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onfreckledwings · 3 years

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“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Dean says one night.

Cas squints in that way he does as he looks up at Dean through his lashes across the library table. He tilts his head in question.

“What I said that night. Before you left...after Mom.”

And that’s all it takes for the wind to leave his sails. Deflated. The memory is still fresh in his mind, even after all this time. And despite Cas’s best efforts, yeah. It still stings. He lets his eyes fall to the names scratched into the mahogany of the table. He stares at them: at Jack’s name and his, at Sam and Dean’s initials.

At Mary’s.

Why does that something always seem to be you?

You’re dead to me.

He lets his index finger trace the letters of her name. Grief, guilt, and loss unfurls from behind his rib cage and grips around his heart like tentacles.

He’d said he was sorry. Cas knows he is. Logically, at least. He’d be lying if he said doubt didn’t sometimes reside quietly in the corners of his mind, in the chambers of his heart.

His forefinger is tracing the ‘W’ next to the ‘M’ when he tries to hold his stiff upper lip, tries to conceal the raging inner battle from Dean.

“Of course.”

And it’s the best Cas can do in that moment. He regrets it almost instantly, because it sounds like bullshit, even to him. So he tries to deflect, to end this conversation before it begins. He rises from his seat and takes both of their scotch glasses in hand.

“I’ll go get us some more,” he says, plastering his best attempt at a smile on his face as he starts heading for the kitchen. Dean’s footfalls are quickly behind him.

“Cas,” he calls out, and Cas tries his best to steel himself against the ache in his chest as he continues walking.

Being human sucks sometimes. He used to be able to flip on a proverbial robotic switch whenever he needed to avoid feeling, to avoid emotion, because angels were soldiers first and foremost. And because emotions were always the doorway to doubt, it was important to be able to turn them off in order to preserve the objective of the mission at hand.

Now though, after Jack pulled him out of the Empty, grace left behind, he’s finding it exceedingly more difficult to hide behind a mask. Especially now that his built-in armor is gone.

He feels everything so much more intensely now. And he hates it, particularly in moments like these. Because he doesn’t want to feel insecure, he doesn’t want Dean to feel guilty, he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

When he steps down into the kitchen, he notices how Dean’s footsteps don’t follow his over the threshold. He puts both glasses down on the counter as he reaches for the bottle of Macallan 12 in the cupboard. He unscrews the cap and begins pouring.

“Don’t do that.”

It’s a small, quiet thing. Cas’s hand stills over the rim of the second glass before he glances over his shoulder at Dean.

“You don’t want any?” He tries going for nonchalance. But he can tell with the weight of Dean’s footfalls that it doesn’t work. He rotates on his heel to face the man as he approaches.

“Not the scotch, Cas,” Dean says, low and quiet. He steps down gingerly into the kitchen then, wincing slightly before stopping at the opposite end of the island. His green eyes bore holes into Cas’s, and it feels like he’s staring into his soul.

Maybe he is.

Cas can’t help the worry that cloaks him as he watches Dean move. Can’t help the guilt he feels at not being able to help. He drops his shoulders then as he turns around, pouring the amber liquid into the second glass before capping the bottle and placing it back on the shelf. He feels rooted to the counter, and so he sips his scotch in an elongated pull. Avoiding.

“Look at me,” comes the soft plea. He hates how sad Dean’s voice sounds; how guilty and rough and burdened.

Cas inhales deeply, and turns to place Dean’s glass in front of him on the island. He can’t help but map the freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Whatever Dean sees in Cas’s eyes must be distressing, because he’s looking at him with such pity and sympathy and Cas feels shame creeping up his neck. He looks down at the fabric of his navy blue t-shirt, picking at an invisible piece of lint by way of distracting himself from Dean’s stare. But then he hears soft footsteps before he sees Dean’s feet approaching into his space.

Cas lifts his chin and tries a fake smile again, reaching to take a sip from his glass. He hums softly as the hints of vanilla, butterscotch, and an array of berries flow down his throat.

“It really is astonishing how they’re able to combine so many different flavors in this,” he tries. Because he really is fine. It was almost a year ago, and there’s no use rehashing something that’s already been dealt with. It’s stupid that it still feels like a sharp ache in his chest — because Dean’s already apologized, so it really shouldn’t matter anymore, right? — and so Cas is trying his hardest to brush it off.

But then Dean’s reaching to take his glass out of his hand and placing it on the counter before his hand encircles Cas’s wrist. His eyes shoot up to meet emerald green, and he feels paralyzed, because lying to Dean has never been easy.

“Don’t,” Dean says again. “Don’t do the whole brave-face thing. Not with me.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says with a scoff, more on instinct than anything else. But then Dean’s setting his jaw, eyes piercing, and Cas relents. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve already apologized. It was a long time ago, Dean.”

“It does matter,” Dean grits out through clenched teeth. “The fact that I hurt you...matters. You ain’t a machine, Cas.”

Dean takes a labored breath, taking his free hand to rest it against his chest.

“...it kills me that I ever even said ‘em,” he says, green eyes pleading into blue. “You gotta know that.”

Cas shakes his head, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes begin to burn, and he sets his jaw as he closes his eyes. He refuses to let Dean see him cry—because he still feels like it’s his job to protect him, grace or no— so he turns his back to Dean to grab his tumbler of scotch and knocks it back.

The smooth burn on his tongue settles into his stomach, and it grounds him, allowing him to bite back the tears that threaten to fall. He braces himself against the counter, and Dean’s hand falls from Cas’s wrist to his side.

“You weren’t wrong,” Cas murmurs in the stillness. “I made some really poor choices over the years that put you and your family in jeopardy.”

He keeps his voice eerily steady and even, sighing heavily as he lifts his chin to look at the ceiling again. “I didn’t blame you then, and I don’t blame you now. It wasn’t like I didn’t deserve it.”

Dean’s hand grips his shoulder and he spins Cas around to face him.

“You didn’t. God—” he says, green eyes ablaze with ferocity. And Cas wants to argue, but then Dean is pulling him towards his chest.

Cas goes rigid and tries to push back against the force of Dean’s embrace. “Dean, your back—”

“Is fine,” Dean bites out and forcefully yanks Cas into him. “Come here.”

Cas’s eyes flutter shut involuntarily as his chest crashes against Dean’s, and he lets his arms encircle Dean’s waist gently, mindful of the still tender wound in the middle of his back. He chokes back a whimper as Dean’s arms envelope him, one hand resting between his shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers against the shell of Cas’s ear, voice thick and gruff. The warm caress of Dean’s breath chases goosebumps across Cas’s skin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Cas murmurs gently against the line of Dean’s jaw, rubbing circles near the small of his back. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s breath saunters, and Cas can feel a warm wetness trickle down the slope of his neck, seeping into his shirt.

He wishes he could meld Dean into him then, just to envelope him completely, to shield him from everything that could hurt him the way he once could.

But Cas is human; and all he can do now is hold Dean.

So he does.

He buries his nose further into the crook of Dean’s neck and breathes deeply, relishing the scent of his shampoo, scotch, and simply the essence of Dean Winchester.

God, how he loves him.

“I forgive you,” Cas whispers around the tears clinging stubbornly to his throat. He lets one lone tear slip down his cheek as Dean’s fingers curl into Cas’s hair.

He feels the stifled sob before he hears it, and he pulls back gently to search Dean’s eyes as they spill over freckled cheeks.

Cas reaches to cup Dean’s face before resting their foreheads together. “I forgive you.” He drops one hand from Dean’s face to place it over his heart, feeling it thrum beneath his fingertips. “Please try to forgive yourself.”

Dean screws his eyes shut as he clenches his jaw, and Cas knows he wants to protest, wants to berate himself and scoff at the idea of self-compassion. So he lifts his chin to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, letting the kiss linger for only a moment.

He swears Dean leans into it.

“Let me check you,” Cas says quietly, reaching to place his hands gently at Dean’s sides and urging him to turn around.

“‘s fine, Cas,” Dean says, but lets himself be moved so that he’s bracing against the island. Cas reaches for the hem of Dean’s black tee, lifting it up midway to inspect the once-gaping wound in the center of his back.

It’s mostly healed by now; Jack had gotten Dean through the worst of it, but Cas’s stomach churns at how close it could have came to a different outcome entirely.

So he sees to it to check the wound every day, tracking the progress of its healing and closely monitoring Dean’s recovery. The pink, puckered skin is still raised slightly, promising a gruesome scar in the future. But it’s nearly fully closed up, and there’s no sign of infection.

Cas lets his thumb trace a large circle around the wound, and Dean shudders at the soft touch.

“It’s healing well,” Cas confirms. He removes his hands and lets Dean’s shirt fall back down, smoothing the fabric down his ribs. “How does it feel?”

Dean turns in his arms, and Cas starts to step back when Dean’s hands fall to his hips, anchoring him there.

He gets lost in those beautiful forest greens.

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs. “It just pulls sometimes. Kind of catches when I move too quick.”

Cas nods, and feeling emboldened, reaches to flatten his palms against the planes of Dean’s chest.

He takes a heavy breath, eyes downcast with guilt. “I’m sorry I can’t heal the rest of it.”

He feels Dean shake his head as a finger curls underneath his chin, lifting it to meet their eyes again. Cas’s chest aches when Dean’s palm cups his cheek, grazing the stubble.

“You’re back,” he whispers gravelly. “‘s all that matters.”

Cas nods, and his heart begins to hammer under Dean’s locked gaze. He feels like he should step back in the interest of personal space, but then Dean’s eyes are flicking between his, to his lips, and back again.

Cas freezes as his breathing quickens, and then Dean is slowly leaning in to brush his lips against Cas’s own.

The world stops.

Cas reaches up Dean’s sides to cling to his shoulder blades, and he lets himself fall pliant when Dean presses him against the counter. Dean’s tongue is a butterfly caress against Cas’s mouth, and he opens to let him inside.

It’s a gentle, smoldering thing; not urgent or frenzied, neither panicked nor rushed. Something heavy and ethereal blooms behind Castiel’s ribs and spreads through his limbs, leaving sparks and tingles in its wake. He lets himself sink against the counter, and welcomes all of Dean’s weight as he presses into him.

It feels like grace.

Cas reaches up further, one hand cupping the rough stubble of Dean’s cheek, the other carding through sandy-brown strands of hair that have grown slightly longer in the midst of his recovery.

Cas tries to stifle a whimper as Dean’s tongue flicks languidly against his own, mapping the peaks and valleys of his mouth. His heart aches, aches, because he never thought — ever — that he’d be lucky enough to feel this. To have this.

Tears slip out from behind closed eyes, trailing down his cheeks. The cool air of the bunker chills the warm rivulets on his face.

Dean shifts minutely, dipping his chin slightly to move away for air; but not before he sucks Cas’s bottom lip between his own, gently nipping with his teeth. Claiming.

Ragged breaths fill the kitchen as they both heave for air. Foreheads rest together as Cas drops the hand from Dean’s hair to rest it over his heart.

It’s pounding just as hard as his.

“I love you too,” Dean chokes out around a muffled cry as one hand frames Cas’s jaw, the other falling to grasp against his ribs, fisting into his shirt.

Cas’s legs nearly give out then. He pulls Dean into his chest, cupping the back of his head to bury Dean’s face into his neck. Dean’s arms wrap around him like a vice, and he sobs quietly into his skin.

