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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Divinity in Impurity

Request: Okay but what if I actually request solo Simeon and him moaning through prayers and being just totally repressed and painfully turned on because his precious lovely MC makes him go doki doki? And of course a shameful messy clean up :3c I love u bestieee ✨✨💋

Word Count: 2.5K

A/N: Couldn’t get this out of my head, I want him to be repressed and emotionally conflicted

Simeon enters the House of Lamentation, a gift bag in hand and he’s grateful none of the brothers are home. At least for Beel since the angel is sure that the gluttonous demon would’ve sniffed out the lovely baked goods that he carries. The home is quiet, but he knows you’re here. He sent you a message, confirming that you would be here. The house is empty and it’ll just be you and him, sharing a treat from his home and chatting away. It’s so rare to get you alone and while he’s glad that the brothers are there to protect you, they are also highly possessive, not letting a soul get near you and even less likely to allow someone to be alone with you for so long. There’s a light feeling in his chest, making his lungs expand with air, making him feel as if he’d float away from the simple joy of spending time with you. His cheeks are starting to hurt from the smile he has etched onto his face.

Guilt may lap at him for not informing Luke or Solomon of his whereabouts, but for just once, he wants to be alone with you. He wants to sit and talk about anything other than school work and how everyone can’t seem to focus on the task at hand. He wants to talk with you, learn more about you until you’re all that fills his mind. Or at least, occupy it.

He’s excited, standing at your door and he knocks, a smile on his face. Patience is something that he’s born with, having the time and mind to save those that stray from the path of light, to mentor the young angels, and to grant him his title. Yet, he can’t stay patient. He’s at your door, he can hear you hum and only a piece of wood separates you for him. His patience is thinned, eagerness taking over and he turns the knob to your door. All he wants to do is see you, to be unbothered as he spends time with you and listens to you talk. He wants you, that’s all he wants. The knob is cold underneath his hand, and he steps into your room, greeting you with a wide smile.

The bag tightens in his hands, his eyes widening slightly and smile falling. You stand in front of him, slightly turned away, a shirt pressed against your tummy, your chest bare and legs naked, the only clothing you have on is your underwear, shaped to your body. Your eyes are wide, a heavy flush takes over your face and he’s expecting you to yell, an apology already at his tongue, his eyes dipping for just a moment, catching the swell of your breasts, the lovely aroma of the cream you wear, your fingers that twitch ever so slightly as you grasp the shirt in your hand.

“Simeon?” You call, and he’s quick to dart his eyes back to meet yours- back to where they belong. “I appreciate you coming over, but could you-” you gesture your head towards the door- “you know, leave for a moment?” You smile at him, the shirt in your hands now fisted tightly.

“Ah, yes, of course.” He nods his head, trying painfully to grapes at his composure that is now slipping through his fingers. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mutters, exiting the door, the door clicking behind him.

Rather than sit there and wait, he glances at the door, knowing you’re behind it, your body untethered by cloth and bare. He leaves, his steps quick and quiet, walking away without so much as a goodbye. How could he possibly stay there? How could he look you in the eyes when he was so obviously staring at your body? How could he have done something so raw and primal of him- something that isn’t him.

He hadn’t meant to walk in on you while changing but- he bites his tongue, his face hot and an aching pain in stomach. There is no “buts” or ‘ifs’ or anything of the sort. He should have known to knock before he entered your room. He’s an angel, of course he should have knocked. It doesn’t matter if you two are close, it doesn’t excuse his action for being so forward. He was just so excited to go and see you, to gift you a treat sent from the Celestial Realm. Oh- the treat. It’s still in the bag, protected by a glass casing and covered with tissue papers that glitters under the light. He had forgotten to give it to you in his rush.

There’s no going back now, not when he saw you and had the audacity to even stare at you. He’s humiliated. His face burning and any breath that he has is taken from him, squeezed out of his body and forced out. He runs to the safety of his room, glad that no one seems to be home. He slams the door, his back pressed against the wood and when he closes his eyes, he can still see you- your body bare and nipples pert, your face holding a slight flush. He can see everything behind his eyes. The lock quickly snaps into place, his steps hurried as he walks toward the small table in his room.

He places the bag down on a table as he rests on the chair provided in his room. He leans back, the cushion soft underneath him. The wood is scratched at by his covered hands, his gaze focused on the wall. Simeon mumbles under his breath, an apology said to no one, his bottom lip teased by his teeth.

How could he possibly face you tomorrow? How could he do anything after what he just witnessed and did? He removes his gloves, dragging a free hand down his face, leaving the palm to cover his mouth. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he reaches for it in the same second, half hoping and half dreading that it’ll be you.

It is.

You ask where he went. You even apologize, saying that you mustn’t have heard him.

He laughs bitterly. You apologize to him. He was the one who entered your room without permission, invaded your trust and yet, you were the one who was apologizing. He simply leaves the message on read, not knowing what to tell you. Would you believe him if he told you that he had felt sick? Probably not, but for his sake, you would have, he’s sure of it.

He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes on the wall and there’s an unfamiliar itch in his body. Or rather an itch that he shouldn’t scratch at. Looking down only confirms his suspicion. He’s erect. Could it be from you? He sighs. What a silly question. Of course it is.

It’s wrong of him to even keep the image of you ingrained in his head. “Touch me, O Lord, and fill me with your light and your hope. Amen,” Simeon whispers under his breath, trying so desperately to keep his hands away from his erection. It pains him so, his body growing hotter by the second, sweat starting to bead and eyes watering at the tempting fate of actually touching himself to you. “Please Father,” he whispers, “grant me strength. I can’t- I am but a humble servant of yours. Please take away all these sinful thoughts.”

His chest trembles, his mouth dry and tongue thick. There’s a pressure against his stomach, his hands grip at his thighs, his head bowed and no matter what, you are just in his mind. Perhaps you’re the real sin, the real test in all of God’s Grand Plan. How is he supposed to be an angel when a human of all things is the one that is turning him to sin. The one being who has managed to ruin him, to unthread his wings and have him even think of reaching out to you and be selfish.

The unzipping of his zipper is loud, echoing in his ears, drowning out the holy blood that rushes inside of him. He lets out a sigh when his cock is free, the cool air in his room making contact with the hot flesh. When his hand wraps around himself, he lets out a sob. It’s filthy, but at the same time, it’s something that makes his mouth water and want more. You are the most beautiful sin, the one that he will risk everything for, for just a chance to touch you.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers. He’s unsure of who he’s speaking to. He doesn’t know if he’s asking father for forgiveness, unknowing if his message is reaching out, unknowing if he’s hidden from his light and his view; or if he’s apologizing to you, for walking in on you and now pleasuring himself to the thought of you.

You are all that invades his mind, his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the ridges underneath his fingertips pulsing with heat. You stand bare in front of him, your body soft and blemished with little scars and ridges. He tightens his grip, his teeth clenched and jaw starting to ache. He’s touched your hand before, felt how soft you are, how loving your touch can be and he can only wonder if you're still gentle in bed. If you’d play the act of the blushing virgin under him, if you’d whimper and buck your hips if he were to kiss at your neck and cup your sex under his hand. You allowed him to stare, even if it was for just a moment, you had reelected so calmly, smiling at him, acting as if he were your lover who had seen your body countless times before. You are molded under God’s light, given freedom and kissed with the gentle lips of God, birthed and given existence, your path defined only by you, and you’ve allowed him to see that. You had acted so calmly, telling him with a smile if he could excuse himself for a bit. It’s almost as if you were used to that sort of thing. He stops in his movements, his eyes wide and breaths coming out in uneven pants. You live with demons, you must be used to that. To have such devils enter unannounced and watch you strip yourselves from your clothes.

The thought fills him with fury, his lips curled and brows knitted together. Yet, his hand continues to pump at his cock. The ridges near his cockhead tingle under his thumb, his head thrown back and eyes shut tightly.

His thighs tense, the muscles in him pulled taut as his grip tightens. “Something so tainted shouldn’t be the thing to witness you,” he hisses through his teeth, brows furrowed and hips bucking. “It’s outrageous that they’re the ones you live with. Beings so full-” his voice cracks, his head dipping down- “full of sin, touching and dirtying you.” His cockhead leaks with pearly white semen, dripping off his cock in heavy, thick strands.

When he closes his eyes, he can imagine you, dressed in white, spread before him, pleading with him to be gentle- you’d be the blushing virgin, ready to take in God’s Grace and kiss lips so pure that you’ll whine against him. You’ll be under him, your fingers lost in your sex as you tell him that you’ve been waiting for this moment. His pace quickens, his eyes closed as he thinks as to how you’d feel. Your thighs plump and your walls tight around his cock, your sex pulsing under his touch. You’d kiss him and he'd return it. He lets out a cracked moan, his breath sharp and head thrown back.

Beside him, his phone rings. He gives a slight turn, his clean hand going to lift the phone. A deep frown settles on his burning face as he realizes what he’s done and to who he’s done it to. Your image fills his phone, a call from you. He clears his throat, and quickly accepts your call.

“Simeon!” You sound worried and the tugs at his heartstrings and further cements his guilt. “I was worried, you didn’t reply to me. Are you okay?”

“I-” his voice cracks, and with a deeper flush, he clears his throat. He wonders if you know what he just did. He wonders if you would figure out what he’s doing as he listens to your voice. “Ah! I’m sorry, I thought I had replied to you but it seems like I hadn’t. I- uh,” he bites on his lip, trying in vain to muffle his moan- “My mistake. I- I just, I needed to get something,” his voice strains at the last word. “I’ll be over shortly. I promise.”

“Simeon,” the way you call his name makes him tug harder at his cock, “if this is about what you saw, then it’s okay. I know you. You didn’t mean to.” You sound so sweet, trying to comfort him while he’s doing something so perverse. “Listen, if you want, we can forget that that happened and start new, okay?”

“Really?” he breathes out, already closer to his high. “I would appreciate that. I-” His nail grazes over a vein and he lets out a deep groan.

“Simeon, you okay?” You say hurriedly. “You sound hurt.”

“I just bumped into a table,” he laughs breathlessly, his phone pressed roughly into his ear. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he mumbles. “I’ll be over shortly, my dear. Just wait a moment.”

He barely has a chance to hear you say goodbye before he ends the call. “Fuck,” he groans, snapping his mouth close and turning his head, sliding his hand up and down his cock. Clicking noises fill the room, his cock pulsing in his hand, feeling as if it were about to burst. So heavy and foreign in his hand, Simeon pushes past the thought of his own hand touching himself, and tries to imagine yours. He thinks of your voice, of how you said his name, rushed and high, calling out to him.

You’re this glowing thing, something so pure but also full of sin, so human and lovely for it. You’d be this thing he was able to touch, this person who would love him and beg for touch. Under his wing, you’d be protected, cared and loved. Tears brim his eyes, trailing down his cheeks in hot flashes, sparking and disappearing into nothing before they have the chance to wet his hand. He’s already so close, his stomach knotting together, and body beginning to shake. As he releases, his free hand covers his mouth, muffling his moans that are drenched in cries. His seed is thick, coating his hand and leaving him in burning ropes. He looks at his hand covered in semen and he wonders if you would have been so kind to lick it off of him, to treat him as if it were your finest meal. His cock twitches at the thought, dribbling out more semen onto the seat.

