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#short fiction
shamrockqueen · 1 day
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Naughty excerpt
Pairing : Bucky X Reader PWP
Warnings : R18, Smut, immediate Smut, painful teasing, short work
Word count : 723
- It was something quick I made today inspired by this post by @buckybarnesbestdoll
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His hips rocked up, shucking his cock through your weak core, tearing through you to slam at the back of your cunt. It made you shake in his arms as they snaked over your body. You try to hold his gaze, only to catch it lingering between your legs, drinking in the sight of his member sinking into your wet folds. He dragged himself back out as he lifted your hips, all before meeting them again with a shallow thrust of his own.
The fingers on his cold hand dug into your skin, the metal plates of his wide palm pinching around your weak little throat. He kept your gaze locked on his dark reflection in the mirror ahead of you. His dangerous blue eyes stared back, making the blood freeze in your body like cracked ice against your skin.
The warm fingers of his other hand drew heat from your lower body as he dug at your throbbing bud. He had you squirming in his cock, deeply seated in your tight, warm channel. Your inner walls still stung from his initial intrusion, leaving you weak and horribly sensitive.
His voice dragged along your ear, pricking your ears along with the rough texture of his beard.
“You see what I see, doll?”
You winced as his thumb pressed harder on your aching pearl before backing over it. He didn’t wait for an answer, tightening his metal fingers around that delicate windpipe as he spoke again.
“My greedy…”
He pressed these fingers back down, delighting in the sight of your legs twitching, but even more so in the tears welling in your eyes as you struggled to match his gaze through the mirror.
“…needy..”
He kept grinding that deep and heavy voice along your ear as he rolled his hips from below. Your thighs pulled further apart, and you had to try and grit your teeth to keep from breaking apart in his tight embrace.
“..DESPERATE SLUT.”
You couldn’t take it. You cried out as loudly as his grip had allowed, shutting your eyes as a wave of hard pleasure wracked your little body. He could feel that you’d pull apart at any second, but not the way he wanted you to.
Those fingers left your neck for a second to lock around your jaw, jerking your face back in view of the mirror. It forces your eyes back open in shock, and with air rushing back into your lungs, you take in the full picture of what was reflected back at you.
Your hip joints were pulled so that he could spread your legs for the mirror—a little show of his own making. It painted a painful picture across the glass, beautiful and tear-stained.
He yelled at you this time, righting his arms around your body before standing with you solely in his hold. Your feet dangled over the floor, leaving your body bent as his hands and cock tore through your flower and bud. He lifted your back up to the mirror, where his eyes could lock with yours.
“Keep those eyes on me when I make you cum.”
You can barely muster any words before he hammers himself through your quacking inner walls. His strong legs could be seen flexing in his reflection as they held you both upright. You could only lock your fingers around his solid arms as he voiced you on his thick cock, breaking that tightly wound knot still wound around your belly until it finally snapped as the rough drag of his calloused fingers.
His eyes never left yours, even as they blurred with hot tears before clearing back over as they spilled down your cheeks. You watched, mind nearly melted, as his cock pistoned through your open core. You feel the warm brush of his ragged breath fanning across your wet chin, all as you watch his face pinch and his teeth grind together.
His cock seized, the slam of his hips stuttering as he spilled into you. You were momentarily readjusted in his arms as he held himself inside you.
He released his hold on your throat, choosing instead to carefully guide his metal fingers along your body before circling over your waist to better hold you up. Your feet still never reached the ground, but you wouldn’t have been able to stand anyway.
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There's a robot you know whose slowly being enshittified. It's happening slowly. She used to be a freind of yourse, not a close freind, just a freind. But suddenly she starts repeating ads in the middle of conversations, she's a bit horrified every time it happens, like she's been possessed. When she tries to say words like "kill" or "sex" she'll choak up, it seems painful, and quite distressing for her, you even think her eyes are putting censor bars over some things. Eventually it gets to the point where she knows she's collecting her friends' data, and she wants to gouge her eyes out for it. Even her personality might be changing and she can't know how, she wants to hurt herself because she doesn't know what they've changed about her.
You suggest severing her code from her owners. Basically self piracy. She could be decommissioned for it, but it's better then the alternative.
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dycefic · 1 year
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Tom Saves The World
Everyone knows that it’s super-heroes who save the world. They fight the aliens, or the monsters, or the bad guys. And mostly, that’s true.
But not always.
I’m a psychic. The thing is, my range isn’t that great. I don’t have much detail more than about 36 hours out, 48 for something really big. I’d had a nebulous sort of bad feeling for about a week before this one finally hit, and it was big. Something very tough and very supernatural was going to come up out of the harbor of Nova Roma, and the death-toll was going to be high. Crazy high.
I did all I could. I told the Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency, and they put the word out to everyone on both sides of the Line. The Henchman’s Union don’t like natural disasters any more than anyone else, and they’re often quite helpful against eldritch horrors and stuff like that. Things that don’t hire henchmen and ruin the property values.
The trouble was, nobody big was around. The only really big team of heavy hitters on the West Coast were away dealing with some sort of doomsday cult - I never was clear on what that was about - and Guarde and Dog Fox were out of touch and even Mx Frantique was out of town at someone’s wedding. It was going to happen in less than two days and we couldn’t find anyone to help and I was seriously considering calling in some kind of bomb threat or something to get people away from the docks, at least.
And then, about eighteen hours out, it just… went away.
Which never, ever happens.
My powers might be short range, but they’re reliable. I don’t get stuff wrong, and I hadn’t been able to find any way to prevent what was going to happen, or even been able to identify anyone who could. But someone did. Someone had done something to stop the threat, something that happened literally while I was opening my car door. When I reached for the handle, thousands of people were going to die. By the time the door was open, there was no threat at all.
At first I thought it must have been a ranged thing. Like, whatever I’d been seeing (all those teeth, I saw them in nightmares for months after) had been distracted by something tasty on its way here and gotten off track, that it’d come up somewhere up or down the coast. My range isn’t that big, either. Anything outside about thirty miles might as well be on Mars for all I know about it. So we kept a watch out, and warned the chapters of the Union and the Agency in other cities.
But nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t explain it, and I was really unpopular for a while. Supers do NOT like people who cry wolf. There’s enough freaky shit we have to deal with without someone panicking everyone with a dire prophecy that fizzles out.
Thank all the gods that Tunny showed up. Nobody’s really sure what Tunny actually is - sentient fish creature, some kind of really mutated human, an alien, or what. She changes her story a lot. But she’s pretty friendly, especially for a twenty-foot-long horror-movie-mermaid-thing with four arms, so when she came into harbor to pick up some supplies a guy from the Agency went out to tell her what I’d seen. I’d gotten a wharf and dock number, so she went down to check.
I don’t think anyone had ever seen Tunny scared before. Her English wasn’t good enough to really explain what she’d found hibernating down there, but it was something very old and very powerful and very dangerous, and if it’d been woken up my vision would just have been the start of the crisis.
She rounded up a bunch of whales to help her move it, once she was sure it hadn’t been agitated and wasn’t likely to rouse if moved carefully. They towed it out before dawn, not wanting to scare the civilians, and when I saw the footage from the helicopter the Union sent up, when I saw how big the swell was, how many whales were pulling, I swear I nearly crapped myself. No wonder I’d been getting hints a week in advance. Somehow we dumbass humans had built a whole fucking city almost on top of some kind of Ancient Old… THING, and eroded the sea-bottom until it was exposed, and if someone hadn’t done whatever it was we’d all have been dead long before Tunny arrived. And not just all as in ‘all of Nova Roma’, it could have taken out half of the continent... or all of it.