Castiel kisses Dean’s temple, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “I love you so much.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #destiel coda #I did a thing #deancas fic #SPN #supernatural

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iiraven · 3 years

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Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god.

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began.

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even.

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear.

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close.

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine.

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you.

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies.

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shadyteacup · 3 years

Note

May i ask fanfiction with dazai osamu and chuuya nakahara where fem! Reader aka their s/o falls asleep ln them and then they become SUPER OVERPROTECTIVE like somebody is like: i can take that pretty lady so you can rest and then they take a merf gun or some kind of weapon or like does something and are like: TOUCH HER AND YOURE GONE

Hey, there! This was fun to write!

Tw: Some blood in Chuuya's part, but nothing gory..

Lemme know if this is what u wanted ;)

Dazai

Dazai was looking out of the window, observing the passing scenery. He loved train rides. They somehow calmed him. Observing the fast approaching trees and watching them zoom past, was a favorite pass time of his. You and Dazai had gone to visit a client in the neighboring city, and Dazai had insited on traveling via train.

Both of you were sitting side by side, shoulders touching, as you shared one ear bud each. You were playing the music today. Your choice in songs was quite diverse. You could vibe to chaotic metal, noisy edm, soft guitar songs and famous classicals like Beethoven's Für Elise.

Today, you had decided to play soft songs. They had a calming effect. It was much needed too, as your mission had been quite tiring.

Dazai felt a weight on his shoulder. Moving his head to the side, he saw your sleeping face. Your cheek was smushed on his shoulder, and stray hair was strewn a over your nose and forehead.

He smiled softly at the adorable sight. He gently nuzzled his face on your head, craving your touch.

He was never so possessive and touchy before. You had completely changed him. Now, he couldn't stand being away from you for five minutes. He always needs to have some form of physical contact with you. It can be as simple as a touch of your shoulders, or your hand in his, or as elaborate as a bear hug, or a gentle kiss.

It was the rush hour, so you both had to share a booth. The man sitting opposite you both kept stealing glances at you. Dazai, ofcourse, noticed this. He decided to ignore it. He knew how beautiful you were. It was obvious that a beauty such as you would gather male attention. He had encountered so many men and women that had tried to woo you. But you had always stayed with him. You loved him, afterall. And he loved you. So he pretended to not have noticed the man's glances. Unfortunately, he can't control who should and shouldn't look at you.

"Nice woman you've got there, lad!"

The man spoke up. He was looking at Dazai, trying to get a reaction out of him.

Dazai merely glanced at him, giving him a look that said 'mind your business'.

The man shifted his full attention towards you.

Smirking, he leaned ahead a bit, trying to get a closer look at you.

"You wouldn't mind being a good boy, and sharing this lovely lady, would you?"

That was it. Dazai snapped.

The man felt a cool sensation below his jaw. He looked down to find himself face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. His eyes widened, and he gulped.

Dazai leaned forward, ensuring that you weren't disturbed, and spoke near the man's ear.

"Leave before I feed your brain to the stray dogs."

His low, dangerous voice, and murderous gaze was more than enough for the man to stumble out of the booth, and run away.

The slight movement and the man's scared apologies and 'Please don't kill me's stirred you awake. You blinked, looking at Dazai.

"What happened?"

He smiled at you, shaking head, and planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Nothing, love. Needed to take care of a pest. Everything's alright."

You look at him, confused, but nod your head anyway.

"Ok."

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Osamu :)"

Chuuya

"That's the last of them."

You say as you kick a man on the head, knocking him out.

Chuuya walks over to you, admiring the large number of men you had successfully neutralized.

"That's...amazing, love."

He pecks your lips.

You try to shove him away.

"I'm all bloody, Chuu!"

He grins, hugging you.

"So am I!"

You giggled, giving in and wrapping your arms around his waist. You and Chuuya had been tasked to take down an organization that was meddling in the Mafia's affairs. When you both got to the location, you realized that there were many more men than they had anticipated. It didn't matter, though, as both of you were extremely skilled at combat, and had strong abilities. It was tiring, nonetheless.

"You did such a great job, Y/N. I'm so proud of you."

Chuuya said as he kissed the top of your head. You were the most badass woman he had ever come across, and he was smitten. Your fearlessness and bravery always drives him mad. He loves it when you take control of the situation, and effortlessly drop your enemies to the ground. Swag practically flowed through your veins.

But everybody has a soft side, and he was the lucky guy who got to experience yours.

When you didn't answer back, he looked down, only to hear soft snores.

'Did she fall asleep? While standing up?'

"Y/N?"

He says softly, only to hear no response. He chuckled at your adorable form, and picked you up, bridal style.

He began making his way out of the now ruined building, avoiding the rubble and the multiple bodies strewn across the floor. He could have flown out of here, but he was too tired to use his ability.

On his way out, he encountered a woman. She seemed to belong to the organization. If he remembered correctly, she was one of their founders. He hadn't seen her in the place, so maybe she just arrived to the scene.

"Well, well, well! Look what we have here!" She said, taking a step closer and peering at you.

"What a beauty! Bet she'd look much prettier on my bed. Don't you think so, Mr. Executive?"

Chuuya snapped. He activate his ability. The woman felt a sharp object on her neck. Chuuya had used his ability to hold a dagger to her neck. Multiple blades floated in the air, a red glow surrounding them, as they aimed themselves at the woman.

She chuckled.

"Don't get me wrong, dear! You took everything from me. I deserve a good time, don't you think?"

Her smug smirk was wiped off her face when a teeth shattering punch shook her face. Chuuya stood before her, his blue eyes piercing into her with malice and poison.

She stumbled back into the wall, falling on the ground.

He walked up to her, grabbing her hair and forcing her bleeding face to meet his gaze.

"You want a good time?!! I'll show you how great a time you can have in the dungeons!"

She spat out blood.

Chuuya bent down to her level.

"I'll make you beg for death when I'm done with you."

He knocked her out, calling for backup to take her into lockup.

He looked back to see you sleeping soundly inspite of the ruckus he had just caused. He had used his ability to keep you floating safely in the air, and allowing him to move and strike the disgusting woman.

He smiled at you.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you, darling."

He said, softly kissing your forehead.

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bunnie-the-lighthouse · 3 years

Text

𝒲𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝒹~

Pairing: ATEEZ Park Seong-Hwa, ATEEZ Choi San & Reader

Warnings: It’s Suggestive, My Friend. Be Careful. (It’s Kind of Long Too)

Inspiration: Not Gonna Lie, I Don’t Know.

Basic Idea: You Are In A Polyamorous Relationship With San And Seong-Hwa, Your Guardian Angels. But... They Hide A Deep Secret.

Type: Fluff & Suggestive

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On your way back home you were humming a song, enjoying the tune as it was finally Friday. You were hoping to just get home and cuddle with your favorite boys -- your guardian angels, Seong-Hwa and San.

You opened the door and saw Seong-Hwa organizing the dinner table while San was nowhere to be seen. Smiling at the sight, you once again feel comfortable and recharged after entering your house. “I’m home~” you chirped as Seong-Hwa looked up at you. “Oh! Hi baby,” he smiled as you smiled back.

“Where’s San?” you asked as Seong-Hwa brought out the last plate of steak. “He’s playing online with Yun-Ho,” the raven haired angel smiled at you, “Come on, go change to more comfortable clothes and tell Sannie that we have to eat dinner,” he ushered as you nodded and went off to the shared bedroom.

Opening the bedroom door, you saw San being focused on the game. You quickly gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, catching him off guard. “Oh, _____-ie!” he squealed while giving you a smile. “Hwa finished cooking dinner, let’s go eat, okay?” you asked as he nodded.

You then changed to more comfortable clothes, San saying goodbye to Yun-Ho as he then hugged you from behind. “How was work today?” he asked as you chuckled, “Slightly annoying, but now I feel better,” you responded. Turning around, you hugged him back, laying your head on his chest.

Eating dinner was the same as always, you guys shared how your day was and everything was rather chill. Something that did catch your attention was Seong-Hwa’s eyes.

They would normally shift color from black to a light blue that resembled the sky. This would normally occur when he felt a strong emotion from you, and when you were recounting your story of how your boss yelled at you, you did feel quite frustrated.

However, this time… His eyes didn’t resemble the sky. They blinked a dark turquoise that you’ve never seen before. It caught you off guard, but you didn’t expect the turquoise to be enchanting -- it was mysterious, deep, and full of… Desire?... You weren’t sure yourself.

You decided to let it slide, and soon after dinner you guys huddled up on the couch to watch a movie. “Hyung, should we watch Fifty Shades of Grey?” San asked as the question caught you off guard, “What? Aren’t you guys not supposed to watch those types of things?” you asked, knowing that the movie was quite graphic from reviews -- you yourself never watched it, you just read reviews.

“I’m sure nothing bad will happen,” Seong-Hwa replied as you still felt concerned. Midway through the movie, you of course felt slightly heated -- however you were sort of worried over the toxicity of that relationship, and mainly, the fact that San and Seong-Hwa shouldn’t be watching this because they are angels… Guardian Angels, to make things worst.

As you leaned your head on San’s shoulder, you felt his hand lay on your thigh, which intrigued you. He was a bit playful, but not to this level. You felt a bit more heated, a wave of desire washing over you. And as you calmed down the strong emotion, you glanced and saw how his once emerald green eyes shone a dark forest green.

Something was definitely wrong. And you couldn’t help but feel excited.

“I see that our little baby has noticed something,” Seong-Hwa suddenly spoke, making you whip your head to look at him. “Huh?” you question as you feel fear creep into your system. Seong-Hwa’s eyes shone the same dark turquoise, and rather than returning to his black marbles…

They stayed in the unusual blue.

“Hwa?” you squeaked out as he smirks, you then felt San kiss your neck from behind, his soft hair tickling you slightly. “Sannie?” you asked but quickly got shut up by Seong-Hwa’s harsh kiss. You whimper at the force, closing your eyes.

Seong-Hwa kissed you hungrily as you couldn’t help but also feel aroused by San’s soft kitten licks on your neck. "It took you some time, _____-ie," San purred out against your neck as you were still confused over what the two angels meant.

You then opened your eyes and saw how Seong-Hwa didn't have two white feathery wings behind him. His halo was also missing… Instead, he had wings resembling those of a black dragon. That is also when you felt

Two sharp teeth graze over your sensitive neck.

"Oh babygirl.. We weren't your Guardian Angels.. In the crooked world that we live in, the only things that exist are those who are evil and those who are neutral. Creatures like us.. Incubus, if you may, were supposed to come here..”

“And ruin you,” San whispered in your ear.

“Though, we disobeyed the rules, and fell for a mortal.. We fell for you, _____,” Seong-Hwa confessed as San trailed kisses from your shoulder to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot softly as Seong-Hwa cupped your cheeks.

San pulled away from your neck, looking down at the mark that he left. Seong-Hwa then rubbed your cheek with his thumbs, "We were supposed to ruin you while you slept, darling.. But you won our dark cold hearts with your peaceful and beautiful face. I felt your sorrow from your tear stained cheeks,"

"And I felt your desperation when you hugged your plushie as if it were the only object that kept you sane."

"We felt connected to you.. And we couldn't ruin you," Seong-Hwa ends as you couldn’t help but look away, freeing yourself from the older’s grasp. You stood up and left to the bedroom, overwhelmed from their sudden reveal.