Simeon lays in his afterglow, taking deep, slow breaths, his palm open, his seed dripping onto the floor in syrupy strands. The tear tracks begin to dry, his eyes still watery and the image of his ceiling blurry. With a wince, he stands, and grabs at his soft cock, walking to the nightstand and pulling out tissues. It’s humiliating to cleanse himself, to dry off his semen and to wash his hands. He can’t touch you with his hand, with a hand that had sullied the image of you in his mind, that had gripped at his own cock and covered himself in seed. The semen comes off of him in rushed waves, slipping down the drain and leaving his hand wet and clean as if there was nothing there to begin with. In the mirror, he is greeted by his reflection- messy hair and flushed cheeks, tears in his eyes and puffy lips from being bitten by. He wonders if you’d recognize this dirtied version of an angel when he greeted you. He wonders if you’d still hold his hand that grasped his cock not too long ago. With another message from you, he grabs the sweet he was supposed to bring, giving a glance to the gloves that rest on the arm of the chair. With a sigh, he decides to leave them there, hoping to hold your hand and memorize the feel of it

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me simeon smut #obey me simeon x reader #obey me simeon imagines #obey me simeon headcanons #obey me simeon x mc #obey me simeon #i want him to cry #i want him to be a big crier #but i also want him to be super gross and indulge in his sin #like he's pent up #let him ya know #go buck wild and stuff

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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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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

#darksaber!din #dark!din #dark!din x reader #dark!din x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #sw fanfic #darksaber #Im so sorry #dom!din #haunted!din

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livingforthewhump · 2 years

Text

Irish Mafia Part Two

(please someone help me come up with a better name 😭😭)

part one is here

—

Kelsey woke up unsettlingly comfortable. They shifted, feeling blankets wrapped around them before they cracked their eyes open. Patrick was sitting in a chair beside them, they noticed with a start. He was reading that same book from earlier. And they were…in a bed.

They tried to bring their arms under them to prop them up, only to make a noise of indignation when they couldn’t move them. They were swaddled in blankets like a baby.

“You’re injured. You shouldn’t be moving around,” Patrick said without looking up.

Kelsey glowered at him, ignoring that note in his voice that was nearing concern. “This is extremely unprofessional. The boss will have your head—”

“I don’t give a damn what Devon is or isn’t going to do.” Patrick snapped the book shut in emphasis. When he set it aside, his eyes turned to bore into Kelsey, sharp and perceptive. They found that they preferred it when he was reading. “This is about you.”

“Don’t give me that shtick,” Kelsey scoffed. “It’s never about me, and you’re not going to trick me into thinking you care again. I’ve been manipulated enough.”

Patrick regarded them steadily. “Yes, you have.”

Somehow, the answer surprised them. They didn’t know what to make of it. Patrick leaned back with a sigh and grabbed a glass of whiskey they hadn’t noticed before. The amber color set Kelsey even more off edge—Patrick had developed his taste after the boss’. Watching him drink it hit too close to home.

“Care to tell me why my little sibling is gallivanting around while wounded?”

“It wasn’t bleeding,” Kelsey murmured defensively, then their hackles reared. “I don’t have to defend myself to you.”

“You’re not exactly in a position for offense,” Patrick commented coolly. “In fact, you were running a fever high enough to give you brain damage without treatment a few hours ago. You shouldn’t have been sent on an assignment.”

“So now I suppose I’m indebted to you,” Kelsey drawled, trying to wiggle their arms free with as much dignity as possible.

Patrick laid a heavy hand on their shoulder. “Stop that. If you start bleeding again you’ll be stuck here for a week.”

Kelsey went still. A shock of fear ran through them, making them shudder. They hadn’t considered that they were entirely at his mercy. “I’ve been trained to hold out under torture, you know,” they gritted out, forcing their voice to be a lot bolder than they felt.

Patrick looked at them with an expression they couldn’t read. “Have you,” he said quietly, but the words were all the harsher for it. There was a hidden edge in them, surely promising that no, they hadn’t been trained nearly enough for whatever he had planned. Kelsey wracked their mind for a suitable response, but they were too confused by the whole situation. Everything was nothing like and exactly like what they’d prepared for, but not in a way they were prepared to deal with it.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Patrick asked suddenly, in that same soft, dark voice he always seemed to use.

Kelsey grit their teeth, fighting back an eye roll. “You know, for all you’ve tried to distance yourself from the boss, you sure take after him. He would be proud, I’m sure.”

Patrick’s hand slammed down on the bed beside them, and suddenly his face was inches away from their own, dark with anger. “Don’t compare me to that lowlife. I am nothing like him.”

Kelsey flinched, staring up at him with wide eyes before they remembered to narrow them in defiance. It wasn’t easy, purposefully antagonizing the brother they had always looked up to so much. Despite the fact that he left them, and they hated him now, they still felt like each word against him was tearing through a part of them, separating them further.

Their eyes were burning with unexpected tears, and they glared at the blankets in an attempt to beat them back. How humiliating, to pout like a toddler in front of the person who likely still saw them as one. The person who, against all odds, they were still trying to earn the respect of.

“You’re right,” Kelsey whispered huskily. “He would never betray his own.”

Patrick didn’t respond to that. They felt him simmering in his anger, just outside of their line of vision, but they didn’t want to look at him anymore. He had hurt them enough.

Finally, Patrick breathed out forcefully. “I’ll have some food sent in for you. Get some rest. You need it.”

The door slammed shut on his way out.

—

Tagging people who expressed interest, lmk if you don’t want to be tagged or if you do: @someoneonearth2007 @hurting-fictional-people @villainsvictim

#patrick is…doing his best #he has a lot of things he needs to process poor guy #it would be helpful if he could communicate Even a Little Bit though #irish mafia series #my oc: kelsey #my oc: patrick #whump recovery #angst #sibling whump #past trauma #only hinted at :))))#implied torture #if you squint #though it is there! and we will delve deeper into that on a later date #pushy caretaker #stoic caretaker

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.10

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

The day shift gives you ample time and opportunities to walk around the castle. Within a week, you come to know every chamber and pathway you hadn’t previously crossed, intimately.

At first, you pictured making your escape through a weak point in its fortification. The walls are ancient; You would have bet money on one of its parts having given out in the passing of centuries and gone unnoticed. Now, you know such a thing doesn’t exist. It doesn’t really surprise you that Alcina has made sure the exterior is in the same excellent condition as the interior.

But it is a problem.

The walls are too big for you to scale. If there are any stepping points, you can’t see them from within. You tried over and over to at least peak out into the back yard, but the shrieks and growls of monsters had you immediately changing course.

You don’t know what those things are and you’re not eager to find out. According to the older maids, there are more of them deep in the dungeons. It is only a rumor, of course, since nobody has ventured down there and returned to tell the tale.

Which, taking the window bars into account… leaves only one way out.

The front door.

You are aware that Lady Dimitrescu and the daughters all have a key on them. You know from Cassandra those are the only copies. Nothing enters or leaves unless one of them allows it.

There is not a snowflake’s chance in hell you’re getting Alcina’s key. She will murder you on sight. Bela won’t do anything to disappoint her mother, so that rules her out, as well. Daniela is the one most likely to misplace it or be persuaded to give it to you, but the girl is as unpredictable as she is sly and you won’t risk your wellbeing for a distant chance.

That means…

Cassandra is the only way out, isn’t she…

You lay low and await an afternoon where the cold is downright bone-piercing. As warm as the castle is, with fireplaces burning everywhere, you can still feel the stinging kiss of the outside frost every time you so much as go near a window.

And it all comes full circle right back to the start; You in front of Cassandra’s bedroom door, trembling with anxiety like the very first time. It is oddly fitting, in a way, that the story of the two of you ends where it began.

For a moment, you almost marvel at how long ago it feels, now. But there is no time nor space in your heart for sentimentality anymore. You stand at the point of no return.

And you cross it as soon as you turn the handle.

Cassandra’s bedroom is softly illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace. You walk forward cautiously, slowly, almost as if you’re expecting a landmine to go off at a single misstep. Except –well. A mine would be far more merciful. Just an explosion and then nothing. If Cassandra wakes…

You try not to think about it, lest your muscles lock in place.

Underneath the heavy covers of the bed, you see her, cocooned, pale fingers clutching tight at the blankets. It is too early for her to wake. She is deeply asleep, you tell yourself, simultaneously praying she doesn’t open her eyes.

You make it to her vanity, soundless. Her amber-jeweled choker and the necklace she and her sisters wear are neatly arranged, yet the key you’re looking for isn’t with them.

Shit. You inwardly curse, your hand shaking from the nerves. It means she’s put it in the drawer of her bedside table. It means you have to go next to her, to literally put your fingers in the sleeping wolf’s parted jaws and hope they don’t clamp down.

Easy, right?

An unsteady exhale later, you move further in and carefully kneel by the small furniture. Keep your eyes on the prize. Keep—

But you make the mistake of looking to the side.

Cassandra’s expression is not relaxed in sleep like how you remember it from the time when you would wake her up. Instead, her brow is furrowed, the line of her mouth pressed thin. She’s shivering, you realize, either from the cold or a nightmare or both. Shadows dance across her beautiful face.

Your first instinct is still to reach over and soothe her. You hate it, but you’ve accepted you won’t be over whatever it is you feel for her in quite some time.

It is not your place anymore to touch her, you remind yourself. You cannot ease her through her fears now that she has become your own.

With a clenched jaw, you force your body through the motions of opening the drawer and taking the key within.

At last. Your freedom is in your grasp.

And yet.

Shouldn’t you be happier about it?

Cassandra’s voice nearly knocks the air out of your lungs when it reaches your ears, faint. “No… please…”

You forget how to breathe for a couple of seconds. When your wide eyes shift to her, though, you realize she’s merely talking in her sleep.

Leave. Leave while you can.

But your chest constricts when you hear her sob. “…don’t leave me here… please…”

And out of all the possible things she could say, she utters those words and smashes your glass heart with a sledgehammer into a trillion pieces. The shards cut into you and it hurts—

You pause at the door. The corners of your vision have started to blur.

And then the world snaps, sharply, back into focus when her tone changes;

“…Alexia…?”

Your eyes lock, hazel to amber-grey, for a split second.

You run.

You don’t think you have ever ran this fast in your entire life. But it’s different now that it is about your life.

Adrenaline rushes throughout your bloodstream. You’re not thinking, just acting. Just fleeing.

Death, in the form of a black swarm, closes in on you with every rapid heartbeat. Cassandra is faster –she can fly and you’re only human—and at this rate you won’t even escape the corridor, much less the castle.

Flies break ahead of the rest and attach themselves to you. The sting of their bite at your nape and arms nearly has you howling in agony. She meant it when she said she would kill you herself. Not that you doubted it. Not for a second.

Because if Cassandra can’t have you, she will make sure nobody will.

You didn’t want to hurt her back the first time, but the stakes are too high now. You grab the nearest solid antiquity in your panic and throw it with all your might against the nearest window.

Glass shatters and the temperature plummets with it. Over your shoulder, you hear her scream. More out of rage than pain.

The flies biting at you drop to the floor, grey and paralyzed. You hear her shout pierce through your eardrums like a gunshot as you dash towards the turn—

“You won’t ever get to that door, Alexia!”

From the corner of your eye, you notice a blur coming towards you and instinctively drop down. A heavy thump later, your frantic eyes fly to the wall to see her sickle embedded halfway through a painting. If you hadn’t reacted in time, that would have been you.

Still, she can’t cross the hallway now, so you scramble to your feet and run while she takes the long way around. Question is, will you make it to the front door before she does?

It becomes a race where the winner takes all.

You practically jump down entire sets of stairs in your struggle for survival and you have no clue how you do it. You just know you can’t slow down for even a second.

The castle feels ten times as large as it actually is. By the time you descend the last staircase and the sound of buzzing insects grows in volume, the entrance is within sight.

You reach for another decoration and smash another window. Cassandra slows down, forced to materialize out of the swarm before she can’t will her body back together at all.

You shove the key into the lock and turn it.

Cassandra fights through the rush of frozen air, taking step after weighted step towards you—

“I won’t…let you leave here…alive.” she hisses, her teeth bared at you, skin growing too pale yet eyes blazing.

“I’m done being your prisoner.” you say back, voice hoarse and raw…

And you open the door. Steps taken backwards carry you away from her faster than she can make it to you. You can see her pain and her frustration, but they cannot compare to your own.

Your wounds ache from the frost.

Cassandra seems just about ready to leap at you even if it will certainly mean something very bad for her—

Until a black blur shoves her a dozen meters back. Bela’s back stands between you and Cassandra’s cracking form. Daniela soon lands off to the side, looking between the two of them.

“Get out of the way, Bela!” Cassandra snaps.