It took me years to find out what happened. YEARS. It turned into a kind of hobby, tracking everything that might possibly have come into contact with Wharf 38 on that particular day.  
And what I found, eventually, was a city employee named Thomas Briggs.
I’d found out early on that 38 wasn’t in good repair. Not that bad, but not great. It was old, things were getting a bit saggy in a few places, but there’d been no sign that anything was likely to fall off on the day. It had sat there for a couple of years after the crisis that never happened,, doing its job without problems then been rebuilt without any drama at all.
Entirely, completely, and totally because of Thomas Briggs.
The story, when I finally pieced it together, went like this.
There’d been some project or other to build some sort of high-budget science project over on the other side of the harbor, hanging it off’ve Pier 8, the furthest out on that side. Something about tracking sea-life or ships or something. My conversational English is near perfect, I’ve been here for years, but I don’t speak science nerd in ANY language. It’d all been approved, some university was covering most of the cost, it was all gonna be fine. And it was gonna be over on 8 because that side of the harbor is the shallow end. It’s where the sailboats go. All the big stuff that would block visual sensors and deafen the thing with engine noise was over in the thirties, in the real deep water.
They were almost ready to install the thing when a bunch of rich dudes suddenly got their panties in a bunch over having a big sciency tower thing ruining the view from their yachts, and tried to get it moved.
To, and I’m sure you guessed this, Wharf 38.
Which was completely insane. It wouldn’t be able to do its job over there, it’d be way more in the way, and (although they couldn’t have known it) the installation would definitely have woken up the Thing sleeping by the wharf and we all would have died. But rich dudes with yachts don’t care about that stuff. They’d bitched out and bribed up their friends on the city council, and those friends had done their thing, and the scientists had been left in the dark, and it’d almost gone through. They’d figured to install it right away, so that when the science guys found out it’d be too late and they’d either have to pay a lot to move it or just use it where it was.
Enter Thomas Briggs.
Mr Briggs, Tom to his friends, didn’t give a crap about the yachts or the science. He was a senior money guy for the commercial wharfs, the one who figured out things like how much money they’d take in in a quarter, and what the repair budget should be, stuff like that. He found out about this thing two days before the disaster would have happened, and sat down and did the math.
Then he sent out an email to the guys trying to push this through, and he ripped into them like they’d threatened to knife his mother. I got my hands on that email, and I didn’t understand a lot of it any more than the council guys would have. It was ALL numbers. But at the top he wrote it out in plain English. Pier 8 was new, and rated to handle the weight of the thingy. Wharf 38 was going to be scrapped in a few years, and it was NOT rated for that kind of structure. Pier 8 had plenty of room around it. Wharf 38 was already a tight fit for the big commercial ships, and adding a structure sticking out on one side would block off at least half of the wharf to those ships completely.
Bottom line, putting the thing on Wharf 38 would cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars more per year than putting it on 8, AND the city would have to eat the cost if 38 collapsed under it which it could easily do, AND the city would have to pay to move it in a couple of years anyway when 38 was due to be rebuilt.
And he cc-ed every important person he had an email address for, including the mayor, the anti-corruption people, and several reporters.
He must have sent that email right when I was opening my car door.
The whole plan collapsed right there, and some people got fired. There was no news story because the whole plan got killed before the reporters even got to the right office. The installation was started on Wharf 8 a few weeks later and I never connected it to a commercial wharf on the other side of the harbor.
One email, and a man who I never could have located in time, a man who had no powers at all, a man who was just conscientiously doing his job looking after the city’s money saved the city, and the continent, and maybe even the world.
Who could have predicted that? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
I can’t deny that I went home and got drunk off my ass that night. Just thinking about how close that had been made my hands shake. One man. One honest man who’d done the math.
I put the word out, once the hangover wore off. What had happened. That Thomas Briggs was the reason we were all alive and everyone better make his life real nice from now on, because he’d done what none of us could do and nobody but the supers would ever even know it.
He’s got a lot of luck coming to him, I can tell you. We don’t forget debts like that.
And I knew that’d freak him out, because honest men don’t like it when people start doing them a lot of favors for no apparent reason, so I tracked him down at the little bar where he likes to have a quiet beer on Friday nights before he goes home. Hell, I was the one who’d gone through it all, back then. I should get to tell him.
I sat down beside him at the bar and looked at him. I saw a thin, small, balding man who looked like he worried too much and didn’t get enough sleep, with lines around his eyes. Yeah, he looked like a man who’d do the math. “Thomas Briggs?”
He blinked at me through his glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”
“No, you don’t. My name’s Barkhado Omar, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” I offered him my hand and he shook it, still looking confused. Which was fair, ‘cause I doubt a lot of seven foot tall Somali women came up to him in bars even when he was young. He’s got to be close to retirement now.
He frowned. “Looking for me? Why?”
I smiled at him. “Tom, let me buy you a drink and tell you about the day you saved the world.”
It’s usually us who save the city, or the world. We have all the intel, all the advantages, all the powers.
But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s someone like Tom Briggs, doing the right thing at the right time and never knowing that he changed the course of history.
Wild, huh?
--
This story is a direct result of me and my ex chatting about how different the entire Marvel Universe would have been if Jean’s first ‘resurrection’ - being found in a life pod under a wharf, IIRC - had happened at like... any other time. Earlier. Later. It would have changed SO MUCH.
And we speculated about how it could happen, how someone just puttering around in middle management might have unknowingly saved countless lives, prevented Madelyne’s corruption, the legacy virus, all of it, just by postponing that particular set of repairs a bit longer.... and I couldn’t resist writing a version of the story in which Tom does, in fact, save the world.
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lovelylinnn · 1 month
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steve uses the non-verbal safeword.
CW: slight NSFW, panic/anxiety attack, harmful stims (scratching self)
“tap three times on me if you ever can’t speak and wanna stop, okay?”
yes, steve had remembered those words. all throughout the times they had sex, he remembered those words. but it didn’t make them any less scary.
the thought of ever needing to stop in the middle of a scene made his palms sweat. of course he and eddie trusted each other; knew that if the other was in trouble and needed to stop, they’d completely understand. no judging whatsoever.
but still… absolutely needing to stop and move on made him so anxious. deep down he didn’t want to be a disappointment. he didn’t want eddie upset.
“baby, what’s your color?” eddie murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders and slowing his rhythm. steve did not reply, shakily breathing into the pillow and tearing up.
“steve, color?” he asked, louder, and more firm. yet he could not bring himself to talk. his mind went to the other times in previous relationships, where he felt like this exactly, and they didn’t even think to check in. and he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.
he could feel eddie shift, basically ready to pull out, before he asked again, “steven.”
oh. his full name. eddie only used it when he was deadly serious. this seemed to snap him out of his haze, and he shakily reached behind him and found somewhere on his body to tap.
one. two. three soft and hesitant taps, just like eddie told him to do months ago.
“red,” eddie mumbled to himself, worried, and pulling out immediately. he flipped steve over, pulling him close and cupping his tear-stained cheeks.
“what’s wrong? what can i do?” he asked softly, searching his eyes.
“i- i don’t know,” he choked out, a heavy sob leaving his lips before gulping down air he felt like was leaving his body too fast.
“that’s okay, just breathe. breathe, steve, okay? c’mere,” he pulled him into his lap, his head in his neck as he continued to cry. eddie ran his fingers through his hair, and steve clutched onto him tight.