On the bed you sighed, hiding yourself under the blankets. You heard and felt someone shuffling to lay down next to you, someone else then laid on your other side. “Baby girl?” Seong-Hwa asked as you peaked your head out of the blankets, you were pouting, catching the two incubi off guard as they expected you to be mad.

“I hate you two.. For lying to me.. But I also love you two.. For being next to me and keeping me happy,” you confessed, as if opening the gates, allowing the two to enter your heart. You were about to wrap your arms around Seong-Hwa’s neck, but he stopped you by pinning both of your hands above your head.

“Then.. Should San and I.. Show you a whole new world?” he asked, smirking softly while purring out in ecstasy and love. You couldn’t help but feel enchanted by his dark turquoise pearls -- nodding at his statement.

San then chuckled and used his index finger to guide your view towards him, making you peer into his forest green marbles.While he crashed his lips onto yours, Seong-Hwa took the time to start kissing your neck, creating another mark near your sweet spot, to complement San’s mark.

You moaned in the kiss, feeling more heated as San’s hands trailed down and creeped underneath your shirt, massaging your tummy softly -- the friction making you ticklish. As you squirmed slightly, San and Seong-Hwa pulled away. San looking down and imagining your pleasured face as Seong-Hwa blew on the mark, causing you to exhale shakily.

San then laughed, a bit sinisterly, turning you on even more as he unbuttons his dress shirt with one hand, the other moving his hair back. Seong-Hwa also started unbuttoning his shirt, making you feel flustered -- watching two extremely hot incubi undress.

“Oh, by the way, baby girl.. Before we ruin you, remember that we are incubi, so we are more freaky~”

“We’ll give you an experience that you won’t be able to live if you date a human. Us incubi are especially proud of our skills,”

“We’ll make you squirm from the pleasure,”

“We’ll make you scream our name,”

“We’ll make you wish for more”

… “Are you ready?” …

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hello hello! Bunnie here~

Sorry I’ve been MIA, had to focus lots on school since it’s the last quarter and I was trying to exempt all of my classes to leave school earlier :D

Thankfully, I am officially done with my sophomore year! Yaay! *Claps*

However, one sad thing is that my summer is gonna be hectic =_= so I may not be able to push out as much stuff as I’d like -- I have a summer assignment for AP Language and I’m attending an online Summer Program.

However, I will try to type some stuff beforehand so that I still have content.

Anyway, I present to you -- “Guardian Angels” Sannie and Ddeonghwa! :D

Did you like this concept? I did tone down the suggestive since I felt like I crossed the line a few times in the other ones. (Side Note: I did the GIFs myself, which is why the quality is kinda bad T_T)

Please tell me if you liked this! And please! Do send me a message if you have any requests! My inbox is open!

Have fun with your imagination, y’all!

Thanks for the patience and support! I’ll catch y’all next time!

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fenristheorem · 3 years

Text

Lance: Dragon Headcanons

A staple mark in Lance’s character is his dragon genetics, and I have a lot of headcanons regarding this, so I figured I'd write about this while I have it in mind. A lot of these probably aren’t canon at all, mainly just me rambling away about what I'd like to see, but I think they're still pretty interesting regardless.

~Do note: Lance is going to be a bit more feral than usual in this one (this is discussing his dragon side, after all), and many of these are going to be romantic. Combine feral and romantic and you get something along the lines of NSFW. It’s not exactly NSFW, but this post certainly isn’t clean, either. This is really only a concern near the end of the post.

~ Under the cut ~

It’s known that in a partially transformed state, Lance’s mother - Tia - has a tail, scales on certain parts of her body, makeshift claws (technically they’re just filed down nails, at least that’s what I’ve read in certain descriptions), and a few other dragon-like features, but since this post reflects my own headcanons I want to add on to and alter that.

In my headcanons, dragons in a partially transformed state have tails, as well as wings, real claws (not nails, it’s like an extension of the bones that turn into claws), scales in certain areas, and can actually transform to the point where their limbs are more dragon-like the further away from the body it is. They can also control exactly what features appear when they partially transform, but only to some extent. There’s either a full human appearance, or a full dragon appearance, and in the middle there’s a small range of partially transformed traits that they can choose to display; like having the claws, tail, and scales, but no wings, or limiting the amount of scales on their body while having the other traits appear fully. I imagine controlling their transformations is like a muscle; the more they work with it, the more control they have (which is already sort of canon since Valk admitted he wasn’t as strong as Lance because he didn’t practice as much when they were younger), and they can control a fine selection of which traits are active and when.

From that; dragons - like many other living creatures - have their own distinct scents, and with that there are scent glands (there’s a lot of reptiles that don’t have scent glands I think, but also some that do, and since dragons can shift between a reptilian and mammal form I like to imagine that they do have scent glands). In nearly any state, dragons’ scent glands are a lot like a cat’s and are placed in the same areas as their scales when they’re partially transformed; around the mouth, on the cheekbones, the neck, genitals, and a few places on their torso, chest, and arms. In their complete dragon form these locations are primarily the same, but since their anatomy is a bit different, there may be other locations with scent glands as well. These glands work partially with releasing their natural scent, but for the most part they’re also used for scent marking. Again like a cat, dragons can rub off their scent on objects and people by rubbing their scent gland scales across something.

Because of this, Lance may have a small tendency to brush himself against his partner... a lot, especially if he’s partially or fully transformed. It’s common for him to be laying with his partner and begin to repeatedly rub the side of his face against any part of her, but he especially prefers around her face, neck, or chest, and this is usually disguised as aggressive nuzzling. He can do this at random moments through out the day as well; when he suddenly comes up behind her and takes her in his arms and nuzzles into her neck, at night when he pulls her close and accidentally wakes her up just to rub against her, or even if they’re showering together and Lance wants to remark his territory because the water is washing his scent off.

For this reason, he probably doesn't like his partner wearing heavy perfumes or anything that can disguise his - and her - natural scent.

If his partner allows this scent marking to be a commonplace thing, they can find this becoming a habit for him even when he isn’t transformed, and he especially likes when his partner willingly touches his scales - even if just to feel the textures again. Along with that, his partner may make it a habit to brush herself against him; acting as though she’s scent marking him, or just brushing against him so that his scent rubs off on her more. Since dragons probably follow some set of instincts (like any other living creature, even humans), Lance’s partner ‘scent marking’ him is probably incredibly endearing to him, as not only does it mean that she accepts his instinctual nature, but it also shows that she wants to take part in it too.

On the topic of instincts, I image dragons to be incredibly feral and impulsive in at least some basic ways, specifically with some forms of communication and relationships (no matter if it’s romantic or not), so body language may be a major way of communication with him some days. Of course, he’ll still actually talk to other people, but if he’s having a day where he’s just really not in the mood to talk but he needs to communicate with his partner in basic ways, he may revert back to a relatively feral form of communication: body language. Everyone and all species display things through body language, so it would make sense for Lance to rely on speaking with his partner through body language when he’s not in the mood to talk, but he’ll probably use other basic sounds like huffs, grunts, groans, and growls to relay things more clearly since his partner may not be as fluent as he is with this type of communication.

On these days, she can expect to come back to their room at night and ask a question, only to be answered with a grunt, or a faint growl with a glare, or a scratchy purr and contently closed eyes as he takes her into his arms. It will take his partner a while to decipher exactly what each noise means, as well as what they mean when combined with different facial expressions and posturing, but she should pick up on it quite quickly. Fortunately he acts a relatively similar way on the days he is talking, so many of those days where he resigns from speaking shouldn't be too much of an issue, as he acts mostly the same way minus the words.

Keeping on the topic of nonverbal communication; when he's partially transformed, he probably has a few other habits than just scent marking is partner. As a show of being territorial, he may drape or curl his tail around her, be it her ankles, legs, or even her waist if they're lying down together. As a sign of affection, he may lightly drag his claws along her skin, similarly to how he would with his fingers to relay tender affection.

In a general idea; when Lance is partially or fully transformed, he acts much more on feral instincts than usual. This can lead him to being simultaneously more territorial and romantic towards his partner; it imprints the idea to others that she belongs to him while he maintains a quality relationship with his partner so she doesn't seek to leave him. He feels emotions very deeply, and it's those emotions that influence him to act more on feral instincts (after all, emotions are basically chemical reactions within the body that we then respond to). This means that his emotional reactions can be - and usually are - amplified, or at very least it's easier for him to have a stronger than normal reaction.

This last headcanon may be a bit iffy, but I imagine dragons definitely take a singular mate for the rest of their lives, and have a sort of mating ritual where they leave a physical mark - a bite - on their partner that signifies that from then on, their partner belongs to them.

Marking in general - be it biting, clawing, or bruising (that last one is typically on accident) - may be a common thing with Lance due to his interest in making his partner his mate, and he may perform those markings willingly (usually on the gentler side) or by pure accident as he's caught up in the moment of pressing his partner into the bed and holding her down as she squirms (it's in these accidental moments where the more rough, violent-looking marks come from). He's alright for the most part if his partner would rather not have him inflict a lot of physical marks, he understands her reasoning - after all, its certainly not entirely painless - but his partner may need to understand that if she allows him to act on his more feral instincts sometimes, even in nonsexual ways, he may still end up accidentally inflicting some small mark on her. Of course, if she's sensitive enough to pain that any sort of marking will make her show signs of distress, he'll immediately back off upon noticing those signs (the last thing he wants is to truly hurt his partner), but if she doesn't show signs of discomfort, he may indulge in the feeling of sinking his teeth into her flesh a bit too much and end up accidentally leaving a mark. While on the topic of marking by teeth; dragons - being carnivores - probably have abnormally sharp teeth, even in a human form. This also helps their marking mates by a bite mark stand out more, as not many other species can do similar things.

On the other hand, if his partner is entirely fine with - better yet; likes - marks, be it of any kind, expect him to make that a semi consistent thing. He's much more likely to inflict smaller, more common marks (like hickeys), but if his partner lets him, he'll gladly leave a few scratches or light bite marks on her skin next time he finds himself between her legs and deep within her. On occasion, when he really lets himself go and indulge in the feel of his partner, he may leave a more aggressive scratch or other mark, but this would usually only happen when he knows his partner doesn't mind - or likes - these physical marks.

An important thing for his partner to keep in mind is that he has a human form but his species is dragon. At the end of the day, he’s a dragon by nature. He can certainly be civil and calm, but he will have his moments where he seems more beast than man. Living and being intimate with him is very different than just working with him, so his partner does need to be aware that she may find out some interesting facts about him that she may have never guessed before.

Being with a dragon isn't for the faint of heart, Lance is a true testament to that, but as long as his partner approaches the topic of romance and heavy instincts with an open, considerate mindset, it's unlikely there should be any issues that would arise from this.

I'm glad I finally got those written out, I've been meaning to write them for a while! Hopefully it's not too unorthodox of a topic, but I've noticed the topic of Lance being a dragon is something people like to continuously acknowledge, so I figured this is a good topic to post about.

Thanks for reading!

#eldarya #eldarya lance #eldarya ane #eldarya lance ane #eldarya lance headcanons #fenristheorem writing

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marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Gravity

Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

A/N: This was basically just a therapy write.