“It’s over.” Bela replies, a grave finality to her voice.

Your breaths are coming out in harsh puffs of smoke. You still have trouble believing that you did it. That they can’t follow anymore. You did it.

“Nothing’s over!” Cassandra snarls and lunges for her elder sister.

The blonde, deadly calm, grabs her by the neck in a choke-hold and drags her closer to the nearly-extinguished warmth of the fireplace. The way Cassandra thrashes in her arms is downright heartbreaking.

Daniela looks at you, almost saddened, then back at her sisters.

“Shh. Calm down, Cassandra. Let go. Mother will be here soon. Don’t let her see you like this.” Bela says. “If you’ve any parting words to say to Alexia, say them now.”

You’re shivering. The cold nips through every layer of clothes you’re wearing to bite straight at your flushed skin. But you don’t move further away. You wait. Why am I even waiting, though?

Realization slowly sinks in, you can tell from Cassandra’s expression. Beyond the wounded pride of the apex predator losing a fight to a rabbit… she understands that she will never see you again.

Bela releases her and steps away, adjacent to Daniela.

“You’ve earned your freedom, Alexia.” Bela speaks under her hood. “Nobody’s ever managed to escape, before. Respect.” In another life, maybe her and you could have been friends. Maybe.

“So you’re really… leaving?” Daniela’s lower lip is slightly jutted into a little pout. “I… who will I use to get on Cassandra’s nerves, now?”

“I’d say it’s been nice, but.” you speak up between pants, birthing forth puffs of smoke. “I was taken from my home and sent here as a slave, so.” You can’t help the bitter grimace.

Cassandra’s chest is heaving, yet she isn’t looking at you. It doesn’t look like she has anything to say to you, either. But you have words for her, because you need to get this out at last, you need to be free of this weight or you will never really have escaped this nightmare.

“Even as your captive, you know what I fucking thought? You three can be so beautiful when you toy with the idea of basic human empathy. I don’t know what you saw our time as, Cassandra, but I was genuinely attracted to you. I wanted to be together with you. At some point, I was even happy!”

You’ve inhaled so much icy air your lungs probably won’t be doing great for very much longer but God, this is so cathartic. And so enraging that she’s not meeting your eyes now, at the very end of it all.

“Look at me! I care for you, deeply, but I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to live in a cage as a pretty sacrifice, with you as my jailer. I can’t. You don’t know how psychologically destructive it is. You don’t know what it feels like!” you end with a hitched shout.

You hear the ominous sound of heavy heels hurriedly descending the staircase. “By Miranda! What is going on— Cassandra?!”

All three daughters freeze up for a moment.

Then Daniela touches her head as though she’s having a migraine and Bela shuts her eyes tightly, shoulders tensed. And Cassandra… drops on her knees to the floor, gasping for oxygen, clutching at her temples.

Bela shakes her head to snap out of it. Daniela still looks dazed and afraid… but Cassandra is nearly crying—

And then, in her panic attack, she whispers; “Don’t abandon me like they did, Alexia.”

You don’t know who she means or what you’re doing, until you’ve dashed back inside and gathered her chilled form into your arms, tight. You keep her there like you wish someone had held you during your storms. It doesn’t matter that you’re so much weaker than Cassandra, when what haunts her is too powerful even for her to face.

Alcina extends her claws as she advances on you.

You could probably still get away if you make a run for it, but where will you even go, when your heart is right here with the woman in your arms? The world beyond the village died for you a long time ago. The village died in a literal sense.

You wanted to be free. But freedom and being with her aren’t mutually exclusive. Why did it take me this long to figure it out…?

Alcina is too close now. You turn to kiss Cassandra’s hair for what may be the last time. You do not let go.

Bela and Daniela step in front of you.

Alcina gives them a warning, narrowed look.

“Uh— you know what, I just stepped forward because I saw Bela move. Haha, nevermind.” The redhead retreats once more. Maybe you’d roll your eyes at her if you weren’t bracing for your execution.

“Bela… step aside.” Lady Dimitrescu’s tone leaves no room for disobedience.

The eldest daughter lowers her head and hesitantly opens the path, as well.

Alcina casts a deep shadow over you in her massive height and giant claws. You lock eyes with her briefly, with the last, flickering cinders of your courage. Then you shift your face down into Cassandra’s shoulder and prepare to be skewered through. Her fingers clutch you almost painfully close to her.

“As for you…” there��s a growl in Alcina’s voice that makes you cower in terror.

Except...

The horrible pain you expected takes a little too long to come.

“…you have backbone, little human, I will admit.” Is that… is that a smirk you hear in her tone? “And my daughters do seem to want you around…”

…What?

Cassandra slowly pulls away from you to look up at her in disbelief and you dare to open your eyes. The claws are still uncomfortably close to your face.

“I will take responsibility for the damage, mother. Just, please, let her stay with me.” Cassandra says.

“…Hm. Very well. I expect the windows repaired by dinner.” Alcina gracefully pivots and just like that, takes her leave.

You and the sisters are left there, unbreathing, unmoving, wondering what just happened.

“Too cold. See you at dinner.” Daniela is the first to speak up. She rapidly waves and disappears like she’s being hunted by an army.

Bela glances at you, then at her middle sister. “We need to talk. But later. For now, defrost.” She, too, disperses in a swarm of flies.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically vulnerable, looks into your eyes and brings a crystalline hand to your cheek. The soft way she does it, it may as well be the apology she is too proud to voice. You both lean towards each other, resting your foreheads together.

You have a lot to talk about. But there is time.

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #resident evil village #fanfiction #writing #we're almost at the end of this guys #thank you for all your sweet support #hope group therapy won't be needed

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ereawrites · 3 years

Text

Hush

reiner braun x reader

warnings: smut

wc: 8.4k

summary: reiner comes home, even if part of him doesn’t. who can blame you for wanting to offer him some comfort against all the fucked-up things he’s been through?

Late summers in Marley come with a dry, constant heat, the kind that lasts well into the night. After so many months of sun warming your room, even the stone walls can't keep it cool - you've never been good at sleeping in a hot room, and that's the excuse you use to forgive sneaking away to Reiner again. It's selfish. You're distracting him from the war, you worry, for the sake of a little comfort for him and a little peace for yourself. You shouldn't do it, but you do.

"You can't tell the others that I'm doing this.", he whispers against your bare collarbone, exposed by your own shaking fingers that have undone the first three buttons of your uniform. You try to guide his face back up to yours with a hand cupping his jaw. Reiner leans into your touch, but he doesn't move, instead pressing his forehead against the curve of your shoulder. A shaky breath tickles your skin, and it tells you everything you need to know.

When he first came home, no one saw him for weeks, not even the servants who took meals to his room - you caught them in the corridors, of course you did, if only to ask after the wellbeing of a comrade. Pieck eventually pulled you aside and told you, with pity shining in dull eyes, that they were putting him through tests. Psychological evaluations. From what she had left unsaid, you supposed that they were testing his loyalty more than his wellbeing. They decided that he was their most loyal warrior, and they rewarded him with more battles to fight.

Now, trembling beneath you, in a chair hastily shoved back from the desk in his room, you can see for yourself that Reiner is fractured. He's strong - so strong, not broken, not yet - but he is struggling and he is alone, even months later. You smooth your palms over the taut muscle of his shoulders. "I won't, I swear - no one even knows I'm here.". You've been sneaking to his quarters for months; only to speak, at first, to let him know that he doesn't have to bear the burden of Paradis quite so alone.

Although, to be fair, you've never went so far as to straddle him in a chair. You don't know how it happened, really. You had started off perched on the edge of his desk, and one second you were reaching out to cup his cheek -already too far, presuming too much and breaking too many rules in the name of comfort - and the next thing you knew, you were on top of him.

His voice is so small. "They can't know. They already think I'm weak, I- I am, I am weak, you can't-"

This time, you tilt his face up with insistent fingers under his chin. Even after everything, his brown eyes are still the same: sadder, maybe, and crinkled at the corners with a frown, but filled with the very same gentleness he's always regarded you with. "You're not weak, Reiner. You've been through so much, and you're still here, and you've been so brave. It's okay to let yourself feel things - right here, right now, okay? That doesn't make you weak, or selfish."

Reiner closes his eyes as if he's in pain. "...I'm selfish for doing this - being here. I should be out there in the field instead of letting my heart distract me again."

Again, he says, and it sends a jolt through your gut. They never let you find out what happened on the island - Reiner isn't ready to tell you, and you don't know he ever will be - but you're beginning to realise that the man beneath you is being torn apart by the things that happened to him, and the things he did, and the things he's doing now.

"Rei,", you say gently, tracing your thumb over his lips as you lean your forehead against his. "If you don't want me here, I'll go back to my room, and we don't have to speak about it again... Just say the word."

He sighs. For a moment, you think he's going to ask you to leave. As much as you want to believe that you're only here for him, only here to support him and do what he needs, you'd be lying to yourself. Your heart sinks. He picks it back up again with his hands coming to rest on the curve of your waist. "I do want you."

And you're going to tell him that you want him too, but all of a sudden he's kissing you.

Your body reacts before your mind can even catch up: you thread your hands into hair that's more grown out than he usually keeps it, all the way down to his nape, half pulling him closer and half pressing yourself further into him. Reiner lets out another small sigh, deep in his throat. The sound makes your knees go weak - god, you like him so much, too much, perhaps he's not the only one being selfish here - and your legs sink down until your weight is resting solely on his thighs. His hands instantly fly to splay over your back, one between your shoulders and the other just above your ass, and his palms are so big that he's anchoring you against him without even trying.

"I want you,", he repeats between kisses, "So much. For so long."

Something possesses you to slip your tongue into his mouth. You shouldn't do it - you should let him set the pace because this is about him, and - who are you really kidding? He holds you as if he's scared you'll leave, and you kiss him harder. For a few moments, you don't think about anything other than how good his mouth feels on yours, nothing at all. Every time you run your hands over his shoulders, he shudders as if you've sent an electric shock through him.

Reiner breaks away for air and you nearly whine - so embarrassing, but you realise you don't actually give a fuck. There's something in his eyes that seems scared. Scared you'll leave, or scared you don't want him. You're about to kiss him again before you register the faint taste of whiskey on your tongue. "You've been drinking?"

"A few hours ago. I thought you weren't going to come tonight. Helps me stop thinking about you so much.", he admits with a low voice. The expression on his face is almost nervous, as if he's worried you're going to be angry with him about it, but the confession has your heart racing faster than it has any right to. This is about him, you remind yourself; you're glad that his hair is longer now, because you can tug gently on it, making him tilt his head back and expose the column of his throat. It bobs with a thick swallow when you press the first soft kiss to the hollow beneath his Adam's apple. You don't reply to his words. You honestly don't think you can without crying.

There's no need to rush this. Your body screams for you to, but you've been harbouring these impossible feelings for the man underneath you for months - since before he left Marley, if you're to be truly honest - and you need to savour this and he needs gentleness. Slow, chaste kisses peppered across his neck, his jaw, even his shoulders through the material of his shirt. You ghost your nails down his nape and revel in the way his breath hitches slightly. Somewhere along the way, you realise just how closely you're pressed up to him: your chest is pushed hard against his, hips almost flush, and he's still holding you close. There's a tenderness in the embrace that makes your heart hurt all over again.

"Is this okay?', you ask - Reiner's breaths are coming slow and deep, and you can't get rid of the nagging concern that this might quickly become overwhelming for him. "Are you okay?"

He tips his head back down to level his gaze with yours, and the warm brown of his irises has all but melted away into the black of his pupils. "I want to... touch you."

"You can do anything you want to me, Rei.", your mouth says of its own accord, and you still really don't give a fuck about how shameful your lack of control is, because his grip tightens, and he makes a face like you've stabbed him. You're compelled to wipe the expression away with a quick, hot kiss, just barely dipping your tongue into his mouth before pulling away again. "Anything to make you feel good again."