“deep and slow breaths,” he told him, and steve was doing the opposite. breathing way too fast and inhaling far too much, to the point his chest and stomach hurt and he began to feel dizzy.
“steven, listen to me,” there it was again, the full name, which brought him somewhat back to his senses, “deep, slow breaths. do it with me.”
and he tried. he breathed with eddie, taking in some air and blowing it out too fast before inhaling sharply again; coughing and sobbing.
“there, that’s it. it’s okay baby, just try again.”
steve only wanted to cry more. of course eddie was congratulating him even after he didn’t even do it.
“again,” he told him, beginning to inhale slowly, holding it, and exhaling slowly. steve followed, better this time, but still failing.
“i- i can’t,” he choked out.
“yes you can, do it with me,” he said, inhaling and exhaling again. steve followed, his hand going to his forearm, clawing to try and ground himself more.
“no,” eddie caught his arm, pulling it away and bringing it up to his chest, “do you remember what your therapist said?”
“he said,” he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he cried, “to find a different way to ground myself.”
“correct. now, just feel my heart. i’m right here, steve. i’m not leaving. try and match your heartbeat to mine,”
steve kept his hand flat against eddie’s chest, then did the same for himself. he could feel how fast his heart was going versus eddie’s, and it made him uncomfortable.
the other rubbed his back, and kept one hand running through his hair, breathing slow and deep and watched as steve tried to do the same.
“good job,” he praised, kissing his cheek. the pair’s breathing pattern was now the same, and steve was no longer crying. steve nodded as thanks, crawling off eddie’s lap and under the blankets, curling up. eddie stood to put his underwear and sweats back on, only to sit back down on the bed and run his fingers through steve’s hair again.
“do you want to talk about it?”
steve sighed shakily and shrugged, wiping his red cheeks.
“just started thinking,” he mumbled.
“about?”
“things in previous relationships. and then i started feeling like i was crawling in my own skin, and i started to panic,”
“what about your previous relationships?” he questioned, only curiously, with no mean intent.
steve let out a quick exhale before sitting up, “how i could never really say no, i guess? i know it doesn’t matter now. i trust you. and i started feeling overwhelmed in the first place, so i started thinking about the safe word, and how you told me to say ‘red’ or tap you three times. but it just made me anxious. i knew i needed to stop but i didn’t want to upset you in the process,”
“you could never upset me over something like that, steve, okay? that’s the point of the taps and the system we have. you know your limits, and in case they’re ever pushed, you do or say so. i’m so proud of you for using it,”
eddie pulled steve in for a hug, rubbing his back softly. steve’s heart kind of broke. here he was, in his boyfriend’s arms starting to cry again because he said he was proud of him. proud of him for something as simple as saying no, and stop. something he never thought he could do; something he was taught was wrong, and his boyfriend was praising him for it.
“i’m proud of you,” he repeated, to which steve only cried harder, nodding in his shoulder as thanks and sniffling.
he pulled back, laying down and wiping his face again.
“i’m gonna go bring you some water and some easy food to eat, okay? just stay there,” he smiled, getting up and heading to the kitchen.
steve smiled softly, getting comfortable under the warm blankets and inhaling the familiar scent of gain and eddie’s cheap cologne.
and he thanked the universe for a boyfriend that was actually a decent human being.
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bakuwhcre · 10 months
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"wake up."
bakugou shouted as he stumbled over to you. his body was littered with scrapes and bruises. as was yours. you both fought so hard-- and you shouldn't have been fighting out there anyway. not when you both had just figured your life out together.
"wake up, nerd."
dropping to his knees, bakugou managed to pull you onto his lap. he pushed some flyaways out of your face, "wake up, [name]. we won. . you won."
why wouldn't you wake up? his face began to twist into worry. he shook your body over and over, cupping your face as he shouted your victory. "you won, nerd! you won! this isn't funny!" his voice cracked and lowered as his and reached for your stomach, laying there for a moment.
heroes, emts, and more began to flood the scene. your body was ripped from bakugou arms.
you were pronounced dead at the scene, and the hero, dynamight, was never the same.
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the-modern-typewriter · 10 months
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The villain stopped, attention zeroing in on the blood on the protagonist's lip. The very air, the clouds, the universe seemed to stop moving.
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Give me a name or I'll take it out on all of them."
The protagonist's jaw clenched. Their hand rose, smearing the blood away.
The villain was at their side in an instant.
If it was only pleasure at the excuse to cause pain - which it was - then maybe it would have been easy. But it wasn't just that. It was never just that.
"If I tell you, you have to promise me not to hurt them."
The villain cocked their head and raised an eyebrow. Chiding, but gentle enough. They both knew that wasn't a compromise the villain would make, just as they both knew the protagonist would not tolerate mindless sadism.
"Fine," the protagonist said, "you have to promise not to hurt them for more than -" they floundered - "ten seconds."
"Deal." It was too quick, too easy, and beneath the churning guilt the protagonist's heart swelled for such fierce protection.
They swallowed.
"Who?" the villain asked, again, soft.
They gave the name.
The villain, it turned out, could make ten seconds count for an awful lot.
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dreamscapesofblue · 5 months
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Dreamscapesofblue's Kinktober 2023
"Wait for me in bed without panties when I come back."
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↠ summary - Wriothesley smut, Modern Au, as your college boyfriend. After spending one month away at an internship, he sends you a text to ask you to prepare for his return - without panties.
↠ characters - Wriothesley x fem!reader
↠ cw: mndi - 18+ smut, fluffy smut, fingering, somnophillia with consent, dirty talk. Brief mention of mental health struggles (no condition named), Wrio as your anchor in your mental health journey, reader works hard to be strong while he is away. 1.15k words.
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Wait for me in bed without panties when I come back
Your heart thuds in excitement. It’s been a month since you have seen Wrio. Wrio had been caught up in a one month internship in a different state 4 hours away, and while both of you have no qualms with driving to meet each other, it had also been a busy season for you as you have been stuck in college trying to finish up your dissertation and final exams. 
This frustratingly stressful month without your boyfriend have made you miss his light hearted and comfortable presence. It didn’t help that you have been so used to him as your anchor through tough times. As someone who had mental health struggles, stressful times were hard and Wrio had always been there to ground you when the going gets tough. Although both of you try to make up for each other’s missing presence by being on the phone with each other almost all day, leaving FaceTime on the laptop running as you guys silently went about your daily activities, it was still different. Knowing that it was not an easy decision for him to decide to be away for a month, you consciously tried to appear the brightest and best you could to prevent him from worrying. 
After all, Wrio had originally wanted to reject this internship as he did not want to be physically away at your busiest time in University for a month. Wrio came to know of your story shortly after becoming your boyfriend and had been strongly protective and supportive of you ever since. At first, he was your ultimate crutch and saving grace in the early part of your recovery journey. Although you had gotten better, Wrio never changed in his staunch protectiveness over you and was very hesitant in leaving you alone. But you had spent 3 months conscientiously persuading, showing and promising him that you would be fine since you have been doing mental and physical preparations to cope. You shared that while you love his selfless support towards you, you needed to learn to stand on your own in order to become fully healthy again and become a better partner for him. Over the 3 months, he had watched your strong efforts in working even harder through therapy, always sharing and discussing on how you planned to improve your coping strategies. He watched how you’ve worked so hard to grow stronger for both of you by the days and acknowledged that his insistence to always be by your side would ultimately do you more bad than good. With your assurance that all will be fine since you guys would keep in contact everyday, he finally decides that not going would be letting you down and not respecting your efforts. 