What is worth? It is neither tangible nor seeable. It doesn’t have a body or a shell. Yet, the endless chase to catch it, to hold it captive, is a never ending disease that eats away at the brain and tears apart the heart. It’s only descriptor is feeling. A judgement. Something either is or isn’t. When it's an object in question, the call for worth is passive, innocent. It’s wanted or it's not. The deterioration comes into play when the worth is applied to a person.

Kim Junmyeon was worth the world.

With a smile that could chase away a storm and a heart too good and pure for the human populace, he was truly worth more than the world. He was worth more than you deserved.

Not only was his face kind, but it was handsome. Beautiful, even. Candid photos were museum worthy masterpieces. There was a gentleness, a softness to his eyes and cheeks that contradicted the sharpness of his jaw and the strength of his body. His laugh was infectious and his mind as vast and deep as the ocean. The sum of his whole was worth so much.

But you were not worthy of such a person. You weren’t as stunning as a sunset over the mountains or as extraordinary as a new discovery. You were simply… you. Staring from afar, admiring but never touching.

You wished you could be worthy. You wished you could be special enough - good enough to be with him. Pretty enough would be something decent to settle for. But you were invisible. A person on the sidelines. Out of the spotlight. You were an admirer - not one to be admired.

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, your attention torn away from the spot where Junmyeon was standing, laughing and chatting with a few of his seniors. Kyungsoo, who sat to your left at the small table in the entertainment building’s cafe, didn’t even look up from the script he was currently reviewing. He’d only been given it the day before and was still considering if he wanted the part that was being offered to him.

Your gaze dropped to the opened yet untouched notebook lying in front of you on the somewhat sticky surface. Someone must have spilled their syprup-y coffee and didn’t do the best job at cleaning it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without moving his head, Kyungsoo looked at you over the rim of his glasses. Even though you were sure you were nothing more than a blur to his eyes at the moment, he could always see right through you. “If you keep staring at him like that, you’re going to give yourself away.”

The ultimate nightmare. The humiliation of being found out. The sweet but awkward rejection that you knew would follow. With his laugh still ringing in your ears, you forced yourself to tune Junmyeon out.

Pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, Kyungsoo straightened and closed the script. “We can go somewhere else, if that would help.”

You wanted to argue no. That you weren’t a coward. That you weren’t going to run and hide simply because you looked at him like he was the night sky while you were stuck on the ground. You used to have better control of yourself. You used to be able to hide it better. But lately, it had only gotten worse.

And you were a coward.

“Yeah. Maybe one of the practice rooms is empty.”

“There’s usually one.”

After gathering up your things, you followed Kyungsoo out of the cafe, stealing a final glance. Junmyeon didn’t so much as twitch in your direction. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t even realized that you were there in the cafe for the past half hour.

Kyungsoo settled into one corner of the worn navy blue couch while you squeezed into the other. Not speaking a word, he went back to reading the script. That was a nicety of your friendship. Comfortable silence was more than readily available when needed. He didn’t push or give unasked for advice. He was an ear to listen and a presence to take in when you didn’t want to be alone.

You stared down at the notebook in your lap where your next story ideas were supposed to be filling the pages. But nothing was coming out. Not even the vague pictures you’d had earlier this morning. The only things being called to the paper were the sentences held in the invisible tears you refused to shed. Words of wishes and frustrations swirled around inside the tiny droplets, every letter as heavy as lead. Your cruel mind kept echoing at you the conversation that had constricted the air in your lungs.

Two days ago, you’d accidentally overheard a drama staff worker jokingly say that Junmyeon and his current co-star seemed awfully close, more than merely friends. Stomach lurching, you ran to the nearest bathroom. Nothing came out but almost fifteen minutes of deliberate breathing had gone by before you emerged again. Kyungsoo was quick to dismiss the comment after barely three words from you. The effect, however, still lingered.

Despite the history of your intrusive thoughts, you wanted to believe that you could be good enough. That you were worthy of being beside someone like Junmyeon. His co-costar was stunning, even in real life. Someone who didn’t need photoshop to draw out gasps of awe and astonishment. Someone you most certainly couldn’t compete with in any race.

You weren’t asking for much. Just to be able to hold his hand, your fingers interlaced between his own. The fantasy you allowed yourself to indulge in at times wasn’t a grand gesture or a modern fairytale. You wanted simplicity. The smaller moments that could mean so much. Mundane, to some eyes.

Warm sun rays leaked through the closed blinds over the living room windows. A clock on the wall ticked away the meaningless minutes. Sometimes soft music hummed in the background, sometimes there was nothing but silence. Junmyeon would lay across the length of the couch with you wrapped around his side. His fingers would absentmindedly caress your shoulder or arm. In his other hand was a book, held open by his thumb and pinky. Your own hand drifted through his hair while he read aloud.

The two of you had dozens of endless conversations about books. About the ones you loved and the ones you hated. About deeper meanings and the reflections of life. His love of literature - from the celebrated classics to the obscure unknown - had been what initially drew you in. Everything else was what made you stay.

A muscle in your hand cramped. The peaceful scene faded from your eyes. The page was now filled with barely legible, ink-smeared words. You’d written the entire scenario out, along with your heart, without even realizing it.

In a panic, you ripped the paper from its spiral hold, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the trash can across the room. It missed.

“I doubt whatever you wrote was that bad,” Kyungsoo murmured. He read the final few lines of the script and closed it.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted bitterly. “But I shouldn’t have written it.” You described the scene to him while your eyes stayed trained on the loose thread twirling between your fingers.

He sighed. “You’re never going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re just stopping yourself.”

You scoffed. “Why would I deliberately set myself up like that? Break me the rest of the way?”

Kyungsoo stared at you, long and hard, his expression blank to those who couldn’t read the tell-tale signs that his thoughts were in overdrive. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

You sniffed, though no tears were yet forcing their way to the surface. “Most days.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t.” Your voice broke - just like your heart. The world blurred when you shook your head. “I can’t… simplify it. But-- It’s like I was this stupid lump of rock drifting aimlessly through space, content with my life. Then suddenly, I came across this brilliant star that shined so brightly and… we collided. And now I’m stuck in his orbit. But he just keeps on spinning while my whole world had changed completely. He’s… my gravity. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time to find your own orbit.”

Afraid it might crack again, your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The door creaked open and your heart leapt. Junmyeon stuck his head inside. Had he overheard everything?

“There you are! I turned away for a second and suddenly you two weren’t in the cafe anymore.”

He’d… He’d seen you? In the cafe?

“It was too loud,” Kyungsoo lied, covering up for you like he always did.

“It’s always too loud for you,” Junmyeon teased. Then his face morphed into that leader-esque expression. “We need to head to rehearsal. You’re welcome to join us,” he nodded to you.

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly in response. “I have a writer’s meeting.” No, you didn’t, but space felt like the right choice at the moment. You tried not to focus on the lack of disappointment coming from the direction of the door.

“Maybe next time.” Junmyeon slapped the side of the door. “Let’s go, Soo.”

You were actually the first one on your feet, muttering goodbyes to both of them and then walking down the hall perhaps a little too fast.

You didn’t allow your mind to think the whole way home. Every action was done in automatic mode. Only the minimal amount of awareness was used. But when the apartment door clicked behind you, when the near darkness wrapped you up, when the silence crept in and the empty couch mocked you… you broke.

Knees buckling from under you, the cold hard floor came closer and you didn’t leave that spot just inside the room as the tears and sobs crashed out in waves.

This was what you hated the most. The breakdowns that came with no excuse. They were built up by your own mind, by your intrusive thoughts. You tortured yourself with what you could never have. The attacks were random and it was only recently that you had learned to hold them in long enough until you were safe within your own walls. One time, you hadn’t made it. Kyungsoo had been there to pat your shoulder.

Kyungsoo. He was right.

That clarity was coming through as the tears dried and your breathing evened out again. You needed space. You needed to separate yourself from what wasn’t good for you and not see him. Not even have the temptation to.

This was going to hurt like hell.

The office somehow looked smaller with the bare walls. Since the day you moved in, you tried to liven it up, give it character, make it reflect the interests you loved. How were you supposed to write if this place felt like a stifling corporate desert, dry of any creativity?

Not that you ever actually wrote in this twelve by eight space. This place had been reserved for meetings and other usually boring necessities. You didn’t know the next time a budget meeting or an email check would be conducted here. You could be back in a few months and move back in as if you never left. Or someone else could take over. Only time would tell.

The box that currently had your attention was nearly full. You’d have to come back for the rest. There wasn’t much left, anyway. You took another look around to see if there was anything else you could do at the moment. The monitors were black, the tower underneath - so much smaller than the one you’d had as a kid - was powered off, and the chair that was aligned just so to your favored adjustments was pushed into the gray desk. Saying goodbye to this place really did hurt.

But you needed to do this.

And yet, you felt like you were drowning, being dragged deeper into the black water. Your lungs were screaming for relief.

“You’re really leaving?”

Your shoulders stiffened. At first, you didn’t look up at him. You weren’t sure what to say to him. Being here… it was the last place you expected him to be today. Kyungsoo would have told him, but you wouldn’t have waited around for him to appear.

“Hi, Junmyeon.” You folded up the top of the box, overlapping the pieces so it would stay shut in transport.

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I love it,” you confessed. “But I- I need to go home for a little while.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Something like that.” Definitely some version of sick.

He nodded. “Will you be gone long?” His eyes drifted over the holes in the walls leftover from the frames that used to hang in front of them.

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was…. You should go. Pushing your fingers under the box, you started to lift it to take it home.

“Do you have to go?”

The question stalled you. Confused, the box went back down on the desk. “Why are you here, Junmyeon?”

He shrugged, though it didn’t shake off the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his arms all the way to his wrists covered up by the sleeves of his shirt. Lately he had been rolling them up. You wondered what had changed today. “You’re our friend.”

Friend.

Friend. Friend. Friend.

The word rang over and over like a declaration of war. Our friend.

The smart thing to do would have been to nod, say goodbye, and leave. But - instead - you opened your mouth.

“I will always be your friend.”

That didn't make him smile like you would have thought. “So, then why do you have to leave?”

You rubbed your eyebrow, fighting within yourself. You lost.

“Have you ever had a friend so head over heels for someone that won’t even look at them twice? But they don’t care? Because as long as the person they’re looking at is happy, then they’re happy. Even if your friend is completely miserable in the process. Because they no longer care about their own self. They just keep looking at the other person, doing anything that entails that they’re still happy.” You swallowed thickly to try and keep your voice steady. By your sides, your hands were trembling at this roundabout confession. “And you want to shake them. You want to tell them to get out. Because as long as they stick around, they won’t look at one else. No one else exists. Well, this is me. Getting out.”

The frown on Junmyeon’s face deepened as he let your words sink in. “Who is it? Will you tell me?”

No. Because this was enough of an admittance. Because it was time to find your own sense of gravity.

So, without a word, you picked up the box and left the office.

Waiting for you when you came back was the scene you had written in the practice room that day, flattened out but still wrinkled as it laid on the desk.