It's a struggle to wrap your fingers around his thick wrist, but you just about manage it, and guide his hand up to the next button of your shirt. It isn't trembling so much now. The slightest tremor, still, but you half-suspect that's due to the careful, gentle awe that you see glinting in his eyes. Reiner mumbles your name as he starts to fumble with the button. "I don't think I'll be able to stop myself after this."

"I don't want you to.", you reply quietly. Quickly, you come the realisation that Reiner's struggle with the button must have been feigned for your comfort, because he has it - and the next one - popped open before you can even gasp in a quick breath. His lips chase his fingers, so, so soft, trailing down each new piece of skin he exposes (when did you start burning up?) and you find that you push back up on your knees instinctively; high enough for his mouth to be able to reach the space between your breasts and, god, it sends fireworks shooting up your spine.

You hardly pay attention to the last few buttons of your shirt being undone - Reiner's lips on your chest see to that, kissing slowly, almost reverently, around the curve of your chest, just underneath each breast and then back up to your collarbones. It's only now that you recall your decision not to wear a bra. It was already late when you left your room, past midnight, and you couldn't afford to be seen sneaking around looking as though you were dressed to actually go somewhere.

Besides, Reiner has never been disrespectful to you in any way, never leered at you like some of the other men in the compound. A simple cotton button-up and slacks had seemed the obvious choice. A bolt of worry flashes to the forefront of your mind: what if he thinks you only came here for sex? He means so much more to you than that, you don't want him to think-

His hands ground you. One has slipped beneath the material to rest on your bare waist. He's just brushing the skin, and he's staring at your lips, and he looks as if he's terrified and in awe and maybe something else, all at once. The fingers of his right hand play with the edge of your shirt. He has callouses on the pads of his fingers - a lifetime of too much work and not enough gentleness. This is about him, you remind yourself. You nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and then another, and he starts to slip the shirt away from your body.

Reiner whispers, "You're beautiful." against your neck before he's even looked at you. "So beautiful. Sometimes I think you're an angel." An already weak protest dies in your throat when he dips his head to start kissing your neck - real kisses this time, warmer and faster and with a hint of tongue, and although it pains you so much to release your grip on his hair, you do it so that your shirt can fall forgotten to the floor. "Too good for someone like me."

Hushing him comes easily, even if hearing his words is hard - you've spent months trying to soothe him and help him with words, so maybe now is the time to show him with actions instead. Reiner is the one who's too good for you, too good for this world in fact, a world that has done nothing but abuse him. You have to stop thinking and start feeling, both of you. He actually makes a tiny grunt of protest when you push his face away from your neck in order to peel his shirt away. It's selfish, you know, to run your palms up his abs and chest when you do it, just as it's selfish to stare shamelessly at his arms when he raises them to tug the shirt over his head, but Reiner catches you doing it and, for the first time in weeks, he smiles.

"You're beautiful too, Rei. I've thought so for a long time.", you say into a kiss that's already started. His hands are at your hips and your arms are wrapped around his neck, you're so close to him it hurts, so close you feel every last bit of self-control slipping away; he pulls you closer, kisses you harder, lets your tits press up against his bare chest. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and you're panting for air. No one's ever made you feel like this: so safe and whole and damn hot with just a little kissing.

Then, you adjust yourself in his lap, and you feel that he's half-hard in his pants. Honestly, you doubt your own underwear is in a much better state. Still, you can't help the way your breath hitches: Reiner's jaw tightens, probably because of the inadvertent friction, but you feel the heat spreading over your cheeks. You both want this, of course you do, but it's still shocking to feel the evidence of his arousal. And that's without even thinking about how big the bulge felt in that one little instant.

Reiner tugs you backwards by the hips and you're scared that he's become overwhelmed. He steadies you as soon as your ass is resting further down on his thighs, though - the loss of skin-to-skin contact draws a small whine from you - and starts kissing down your neck again, leads your hands to support yourself on his shoulders, and now his hands are on your tits. It starts off fairly slow. Not quite as gentle as before but the reverence is still evident. An angel, he said, and he touches you like you are one. He claims to be a monster but he treats you so well: licking at your collarbones and kissing your neck, swiping those calloused thumbs over your nipples until they harden, pinching so gently and just right, making the breath shoot out of you in a shuddering moan. The scolding he gives you sounds entirely absent. "Got to stay quiet, sweetheart. No one can know you're here."

"I-", forced to bite your lip when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, "Sorry. I know. Just - feels good."

"It's what you deserve."

God, Reiner makes you totally weak and he doesn't even seem to know it. His voice is quiet as ever. You always have to speak lowly when you're here, in case someone hears and they keep you from seeing him again - but it's dropped so low, and it's got just the littlest bit of rasp to it. He sounds desperate. You're pretty sure you can actually feel the dampness in your underwear now. Torn between sitting there and letting him play with your nipples for hours, and just unbuckling his belt right now and riding him in his desk chair, you're so close to becoming overstimulated and simply melting into his arms, but he makes the decision for you.

The way he leans even further down to wrap his lips around one nipple must be uncomfortable for him, he's so tall, taller than you even when you're sat on top of his thighs like this - he must enjoy it, though, because he groans lowly as his tongue swirls around it. You nearly have to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle a moan, and he clearly knows you're going to need extra support staying up, because his now free hand slides around to hold the base of your bare back. "Oh my God-", you hiss. You're almost certain you feel him smile again.

"Rei. Is it okay if I...", you manage to pant out, gesturing to the zipper of your slacks, after a few more minutes of indulgence - after seemingly being satisfied with the attention he gave one breast, he had switched to the other, making practically inaudible noises each time your hips canted against his broad thighs. One day, if he lets you do this again, maybe you'll ask him to let you get off on the hard muscle of his quads. You'd like to feel his arms around you as you fall apart.

His fingers slip just below your waistband. They're so, so close to where you need him, and your body is so hot, and Reiner's must be too because his pecs are starting to glisten with sweat. "Please.", as if he's on the verge of breaking with how much he wants you - it would sound conceited to believe, but you see the way he's looking at you, you feel the way he's touching you. It wouldn't be fair to deny him of the only emotion he's allowed himself in a long time.

Of course, he waits for you to nod your consent. Those warm, fractured, black-brown eyes swallow you up so much that your whole body is set ablaze as he slowly undoes the button of your trousers. You at least had the good sense to wear acceptable underwear, although you suspect Reiner will want that gone, too. He's seeming to grow harder with every bit of bare skin he manages to touch. As he drags the zipper down at a pace much too slow for your liking, he murmurs, stand up for me, sweetheart.

You do, in the space he makes for you between spread thighs, and the thought of being away from him right now is so unbearable, that you press your knees up against the chair to keep the closeness. Reiner looks up at you for a moment, cheeks a little red and lips a little swollen, before his eyes are on your body and your trousers are being tugged gently over the curve of your ass. The heat in your stomach grows even more intense when you literally see his mouth drop open at the sight of your underwear, and he blushes harder when your thighs are exposed; you're tensing them together to relieve some of the pressure, you realise, but Reiner's easily strong enough to get past that. He even leans down to caress your calves as he pushes the slacks the rest of the way off.

"I would have dressed up for you a little more, if I had known this was going to happen.", you half-giggle. It's been a long time since anyone has seen you like this. You're not exactly ashamed of the fact that there's most definitely a damp spot on your underwear - one that Reiner hasn't noticed, too preoccupied with kissing your lower stomach and squeezing your thighs - but it's an intense feeling, finally being in a moment that you've tried so hard to stop imagining. Reiner huffs a small laugh in return against your abdomen.

"You're stunning. In anything.", he says, just before he lays a kiss to your pussy through the material of your underwear. He must feel the wetness because he groans, too loud, and then he licks. You gasp. Even that small action feels so much better than your own fingers ever have. Visions fill your head: sitting on the edge of his desk, watching him eat you out, those huge hands holding your hips in place until the skin bruises, those beautiful eyes staring up from between your legs - he twines his fingers into yours, and brings them to the waistband of your underwear. You catch the hint right as he leans back into the chair again.

Stripping in front of him puts a lump in your throat. Rei is kind but he's huge, especially when he's spread out in his chair like that, with a sweat-slicked broad chest and thick thighs and a bulge that you worry might actually tear through his trousers, and you feel so vulnerable to do this just in front of him, where he can reach out and swallow you up at any moment. It's so incredibly hot. There's no need to put on a show. He watches you as though you're the most beautiful thing in the world anyway. You do it for him regardless, though, as well as you can. You take it slow, being sure to drag your hands over your thighs in a way that feels silly and sensual all at once. When the lace reaches your knees, his hand is there next to yours, and you take it for balance as you step out of your underwear completely.

"Fuck...", he remarks under his breath. His thumb traces absent circles over the back of your hand while he drinks in the sight of you. Perhaps it's because of the dim lighting, the room lit only by a few candles and a lamp in the corner, but you feel like he looks at you too hard, for too long, for someone who isn't supposed to care about you. Your stomach lurches and you feel your inner thighs begin to become wet. You won't take this from him, or yourself, not when the dark look in his eyes is making your pussy clench like this. He holds your hand the entire time he looks at you. "So pretty. C'mere."

Instantly, you're settling back on top of him. The fog in your mind means you don't even question how compliantly you react to his baritone. His left hand snakes around your back again to hold you steady, and you're not quite sure if your hand guides the other to your inner thighs, or if he does it of his own accord. Either way, he's ghosting calloused fingertips over the damp skin there as soon as you make yourself comfortable. "Ah- please.", you whimper.

Reiner probably doesn't mean to tease you, but you need him, you need something to touch you before you go insane. You plead with him again, saying his name this time, and he swallows thickly. The sound that leaves your mouth when he runs a finger up your slit is pitiful. He responds so well, though, repeating the action a few more times before he pulls his hand away. "You're so wet, god."

His voice is rougher than you could ever have imagined. Another clench of your pussy, and you see his eyes widen at the strings of wetness connecting his thick fingers. Your own tone comes out far too high and shaky. "You just - I can't help it, you make me feel... something, I don't know, I-", and it tapers off into a senseless whine when his fingers start to trace lines over your pussy again.

"Relax, angel. Gonna make you feel good like you deserve, I promise.". The reassurance is murmured between your breasts, where he's licking away the salty dampness rapidly collecting there - Reiner clearly wants all of you, every part of you, just as much as you want him. He keeps up the motion for a little longer, spreading your wetness around, until your clit swells up so much that it catches on his finger every time he passes over it. Each gentle bump drags another stifled gasp out of you. No one can know you're here, no one can know that Reiner's grabbing the flesh of your ass and rubbing your pussy, but he sure as hell doesn't make it easy for you.

This time, he doesn't run his finger straight over your clit. He stops moving as soon as your body reacts to the touch - he's right on the most sensitive part of you, and he presses with the smallest bit of pressure, just enough to have you grasping wildly at his shoulders for something to ground yourself on. You're so worked up that it feels more incredible than you would ever have imagined. He's so perfect and good to you, and he doesn't stop there: he begins to trace slow, steady circles directly onto your clit - your body jerks of its own accord, but his forearm around your waist is big and strong enough to pin your hips in place against his hand.

"Oh- Rei-", you moan. You definitely see his cock twitch. Maybe it's a trick of the light, but you're pretty sure you can see a considerable damp spot forming on his trousers, too.

"God. I always knew you'd sound pretty."

The rasped confession has your hips trying to buck again. Reiner's finger starts to move a little faster. The increased pleasure means you're faced with moaning too loud and getting caught, or finding some other way to occupy your mouth. You're panting when you ask, "You've... thought about doing this?"

"Yeah. Too much. I- I'm sorry-", Reiner admits as he mouths your nipples, sounding hardly sorry at all. You envision him fisting his cock to the thought of you right as his middle finger leaves your clit and pushes inside you to the first knuckle,"-I couldn't help myself, I never can around you."