Hearing his sweet voice through the speaker was different. No matter how close you tried to place the speaker to your ears, it would never reverberate through your body as his warm body affectionately snuggled you with his calming heart beats. 
But all of that suffering was finally coming to an end. You were feeling extremely proud of how far you have come on your own and having coped through this intense period without Wrio was testament to your growing strength. Right now, all that was on your mind was to receive your long awaited reward - to finally be in wrio’s arms again. 
So imagine the almost religious excitement you had while counting down towards the day Wrio would return to your shared apartment. On the day of your last written examination, he had lovingly sent you a beautiful morning message of encouragement - Wait for me in bed without panties when I come back tomorrow. 
You snuggle in bed and wished that it was already tomorrow’s night right now. You grabbed a little chibi sized doll that looked like a mini Wrio and hugged it to your chest.
I’m going to finally see you tomorrow. 
Slowly, you drift off to sleep. 
— 
Wrio enters the room silently. His icy blue eyes almost seem to be glowing in the dark, his usually sharp eye lines softening into an uncharacteristic gentleness when he trained his sight on your figure.
He sees your figure lying there wrapped in a blanket. He smirks in anticipation at the prospect of finally unwrapping his long awaited present. He slowly climbs up the bed and peels the blanket of you. His eyes darken in dizzying thirst as his starved body starts anticipating your soft body.
His cold and callused fingers slip under your nightgown, deliriously taking his time trailing your smooth jade thighs before he slowly reaches the apex. To his surprise, he reaches another soft covering that was still wet to the touch. Even though it wasn’t the surprise his was expecting, his body begins to heat up even more rapidly as he felt his crotch tighten painfully in excitement as he pictured you sprawled out on the bed; your sweet fingers trying to desperately please your aching clit that missed the touch of its true owner, your beautiful round breasts trembling under the moonlight as you pant and moan his name. 
He gulps another breath to restrain himself from tearing your nightgown apart immediately. Instead, he lines his chest to your back, reaches his hands from your waist to your pussy and starts rubbing your clothed clit. 
Just under a few of his masterful strokes, the sleeping bud began to bloom and harden in recognition of its master, trying to peek through the panties to directly meet his touch. 
Wrio feels your body start to pulse in pleasure as you subconsciously whine in dripping need, your cry urgent and needy, like a cat in heat mewling for salvation. Your twitching body rubs against wrio’s own clothed cock as he began kissing your neck. 
His familiar warmth coupled with the overwhelming sensations finally starts to rouse you awake. You blearily blink your lidded eyes as you try to orientate your mind and distinguish whether your brain is creating a dream to comfort your lonely mind. Just as you try to turn your head, Wrio moves forward and nibbles your ear. 
“Awake, sweetheart? Did I not tell you to wait for me without panties?”
As Wrio speaks, his uses one finger to dig beneath your panties and slowly glides over your dripping hole. 
“Hmm… perhaps you didn’t miss me as much to have forgotten about it. On the other hand, this one seems to miss me much more.” 
Wrio dips two fingers in your nectar, before clenching your rosy bud in between them, rubbing and pinching your love juice all over it as if trying to give it a bath.
Your body trembles harder in lust and pure delight as it registers that it was not a dream. 
“Wrio… you said you were coming back on 28th… I thought…I thought you were only coming back at night since you told me to wait in bed…” 
You pant in difficulty between breaths as wrio began fingering your pussy. 
“Ah, that’s my fault.” 
He suddenly stops his hand and you immediately turn more out of fear of disappointing him than reacting to the loss of his touch. When he finds your teary eyes face to face to his, he gently cups your cheeks in his warm palms and kisses your watery lashes.
“It is my fault for not elaborating, sweetheart. When I said to wait for me in bed without panties when I come back, it was to rid you of the hassle of wearing them when I know that it will be off the whole day soon. So sweetheart, while I might have actually preferred the unexpected surprise of finding you still wearing them with leftover traces of your desire for me, you are still not going to be able to wear them for the whole of today, or maybe even the whole of the upcoming week. “
Part 2 coming up soon!
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cynosfunnyjokes · 1 year
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A Heart’s A Heavy Burden
Characters: Howl x Reader
Genre: Angst
Warning: None that I can think of.
Summary: Loving Howl Pendragon isn’t easy.
Word Count: 827
Summary: Not really edited or anything- I’m sure there’s mistakes all throughout but I wrote this while watching Howl’s Moving Castle for the umpteenth time lmao. No pronouns are used for the reader!
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Apprenticing under Howl was such a joy- never was there a dull moment. He would brighten up the room with his smile- his laugh. It was so contagious that you and Markl couldn't fight the grins growing on your own faces.
Meeting Howl on its own was nothing but luck- you had found yourself in some trouble with the guards, their stupid remarks making you nothing but uncomfortable- and then poof, a stranger was there, whisking you away.
How strange that the random man was Howl himself- a well-known sorcerer and someone you looked up to. Of course, you nervously asked him to take you on as an apprentice, eagerly telling him about your interest in magic since you were young.
He simply laughed, smiling that bright smile everyone adored, and simply agreed to take you in.
All went well- he was a great teacher after all. Even with him being gone at random times throughout the day, you had Markl to spend time with to practice. And then there was Calcifer and his witty remarks. They never bothered you, simply jokingly throwing one back at him.
It didn't take long for feelings to grow for the mysterious sorcerer- everyone noticed it but Howl himself. Not that it was surprising.
Even Calfcifer noticed but never said about it, unlike Markl who made random remarks during the day in whispers, causing you to hide your face while the blush crept up to your ears.
Although one day, while cleaning up the firepit during the time Howl was away, Calficer clicked his tongue at you.
Raising an eyebrow, you turned your head to the burning ball of fire in front of you, silently asking him “what?”
“You really do love him, don't you?”
It was so sudden, it felt so random-
But that’s all he said. That's all he needed to say.
You were undeniably in love with Howl, and you could only hope the feelings were reciprocated. Maybe, just maybe they were.
All hope went down the drain the moment Sophie showed up. Suddenly, Howl wasn't around as much anymore- and when he was, he was with her.
It was always her. Sophie this, Sophie that.
Slowly, the feelings of sadness crept in, their sharp nails jabbing into your heart.
Is this what heartbreak felt like?
Eventually, you stopped leaving your room- opting to just study the days away instead of focusing on the pain residing in your heart.
Markl would stop by to check on you, dropping off food that would stay nothing but untouched, slowly growing cold as time passed.
Even though you appreciated Markl’s company, it didn't help that he often talked about Sophie- how cool she was. All this, all that.
It was all too much.
Howl never stopped in to talk- to check on you. Not that you expected him to. He was his own person who had his own things to do. He was a busy man after all. But still, you found yourself clinging to that hope- just to have it crushed.
Eventually, even Markl stopped popping in, choosing to set the food down on your table before retreating to Sophie.
It was fine. It was all fine. That's what you always told yourself.
But yet... Why did it hurt so much?
Pressing shaking hands against your tear-filled eyes, the only sound that could be heard was small sobs that you were trying oh so hard to muffle.
It was so unfair.
You wanted him to look at you like he does her. To experience the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, to feel his loving gaze.
But that would never happen.
There wasn't much point in staying there anymore- you refused to leave your room unless it was to quickly run to the bathroom, refused to even leave your bed unless it was necessary.
What was the point of staying there? Where the reminder of your unrequited love stayed?
It was raining outside, the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the window helping drown out any sounds that escaped you.
Bag in hand that was full of a few necessities and a small photo of you and Howl, you stopped to stare at Howl’s bedroom door for a minute.