#exo #kim junmyeon x reader #kim junmyeon #kim joonmyeon #suho #suho x reader #exo oneshot #exo drabble #exo angst #exo unrequited love #kpop

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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What's a Knife Between Onscreen Family // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Filming an emotionally wrought scene on the set of your current role as a regular goes very wrong very fast. Expecting the scene to be the most taxing of the day you find yourself in the ER getting a transfusion. It’s all fun and games until someone’s holding a sharp knife incorrectly, guess it’s just something in common with co-star Jared Padalecki.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, fear, injuries, hospital, needles, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.5k (including lyrics)

A/N: I watched a part of a panel from a Supernatural con and found it hilarious that Jensen accidently stabbed Jared. So I had to write that for a Charlie Gillespie fic. Link to the video talking about the stabbing is right below this message.

Jensen Ackles Accidentally Stabbed Jared Padalecki during filming From 1:00-6:00

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

It had to be one of the most emotionally taxing scenes in your entire career as an actress on a physically demanding show. The scene had been incredibly mentally draining the daughter of a Winchester. It had been once season recurring, one series regular and now filming the third season. As the teenage Winchester, it threw a wrench in all the plans and the reckless character gave no shits.

“Okay, this is our last scene for the day!” Robert Singer, the director of his episode, called out from off stage. Standing at the top of the stairs in the Bunker, you jumped in close with a scrunched nose at the squishy sound.

Over the railing, both Jared and Jensen nodded their support from the ground level with concerned expressions. Ever since you joined the cast in season 13, they had become fathers to you. The sight of you drenched in stage blood was enough to churn their stomachs.

“I gave you the barebones of the scene so work with it. Briar’s traumatized after fighting for her life and has been gone for a while.” Robert explained, “Cas couldn’t find her. I want this to be a tribute like Dean in season 10 episode 14: The Executioner’s Song.”

Taking a deep breath in your emotions channelled into a hurricane in your chest, clenching your fingers on the knife.

“Action!”

Pacing the floor plan of the Bunker is two brothers bonded by sorrow, pain, sacrifice and love. Each throwing out locations on where Briar could be, Jack and Cas had been little help. Sam’s heart clenched tight bypassing images straight to torture. The kind of torture he had endured over the years.

Dean’s mouth opened to suggest another place when the Bunker door creaked open. The red converse appeared before the soggy jeans as the teen slowly made her way down the steps. Briar Winchester shook like a leaf staring off in the distance as the blood congealed on her face and hands.

“Briar.” Dean slowly spoke, moving towards the girl. His green eyes lit up in fury as the seventeen-year-old flinched back. Dean’s hand gently took the stained knife from the young girl.

“I-I didn’t mean to do it.” The meek voice appeared so unlike the usual confidence Briar talked with. In exhaustion, Briar’s knees collapsed, sending the teen right into Dean’s arms.

The stoic man gripped the youngest Winchester as his waist bearing her weight against his while Sam circled to be behind Dean. The choked sob echoed by another escaped the family huddle; one from Briar and the other from Dean.

“Dad.” Briar choked clenching her arms around the green-eyed adult’s shoulders, craving the safety of her father.

Ever since Dean could remember he had had a strict rule of always practising safe sex, he didn’t want a kid. Not in a world that had it out for Winchesters and not one where he might hold his child’s dead body in his arms. That all changed when Cas delivered Dean to a county jail where Briar was held just for a minor assault charge on a wealthy bully.

Dean never let himself want a future with the picket fence and the dog in the backyard but when Briar changed that. Dean would do anything for his family no matter the cost. Example: Selling his soul for Sam.

“Sh.” Dean spoke kissing the crown of her hair he savoured having his child safe in his arms, “I’ll help you to the bathroom to get cleaned up. We’ll heat some soup and toast.”

On autopilot, Dean helped Briar down the hall to the bathroom where she would freshen up and later burn the unsalvageable clothing. As Dean returned to Sam’s side, Castiel came with a sombre expression and an explanation.

“Dean. Sam.” Cas greeted them, flicking his blue gaze between the two brothers. The faint sound of the shower only picked up by the trained heightened sense of hearing from years of watching over their backs.

“Cas what the hell happened?” Dean demanded, “Why the hell is my little girl bruised and coated in blood?”

END FILMING SCENE

“Cut!” Robert called out to the large room with a big smile on his face, “I’ll watch it back. See if we need more takes.”

Jared and Jensen wiped the tears that fell from their cheeks just thinking on how wrought that scene felt. As fathers seeing a young adult in such a state severely agonized them. The duo jogged to see your back against the cold wall—a pinched expression marring your young face.

“How are you feeling after that?” Jensen asked, coming closer to squeeze your shoulders unfazed by the sticky fake blood. It was already all over his clothes from hugging you in character.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to have sharp objects.” You spoke glancing down at your knee that had been punctured by the knife. The dark jeans soaked in stage blood now concealed the real blood.

“Jensen, did you really stab another person.” Jared deadpanned his best friend referencing back a few years. Jared shoved one hand through his hair, receiving a nasty glare from the hairstylist on call.

The glare on Jensen’s face blistered the taller actor, “I didn’t stab you. You walked into the knife.”

The two bickered as they guided you back to the main stage where Robert had reached a final verdict. He had watched the replay twice along with his crew finding the raw emotion to be perfect. The little detail the three had added was well played. Dean unexpectedly consoling his daughter in tears; no threats to kill or push her to tell him what happened. The first time Briar referring to Dean as her father. Lastly, Sam’s unsure actions in consoling a young girl sucked into life like he was in his youth.

“We got a one-take winner!” Robert called out sending the entire crowd into loud applause and cheers. Jared taking most of your weight as you hobbled to the costume trailer.

The lovely costume designers helped remove the sticky shirt, jewellery and the red converse that had once been white. Only the jeans remained on your body to not mess with the wound. As much as you’d love to shower the blood off, it was near impossible, moving your knee stung and it was best to avoid aggravating it.

“Someone needs to ban Jensen from knives. Just wait till his wife finds out about this, she adores Y/N.” Martha chuckled from her sketches she designed on her breaks for a future in fashion design. Often in your free time, you would be her guinea pig with her designs using refurbished material.

Normally the banter would continue but not when your leg was bleeding, and Jared was taking you to the ER. To make time faster, Jared had scooped you into his arms to the black car their driver waited in.

“Towels are in place. Sorry, you got hurt, Kid.” Clif spoke, opening the door to the backseat where Jensen sat patiently. Unlike usual, he had seated himself in the front so you could stretch in the back.

A weak chuckle met air in the packed car from the blood loss that wasn’t overly bad but enough that Jared took the towel. His pressure on the wound caused a yelp that had Jensen flinching in guilt.

“The knife must have been sharp to cut a mouse in half,” Clif muttered turning towards the hospital close to set. Coincidently the drive took you passed the set your boyfriend currently filmed at.

“Might as well call me butter.” You retorted wincing at the throbbing pain, “You aren’t allowed any more sharp objects, Mr. Ackles.”

“Danneel already threatened to hide all the knives in the house.” The on-screen father laughed as the tension decreased in the small car. Despite the dizziness, it didn’t hide the guilt in Jensen’s green eyes.

Time flew by as you found yourself in a bed for observation and pictures for the knee. It came as a shock when the doctor requested one blood transfusion for the blood loss. The hope of being in and out had evaporated like water beads on a blistering summer day.

Julie and the Phantoms Set

Charlie adored his life as an actor where he was free to visit places, he might not have had the opportunity to do. He made friends with everyone he spoke to and even met the love of his life as an actor as well.

That being said today had been the longest one with a full schedule and barely time for lunch or snacks. Even a nap was unachievable, and he desperately wanted one for being awake for hours by now.

“Charlie! Did you know you’ve got missed calls?” Jeremy inquired, staring at the phone that went black once more. Charlie’s eyebrows came together at the mention. His family had the rough outline of times he would be unavailable to talk.

Stepping back from the craft table’s supper options, he lifted the phone from the table, bringing it to life. His lock screen showing multiple missed calls and voicemails from you, his family and two unknown numbers.

His jaw dropped further when Meghan called for the first time out of the group, “Megs?”

“Finally! Where have you been?” Meghan demanded pacing in the studio she had been using when she got the call. The pretty and successful young woman had gotten terrified at learning about Y/N.

“Filming? It’s the longest day of filming the show. It’s on the family schedule.” Charlie spoke, settling into one of the empty tables. His eyes watching the people entering and exiting the tent set up for food.

“Jesus. Mom called me when you didn’t pick up. Y/N’s in the hospital.” Meghan revealed sending the Canadian actor into a stiff posture. His hazel eyes blow wide and panic flooding his entire system.

“What?!” Charlie didn’t mean to shout nor turn paler than a piece of white paper, but it happened. The volume contracting looks from everyone in the vicinity. Owen even dropped the donut back in the box by the volume.

“She got stabbed with a knife. I sent the address earlier, and I haven’t gotten a lot of info.” Meghan told her older brother, “I know she’s getting a blood transfusion, but nothing else was released.”

Charlie couldn’t tell you what happened between Meghan telling him and reaching the hospital frantically. Nor could he figure out how Owen was in the back of the Uber with him guiding him through exercises; all thanks to Owen’s therapist for his anxiety.

His sneakers squeaked on the polished white floor in his mission to the receptionist transferring information from a chart to digital. Charlie’s painting brought him attention from the kind nurse acknowledging his presence.

“Just let me finish this one sentence.” The nurse hummed saving the information before turning their full attention to the frazzled male, “How can I help you?”

“What room is Y/N Y/L/N in? She was stabbed and needed a transfusion.” Charlie demanded deflating as Owen placed a hand on his shoulder. The Canadian’s eyes bright with panic and a deep fear

The nurse’s eyes softened, “I can’t give out information on patients unless your immediate family members.”

“I’m here-“

“Husband! He’s her husband, they eloped so she hasn’t changed her last name or updated her information.” Owen blurted out, rubbing the pad of his index finger on the black jeans he had worn for his role. The two hadn’t even bothered changing into their street clothing.

The nurse nodded their head-turning back to the computer to enter the name for the patient for the information. It took seconds before the nurse wrote on the miscellaneous sticky note of the ward and room number.

“My name is Riley. If you need any help, you can come back here, and I’ll do my best to give you answers.” Nurse Riley informed the duo with a kind smile nodding in the direction of your hospital room.

Owen’s long legs ate up the distance Charlie made in his sprint to the stairwell, “Shouldn’t we take the elevator?”

“My girlfriend is in a hospital bed. I can’t wait for an elevator.” Charlie rebuked the suggestion on the second flight. Owen’s sigh was the last sound made as the duo slammed into the door to the floor level.

Charlie and Owen appeared in the doorway of your hospital room panting from the exertion meeting the gaze of two actors. Charlie’s heart stuttered at the sight of the high volume of blood in your clothing and your hair.

The sharp gasp brought your attention to the shaking Canadian actor solely focused on scanning for wounds. His eyes barely staying on the two adult males you had been starring with for a few years. Schedule conflicts often led to no introduction to each other’s co-stars.

“What the hell?” Charlie choked stumbling to the chair beside your hospital bed next to the pole holding a blood bag, “Did you get mugged? Are you okay?”

“Char, take a breath, man.” Owen’s blue eyes shadowed with the worry as Charlie’s breathing shuddered. Owen could barely look at you covered in blood.

“Whoa! Charlie. I’m fine. This is stage blood. We had an intense scene, and there was a minor accident.” Your voice soothed the man gently taking Charlie’s hand to comfort him, “I lost a bit of blood. The doctor decided to give me a blood transfusion to bring my levels back up a bit before stitching it up.”

