet for Aemond from my mini series The Gate of Salvation made for my one year celebration. I show perspective of what it looked like with his beloved. Dirty things below.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Afterwards, he is a complete devastated, crying mess, going through some kind of panic attack, and the only thing that can calm him down is her reassurances that she still loves him, that she is not disgusted by him, that he is not a bad person, that she forgives him.

He snuggles up to her and literally sinks into her body, pressing his face into the hollow of her neck, feeling safe only with her. Once he calms down he makes sure she is comfortable, that he hasn't hurt her and she doesn't need anything.

B = Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

He adores every part of her body because she is a miracle of God for him, but he loves her eyes most, her soft, tender gaze, he melts thinking about it.

C = Cum (anything that has to do with it)

He cums only on his own hand. He doesn't want her to be touched by the effect of his sin, dying internally every time she licks everything off his fingers.

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

Well... he is the Pope. Everything he does with her is his dirty secret.

E = Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Before his beloved: absolutely none. His morning erections aroused his disgust. He had never thought of such things before he met her, considering them simply sinful and primitive.

F = Favorite position

Sitting with her on top, his face nestled between her breasts, he can then touch and feel her in every possible way, can kiss her and watch her reactions, which calms and arouses him, while at the same time not really seeing anything.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

There is no room for laughter in this sacred act of their closeness, what they do and how they do it is a very serious matter for him.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

All natural and clean, as God himself has created him.

I = Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

He is very insecure and affectionate, he needs to feel her close, her embrace and her voice give him a sense of security. He could spend the whole night whispering in her ear how much he loves her, how much he needs and wants her, satisfying her with his fingers, gazing in awe at her fulfilment, comparing her to Bernini's Baroque sculptures.

J = Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He only masturbates in front of her to restrain himself from throwing himself at her right away and put his cock inside her – he wants to feel her this way when he's already on the edge. He doesn't touch himself when he is alone and thinks about her, repenting in this way.

K = Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Definitely a religious kink. Her calling him Holy Father when he touches her, when he slips his fingers deep inside her, or thrusts into her, send him into another orbit.

L = Location (where they like to get it on)

As comfortable as possible, in her room on her bed, somewhere they can both feel safe because they are still stressed about being caught in the act.

M = Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Her telling him that she loves him, that she is only his, the sight of her at least partially exposed body, her crossed legs when she sits, her breasts peeking through from under her dress when she is not wearing a bra. His manhood literally throbs with delight at the sight of her every day.

N = No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

He would never let her give him a blowjob or handjob. He would die of despair, shame and regret for humiliating and insulting her. Anal and other weird things are out of question. Big no.

O = Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He would never let her suck him off, but he himself had dreamed of tasting her from the very beginning.

He would arrange everything so that the room was completely dark and he could not see this intimate part of her body, but only feel it with his sense of touch, and then with slow, timid flicks of his tongue he would bring her to the brink of despair.

Hearing her sobs, her thighs shaking in his embrace, her hands clutching his hair, he would slide his tongue deep inside her, eating her weeping cunt like a starving man until she came all over his face with the loudest, sweetest moans of pleasure he had ever heard.

He would do it often to her ever since.

P = Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Because he's constantly aroused and doesn't masturbate when she's not next to him, he doesn't last very long, but neither of them cares.

Q = Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

On the beginning they do it painfully slowly, but once he's deep inside her, his brain disconnects, and he slams into her as if he hasn't seen her for a month.

R = Risk (do they like to try new things)

Definitely not. Meeting his beloved is risky itself.

S = Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

After one round, he is so overwhelmed and shocked that he needs at least a day or two to calm down and come back to himself.

T = Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

None.

U = Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

When he sees her talking or getting close with any other men, his mind goes into the mode of a stern judge who asks her if she is sure that she deserves to be fulfilled. He gives it to her, satisfied only when she is a babbling, leaking, quivering little mess, reminding her to who her body and soul belong to.

V = Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

When he touches her in her most intimate place, when he rubs against her leaking cunt with his cock, when he thurst into her he is a whimpering, panting, babbling mess.

W = Wild card (random canon of any sort)

None.

X = X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Heaven's Delight.

Y = Yearning (sexdrive level)

When he sees her, he is melting. It doesn't necessarily always end with sex, but he always wants to be as close to her as possible.

Z = Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He makes sure that she fell asleep first, listening to her calm breathing, and he cuddle himself between her breast and sleep like a little baby.

He wants to cry when the alarm clock on his phone rings before sunset so that he has time to get up and go back to his rooms before anyone realises he's not there. He is so comfy and warm in her embrace, lying with her under the duvet, that he only wishes he could stay with her longer.

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