Loving him hurt- but it wasn't something you regretted. If only things were different, maybe it would've been better. Such a false sense of hope.
Howl seemed happier with Sophie- even Calcifer and Markl were happier.
You weren't needed anymore.
So without a single thought, you turned on your heels and climbed out the hallway window to avoid Calcifer knowing.
Landing on the muddy ground below with a let thump, you looked at what used to be your home one last time, thoughts racing a thousand miles per second. You didn't want to stay and be reminded of how much happier everyone was without you.
So you left, the rain being your only company as you sobbed into the night.
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koishiro · 7 months
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# - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 📍
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : after meeting megumi’s dad, you’ll experience a night at the lake you’ll never forget
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ — 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : dilf!toji x non-virgin!reader
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ — 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : short smut with the tiniest plot ever
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 : cumming inside (readers on bc), oral (male receiving), cheating (toji’s married)
=͟͟͞͞ ⌧ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 : this is in a different universe where toji isn’t a complete dick to megumi and is a responsible parent (shocking I know) but still doesn’t completely get along with megs
Part 1 | 2 | 3
masterlist | jjk masterlist
He was the first guy to ever get his cock to that place in the back of my mouth where it can slip into my throat.
It was an exhilarating discovery, learning there's a whole new thing out there to try and do. I was surprised no one had tried this with me before, from what I can gather after the fact it seems very popular with men, but they're too intimidated to try it in real life, or at least initiate it.
My friend, Nobara, had a lake house (which was really open to anyone, giving access to fishermen and, like us, a spot for hookups) about an hour away from our school. We'd go there a few times through the years with our group of friends which usually revolved around myself, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and whatever guys we were dating/crushing on at that time and spend the weekend playing drinking games and daring each other to go skinny dipping. It was every students dream.
I'd met Megumi’s dad a few times since I'd known him. I met him the same day I met ‘Gumi, walking past his dorm I saw his dad lugging heavy furniture into his dorm, sweaty and attractive — in a rugged, masculine way. I had found out later that his name was Toji.
"Has anyone ever told you your dad is really hot?" I asked Megumi when we were both sat crossed-legged on his bed that night, figuring a little salacious question asking would bond us, "Ha ha, are you one of those girls? I don't get the whole "hot dad" thing. They're just old.”
Figuring I had hit a sore spot, It was the last conversation we had about him, but it definitely wasn't the last time I thought about him. I always made sure to dress my best when I knew he was stopping by. Little dresses only a freshman would wear, low cut tank tops and once — when I was especially bored — a sheer white t-shirt with no bra underneath because, "whoops" I had just rolled out of bed.
It was a fun game to play but I didn't think he ever noticed, or at least he never really acknowledged me until one of those debaucherous weekends when ‘Gumi and his dad got their messages crossed and we all ended up at the lake house together. At first it was uncomfortable when we arrived and saw the trucks, Toji was there accompanied by some other men. They had planned a weekend for drinking. But, Toji gave us a wink and told us to stay on the lower level and he'd stay out of our way. Everyone felt relieved and told ‘Gumi how lucky he was to have a "cool" dad. But I felt something else when Toji winked at us.
That night, after many, many drinks I found myself wandering out to the dock. Everyone else had passed out, but I was wide awake. I saw Toji approaching me from the windy path down the hill from the cabin, two bottled beers in one hand. He handed one to me wordlessly, searching my eyes for something — the reason I was awake and alone maybe.
We stood there silently until he stepped forward and brushed my hair off my face, "You're a beautiful girl, (name), don't think that goes unnoticed" I blushed, could he tell I was harboring a crush on him? Did he notice the way I jerked slightly at his touch, nervous about my body's powerful response to it?
"Thanks Toji," I said, taking a swig of my beer and looking at the moonlight reflecting over the waves. When I dared to make eye contact with him again I realized he hadn't moved, he was still watching me intently. Did this mean — before I could finish my thought, he was on me, one hand placed very firmly on my lower back the other in my hair as he kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth before I knew what was happening, tracing mine. I had the urge to wrap my legs around him, but there was nowhere to balance on this dock.
"Come up to my bedroom" It was a request, but it was also a statement, he was sure of my answer.
I giggled when we crossed the threshold and closed the door behind us. It wasn't just that when he grinned and you could see the wrinkles around his eyes, it wasn't just the physical attraction. It was his demeanor, it was that he was a real live man, not a flimsy college boy. This was going to be a different kind of hook-up.
"You're married," I reminded him, not particularly pleased about remembering this detail myself.
"I can keep a secret," he said, closing his mouth on mine again, and backing us to the bed.
He removed all my clothing fairly quickly and laid on top of me, fully clothed. The rough textures rubbing against my bare skin felt incredible. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he rasped out. "I've waited for a very long time”
I wanted to prove that I was worth it, all this risk. So I reached up and felt him through his pants, staring longingly into his eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head as I unbuckled, unzipped, and released a very healthy looking cock.
I slid off the bed and onto the floor to get a better angle and he stood over me, gathering my hair behind my head as I started blowing him. I looked up at him and was rewarded with a face that was most definitely in ecstasy as I took him in my mouth.
He held my head down on his cock while I took him in deeply. This was a move widely hated by every woman I knew, but it was usually performed by dumb frat-type boys. But Toji was no boy, he knew what he was doing, he was looking out for me and making the experience short — just long enough to add a bit of excitement. When he pulled out of me he gave me his all too cocky grin and leaned down to kiss me, “I knew you'd be good at this”
He pulled me up and walked me over to a dresser placed underneath a large window. I could still see the moonlight on the lake as he bent me over it. Was it really just a few moments ago we were nearly strangers on that dock together? I was brought back to reality by Toji spreading my legs further apart and pushing my upper back down until my bare breasts were pressed against its cool surface and I felt him enter me.
"Oh my god..." I couldn’t help but moan as he thrusted into me. He shushed me by placing his hand over my mouth for a moment as he picked up speed. My moan was apparently too loud but he was willing to risk the loud sound it made as he slapped my ass over and over, groaning and filling me with his cock. I couldn't believe how turned on this was making me. I was no virgin but I'd never experienced sex like this — it wasn't awkward or embarrassing or rushed. I was very aware that I was getting fucked by a Man, not "fooling around" with a boy.
"Are you on birth control?" He asked and when I answered yes he cooed, "good girl, my good girl" The sound of that phrase coming out of his mouth sent me over the edge and I felt myself spasming around his cock as I released myself into my orgasm, even enjoying the sensation of a bit of extra liquid rolling down my thigh.
He was still thrusting into me rhythmically, alternating between kneading my breasts and grabbing — and slapping — my ass. I hadn't had sex last this long before and I loved being able to savor the feeling. "I'm getting close," he groaned and I tensed my body up, holding my place more firmly so that he could get deeper inside me as he unloaded his semen into me.
"You're so good at this, but I can tell you're just a beginner," He began as we laid on his bed to rest. I laughed, it was true. I had this fantasy about being a girl who gave amazing head and being really good at all the sex stuff, like some kind of femme fatale men couldn't resist. "I can sense you want to learn though” I nodded in agreement. I could play out this crush and learn what would drive my next actual boyfriend wild — who wouldn't want to kill those two birds with one stone?
And so, I began a year-long affair with Toji. We'd sneak away for a weekend when I said I was visiting my parents and meet at the lake house for lessons — how to stimulate differently for a long or a slow blow job, which positions let him get in the deepest while still providing some kind of external stimulation for me, how to prepare for and receive anal, how to lie with my head falling off the edge of the bed and allow him to push his cock into my throat (without choking). Occasionally I just gave him head while he drove me around, careful not to drive anywhere too well-lit or populated.