"Shi- I think about you too.". Mewling, your upper body collapses so it's leaning against Reiner's strong torso, your lips against his temple, his head buried in your neck, his arm keeping you steady as he works his finger into you. Senseless blabbering is all you can manage, spilling your filthy secrets into his ear without an ounce of shame. "When I touch myself. I - oh-", turning your face into his hair when his finger catches on that sweet spot inside you, "- I think about you, I always imagine it's you, your fingers, your cock-"

His finger finally, finally is fully inside you, although Reiner is already eagerly pushing another into you; this one makes you feel the stretch, hot and full in a way that even three of your own fingers can never achieve. Shuddering, another moan of his name, clawing at his shoulders - your body welcomes him even if it's a difficulty, gushing more wetness onto his palm until he starts to scissor his large fingers inside of you, stretching you out until tears are pricking your eyes in protest of how good it feels.

"Wish we could do this where no one else could hear."-and so do you, you want Reiner to know just how good he's making you feel- "You sound so pretty. Do you... think you can take it..?", he mumbles, and you know he's talking about his cock, inside you - two of his fingers have you writhing, so the thought of his cock has your eyes rolling back in your head. He crooks his fingers onto your sweet spot right as you open your mouth, almost like he wants the risk of you being too loud and getting caught.

"Please, Reiner, I want to!", you respond a breathy whine, all of it rushing out of you at once before he can catch your g-spot again. You start to snake a hand into the cramped, hot space between your torsos. All you can think of is how good he'll feel when he's inside you. "Let me-"

"Not yet.", he groans, curling his fingers again, and again, not stopping, and he sounds genuinely authoritative for the first time. Your body goes weak, but you'd stop moving for him anyway. "Come on my fingers first. Wanna get you nice and wet before you take me, okay?"

"Fuck-", you cry. The motion on your most sensitive spot just isn't stopping, he's found where he wants to be - the callouses on his fingers are making the friction even more perfect, especially when he brings his thumb to retrace those slow circles on your clit. He keeps it steady for a few minutes - could be hours, or seconds, all you know is that it feels too good to care - and the pressure inside you is becoming something else. Reiner is taking his time with every motion, but that's exactly what's bringing you to the edge so fast. His fingers are so thick and the pressure on your clit is so good, that's it, you're starting to shake in the kind of way that leads up to an orgasm that makes you go blank in the head. You fold into the way he holds you and you let go.

Rei lets a strained grunt out. "That's it, come on, you're taking it so well. You're dripping onto my leg, that's exactly what I want, my angel.". So wet that he can feel it through his trousers, it's so humiliating and Reiner obviously loves it so much because he groans again when you start to clench on his fingers, picking up the pace of his movements and you can hear how wet you are and it must be all over his bare forearm-

"I'm gonna-", you try to warn him: he coaxes you into it, come on, please and you cum hard.

The behinds of your eyelids go white, or black, you have no way to tell. Your entire body feels weightless, grounded only by his arm around you, and his fingers must keep curling inside of you because the waves of pleasure don't stop, they just keep coming, hitting you until every part of your body is alight and molten for him, and you're very vaguely aware of your own hand covering your mouth. It takes longer to come down from it than it's ever taken you.

Then again, no one has ever ripped an orgasm that strong out of you.

"Are you okay?", Reiner asks. His fingers are no longer inside. He's rubbing soothing patterns into your inner thighs, and either your thighs are soaked or his hand is; your muscles feel like jelly, but you just about manage to support your own weight again, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. There's wetness on your cheeks, maybe tears, and Reiner looks at you with clear concern through blown pupils. It's so endearing and sexy that you have to smile. It must relax him, given how he returns it with a soft one of his own - you notice marks on his lower lip, like he bit it to hold back a sound, perhaps.

You kiss him softly to soothe the pain, whispering into his mouth, "Can I have you inside, now, Rei?". His hands come to grip your waist hard. You know how you must sound to him: fucked out after his fingers alone, speech slurred and pitchy from the aftershocks of your orgasm, asking for his cock. And yet, he still waits for you.

"...Are you sure you want me?". You nod in response. He picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, not even letting out a breath of exertion, and your shaky legs wrap instinctively around him as he stands from the chair. For a moment, Rei just holds you there, kissing you with an indescribable, soft kind of intensity, letting you run your hands over the biceps and triceps that aren't even straining with the effort of holding you. His bed is close, but obviously too far away for him, so he places you down onto the edge of his desk. You separate from the kiss, only meaning to glance down to adjust yourself - falling off the desk would be a great way to kill the mood - when you see it.

"Oh - oh my god, the window is open..!"

It makes sense; he knows you don't like a hot room, he's kept his window open in the evenings ever since you told him that weeks ago. Why didn't you check? Everyone else should be asleep by now, but... Porco's room is so close to Reiner's, and if he's somehow awake with his own window open - you move to hop off the desk. Reiner cups your cheek in his hand, drawing your gaze back to him, and suddenly all thoughts about the stupid window disappear.

"It's okay.", he promises. "They won't hear if we're careful. I'm going to be so careful and slow with you, I swear."

God. You look down and you're reminded of exactly why you're so worked up - there is definitely a wet spot on his trousers, he must be leaking for you, and the thought of that cock slowly working you open drives you to start fumbling with his zipper. This is the first time your hands have been near that bulge and they look positively tiny in comparison. You worry if he's going to fit, briefly, but Reiner promised to be careful and you're more than ready for him. Without even bothering to fully remove his slacks and underwear - you just tug them down to his upper thighs - you're met with the full sight of him.

It's so much bigger than you would have thought, even generously, fuck; you're pretty sure your jaw actually drops when it springs free from his underwear, slapping against his taut abdomen. It's long, enough to make your mouth water, with a nice, prominent vein on the underside, but the most impressive part of him is the thickness. Even the head is fat, curved upwards somewhat, and he's leaking so much that a bead of precum rolls down his cock within seconds. You rip your eyes away to look up at him and, somehow, he looks embarrassed. You can't stand to see him like that, not when every part of him is so perfect and handsome, so you wrap your hand around his cock and begin to stroke gently.

Your fingers just barely touch around his girth. His precum slicks your palm, though, making it easy enough to set a nice, slow pace of pumping him, watching how his brow instantly furrows. "Holy shit - ah, use both hands, sweetheart, please -". Reiner doesn't need to ask twice: you spit into your other palm to offer him even more slick, then bring it to join the other, relishing in the choked gasp he makes. Even stroking him with two hands, there's so much of him you can't hold at once.

He's beautiful, you think, with gritted teeth and head thrown back. Right now, you could happily stroke him for as long as he wants, as long as he needs to spill himself all over your hands, but he only grants you a few short moments and a low hiss before he's carefully pulling your hands away.

After a kiss to the knuckles of each hand, he cups the back of your head and leans over you, bringing your back flat against the desk. "Lie back, just like that.", and your legs wrap around his waist without having to be told. There's the briefest flash in his eyes, a feral glint when you tug him closer using your thighs, but then it's gone, and he's tenderly holding your head so it doesn't rest directly on the hard wood of the desk. "Want you to look at me when I'm filling you up, okay? So I know you're okay. Can you do that for me?"

Reiner is going to fuck you, you realise. He really is going to be inside you. This isn't a dream, not the fantasy you have when you're touching yourself after returning to your own room. Reiner is above you, pumping his cock in his fist, staring at your aching cunt as he does it.

"Anything.", you whisper. He dips his head to kiss you once more, then props himself up on his elbow so he can watch your face. The first brush of his cock against your core has your hips bucking, rolling, rubbing yourself up and down his length like a bitch in heat, and he lets you do it, looking into your eyes and smiling when his cock head catches on your hole. Your ankles lace behind his back to pull him down onto you, just as his hips make the first small thrust, and suddenly he's inside you.

It can only be the first inch or so, maybe not even all of the head, but it hurts and you have to bite down on a cry of his name. It hurts and it feels amazing. Nothing has ever stretched you out so much, and you can feel yourself dripping, trying so hard to accommodate him, because your body needs him just as much as you want him; Reiner groans at the first spasm of your walls, much louder than he should be with an open window, but who gives a fuck if Porco hears - it hurts but you nod for him to keep pushing, go deeper, stretch you out around all of his cock.

Reiner begins to pant once he gets the second inch in, going slow for both of your sakes, sweat beading at his temples. "God, you're so - tight-", as he stuffs more into you, watching you whimper and watching your eyes roll into your skull, "-like you're..made for my cock, huh, fuck-"

His voice dissolves into a growl by the end. You roll your hips, all the way up off the desk, and the movement has even more of him inside you. "Oh." You moan, and you think you're tearing up again. Reiner kisses at the edge of your eyes. The sensation is so perfectly overwhelming, the slow drag of his cock as it threatens to split you open, and coupled with the sounds he's making on top of you you're in total bliss.

Both of you go on like that for a while, slowly rolling your hips against each other and stifling noises as well as you can. Marks left on his back by your nails can be hidden, and the red-hot kisses he peppers over your tear-streaked face will fade away. By the time the tight fight has stopped hurting - still intense, maybe too much, but only good - his hips are flush with yours, and he's completely still. His free hand yet again keeps your hips from bucking. You've done it, you realise. You've taken all of his cock and it feels incredible. But he won't move.

Reiner barely starts to speak before you're begging. "Does it feel good-"

"So good, Rei, so fucking good - you can start moving, please."

He doesn't need any further encouragement; the first thrust is shallow, slow, only pulling out a few inches before working his way back into you. Still, when his hips bump against yours again, there's a sharp flash inside of you and he's actually hitting your cervix, fuck, you gasp so loud that he has to muffle it with his tongue in your open mouth. He holds it there for a few seconds before repeating the motion, letting himself fall into a rhythm as you pant and sob into his mouth with each thrust, clutching desperately at his back while every thrust gets deeper. Within a few minutes, he's pulling out almost to the tip each time - only the thick head left to fill you - before slowly, slowly pushing back in.

"You're taking me so well, my angel.", Reiner praises through a ragged breath. Even fucking you slow, he's struggling to contain himself. "You feel so good around me."

"Then, go fa-faster, Reiner, please - I can take it, I promise, just-!"

His hips snap against yours like a gunshot and you're completely filled again in a heartbeat. Your cunt clenches around him as you moan, throwing your head back, and Reiner collapses onto you. His body covers you completely even as he keeps the weight off by leaning on his forearm, letting you feel the drag of your nipples against his skin when he stuffs you with his cock so quick again, he's kissing your jaw and now you have nothing to silence your cries with other than your own hand, heaving for breath through your fingers as he starts to rut into you. The fingers on your hip pull you against him every time he bottoms out, pushing his cock even deeper, and you think you feel him smile against your neck when you gasp, "God, you're so deep."

The faster, frantic pace means that the room is filled with the sound of his skin slapping against yours, especially when you ask him to go harder and stop holding back, Rei, because you can take everything he has to give you. That perfect curve near the head of his length keeps catching on your g-spot - Reiner knows how to find it, he's hitting it too often for it to be an accident, angling his hips just so and matching each of your moans with one of his own. He must get off on watching you come undone underneath him, falling apart on his cock, you think, because you feel him pulse inside you every time you brokenly sob his name.

"This what you need? Am I giving you what you want, huh, sweetheart?", he rasps and it's not demeaning or teasing, he means it, he really means it- "Am I making you feel as good as you deserve?"

A particularly deep thrust has your toes curling at his back. "'S so good, yeah, feels so good, wanted you for so long-"

Your speech is slurring from the shocks of pleasure he's sending through you. Between the jolts to your cervix, the constant pressure on your g-spot, the way his body is rubbing against your clit with each rapid thrust of his hips - his lips on your neck and his grunts in your ear - you're going to cum again, you tell him, and he shoves himself up off the desk to stand upright. The change in position has your legs falling away from his back, and you scramble pathetically to adjust your hips so his cock will be deeper again, but his hands catch your thighs and easily overpower you. Both forearms slip underneath your knees, so your legs are hanging over his arms, and his hands grab either side of your hips to slam you back onto his cock.