“How do you get stabbed accidently?” Owen questioned glancing at the two men standing silently in the corner. Due to contracts on the Supernatural set details of scenes and storylines was off-limits.

“Well, during filming, I took a knife from her, and she walked into the blade?” Jensen trailed off, shoving his elbow into Jared’s side at the scoff. It happened every time it was brought up.

“I-“Charlie blinked, shaking his head as he took a deep sigh in pushing that to the back burner to focus solely on you. His hand rubbed his face while he settled on squeezing your one hand in both of his.

The touch of your skin grounding him back to earth with the shattering visions of walking into the world without you. It would be both ways, the second his calloused warm skin brushed your hands; it was like the pain faded. Only a sense of content settled in your weary bones.

“Okay Miss Y/L/N.” Dr. Clancy walked into the room only halting to grab a pair of medical gloves, “I see your entourage grew. I’m Doctor Jim Clancy, and you must be Miss Y/L/N’s husband.”

Three pairs of eyes widened at the doctor’s words aimed towards the brunette actor turning a blushing mess. The words mouthed by Charlie to go with it gave barely any insight, but you did it. The moment you had a free minute with Charlie, you would interrogate him in the new title you had.

“Yeah, my husband.” You spoke flicking an expression to Jensen and Jared that caught on from the years together. They had taken you under their wing on your first day on set, and then you became family with their immediate family.

“I can confirm that my initial observation is that the wound doesn’t have anything that shouldn’t be in there. We stopped the bleeding, the x-ray came clean, we’ll set you up with IV fluid, and tetanus shot to be safe.”

“Nurse Gellar here will cut the rest of the jeans off, get you in a gown for a few hours of observation. Just a precaution for blood transfusions. We’ll have some scrubs you can wear when you can leave.” Dr. Clancy motioned to the tall redhead with a quiet demeanour.

Charlie’s lips lingered on your temple at the fear that flared in your expressive eyes, he would give anything to take your place. He softly sang your couple song as a whimper fell from your lips as the jean tugged the dried blood from the wound. The painful pressure felt as you guessed it had started to bleed again, the feel of liquid rolling down your skin, confirming it.

“I’ll sing anything.” Charlie whispered going through his mental catalogue of songs on your shared playlist, “Oh!”

I’m booking myself a one-way flight

I gotta see the color in your eyes

And telling myself I’m gonna be alright

Without you baby is a waste of time

The tears falling no longer came from the pain but the sheer amount of love you had for the man there. Eyes glittering with pure adoration as his voice came off absolutely heart-melting. So, lost in each other neither of you noticed Owen had been filming from the moment Charlie had said ‘oh’.

Yeah, our first date, girl, the seasons changed

It got washed away in a summer rain

You can’t undo a fall like this

’Cause love don’t know what distance is

Yeah, I know it’s crazy

Charlie’s hand slowly slid up your arms to cup your tear-streaked tacky cheeks in his warm grip. The hospital faded as it became just you and Charlie. Completely oblivious at the audience in the room.

“He loves her,” Jensen whispered to Jared out of the camera frame that the blonde-haired kid’s phone. It was such a pure moment it felt disrespectful to see this exchange but also honoured to see it firsthand.

“I’ve only seen the look in your eyes for Danneel,” Jared replied, cupping his hands over his face listening to the near inaudible wet chuckle you gave.

“As I have between you and Gen. They have the real kind of love.”

But I don’t want “good”, and I don’t want “good enough.”

I want “can’t sleep, can’t breathe without your love”

Front porch and one more kiss, it doesn’t make sense to anybody else

“Charlie.” You sobbed at the best part of your life serenading you in such a romantic moment at the odd setting—his hazel gaze greener in what would come to be a very dear memory to reminisce about.

The calloused thumb caressing your cheek wiping a teardrop away he continued to see as the doctor finished suturing the wound.

Nothing mattered other than the couple currently in a bubble.

Who cares if you’re all I think about,

I’ve searched the world and I know now,

It ain’t right if you ain’t lost your mind.

Yeah, I don’t want easy, I want crazy

Are you with me baby? Let’s be crazy

Charlie’s voice faded with the rest of the song bringing you back to reality with the nurse cleaning up around the wound. That’s how the rest of the day went on waiting for the blood transfusion and IV fluids to finish. You stuffed the tetanus shot while Charlie sang between different genres.

“Thank you.” You softly spoke with Charlie being the only one left in the room with you.

Owen had headed back to their set to finish a scene while giving the updates on you while Jared and Jensen grabbed food. J2 had been very clear they would get Martha to grab some clothing for when they came back. Jensen was determined to deliver you to your home as the first action to make it up to you.

“For what?” Charlie questioned as your index and thumb picked at the cuticles of the opposite hand. Your eyes were hidden from your boyfriend’s gaze.

“For dropping everything to be here.” The words were quiet in the room only filled with breathing and the heart machine you had to be hooked up to.

“My girl-“

“Don’t you mean wife?” You teased brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead taking in the man you had the honor of loving. Of waking up next to in the apartment, you’d been renting ever since you landed the role on Supernatural; overtime Charlie’s things had just accumulated there.

“It was the only way they’d let me in.” Charlie spoke sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, “It’s a little early to call you, but I’m excited to make you my last girlfriend and then my only wife.”

The chuckle fell from your lips, “So, you want to marry me?”

“In front of all our family and friends. Tucked away from the media to celebrate the love we have for each other.” Charlie spoke, “There’s no one else I’d like by my side for the rest of my life.”

A new flood of tears welled at the sincerity in his voice and the warmth laden in his eyes of kaleidoscope colours. Sometimes, depending on his emotion or his clothing, his eyes would be greener, or when he was happy, they had a blue tinge in the green in sadness or your favourite; brown with the swirls of green.

“How did I get so lucky to have the absolute honour to fall in love with you?” Your words created a swell of emotion in the Canadian’s heart.

“The same way whatever deities there are took pity on a boy from Dieppe by bringing him an angel.” Charlie words preceded the kiss on your lips with a grin as you chased his lips after. With one last peck, he leaned back with a fond expression.

“Seriously how do you get stabbed accidently?” Charlie chortled with that gorgeous smile lighting up the room more than the white lights.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #caitsy and ash productions

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softinkshadows · 3 years

Text

battlefield encounters (gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna) (part 2)

Some short vignettes of jjk men x female reader imagined scenarios, where reader meets them for the first time in the middle of a fight (all taking place within the same world and timeline of the manga/anime, although as parallel storylines).

Nanami Kento

The first time you see him, you barely take notice. It’s common for the hospital to have all kinds of visitors anyway, and a man in a business suit doesn’t make for a surprising figure. The slow but steady stream of people dissolve amongst the beep of heart monitors, and hushed, anguished conversation. Ever since the fire that befell the district’s community centre a few weeks ago, you had your hands full with rehabilitating survivors of the deadly crisis as a member of the hospital’s occupational therapy unit.

You hear the metallic clank of the drink in the vending machine and stoop to retrieve it. The juice is cold against your hand, like a burn. You shake the thought away. Before you know it, you guzzle it all down in a few heavy gulps, chasing the weight of the day away with persistent sweetness. Outside, the world is orange too, and the city windows are bright and gleaming as if caught in flames. The sunset spills into the hospital corridor, stretching its way across to the walls. You suddenly feel the need for fresh air.

By the time you realize where you are, you already feel the familiar handle of the roof access door. The evening breeze drifts in, and the tense knots in your limbs begin to loosen. You sigh a little in relief and let the door close behind you as you step onto the roof terrace.

“Stay where you are.”

He stands several feet ahead, back turned to you. His voice is low and authoritative in a way that makes you think of dark smooth stones at the bottom of a riverbed. His tan blazer opens out behind him in the wind, his lithe body poised as if ready to leap. There’s a strange-looking object in his hand, wrapped in cloth.Was he talking to me? Stay where I am? You look around but there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a rack of laundered hospital gowns in a corner, drying in the breeze.

“Um, excuse me, I...” you begin to speak, puzzled at the situation. The man turns rapidly to look at you, and you catch the flicker of panic across his face. You’ve made a mistake.

Then it happens so fast. You feel the sudden compression of air, as if there’s something rushing straight at you with high speed. Your legs are stubbornly rooted, your fists clench - a swift shadow flashes before your eyes - you’re pulled aside fast, and he’s in front of you, shielding your body with his, one of his arms reaching out around to your side in a protective gesture.

“Keep close to me,” he orders, tone now fierce and urgent. Mind racing, you eyes dart wildly to him, to the empty space in front of him. What am I supposed to be seeing? The sudden pressure returns, this time faster than the last, coming from above, concentrating and pressing towards you, no, no, you can’t escape! A sensation of dread swallows you whole. The air rings with a crash of two heavy things colliding. Then you gasp.

Just moments ago where there was nothing, you now see a grey, razor-sharp edge extended towards you, barely a centimeter away from piercing the flesh on your forehead. “W-what...” you involuntarily rasp, eyes following the serrated claw, only to fix your gaze upon a towering creature. Dozens of eyes like ruptured sores fill its upper body, moving in unison. You realize what must be its hand would have punctured your skull, if not for the man’s blunt blade pushing back firmly against it and radiating with a strong blue flare. In the near distance, another monstrous being looms, sickly green and dripping pus from its wide set of teeth. Your stomach lurches and you dig your fingernails in your arm to steady yourself.

“Don’t worry, I’m here. Though you might want to look away,” the man says softly. He reaches over, one palm covering your eyes gently. You hear the slashing of his blade through the air, making contact, the telltale spurting of blood and crushed bones, followed by horrifyingly excruciating screeches and gurgles. Something in your chest stirs. If this is life, if this is the world you are in, strange as is now, you would be its witness. You lift your fingers, carefully lowering his hand from your eyes, taking in the sight. It is carnage, and he stands in the midst of it, blood dripping from the corners of his weapon, his dark blond hair catching the glow of the waning sunset.

“They were curses,” he explains later. “They must have been born from all the negative energy around the area recently. There shouldn’t be any more returning for a while. Are you hurt?” His voice makes you feel like you're wading into a slow-moving creek under the sun. He faces you now, moving a little closer, leaning in unintrusively to examine your forehead, lifting your arms to check for bruises. His dark eyes are concerned, but you can’t help but feel that he’s far away. You feel the urge to call out to him, but then again, you don’t know his name.

After you thank him and assure him you’re fine, he takes a quick bow, straightens his blazer and turns to leave. It's too soon. You are caught with a strange emotion, a knowing instinct, forcing its way out of your chest and leaving your throat. Awkwardly, you move to grasp his hand, the same one which delicately shielded you earlier, and you burst into an embarrassed mumble.

“U-um, I...”

He pauses, a bit taken aback, but he doesn’t move his hand from yours. “Yes?” he asks.

Around you, the sky deepens into a darker blue, but the horizon still burns with a rich, rosy orange. Its reflection becomes a vibrant streak across his sunglasses, and you cannot see his eyes, but you know he’s looking at you.

“The light... it's still beautiful,” you say. Stay.

You feel him freeze a little. His fingers, warm and calloused, almost tremble in your palm. Behind the veil of his glasses, the eyes you do not see are pained, then knowing, then pensive. He relaxes.

You release his hand, and for a moment you both stay that way, with the evening wind flowing past and the city streets murmuring below and the sunset joining your bodies like a thinning thread.