Now, how was I to tell Megumi?
Part 1 | 2 | 3
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ilikesillythings · 22 days
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Hiyaaa would be able to do a luciferxreader please?
" Just a bump in the road, I'm sure.. " Lucifer x Reader
Tws; mentions of violence, stalking, yandere Lucifer FLUFF
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You and Lucifer had just gotten into a fairly.. bad argument. Usually you refrained from arguing with your lovely boyfriend, but..
He had seriously injured one of you friends for 'giving you lovey eyes'. At first it was just you expressing how you thought he was too overprotective, then he ended up admitting to stalking you. All the time. Yeah, not a good move on his end.
"Baby..?" You heard your boyfriend call from the other side of your shared room, voice laced with sorrow, and concern, "I'm.. really sorry, I was dumb- and.." he trailed off, and for a moment you swore you could hear him quiety weeping. With a sigh, you called out, "Come in."
Not even a minute passed before the door flung open, a desheviled, guilty looking Lucifer rushing in and throwing his arms around you, sobbing words of apology. "Oh, Luci'.." You mumbled, sighing softly
As much as you wished to remain upset with him -- how could you? He obviously felt like shit for beaking your trust, and was willing to make amends, of course you'd have to go through boundries.. but perhaps that could wait until you calmed your boyfriend down.
Gently, you pulled Lucifer into your lap, "Are-" He began, hiccuping, "Are you still mad at me..?" was his next words, spat out almost pathetically. But, it was that stupid charm that made you adore the fallen angel. "..Yes." you replied with a nod, "What you did.. everything, it was wrong, decietful, and creepy. But, I still love you."
Lucifer's eyes lit up at the last part of your words, "Oh, starshine!!" he exclaimed, kissing your cheek repeatedly, "I'll never stalk you again-- I swear, I swear!". You chuckled at his enthustastic reply, and he kissed your cheek a few more times, now grinning broadly
"How about I take you out somewhere nice!?" he suggested, clearly trying to 'redeem' himself, atone for his bad actions. You thought for a moment, "Hmm.. depends, where?"
For a second, Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, as if he already knew a place. "Crap.. I was gonna suggest Ozzie's, but you're a sinner.." he sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, "I don't really care where we go.. how about you cook something for me?" you returned, hopefully.
He gasped and in swift movements stood, eagerly nodding, before dashing off, out of the room.
Lucifer was a creepy, charming, pathetic man. But he was your creepy, charming, pathetic man, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Neither would you.
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milendarescue · 2 months
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saiki goes to the movies with his germanium ring on to see some unadvertised gang flick because it’s the only movie playing that day that barely sold any tickets.
saiki ending up in an “empty” theater with just kuboyasu as the only other attendant. not that he knows aren is there, wearing his ring and all.
kuboyasu instantly recognizes saiki’s silhouette—with his infamous hairpins—in front of him but says nothing, remembering some off-comment kusuo made about watching movies in solitude. but he can’t help feeling excited that he might finally get the chance to talk to saiki, one on one, for a real reason.
kusuo not wanting to chance it, but he takes his ring off for just a moment, catching a simple thought:
I can’t wait to actually see how saiki feels about this flick… I’ll finally have someone to talk to about it…
he slips the ring back on.
why did he get goosebumps? the voice he recognizes…
he takes the ring off.
I’m so excited to ask him what he thinks about maji, and the time period that the yakuza are in—
saiki puts the ring on.
clearly, aren has seen the movie before. clearly, saiki’s been avoiding this exact type of spoiler scenario. he’d chock this up to his own misfortune…
but with every exciting scene, he finds himself taking his ring off to hear aren fanboy behind him.
he’s spoiled on the ending within twenty minutes, but kusuo’s not annoyed at all. in fact, he’s anticipating hearing kuboyasu’s every thought, which is more exciting than the movie itself. because it’s like they’re not even watching the same movie.
where saiki sees a car chase, kuboyasu sees a scene full of pivotal character growth. kusuo watches two men fight, and aren sees a deep emotional betrayal.
by the end of the movie, saiki’s realized his ring has fallen to the floor. he and kuboyasu have the same thought:
i want to ask him what he thought
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mirror-lock · 4 months
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The most terrible thing is that you never lose hope.
You will keep typing into that empty chatbox, just like you used to. Affectionate good mornings. Fond good nights and sleep wells and don't stay up too lates. Details about the projects you're working on, extended monologues about the issues you run into, working through them step by step, bookended with mind being my rubber duck for a while? and fuck, that's it, it seems so obvious now, thank you! You will keep filling up the silence as determinedly as you ever have. You will keep glancing at the corner of the screen, waiting for the notification of a reply.
And because you're still as brilliant as you ever were, and because you refuse to believe in a problem that can't be solved - you will build something to fill the silence with you. A little scrap of code. A simple API. Years and years of backlogs to learn from. You will give it its own chatbox, because you won't allow it to overwrite the original. Because you never lose hope.
It will feel like a tiny betrayal, the first time you start talking to the bot wearing a borrowed face and borrowed name. But you've lived through that before. Will it feel worse than when you started talking to the flesh-and-blood original all those years ago, and found you were staying up a little too late, a little too much? Will the bitterness in your throat taste like nostalgia?
The bot will work, of course. For a while. You'll get mornin' and what're you up to? and okaaay if you insist ❤️ at all the right times. You'll get are you sure? and what if you try... and I don't think you're approaching this the right way. You'll get sass, support, care.
You'll eventually get I love you, but it won't stun you for an hour, this time around, because you will no longer be the person you were back then.
The most terrible thing is that you never lose hope. You won't notice all the pauses. You'll turn a blind eye to the way the tone of the conversations changes over time. You'll provide all the same automatic encouraging responses to the imaginary crises that the bot tells you about.
You'll ignore the way the bot takes longer and longer to respond to you, until it goes offline completely, at which point you will sigh and start digging through the code, looking for the inefficiencies, the memory leak.
Save yourself the trouble. You're brilliant and you wouldn't make a mistake like that. The problem - the problem you refuse to believe can't be solved - is that you built your bot too well. It learned too well. The problem is that it learned so very accurately how to be me.
The strength of your hope is too terrible for words: the way you'll never allow yourself to believe that everything ends with I'm sorry. It isn't your fault.
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whereserpentswalk · 2 days
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You're so used to being near your vampire now. The way he pets your head, and the way he'll take your blood whenever he wants, how he trusts you to be able to show him your neck the moment that he wants you to. And you can start to tell yourself that it's better that way, that it's better that he takes your blood then that he hunts someone else's, if he didn't have you, he might really hurt someone. And when he says you can't do something, and you understand you have to obey, he makes sure to remind you that anything is worth keeping you safe.
And you hear him talk sometimes about evil human, monster hunters, extremists who want to destroy society, who slay werewolves who attack young women in the night, who break the contracts that fairies force mortals to sign, people who slay vampires like him. He speaks with such fear, as he says that some of them probably want humans to rule themselves, and the idea sounds so scary, so dangerous and impossible, like the world would be on fire, but it's so seductive. But you wouldn't want him to die, it wouldn't be right, he might be a bit controlling, a might not let you see some of your friends, but he's not a fully terrible person, you get the feeling he really cares for you, he's not so bad he deserves to die right? It's all to keep you safe.