"Holy shit- you feel even tighter like this, does that feel good? C'mon, answer me, tell me it feels good, please-"

"Yes!", you sob, and you can't give him any more than that because having your legs raised means he's right on your g-spot: all you can do is stare up at him through bleary eyes and admire how good he looks. His abs clench with every thrust, and his arms look so big holding your legs up like that. God, you're so close, just a little more - you reach down to play with your clit but Reiner pushes your hand away and pleads, "No-" and one of his hands slips around your leg to find it himself. Of course he finds it, you're so swollen for him, and he's rolling it between two fingers before you can clap your palm back over your mouth. You all but squeal his name.

"That's it, sweetheart, that - that's it, fuck, clench around me, please, want you to cum again, wanna feel you cum on my cock-", he says. You just barely hear him through the pounding in your head and the sound of your own desperate panting, and god you want to please him, you'd do anything for him, this is all for him, remember, so even though you don't know if your body can handle it, you nod. You shove your own fingers into your mouth to keep yourself quiet, the ones that he was dripping precum over when you stroked his cock, and you let Reiner slam into your g-spot and rub and pinch your clit until you're coming again.

Reiner doesn't slow down, he doesn't stop toying with your clit, he keeps telling you how perfect you feel when you squeeze him like that - you somehow feel and hear it all even though you can't understand anything other than the fire spreading through your nerves and into your limbs, consuming every part of you as he keeps fucking you - it's so intense that it doesn't last more than a few seconds, it can't, it's too much, you're starting to drool around your fingers when you come down - and then he tells you he's close in the loudest moan you've heard yet, and you're coming again-

You come back to your senses trembling, boneless and crying with pleasure. "Gonna cum for you.", he says, pressing down on where his cock bulges through your stomach. "You did so well for me.", and it takes everything you have to reach out for him. Reiner pushes your legs down to your chest so he can interlace his fingers with yours: you're almost sure you're still coming because your body spasms under him, your throat constricting in a soundless cry, but you don't take your eyes off him. He keeps you safe in his gaze for the final few thrusts, and then he takes your hand down with his as he pulls out, and together you stroke his cock so he can spill himself all over your stomach.

There's so much, you dully register. You don't watch because you're too caught up in his face, how his brow finally relaxes and his lips part so nicely, how he looks so at peace and so happy. You don't watch but you definitely feel his cum on your body. It's all over your stomach and chest by the time he finally stops stroking, finally opens his eyes again. It's strange: he must have fucked you so silly that you think he's looking at you like man in love.

A man in love, and covered in sweat, and exhausted. You smile despite yourself. "'S heavy. Get off."

Reiner lays a kiss to your forehead before doing as you say, leaving you to close your eyes and recover on the desk. He has a washbasin in the corner, you recall, when you hear the noise of water: he must be cleaning himself off. Then, the sound of footsteps, coming back towards you. He sounds tired and hesitant when he says, "...Do you want me to clean you...?"

For some reason, you blush. You've just had sex with Reiner - for his sake, you remind yourself, to let him know that it's okay to feel things again - and yet you're embarrassed over that simple offer. Then again, you only came here tonight to talk, to offer him some comfort on a day that you suspected had been a bad one. Sex is one thing: against the rules, but forgivable, a way for him to get rid of some of his frustrations and get his mind back on the mission. That's what you'll tell them, if they ever come asking. The intimacy of cleaning each other is a different matter entirely.

But no one ever has to know. Neither of you will ever tell the others that you're doing this, right? "Please.", you whisper, and you keep your eyes closed as if it makes it okay. Your brain is still heavy and fogged, but you don't miss how carefully and tenderly he touches you as he wipes you down - such a big man, being so gentle with you even now. You wouldn't blame him for asking you to leave now. In all good sense, this was a mistake, one that neither of you should speak of again, and it's in both of your best interests to move on as fast as possible. He won't have to know when you remember this night when you-

Reiner calls your name, and you reluctantly open your eyes. It's selfish, but you don't want this to end. He must have finished cleaning you and discarded of the washcloth, because he's already changed into a fresh pair of sleep pants, and he's holding up a shirt to you. You take it with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Reiner. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have come onto you. I've put you in a bad position and I really am sorry. I won't tell anyone that this happened.". The words pain you to say, but you know that you should apologise, and you give him a sad smile as you pull the shirt over your head. It's only when you catch the scent that you realise that this isn't your shirt - it's his. The questioning look you shoot him when your head pops out is met with a hand offered to you.

"I... meant what I said about wanting you. Not just for sex.", he says, although he looks scared to say it. "You mean more to me than that, you know. You make me feel like I'm more than what I've done. I know it's wrong, but-"

"-it's not wrong!", you blurt, and Reiner's eyes widen like he was expecting you to agree with him. "You are more than what you had to do, okay? I promise. To me, none of that matters, because I know you're a good person at heart. All of us know it."

That little interjection is exactly what you've been telling him for months. This might be the first time he looks as though he's beginning to believe it. You take his hand, smiling as much as you can even though you're still fighting the shame of what you just did, and Reiner says, "Stay here for a few hours - please. You'll sleep better, my room isn't as warm. Go back to your room before wakeup call. No one has to know.". He leads you to the bed and he lets you hold him, and you pretend that you don't hear him crying when he thinks you're asleep, or how he whispers that he thinks he might be in love.

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun smut #reiner smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #aot #aot x reader #aot smut #shingeki no kyoujin #snk #snk x reader #snk x you #snk smut #reiner x reader

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sushireads · 4 years

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jungkook fic recs

this is a list of jungkook fics i’ve read and loved very much! enjoy. <3

ps. all fics with 🍙 are the ones i loved a little bit more.

2! 3! by @gimmesumsuga

smut, fluff | one shot | 3K words

The one at the end of Jungkook’s Wembley Vlive.

IDOL au

a dangerous game by @goldngguk

horror | series

You were in love with him. Jeon Jeongguk was everything you’d ever dreamed of and more. He was wealthy, kind, gentle, and most importantly, he loved you dearly. You knew he would always be there for you to guide you and protect you. You’d been together for just over a year and knew he had made plans to propose to you. But you found it strange that he had never brought you home to meet his parents.

KILLER, HUNTER, YANDERE au

About Time by @yoonia

ON-GOING | 🍙, angst | series

Be careful for what you wish for, because you may never know how to deal with them once it comes true. What would you do when your wish for a second chance actually came true? But was it really a fulfilled wish? Too many questions lie when it actually happened. Were they real memories? Or perhaps a part of a past life? Was it only a dream all along? Will everything be different this time?

SOULMATE, TIME LEAP, TIME TRAVEL au

ALL I WANT FOR COCKMAS by @junqkook

fluff, crack, smut | one shot | 3.6K words

you tell santa exactly what you want for christmas.

CHRISTMAS, SANTA au

Amour by @taesthetes

fluff, fantasy | one shot | 6.1K words

To love would be committing the greatest sin.

ANGEL, DEMON au

aurora. by @krreader

angst, fluff | one shot | 6K+ words

dawn comes after the darkness, and with it the promise that what has been torn by the sea is not lost. - lisa wingate

IDOL au

baecation by @1kook

smut, fluff | one shot | 5.9K words

“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

RICH, VACATION au

banana milk by @kimnjss

smut | one shot | 6.7K words

sent to the grocery store in the middle of the day, you’d never believe who you ran into in the milk aisle.

STRANGERS TO LOVERS au

bandslam by @ironicarmy

angst, smut | series

Cocky drummer Jeon Jungkook has never been the type to hate on anyone. But when his best friend Taehyung unexpectedly leaves the band and leaves you in his place, he can’t really blame himself when he acts with disdain towards you. Not even when there’s a prize at stake.

COLLEGE, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, ROCK BAND au

Be Mine by @staerrylights

angst, fluff, smut | one shot | 5.5K words

When the worlds of a campus’ star player and ordinary girl collide, sparks will fly.

JOCK, FUCK BOY au

Bells by @taetaesbaebaepsae

fluff | one shot | 1.6K words

SOULMATE au

bitchin’ by @kinktae

🍙, fluff, angst, smut | series

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

—part of the rewind series

1980s, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, FRAT BOY, FAKE DATING au

black card by @minsprings

🍙, fluff, smut | two shots

a long night at another one of your obligatory high society functions has you desperate to relieve some stress with your husband jungkook, who’s been apparently hiding a kink from you for some time.

CRAZY RICH ASIANS, CEO, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, HIGH SOCIETY au

Blackjack by @kpopfanfictrash

smut | series

Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

MAFIA au

caught me. by @jeongi

smut | one shot | 13.5K words

you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, ROOMMATE au

Crybaby by @lavishedinjimin

smut | two shots

dangerous love by @seulgiology

smut, light fluff | one shot | 3.7K words

MAFIA au

Departure by @nomnomsik

smut, fluff | one shot | 6.2K words

As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you.

FLIGHT ATTENDANT, IDOL, PILOT au

Dumbo by @cinnaminsvga

humor, smut | one shot | 17.2K words

you know what they say about boys with big noses…

{or alternatively: jungkook has a big dick but he doesn’t know how to use it, but luckily you’re there to help.}

Dynasty by @jimlingss

angst, smut, fluff | one shot | 17.4K words

It’s no secret that the Emperor is infertile. But even so, a girl is selected every three months and brought to become his concubine in hopes of conceiving the next heir. This time, it’s you. And in order to prevent execution, Jeon Jungkook might just aid you in conception.

HISTORICAL au

Euphoria by @seokstrivia

fluff, smut, angst | one shot | 7.6K words

There was always a sign on Jungkooks’ door that said something along the lines of, ‘Warning; I am naked in here. Do not enter unless you’re ready to see a whole lot of dick.’

or, that one roommate au where Jungkook is a cocky bastard.

ROOMMATE, SLOW BURN au

fatal attraction by @jungcock

ON-GOING | 🍙, angst, smut | series

Your dangerous ex-boyfriend comes back to haunt you in more ways than one.

SERIAL KILLER au

first time together by @httpjeon

fluff, smut, angst | one shot | 8.4K words

you never thought you’d fall for the charms of jeon jungkook, the campus heartthrob, play boy, and fuck boy.

—part of the together series

COLLEGE, FUCK BOY au

flesh and blood by @kinktae

fluff, smut | series

You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren’t always required when it comes to love.

ZOMBIE au

For science by @boymeetsweevil

fluff, smut | series

Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

NERD au

Game Over by @gukgalore

smut, fluff | one shot | 5K words

You try your hand at a certain TikTok trend using your boyfriend.

DOMESTIC COUPLE au

Head in the Clouds by @taequois

one shot | 3.7K words

You were the third wheel for your best friend’s date but why was Jeon Jungkook kissing you instead?

YANDERE au

Hellblazer by @jungkookiebus

smut, fantasy | series

“Few people really think about dying… paranoids worry about it without really understanding it. Victims of fatal accidents and murder don’t have time to think. You only really think about it if you take the time to. And you only take the time if you know it’s going to happen.” -John Constantine, Dangerous Habits Pt. 1: The Beginning of the End, Issue #41.

CONSTANTINE, DEMON au

HIDDEN STARS by @jungblue

angst, smut | series

It started out simple, but when your feelings start to grow for the idol who isn’t allowed to date, things get complicated.

IDOL au

Hiraeth by @darlingwoes

smut, angst, fluff | series

Hiraeth: A longing for a home you can’t return to, or that never was.

It was confusing, the whole ordeal was. But no matter how many times you told yourself to go back, he was always there, taunting you to stay.

ROYALTY, TIME TRAVEL au

His Name by @jimlingss

🍙, angst | series

Jeon Jungkook is a puzzle with too many missing pieces from his past and too many sides. Somehow, it’s become your job to solve him.

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY au

i wish i missed my ex by @angelguk

smut, fluff, angst | one shot | 18K words

COLLEGE, FAKE DATING, FRIENDS TO LOVERS au

It Ain’t Me by @inferno-loop

angst | series

industrial by @taendrils

fluff, smut | one shot | 8.1K words

❝there are lines you shouldn’t cross, things you shouldn’t touch and skin you shouldn’t mark when your hands are missing your gloves.❞

PIERCER au

Jeon Jungkook Must Die by @tayegi

smut | one shot | 14K words

Jungkook is Typing... by @glassbangtan

mild smut, angst, fluff | one shot | 21.1K words

You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor.