For the first time in a long while, Nanami smiles.

---

Ahhh okay i sort of imagined this as the start of a longer story between nanami and human Reader as an emotional one, where two broken people grieve over a broken world together... especially as nanami is such a stoic person and Reader is someone who allows him to be himself and not bottle it up, and appreciate whatever goodness is left in life ykwim... ahhh i did not expect this to turn out to be such a feely feely vignette, but.... i kinda love it!! Manga readers you feel me...Nanami is so precious.... --- Taglist (っ˘ω˘ς ) : @encrytpta @wilddreamer98

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

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crystalessenceswrites · 3 years

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Hi Again! I was wondering if you wrote for the clones? (I'm thirsting for Wolffe!!) If not, that's ok! And if so, I thought maybe something fluffy and a bit hot with Wolffe? I'm a huge sucker for the trope- Reader tries to hide that she hasn't been feeling well and turns out she's pregnant? With twins! She's scared because even though they're committed, it wasn't planned? And then fluff and some love making?? <3333

Hi lovely, welcome back! I am open to writing for the clones, I just haven’t done so yet! I too thirst for Commander Wolffe so you’re in luck! This trope is def very cute, the end turned out more fluffy than spicy, I hope that's alright.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v sex, unplanned pregnancy, swearing (first time writing for Wolffe, may be slightly ooc)

[PART TWO]

There was never enough time. You really should not have been surprised by the revelation, you were at war, but it still sat heavy on your chest. Always needed elsewhere as soon as you completed a mission. Never time to rest, even in transit. Someone always needed your attention for reports, strategic planning or council meetings as the GAR cruiser hurtled through hyperspace. It never left you enough time for him. Thankfully, the stubborn nature of your clone commander allowed him to make time, even if just a spare moment, for the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” you throw your head back against the door as he reaches that spot deep inside you. Pushing you ever closer to the edge. “Wolffe, please-” you’re whining as he grinds up into you, throbbing inside you. He’s always had the uncanny ability to read your body, he knows better than you when you’re close to bliss and he enjoys drawing it out. To think Commander Wolffe was a fucking tease.

“Please what, cyare?” His smug grin slides across your chest following the trail of marks he’s littered across your skin where no one will see. “What does ner jetii need?”

“Please, ‘m so close,” you tighten your legs around his waist, trying to draw him in closer, anything to reach your release, “please, Wolffe!”

He groans into your neck as you tug at the curls fallen loose at the nape of his neck, “well when you ask so nicely, cyare.”

His sudden thrust up pushes the air from your lungs. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he pounds into you, all teasing forgotten. He’s relentless as you tighten around him, the coil in your belly threatening to snap.

“That’s it,” he grunts, “come on my cock ner jetii.”

His words and his gloved thumb brushing over your bundle of nerves has you falling apart around him. White hot pleasure rolls over you, leaving you a limp, moaning mess in Wolffe’s arms.

“That’s it, mesh’la. Squeezing me so kriffing tight,” he groans, hips stuttering, his own release fast approaching. “Fuck.” Wolffe manages a few more thrusts before he buries himself in you, spilling himself inside you. Whispered praises fall from his lips as he comes down from his own high. His lips ghost over yours in a chaste kiss as he withdraws, tucking himself away before he lets you down.

Your legs cry out in relief when they meet solid ground, not longer clinging to Wolffe for support.

“Good, cyare?” his hand sweeps over your brow, so tender for a man with such a fierce reputation, even amongst his brothers.

“Mhmm,” leaning into his touch, he chuckles at your blissed out expression.

“Someone’s bound to come looking for you soon, General. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You don’t protest as he helps you redress, though you do moan about how unfair it was he just had to remove his codpiece and you had to strip completely out of your robes for these little storage closet rendezvous’.

“I don’t think jedi robes were designed to allow for easy access, cyare.”

You pout, “you’re probably right.” There was that whole bit about no attachments you were blatantly ignoring after all.

Before the commander can come back with another sharp retort your commlink blinks to life. “Yes?”

“General, General Plo is looking for you on the bridge.”

You sigh, “thank you, Sinker. I’ll be right there.”

Never enough time.

The next couple of months continue much the same. You and Wolffe sneaking away between missions when you can, trying to find solace in each other despite all the horrors you both see on the battlefield. In a war that seems to stretch on forever he is your rock. As he watches his brothers fall, one after the other, you are his comfort. It breaks your heart to be apart from him but there is little you can do to control it. When the council requests you to join Obi-wan and Anakin for a series of missions you cannot object. Instead, you drag your tired self out to the far reaches of the outer rim to help them as best you can.

“You look exhausted, my dear.” Such tact this one possessed.

You roll your eyes, “you don’t look much better, Kenobi.” Though you doubt he has been waking in the middle of the night to empty the contents of his stomach like you have for the past week.

“This war does seem to be pushing us all to our limits.”

“I’ll race you!” Ahsoka sprints by, apparently headed for some target or another with her master hot on her heels.

“Snips!”

Cody chuckles under his bucket, shaking his head as the two disappear into the distance.

Obi-Wan scrubs a hand over his face, “it’s pushed most of us to our limits.”

“What I wouldn’t give to have the energy of a padawan again,” you groan.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Obi-wan nods, “we should all try to get some rest while we can. We need to break camp near dawn.”

You agree and bid your fellow jedi an early goodnight. With the headache you could feel coming on, sleep sounded like a good idea. As you go to stand the world spins around you, any sense of balance you had gone. You reach for the crate you had been sitting on to try and stay upright but you miss by a mile. Knees giving out you collapse to the floor, the world around you still spinning. You can barely hear Cody shouting over the ringing in your ears.

“Call for a medic! The General’s collapsed!”

By the time you regain consciousness you’re no longer planet side. Obi-wan had been quick to have you medevacked to the closest med-station for testing. The unholy white lights of the station burn your eyes when you finally come to. Your sudden groaning draws Kix back to your bedside.

“General. Good to see you’re back with us.”

“Kix?” You try to focus on the 501st medic instead of the bright lights, “what happened?”

“You collapsed back at the forward camp. We weren’t able to determine what was wrong with the limited medical supplies we had on hand, so General Kenobi called an air lift for you.”

Another groan bubbles up, Obi-wan had been forced to waster precious resources on you. “Were you able to find out what’s wrong?”

The clone’s face falls, “yes.”

You’ve never heard the medic sound so meek before. “Kix?”

“I’m not sure what’s the best way to explain this, General… but you’re pregnant.”

Oh.

“H-how far along?”

“Looks like just over two months,” Kix shifts from foot to foot, pointedly not looking you in the eye. You can’t blame him for being uncomfortable, this isn’t quite the medicine he’d been expecting to practice. He was a combat medic not an obgyn. “We were able to get an ultrasound, would you like to see?”

Nodding, you sit up, your head now spinning for completely different reasons. Kix brings you a datapad displaying the grainy black and white image.

“Kix… am I seeing this right?”

“Yes, general.”

“There’s two…”

“Yes general. You’re having twins.”

Oh fuck.

Kix is a godsend, having worked with Anakin and Rex long enough to know reporting everything may not always be a good idea. The official report on your sudden collapse reads that you suffered from a foreign infection your body had not been prepared to fight, coupled with the battle fatigue, your body had shut down in order to force you to rest. Obi-wan and the council believe it, ordering you back to Coruscant to recover and rest. You knew you would have to tell them; it would not be long until you were showing, but you would much rather deal with the council in person than from your medbay bed.

Before your escort arrives, Kix slips you a disk with a copy of the ultrasound pictures, “in case there’s someone you want to show them to.”

“Thank you, Kix,” he blushes when you give him a quick peck on the cheek, “you’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know.”

You do your best to rest on your trip back to Coruscant but its incredibly difficult when your mind is going a parsec a minute. Besides the council there’s one other person you have to break the news to. While you two had talked about what life would be like for the two of you after the war, this was not something you had discussed. You were not sure if Wolffe wanted kids ever, let alone now. Having twins while the whole galaxy was at war was not ideal. Not when the two of you were expected to put your lives on the line for the Republic.

Panic washes over you when you arrive at the capital to find the wolfpack waiting for you on the tarmac. They’d just arrived back for some long overdue shore leave and Plo had informed them of your sudden illness. Normally you would be touched by how much they cared for you, but now all you can think about is how you are not ready to face Wolffe. Not yet.

You can feel his gaze heavy on your back as you field Sinker and Boost’s barrage of questions.

“I’ll be alright, I just need to take my medicine and get some rest. It shouldn’t be long before I’m right as rain again.” You hate lying to them, but you did not want them worrying unnecessarily either.

It seems to appease them; the pack wishes you well and invites you out to 79’s with them as soon as you’re recovered. Wolffe hangs back, watching his brothers go.

“I’ll walk you back, general.”

“No.” It comes out much harsher than you’d like. The surprise that washes over his face feels like a stab to your gut. “There’s no need, Commander. I’ll be alright.”

His voice drops, brow furrowed together, “cyare?”

“Not now, Wolffe,” you frown, “I just need to go lay down. We’ll talk later.”

But you don’t. You cannot find it in yourself to answer any of his calls or messages over the next few days. Instead, you wrap yourself up in as many blankets as possible and hole up in your quarters while you try to figure out what to do. You watch Coruscant go by from your window. It’s only when Sinker and Boost call that you’re freed from running around in circle inside your head.

“Boost? Sinker? What’s going on?”

“Oh thank goodness you’re alive, General!”

“Boost what are you going on about?”

“The Commanders been going crazy! He hasn’t heard from you in over a week and we don’t think he knows how to handle it!”

Although you and Wolffe did your best to keep your relationship hidden, in such tight quarters it was hard to keep it from Wolffe’s brothers. You’d never outright admitted it to them, but you figured they understood what was going on. You were glad for it now.

“I’ve seen him pace before, but never like this,” Sinker adds.

Oh Maker. “Where is he?”

“The barracks, General.”

“I… I’ll speak with him, alright? Hopefully that will calm him down.”

“Thank you, General! We were running out of ways to distract him!” That was the kind way of saying ways to annoy him to keep Wolffe’s mind off you.

“Thank you, Boost, Sinker.”

“Good luck, General!”

You were going to need it. This was not a conversation to have over the com so you make your way down to the barracks, doing your best to avoid attention when you can. It was not like you weren’t allowed there, but the last thing you needed was more questions.

Boost and Sinker were not lying about the pacing. Punching in the access code to his quarters reveals a tightly wound Wolffe, pacing back and forth across the length if the tight space. His armor has been haphazardly discarded around the room. You’re surprised he hasn’t worn a path into the floor yet.

“General?” Surprise and then relief fall over his face when he catches you standing in the doorway.

“Wolffe, I-”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.”

You’re thrown off by the sudden cold tone in his voice. “I-I came to explain, Wolffe… to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“I’ve been avoiding you Wolffe,” your voice cracks despite your best efforts to remain calm, “and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I just needed to find a way to tell you and I couldn’t.”

His frown deepens, “tell me what?”

“That I’m pregnant.”

“What?” He looks at you live you’ve grown another head.

“I’m pregnant, Wolffe.”

It takes him a moment to wrap his mind around your words, but you can see the instant he does, his mouth dropping into an ‘o’ as his jaw falls slack.

“You’re pregnant? With my… with my baby?”

“Babies,” you correct.