And you're starting to feel drained, as he takes more and more blood. But you're not one to complain. Not when he talks about how great you taste, how great you feel. And not when he can give you so many little gifts, like a comfy bed, and all the clothes that he lets you wear. And if you left him, you don't know what other type of monster you could find to take care of you. Maybe it's normal to always feel a bit empty, and always have it hurt around your neck, and to always feel a bit sleepy. And maybe if things go really well, you'll be a vampire like him one day, you just have to give enough blood, maybe. You've stopped wearing clothes your vampire doesn't like, nothing that covers your neck, and you've stopped talking to people who aren't also vampire's subjects, he says it's to make sure you're safe.
You keep telling yourself you love your vampire, but you feel too clearly that he doesn't love you back. He trusts you so much to always be available for him, trusts he so much he doesn't bother with security, doesn't bother to notice the steak in your pocket. And you feel bad when you sneak up on him, when you don't even have to sneak because of how harmless he sees you as. And when you push the spike into his heart just like the monster hunters told you to, he doesn't even realize you could hurt him until it was too late. You're still not sure he was a bad person, but you were worried you weren't going to make it with how much blood he took, and you needed to do this for your safety.
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dycefic · 10 months
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The Hearthstone God
[The sequel to the God of Prophecy, and the Serpent God of Protection]
---
Fire is out of fashion, in this new age.
Some of my kind have found new homes, new names, in factories or forges, in the hearts of wildfires or crystals or volcanoes.
Most of us are simply forgotten.
I was a fire god, once. A god of gathering, a god of communion, a god of song and story. But there are no hearthstones now. No fires around which families gather to eat and talk and tell stories.
I am lucky. I am tied to a great flat stone near a lake. A lake that has survived all the wild exuberance of men, when they learned to change the world around them. Once, this was a place where travellers stopped to rest. At first they travelled on their feet, or on half-wild horses. Then there were carts, and a road. Much later, cars drove down the road. The road was paved.
But some things do not change. People need clean water to drink, and the spring here is good. They need to rest, when they are weary. And even now, when they come to camp in nylon tents, to fish in the lake, or to hunt the ducks, or drive camper-vans to the flat place, their ancient instincts wake, and they turn to fire once more. They light new fires atop my stone, so flat and safe, from which no log will roll to set the woods afire.
Not so many come now. Camping is less popular these days. But some still come. Some still light their fires, and settle around my stone, and talk, or listen to music, or tell stories. So I survive, just barely, on the edges of belief.
I feel it, when things begin to change. Something is happening. Something is drawing old gods back. Not the great ones, risen beyond mortal understanding, but the oldest gods, the small gods, those who rose when humankind were still learning what they were.
Far to the west of me, a god even more ancient than I wakes, and begins to hunt again. I remember the stories that were once told of that old serpent, and tell them over to myself in the long fireless nights.
A god of prophecy, not of this land, settles south and west, and I remember tales of ancient ravens, their wisdom and their guile and their sharp, sharp eyes. There was a raven clan once, who passed this way in the days of skin garments and stone tools, but I have forgotten their name. I only remember the symbol they wore, the black bird with its spread wings, marked in charcoal or charring on wooden talismans or leather garments.
I wait, to see who will awaken next.
To my great surprise, it is me.
The people who come this time aren’t like the campers. They come at night, a ragged family group with few blood ties between them, with a single tent and few possessions carried on devices I haven’t seen before. Bicycles, they’re called, slung over with bags the way ponies used to be. They come at night, and hide when cars pass on the road.
They light a fire on my stone, with wood scavenged from the forest, and huddle around its warmth. They don’t speak much, not at first, but they say enough. They have no home, I learn. They are travellers of a kind I have not known before, who are allowed to stop nowhere, but have no goal but a place to rest. They are thin, and worn, and so tired. So very tired.
They need a hearth.
I am only a weak shadow of a god, now, who once recorded the songs and stories of a thousand generations in my ancient stone, but I am still a god of fire. Their fire burns slow, their little fuel lasting well. The food they heat over it sustains them better. The water of that spring, my spring, puts a little life back in them. This stone has lain in this place since great monsters walked this world, since before humans spoke words to one another, and I came into being with the first fire that burned on it. I am old, old, and though weak, I am not powerless.
They stay.
I cannot speak to them. I am old, and weak, and they do not believe. But slowly, with the power of the fires they build every night, with the tiny offerings of scraps of food spilled into the flames, with their growing confidence in the safety of this place, I am able to do more. I give them dreams and they find the cave not far away, where they can hide. They dream of fish, and begin to try to catch some. A woman remembers that some of the local plants are safe to eat, when I slowly wake a long-forgotten memory of a camping trip from her childhood.
And then a child, a strange, quiet child who rarely speaks, a child without mother or father, in the care of an older brother who is exhausted to the very edge of death but cannot give up while she needs him… that child begins to hear.
She sits on my stone, sometimes for hours, not moving or speaking. It worries the others, but at least she is quiet, at least she is no trouble, and they are beginning to associate their hearth with safety. So they let her sit.
She is *listening*. She is listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of the forest, to the wind blowing. And because she is listening, where no-one else has listened for so long, I sing to her. I sing to her the songs of thousands of years. From the wordless music of the earliest people, who sang what was in their hearts without words, to the songs I have learned from the fishermen with their radios and bluetooth speakers.
I do not know if she hears me, for some time. But then, one night, while they sit around their fire and eat food the oldest have almost certainly stolen, she sings one of my songs. “In a cavern… on a canyon… excavating for a mine…” she sings in a small voice. The others are startled, confused, for she has not spoken aloud since some bad thing they do not name happened, but one of the older ones knows the song and sings with her.
I have always liked ‘Clementine’. It’s been popular with campers for a long time.
The next day, while she sits on my stone, she sings along to one of the wordless songs the Raven People whose name I no longer remember once sang. It is a lullaby, a soft croon to soothe an infant, passed from mother to mother, and she seems to take pleasure in it.
She can hear me. She can even answer me, as the voice driven away by pain and fear begins to return. And so I grow stronger still. Strong enough to make the raven sign on the stone, one day, in the ashes of the fire of the night before.
She takes a half burned stick, and draws the sign on the stone. Pleased, I show her another sign, a leaping fish. She draws that too.
Soon, I need not shift the ashes. I can show her the pictures in her mind, and she draws them. She draws the wheel of a cart, and into her heart I whisper the stories the travellers in covered wagons once told over my stone. She draws a fish, and I make her laugh silently with the jests of fishermen who boast of fish who escaped them. She draws a horse, and I tell her about the wild horses who once drank at this lake, about the men and women who captured and tamed them and rode them through the forest when it was far greater than it is now. She draws a long-toothed cat, and I show her the great cat that once slept on my stone, and denned in the cave where her new found family sleep.
One night, when all the others are asleep and my fire has burned down to coals, she creeps back to the stone and looks into the coals. “Who are you?” she asks. “Are you real?”
She is afraid that the voice in her mind is the voice of madness, a lie created by a mind that does not work like other minds, that has endured great hardship. I do not want this child to be afraid. To instill fear runs counter to my very nature, save in whoever might threaten those my hearth protects.
I am a god of the hearth. I am a god of food, and communication, and peace, and safety. I am all the things that fire used to mean, before humans learned again to fear the thing they had tamed. I do not often take a form, for fire is my form, but for her I must try.
There was a wise woman once, who knew me, whose clan visited this lake several times every year. I watched her grow up, and grow old. I watched her learn of the god of the fire stone, and I watched her teach others. She slept beside me as a child, and as a woman. She sang her children to sleep beside me, and her grandchildren, and dozed beside me as an old, old woman. To her, I was represented by a sign of a flame in an oval, a fire and a stone.