IDOL au

Killjoy by @taequois

smut | one shot | 9.3K words

You thought you’re trapped in the lion’s den when Jungkook kidnaps you. But he’s no lion and unfortunately for him, you weren’t a mouse either.

YANDERE au

Laundry Fairy by @bulletproofbirdy

fluff, smut | one shot | 3.5K words

You wake on Saturday to find that your boyfriend has cleaned your apartment and done your laundry–shenanigans ensue with the help of the spin cycle.

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP au

love alive by @jamaisjoons

angst, fluff, smut | one shot | 17K words

a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.

—part of the mixtape series

EXES, POST-BREAKUP au

Making of a lover by @smileyoongle

angst | one shot | 2.4K words

CHEATING, YANDERE au

mask by @onherwings

🍙, angst, fluff, smut | one shot | 32.1K words

Perhaps you signed up for more than you expected when you agreed to pretend you were just Jungkook’s roommate when his (female) childhood friend comes to visit.

BOYFRIEND, COLLEGE au

mastur-bait by @kookswife

🍙, smut, fluff, humor | two shots

you drunkenly touch yourself in front of your neighbour, hoping he’ll take notice. you can’t help but do a double take when he actually does.

—part of The Connotation trilogy

BAD BOY au

Meeting their soulmate for the first time by @sunyoonandstars

🍙, fluff | one shot | 2.1K words

Jungkook is driven by the desire to, one day, meet his soulmate. However, he had not imagined it to happen so soon …

“Jungkook’s eyes met yours only for a brief moment. Still, this split second was all it took to send a surge of thrilling heat through his entire body, the intensity of your gaze leaving every last fiber of his being vibrating and his veins tingling with what felt like a million of tiny electric shocks. He could have sworn his heart literally skipped a beat. Or two. At least. Because those eyes weren’t just any eyes. They were the eyes. The eyes which had been haunting his dreams …”

IDOL, SOULMATE au

melomaniac. by @jeonscript

smut | one shot | 13K words

you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

BAND, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, PUNK au

Mind in the Gutter by @kpopfanfictrash

smut, fluff, humor | one shot | 18K words

Starting over is never fun. Especially not when you decide to take the phrase fully to heart; new job, new city, new coworkers and new relationships. When you are dragged to a happy hour by your new co-worker, Taehyung, you end up sitting beside a (very) cute, (very) shy IT worker named Jungkook. Several drinks later, he mentions he is in a professional bowling league with his friends and you rather enthusiastically invite yourself along. As time passes and you begin to grow closer, you still find it impossible to read Jungkook. Working in the same company and seeing each other so often, it is only so long before one of you snaps. But who?

BOWLING, WORKPLACE au

more than friends by @matchakoo

smut, angst, tiny fluff | two shots

you and jungkook have been roommates and close friends for a couple years, and you’re oblivious to the fact that the only reason why he hates your recent fuck-buddy is because he has the fattest crush on you.

ROOMMATE au

morning rush. by @atdawnsuga

smut | one shot | 3.2K words

You develop a strange relationship with the boy you share your morning commute with.

COLLEGE au

Movin’ by @mygsii

smut | one shot | 3.9K words

you’re moving to a new place and have called up some movers to help. you didn’t expect to find one of them extremely attractive, nor did you expect to have him all over you as soon as break time rolled around.

MOVER au

Mutual by @seokjxnnie

smut | one shot | 2.7K words

Your boss was always talking about how her son would be perfect for you, promising that he was going to the staff holiday party. He turned out to be the hook up that happened a couple months ago, who you kept around for some good dick.

OFFICE au

My Type by @shadowsremedy

smut | one shot | 6K words

Never judge a book by its cover.

COLLEGE au

neighbour by @imagniation

fluff, smut | one shot | 4K words

‘you think I can afford a plumber?’ your endearing neighbour jeongguk has magic hands that fix toilets and make you orgasm.

NEIGHBOURS au

one thing right by @hobios

🍙, fluff, angst, smut | series

“i’ve been wrong about a million times, but i’ve got one thing right.”

or, desperate to get your ailing mother into the best care possible, you ask your childhood friend turned enemy to marry you for his health insurance benefits. the only problem is it’s illegal. and he’s the sheriff. and you swore to hate him since the day he broke your best friend’s heart.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, FAKE MARRIAGE, SHERIFF, SLOW BURN au

One Year, My Love by @hayjeon

🍙, angst, fluff, smut | two shots

You forge a marriage contract with the strangely speaking man who suddenly stumbled into your town with memory loss, but little do you know that he’s actually the lost Crown Prince, and a lot can happen between a married man and woman in one year.

FAKE MARRIAGE, ROYALTY au

Orange Tulips by @kainks

angst, fluff, light smut | one shot | 10.2K words

You’d remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he’d never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.

REINCARNATION, SOULMATE au

Pay by Play by @yoonia

smut | one shot | 3.6K words

—part of @bangtansmutcentral‘s Made With Love Project

CAM BOY au

Pen Pal by @chinkbihh

angst | series

As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you. In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook. The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.

PRISONER, SERIAL KILLER, YANDERE au

Piss Off Your Parents by @littlemisskookie

smut | one shot | 16.4K words

In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm.

BAD BOY, FAKE DATING, RICH, ROOMMATE au

Play Pretend by @seokoloqy

smut, angst | one shot | 8.6K words

walking under ladders, splitting the pole, breaking mirrors, going near black cats—just to name a few things Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do before his soccer games.

And after Jungkook catches his girlfriend cheating on him, he’s going to need a little more than luck to get her back. He needs you.

FAKE DATING, FRIENDS TO LOVERS, SOCCER PLAYER au

Quarter Quell by @chinkbihh

ON-GOING | 🍙 | series

Every 25 years there is a Quarter Quell edition of the Hunger Games. Quells mark the anniversaries of the districts’ defeat by the Capitol, and include special celebrations. The Games involves some sort of twist that makes them even more disastrous or difficult to compete in, or watch.

HUNGER GAMES, YANDERE au

Redolent by @baeseoul

ON-GOING | angst, smut | series

You and Jungkook have a past, but the biggest mistake of his life has him losing you in every way. It isn’t until the smell of the unique combination of vanilla and pear blossom for the first time in over a year reminds him of you and your endearing candle obsession that he’s forced to reminisce about what he had, and what he lost. He wants to reconcile, but what if you’re doing just fine without him?

INDIE ROCKER, MUSICIAN au

Rigor Mortis by @readyplayerhobi

smut, angst, horror, fluff | one shot | 28.5K words

A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city.

POLICE OFFICER, ZOMBIE au

ROTTENFOLK by @junqkook

🍙, smut, fantasy | one shot (in dire need of a part two though!!!) | 13.5K words

a look was as hazardous as chemicals, a kiss as perilous as poison; his eyes and lips felt akin to a cure, but he was purely venom.

—part of BTS Smut Club’s The Heatwave Project

FAIRIE, ROYALTY au

roulette. by @taesthetes

light fluff, angst | one shot | 1.2K words

noun : a gambling game of chance.

he loves me, click, he loves me not, bang.

ASSASSIN, MAFIA au

Ruin the Dress... Shirt by @fortunexkookie

smut, fluff | one shot | 4.8K words

What could possibly go wrong during a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner with your brand new boyfriend? Let’s be honest, you shouldn’t have even asked.

NEW RELATIONSHIP au

Scum’s Wish by @bobagukk

angst, smut | one shot | 4.8K words

Secret Slut by @jeonsweetpea

🍙, smut | two shots

Jungkook accidentally gifts you, his boss, a sex toy for Secret Santa.

ASSISTANT, CEO au

skype sex by @floralseokjin

smut, fluff | one shot | 2.9K words

—part of the first love, last love drabble series

CYBER SEX au

Somnolent by @forgottenpasta

fluff | one shot | 3.5K words

After spending one night in bed with you, Jeongguk finds out he is unable to sleep unless you’re sleeping with him.

ROOMMATE au

Sprout by @hugseoks

fluff, crack | one shot | 1.2K words

After a nice evening out with your friends, you find yourself coming home to your sleeping toddler and the new hairstyle she had tried on your husband.

DAD, HUSBAND au

stand-in by @gvksp4ce

angst, smut, fluff | one shot | 10K words

frat parties always suck to a certain degree, especially when you walk in on your best friend’s partner nailing your own boyfriend on said buddy’s bed. However, drowning in self-pity was not on Jeon’s watch.

COLLEGE, FAKE DATING, FRIENDS TO LOVERS au

strawberry lips by @personasintro

fluff | drabble | 2.8K words

it’s not your fault your professor is extremely young and oh, so hot

PROFESSOR au

Summer Solstice by @brokenspinez

smut | one shot | 6K words

Down on your luck and desperate for a successful harvest, you pray to the gods. You figure no one in heaven was listening to your prayers when nothing happens immediately. But one fateful night, your prayers are answered. Are you willing to pay the price? The sacrifice might not be what you were expecting….

GOD au

Tangsuyuk Love by @full-of-jams

fluff, smut | one shot | 11.5K words

College student Jungkook flirts with a customer who always orders take-out tangsuyuk at his part-time job. Meanwhile he’s miserably trying not to fail his Math class, while hiding his ever-growing crush on you.

COLLEGE, FRIENDS TO LOVERS au

tell me no lies by @jeongi

angst, smut, minimal fluff | one shot | 15.1K words

You chose to rob your boss, however; you never expected to fall in love with him.

—part of BTS Smut Club's Under Fire Summer Project

CEO, CRIMINAL, ROBBERS au

the beast hidden inside by @harvcore

smut | one shot | 1.5K words

never come home smelling like another man, especially when it’s mating season.

or 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐬…

ALPHA au

the best part of me is you by @yourdelights

fluff, smut, angst | one shot | 9K words

Having been best friends since childhood, you’re an expert in all things Jungkook. You know everything about him, from how he took his coffee to the sound of his laugh after a successful prank. There was no part of him that you didn’t know like the back of your hand, or so you thought. Your view on things gets a bit skewed after discovering the one secret Jungkook had kept from you: he’s a camboy.

BEST FRIEND, CAM BOY au

the coffee shop contract by @gukyi

fluff | one shot | 18K words

apparently, having an instagram profile with a different girl in every picture is reason enough for your friends to strike up a deal where they’ll pay you to have a relationship. well, jeon jungkook’s no good at relationships, but a fake relationship isn’t a real relationship. is it?

COLLEGE, FAKE DATING au

the engagement by @virgoknj

angst | drabble | 3.4K words

in where your ex jungkook appears at your engagement party

EXES au

the jeon twins by @krreader

fluff, angst | one shot | 3.2K words

jk thought he was doing this for his twin’s good. falling in love with you while pretending to be kookie was never something he planned on doing and he hated himself for it.

COLLEGE, TWINS au

The Jorts by @gukslut

fluff, smut | one shot | 6.5K words

ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP au

the sea & the storm by @jamaisjoons

angst, fluff, smut | one shot | 20K words

the sea is a powerful mistress. she is calm and beautiful. she is mysterious and alluring. she is a force to be reckoned with. above all, however, she is lonely. until she meets him.

—part of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls collaboration

SEA SPIRIT au

the train of lost souls by @inktae

angst, fantasy, fluff | one shot | 13.6K words

The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options.

You can choose to live, to be given a second and a last chance in life, in exchange for your memories and your previous existence. You can choose to be alive again, but it can only be an entirely new life. Everyone you’ve ever crossed paths with would forget your name. All the pain and the love you knew, all the ups and downs that made you hurt and made you smile — all of it, completely gone.

Or you can choose to move on, to give your life away while keeping your memories until the end of time. To step out of the world of the living and to embrace a new kind of loneliness, but with the warmth of your past always safe between your cold hands.

You are dead, but it’s up to you to do something about it.

The choice is solely yours.