His brain seems to sputter out again, “babies?”

You nod, “twins.”

Before you can blink, he’s got you wrapped up in his arms, spinning you around the room. “Twins. You’re having twins.”

It takes everything you have not to start bawling. Kriffing hormones. You’ve never seen Wolffe this happy. This was beyond any reaction you could have imagined. The awe on his face when he sets you down makes your heart melt.

“This is why you were sent back? Your sudden illness?”

“Well yes… but Kix’s report was that I had an infection. I wanted to talk to your first before anyone else. I just didn’t know how.”

His warm hand oh-so-gently cups the side of your face. You lean into the touch. After even just a few weeks apart you’re starving for him.

“Why were you worried, cyare?”

“We’d never talked about kids. And we’re in the middle of a war. Not to mention we’re not even supposed to be together on the first place… I didn’t know how you’d react…”

His face softens, his amber eye drifting down to your nonexistent bump. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised. It may not be how either of us hoped, but it is a pleasant surprise.”

“Really?”

“Really, cyare.” You cannot help but smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips slanting against your own as he holds you close. “I know there may be somethings we need to work out, but we’ll take it one step at a time,” he murmurs against your lips, hands tracing patterns across your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #clones x reader #wolffe imagine #the clone wars #tcw #the wolfpack #nsft #smut #request #crystalessences writes

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pennyserenade · 3 years

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tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy. word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt. notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark. original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all.

He takes his hands away slowly.

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.”

She watches his face fall.

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.”

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops.

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come.

She frowns.

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him.

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake.

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know.

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide.

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done.

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to.

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her.

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless.

“I can’t,” he repeats.

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad.

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect.

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them.

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her.

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything.

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart.

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him.

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them.

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows.

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers.

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers.

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it.

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates.

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in.

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her.

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments.

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward.

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this.

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss.

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man.

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point.

“No,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear.

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good.

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked.

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did.

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him.

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him.

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does.

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long.

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his.

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage.

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo , @amneris21

scenes tags: @gravegoth , @sarahjkl82-blog , @cmonkeepmoving

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x oc #javier pena x nameless oc #javier peña x nameless oc #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic

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asset35-maya · 3 years

Text

HEAT WAVES

This is a short multi-character series about different kinds of love blooming in the summertime. Written as part of the DBH LATE SUMMER PROMPT CHALLENGE

(Read Parts 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 and 6 first!)

[PART 7/7: HEAT OF THE NIGHT]

**TW: SEXUAL CONTENT

“Hey baby.”

Gavin was barely audible as he shifted on Hank’s couch to make room for Nines. He opened his arms and let the android lay down with his back to his chest. He wrapped an arm around Nines’ middle and nuzzled his neck.

“I couldn’t find Sixty anywhere. Are you sure you didn’t see him leave?”

“Hmm…? No…”

“I think he’s disabled his tracker. The little shit! The house keeps coming up as his last location when I search for his signal!”

“Don’t worry, babe. He knows his way back. Like our cat… If Con went missing that would be a real problem. Like if Sumo went missing. But with Six… it’s like our bitch-ass cat. She comes and goes as she pleases. We shouldn’t wait up.”

Nines rearranged his husband’s sleepy grip to be less stifling and relaxed into the cuddle.

“Hmm. You always did understand my own brothers better than me. I just can’t figure out why he was so upset earlier.”

Gavin yawned and pulled Nines closer despite having just been pushed away a little. He tended to get handsy after a few drinks.

“He should be fine now...”

Frowning, Nines twisted in the human’s grasp. He was smooched lovingly before he could articulate any response. He allowed a few messy kisses before breaking off with a quiet whine.

“Gavin, if you know where he is, just tell me. I’ll sleep better for it.”

“Babe, I have no idea-”

He broke off as a rumble came from overhead. Something scraped across the tiles on the roof and came to a stop with a muted thud. Nines looked up at (and through) the ceiling, eyes glazing over and LED spinning rapidly.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

A detective through and through, Gavin chuckled as he easily deduced whatever Nines saw using his x-ray vision. He pressed a kiss to his husband’s throat.

“Just like us back in the day, huh?”

Allen broke away panting. He put a hand on Sixty’s chest to still him. It had been years since he’d done anything like this. Lying on top of a man’s house and making out with his son for hours like a teenager.

Their chaste first kiss had evolved into something decidedly more mature. Months of mutual pining and sexual tension spilled over effusively and now the two of them were rock hard and desperate for some kind of release.

Sixty moaned in Allen’s ear and ground against his thigh. With the way they were lying intertwined, that action also brought some much-needed friction to Allen’s groin. He sucked his breath in through his teeth.

“Sixty... just... Fuck it. Just touch me.”

“Are you sure, Cap?”

“Fuck, don’t call me that if you’re going to jerk me off!”

“Yes, sir.”

Sixty kissed him once more and undid the buttons of his jeans with ease. A hand slipped past the waistband and palmed his erection through his briefs. Impatient, Allen lifted his hips and brought both his underwear and jeans down to his thighs. Sixty’s eyes widened at the sight of the exposed and leaking cock.

Despite having very limited experience in this department, the android moved with confidence. He rolled over his captain’s body and captured his chapped lips in another deep kiss, wrapping a hand around the turgid shaft and stroking.

Allen sighed into the kiss with satisfaction and began to unzip Sixty’s trousers. He quickly found his prize and ran a thumb over the tip of the synthetic penis, producing a garble of static and glitching noises from the android.

Their wrists moved in tandem, speeding up and slowing down in a well-coordinated rhythm. Allen let his consciousness wander and allowed himself to forget that he was perched two floors above the ground. He placed all his trust in the android holding him. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so, albeit in a very different context... so it was incredibly easy.

Sixty soon felt himself get near to the close and could tell that Allen was even closer. He withdrew his hand and peeled Allen’s fingers off his own dick. Looking deep into his new lover’s eyes, Sixty lowered himself further and brought their slick cocks in direct contact with each other.

That was absolutely the right thing to do, considering the loud moan that Allen let out. The older man clapped a hand over his mouth in shock at his own reaction, but quickly recovered when Sixty spat between them and began to move. Trapped between their abdomens, their cocks slipped and slid against each other... hardening and pulsing and twitching... and then finally releasing.

LED flashing a myriad of colors and cooling fans running high, Sixty finished with a groan and fell onto the roofing tiles beside Allen. They both lay there staring at the moon… thoroughly undignified… shirts hiked up over their nipples…spent cocks dribbling onto their stomachs.

“Great job, Cap.”

“You too... bud.”

Tina arched her back and clamped her thighs over his hips as she rode him, backwards. She tossed her hair and rolled her body in ways she’d only seen in certain films. If she thought about it for too long, it felt kind of silly. Like she was just playing a part and the director would yell cut any second.

But this was real. This was not a Hollywood studio. This was her boyfriend’s bedroom and this was the sex life she had now.

She wondered whether it had anything to do with him being an android... Connor was insatiable. He wanted her all day, every day, everywhere.

She didn’t know if or how long it would last, but hell, she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was the best sex of her existence and she would take however much of it she was given, especially if it came with heaps of adoration and praise and affection.

Connor jerked his hips underneath her. She got the message and picked up the pace. His hands came to rest on her stomach from behind and slid upwards slowly to cup her breasts. He held on tightly and sat up, pressing his chest against her back with enviable core strength.

Tina turned in his grip and he brought his mouth to hers. She parted her lips and invited his tongue in. He then leaned forwards and brought her crashing down onto the mattress. Another position, then.

With a series of implicit gestures, Tina relinquished the lead and passed the control back to Connor. He flipped her onto her back and hooked her legs around his waist, all the while buried deep inside and pumping ceaselessly. His deft fingers circled her clit and she knew that she’d be coming again... for the fifth time in a row.

“Hey T.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Gavin sighed against Nines’ bare back. Falling asleep was proving difficult, given the clamour from various parts of the house. He knew his husband was wide awake too.

“Baby…”

“Shhhh.”

“Don’t act like you can sleep through all this.”

“What?”

“Your siblings making multiple trips to bone town? Plus your dad trying to out-snore his dog. It sounds like we’re on a farm here.”

Nines made a petulant noise but Gavin could tell that he was also amused.

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“Well, I’ve always said… if you can’t beat ’em… join ’em…”

Gavin scooted around on the couch a little and pressed his groin flush against Nines’ backside. A sharp hiss escaped the android.

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

There was a pause (during which a series of snores and moans echoed in the living room) while Nines considered the proposition. He apparently found little objection to it and ground back against Gavin’s hardening length.

“Now we’re talking.”

Gavin gently bit down on his husband’s shoulder and pulled on the drawstrings of the sweatpants they both wore. He eased the fabric off the both of them. In no time at all, his stiffening cock was between Nines’ cheeks and his hand wrapped around Nines’ shaft.

Self-lubrication was one of the things about androids that Gavin was eternally grateful for. He gathered the drip from Nines’ tip and coaxed him to full mast, all the while rutting against the slick crease of Nines’ ass.

Their motions were easy, well-practiced.

Once they were both fully aroused, he stroked his hands over Nines’ body and guided one of his thighs up to fully expose his entrance. There was absolutely no resistance. Even in the dark, there was no hitch to any of these proceedings. They’d made love like this a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times again.

Gavin took hold of his cock, gave it a few pumps and aimed. He slowly found his mark, slipping in and bottoming out with grace. He hooked an arm around Nines’ raised leg and waited a beat, before pulling halfway out and pushing back in exactly once.

“Ohhh…”

“Is that good, baby?”

“Shhh… don’t talk.”

Gavin smiled into the side of Nines’ neck and set up a gentle rhythm with his hips. He had to go with the shallowest of thrusts if they intended to stay on the couch. But that was fine, they’d had plenty of rough, fast sex in the early days of their relationship. They weren’t missing out on anything. In fact, nowadays both of them preferred the sweeter, gentler kind of lovemaking.

Nines reached behind and cradled Gavin’s head in the crook of his arm, pulling him down for a deep kiss. He obliged easily, and for his part, used the extra room to slip his free hand around Nines’ body and grasp his cock.

Under each other’s careful ministrations, they took turns to sink into the pleasure and fall apart. Eventually, when he could hold himself back no longer, Gavin began taking all the steps to make sure Nines came first. He sinfully grazed the synthetic prostate on every thrust…caressed his chest… teased his nipples… massaged his laden balls… and pumped his cock with dedication until Nines seized up against him and came with a muted gasp.

Gavin stroked him throughout the climax and caught the ejaculate in his fingers. Without any instruction, Nines grabbed his hand and licked the mess off his digits. Keeping his breath steady, Gavin pulled out and lay flat on the couch with his flushed and wet cock in the air.

The android moved over him with absolutely no need to be asked. Nines took his husband into his mouth and swallowed down to the base of his shaft with an utterly inhuman lack of gag reflex. Gavin finished down his throat and the two of them fell back into the spooning position that they’d begun in.

They lay together quietly, catching their breath and basking in the afterglow of yet another round of happily married sex. It was so blissful that they almost forgot where they were until one of Hank’s rumbling snores resounded through the house. Nines had the presence of mind to get up and pull their sweatpants back on before both drifted off to dreamland… uninterrupted by lustful moans from the spare bedroom and heavy thudding from the roof.

@connor-sent-by-cyberlife

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