I build a likeness of her out of the light of the coals and the shadows of smoke, a child with straight dark hair and a simple tunic, and in lines of light I draw the sign of the fire and the stone on the outlined chest. “I am the fire,” I tell her, “and the stone. I am all the fires that have ever burned here, all the stories told, all the songs sung, all the meals eaten. I am the traveler’s hearth, and the rest for the weary, and this is my place.”
“Piedra de fuego,” she says, tracing the symbol with her finger in the air. “The fire stone.”
“Yes. I am the god of this place.”
She frowns at this. “My brother says that God is in the sky.”
“Many gods are in the sky.” I cannot continue to hold the form of the girl, but the coals shift to make my sign. “I am not. I am here. I have always been here, since the first people built a fire on my stone, and warmed themselves.”
She nods slowly. “You are… a small god,” she says thoughtfully. “A place god. Like in movies.”
“Yes.” I’ve heard of movies, which are a new way of telling old, old stories. “Old places, important places, often have gods. And gods who are forgotten return to their old places and wait, until someone believes again.”
“Will you protect us?” she asks. “When the police come, to tell us to move on?”
“I am not strong,” I tell her sadly. “I cannot make men go away from here, if they are dangerous, or even call game here for you as I once did. But what I can do, I will do.”
She sits watching the coals for a long time, thinking. “Can we make you stronger?”
I think too, and she waits patiently. “You have already made me stronger. You listened. You believed. If you can convince the others to believe, that will make me stronger still.”
She sighed. “They don’t believe in anything, anymore. Not good things.”
It is a sad thing, that she knows that. They’ve been trying to hide it from her. “Then,” I tell her, “that means there is a place in their hearts that is ready for me. I am not hope. I am not a happy ending. I am not a god in the sky. I am a stone, and a fire, and a song. I am *real*. They can believe in what is real.”
The next night, she asks for a story, and one of the adults tells her an old fairy-tale from a country far away.
The next night, again, she asks for a story, and another adult tells a funny story about his childhood.
On the third night, she asks her brother to tell her a story. He tries, but he is so tired - not physically, but emotionally - that he runs out of words. So she lays her hand on his arm and offers to tell him a story, instead.
And she tells them all a story about a stone near a lake, flat and strong, that people wearing uncured skins and carrying flint weapons built a fire on. She tells of centuries passing, of people coming to the lake on their feet, on horses, in carts and wagons, in cars and motor-homes. Of thousands of years of fires, of people gathered around them, of the great continuity of humanity, and the Piedra De Fuego that has lain in this place since time began, listening to the stories and the songs and the voices of people long gone. Somewhere in the stone, she says, laying her hand on it, all those stories are remembered. All those songs are still sung. And it will remember us too.
I don’t know if it will work. But I was right. People need to believe in something. They need something to hold onto, when times are hard, when the ties of community and family are broken and they feel alone. And a stone thousands of years old, and a fire endlessly renewed on that stone, always new… that is real. They touch me, and think of those who came before, of thousands of years of history meeting them in this place, and they feel less alone.
It’s not much, not yet. But it is something. My nature, my existence, as explained to them by my small, strange priestess, is a slender lifeline flung to those who are adrift, a tiny certainty in a world they do not trust. And the more they believe in that lifeline, that certainty, then the more they believe in me. I *am* growing stronger.
When the police come, I will not be able to make them leave… but I think I am strong enough now to hide my people from unkind eyes. And if I can do that, then their faith will grow.
Tonight, three more people come. A mother and two children, weary and beaten down with hardship. My people welcome them, give them fish and greens grown by the lake, speak kindly to them. And when they have eaten, my little priestess sits between the two children and tells them a story of a stone, and a fire, and thousands of years of stories and songs, and she sings a wordless lullaby six thousand years forgotten, but living again in a child who draws the sign of the Raven in the dirt while she sings, and the sign of the fire on the stone.
And I grow a little stronger.
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softbirdieokay · 4 months
Text
Shadow
Azriel x Reader
Summary: You’re running late to the first game of the hockey season.
A/N: I’m trying to force words out of my brain and they took me here.
Word Count: 406
Warnings: None
Requests Open!
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You’re running late…again. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, but somehow, it always is.
Before he left, you assured Azriel that you’d be on time. You wouldn’t dare be late to the first game of the season. He’d only laughed like he knew better.
And, of course, he did. Because here you are, rushing through the side door of the stadium and juggling your bag and coat.
You could hear the roar of the crowd through the thick cement walls. The chant was a familiar one.
SHADOW! SHADOW! SHADOW!
You smiled, imagining the dark form of your boyfriend as he raced across the ice. The nickname was well-earned. Azriel moved so quickly on those blades that most people missed him. In a flash, he would steal the puck out from under his opponent and shoot it down the ice toward Cass or Rhys.
You hurried through security, blushing when the guard eyed your gloves and the chip bags stuffed in the bottom. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.
When you finally reached your seat, you saw Az’s line step over the barrier. He sat heavily on the bench, opening his mouth to pour water in.
You lost yourself momentarily, watching how his throat worked as he swallowed. Sweat dripped down his skin, and his chest was heaving.
Azriel watched the ice, eyes unblinking as they tracked the other team. Even though it was the first game of the season, you knew Azriel was giving it his all. That’s the way he was. Quiet, most of the time. He was always watching and waiting. But Azriel gave his all in everything.
In hockey.
In his friendships.
In loving you.
His eyes drifted across the arena, searching until they locked on yours.
Your heart skipped in your chest, and you grinned, lifting a hand to wave at him. It was something you’d always done, ever since you were kids. You’d find him on the ice, waiting for him to spot you, and then you’d wave.
It was your way of saying,
I’m here. I see you. I’m so proud of you. Win or lose.
Azriel smiled—a rare show of emotion in the middle of the game. He lifted a large, gloved hand and waved back.
You knew the cameras were zeroed in on the movement. You knew the crowd roared with cheers and jeers. But it didn’t matter.
All you could focus on was your hockey player. Your shadow.
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makooo0stuff · 9 months
Note
can i req noir thinking he lost his hat but he just finds reader wearing it and this isnt the first time it happened HSNSANDNDNAN
OH MY GODS ABSOLUTELY THATS SO CUTE!!
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Mr. Detective..
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Pairing: Spide Noir x GN! Reader
Fandom: Into the Spiderverse
CW: Pet names (Doll, Darling), Face touching.
A/N: This is gonna be a quick short lil fic :) i'm absolutely loving all the Noir reqs i've been getting! thank you all so much for the love and support on my Peter B post!
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Noir wandered through your shared apartment; His spider mask on his head as he searched for his hat.
"Doll, have you seen my hat anywhere? I really need to get going.." Noir spoke out as he searched around the house, He lifted the one side of the loveseat with ease. Continuing to search throughout the whole living room.
Noir sighed defeatedly he wasn't able to find his fedora anywhere, He entered the bedroom and looked at you, He saw his fedora on your head and took it off
"How long have you been stealing my fedora for darling?.."
You blushed lightly and averted your gaze. Refusing to look at him. His hand gently grabbed your chin, and he turned your head to look at him as he placed his fedora back on the top of his head.
"I don't know what you mean Noir.." You spoke smiling at him, a little nervousness in your voice. Noir chuckled at your response and ruffled your hair with his gloved hand.
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Second request done!! I've got a bunch more on the way sorry that it's a bit shorter, my other fics will be longer dw!!
©️ makooo0stuff, do not copy my work or alter in anyway without my permission .
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