The Truth About Forever by @thedefinitionofbts

romance, implied smut, angst | one shot | 6.3K words

There are a lot of things you know. You knew the water in the lake was the clearest, most fresh tasting in the world and that lavender hyacinth graced every hillside, peeking through patches of wild grass and forest green shrubbery. You knew the weather was pleasant enough and the air clean enough even for someone with a body as weak as yours to sleep peacefully under clear moonlit nights. You know a lot of things, but there was one thing you didn’t know…

“Jungkook and Y/N forever…” Seokjin reads the little inscription on the corner. “Hey, this person even has the same name as you, how weird.”

SLICE OF LIFE au

the universe of us. by @taesthetes

🍙, fluff, angst, fantasy | one shot | 21.1K words

nefelibata : (noun) lit. “cloud-walker”; the one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination or dreams

The story of Icarus tells of a naive being who loved the sun and flew too close, leading to his untimely descent into the ocean. But what the tale didn’t speak of was how the sun and the moon fell in love with him, too. And with the pull of the tides due to the attraction of the sun and the moon, he tosses and turns, torn between two entities.

So if Kim Taehyung embodies the sun, then Jeon Jungkook is the moon.

And you are Icarus.

DREAM, SLICE OF LIFE au

The Virgin Volume by @kpopfanfictrash

smut, angst | two shots

The year? Some point after college. The occasion? Namjoon is getting married and the Rich Man’s Crochet Club has convened once again. Somewhere between the drinks and the laughter, everyone has the same realization: Jungkook has never been in a serious relationship. In the name of all that is holy (Overwatch and booze), the club’s mission is revived. Now though, their goal is much more perilous. Now, they aim to find Jeon Jungkook a girlfriend.

—part of The Rich Man’s Crochet Club series

COLLEGE, FRIENDS O LOVERS, VIRGIN au

the wedding planners by @gukyi

fluff, light smut, light angst | one shot | 28K words

jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend’s wedding.

and then, as if your life couldn’t get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, WEDDING au

through the night by @nightbts

ON-GOING | 🍙, fluff, angst | series

IDOL au

Travel Diary by @nitaescence

fluff | one shot | 2.5K words

BOYFRIEND, VLOGGER au

way down in bed stuy by @minstrivia

smut, light angst | one shot | 5K+ words

as a final farewell you fuck your sister’s unbelievably attractive knave boyfriend that you definitely do not have feelings for…again.

CHEATING au

Welcome to the Underworld (AO3 Link) by @spookitokki

fluff, smut, fantasy | one shot | 9.6K words

In a dark little second-hand shop downtown, stuffed in an alleyway you only stumbled into because you were lost, you found a charming antique radio. When you turned it on, it began to play what would become your favorite radio show, “Welcome to the Underworld”

DEMON, RADIO SHOW HOST au

youngblood by @jinitude

smut | one shot | 14.6K words

“I don’t care if he’s got the potential to be the next big thing. I’m done trying to chase a story that doesn’t exist. The kid is a wet leaf left on the curb to dry and crumble into pieces the next day. You’re going to send me to five of his concerts and I can already tell you how each one is going to go. He’s a wannabe bad boy who jizzes his pants when he sees a girl looking at him. Assign me someone else.”

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, JOURNALIST, ROCK STAR au

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9K notes · View notes

tsukishumai · 3 years

Text

sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader word count: 1.8k tags: fluff, slight internal turmoil, accidental confession (kind of) summary; Why should Sakusa care if you make plans with his captain? a/n: for my bby @imarizaki

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“I’m going to the cafe with Tsukasa-senpai this weekend.”

Sakusa couldn’t stop the words from repeating in his head as he jumped up and hit his serve. He winced at the impact, the force of it being much harder than he had intended. The flick of his wrist sent the ball flying over to the opposite side of the gym, crashing loudly against the metal bars that protected the windows.

Sakusa bent over to place his hands on his knees, and sighed deeply.

You had looked so excited about your upcoming plans, and the image of your beaming smile suddenly flashed in his mind. He supposes he should feel some sort of happiness for you, but at the moment, the only word he could use to describe his emotions would be frustration.

He always thought volleyball managers were useless. His teams always had one, and they hardly ever did anything other than compliment his serves and gave him water.

But perhaps that said more about his previous classmates than it did about the job itself, because ever since he’s been on this team with you, he’s not sure he could have it any other way.

He remembers when he walked into practice, three weeks into your stint as their manager. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing a mask during practice, the black cloth fitted snugly across your face as you happily bounced over to speak with him.

“I researched different wrist exercises online,” you had said, handing him a stack of paper you had printed, “These seemed to be the ones that had worked out well for others.”

He nodded his head in thanks, not telling you that he already has these exact exercises memorized -- appreciating the effort you had put into helping his game.

He thinks back to when he arrived back from a training camp in a sour mood; feeling angry, frustrated, and insecure at the rate of his growth in comparison to the famous Ushiwaka. He grabbed his issue of monthly volleyball from his locker, flipping it open to the aforementioned ace’s page when his lips burst into an incredibly uncharacteristic smile.

On his rival’s photograph were devil horns drawn on his head, his front tooth blacked out and his eyebrows penned into a unibrow, your writing nearly inscripting “Ushiwaka Stinks! Sakusa Rocks!”

As he walks back to the volleyball cart, his mind wanders to when you let him borrow your manager notebook, and as he flipped the pages filled to the brim with your scribbles, he realizes that you were taking notes on much more than just Itachiyama players — your attention to detail had left him in a state of awe. Though, now he’s figuring out that you seem to do that just by existing.

It dawns on him that he seeks your attention past your daily scheduled practices. His routine has changed, and instead of eating his lunch in empty classrooms, he walks out to the courtyard of his school, passed the crowds of people and to a bench situated under a tree, so he can find you saving a spot for him next to you.

Every time he hears his phone buzz, he wishes it was you. Every time he wins a game, he looks to see if you’re watching him. His so-called useless manager.

He feels more uneasy as he wonders why he’s even thinking about such things in the first place. He turns and grabs another ball before taking his position behind the end line.

If you wanted to go to a cafe with tsukasa-senpai, then you had every right to do it. Who was he to be upset about it? Wait, was he upset? The sinking feeling in his gut and the irritation swelling in his chest tells him that he is.

But why? It’s not like it was a date. Or was it? But you just said you were going to the cafe. You never told him it was a date.

So what if it was?

Sakusa throws the ball into the air, and smacks his palm against the blue and yellow leather. The stinging in his palm matched the velocity of which it flew across the room yet again, and he curses at his lack of control.

“You’re still here?”

He snaps his head to the doorway, the echo of your voice mingling with the bouncing of the volleyball reverberating on the walls.

“I thought you went home,” he said, walking to his bag placed on the bench, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

“Something told me to come check on you before I left,” you said, walking into the gym.

“Well, you should get going,” he said, in a much sharper tone than he had intended, “It’s getting dark.”

He ignored the way you frowned as he grabbed yet another volleyball, and repeating the same movements he has done for the past half hour since practice ended. He could feel the way your eyes burned into his back as he landed gracefully on his feet, clicking his tongue when his ball not-so-gracefully catches into the net.

“What’s up with you,” you quip, crossing your arms and popping your hip, “First, you ignore me all day, now you won’t even walk home with me?”

Your question only serves to confuse him even further. Is not walking home together now considered an odd thing? Since when did that happen? Had he really been so lost in your presence that he didn’t notice? He hadn’t realized things had gotten this far -- to him, time with you never felt like it was enough. And right now, he’s not sure if he likes that. Not when the end result is this.

He didn’t reply, choosing instead to walk over to the other side of the court, and collecting the balls that had gone astray.

But he should have known you wouldn’t have let things go, and he should have expected your footsteps marching behind him.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” you say sternly, and it irritates him even further.

What, do you think that just because you say his full name, he’s going to bend to your will? Is that the kind of hold you think you have on him? The audacity of your familiarity was bothersome and aggravating.

Because it worked.

“You’re going to the cafe with Tsukasa-senpai tomorrow.” he says quickly, turning around to face you. You nearly collided with his chest, stopping abruptly in place. You blinked your eyes at Sakusa dumbly, trying to comprehend what he’s saying.

“Yes… and?”

“Is it a date?” he cuts to the chase, no longer wishing to prolong the agony he’s been in all day.

You looked at him in surprise, jaw hanging slightly and dropping your arms to your side. You quickly regain your composure, straightening your back before giving him a hard look.

“What, am I not allowed to go on dates?”

“I never said that,” Sakusa fumed, wondering if you were trying to dodge his question.

“Then why do you —“

“Can you just answer the question?”

You huffed a little at Sakusa’s interruption, and shot him a half hearted glare. Sakusa stood his ground, looking dead into your eyes.

“It’s not a date,” you finally respond, and Sakusa let’s go of a tension in his shoulders that he had no idea he was carrying.

“Good,” he said, turning around to continue his previous task of collecting his equipement.

“Why is that good?”

Sakusa shrugged, balancing four volleyballs in his arms as he made his way back to the cart. “You shouldn’t be going on dates with guys like Tsukasa-senpai.”

At this, you scoffed in disbelief. “Excuse me? And pray tell, o wise Sakusa-san, just what exactly kind of guy should I go on dates with?”

“Me,” he said before he could stop himself. He stopped all his movements for a moment, time suddenly freezing as he comprehends what just slipped from his lips. A feeling of dread soon began to slowly creep up from his gut, spreading across his body until it reached up and grabbed hold of his heart.

He pretends he never said a thing, depositing the volleyballs back into their rightful place before heading over to collapse the net. In his peripherals, he could see your shocked expression, eyes following his every move as he starts to lower the net. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead like bullets, but he continues on.

“So...what you’re saying is,” You finally broke the silence, walking over to the other side of the court to help Sakusa with his task. “You want me to go on a date with you.”

“I never said that,” he replied, quickly gathering the material that had bunched up on the floor. He felt awkward doing this errand in front of you, something you must have picked up on, because you finished the job for him.

Still the ever dutiful manager.

“No, I’m pretty sure you just did,” you say, grabbing onto the folded up net before walking over to place it into the storage room, not giving him a chance to reply.

Sakusa uses the ten seconds you were gone to slap himself in the face.

He solemnly walks over to gather his things, the silence growing louder and louder by the second as you choose to continue closing the gym instead of saying anything further. He takes his time switching out of his gym shoes, and slowly looped each side of his face mask on his ear.

He was zipping up his jacket when you stood in front of him.

Goosebumps raise in his flesh when you glare at him, tapping your foot on the wooden floors.

“Well?” You ask.

Sakusa tilts his head. “Well what?”

“Are you going to ask me out on a date?”

Sakusa is thankful for the fabric covering his face, though surely redness spread across his entire visage.

He was sure steam was wafting up from his head, the clock in the wall ticking tocking his nerves deeper into his bones.

You raised your eyebrow at him, and he wonders if this is a trap. Or perhaps a cruel joke. But regardless, he couldn’t keep you waiting.

“Will you… go on a date with me,” Sakusa spoke slowly, coughing into his hand before continuing, “This weekend?”

You smiled at him, brighter than he’s ever seen before. He feels as if the skies have opened up, and the sun herself graced him with his own personal ray of warmth.

“Let’s go home, Omi,” you beckon him out of the gym before turning off the lights, “I got a big date to get ready for.”

You don’t see his smile, but you se the way his joy crinkled at the corner of his eyes.

“Preparing already?”

You laugh. “I’ve only been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

He hadn’t realized things had gotten this far — though, he realizes he doesn’t mind if the end result was this.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

6:39 PM [From: Captain Tsukasa] :

so? did it work?

6:42 PM (To: Captain Tsukasa) :

senpai… ur kinda scary

6:45 PM [From: Captain Tsukasa] :

I know my little kohai better than u think 😌

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yakny · 1 year

Photo

4/20/2023: “What’s it like, old man? To watch all your efforts burn down to nothing? You’ve sent me out to burn. Now here I am, burning. You shouldn’t have started fires you had no chance of putting out.”

#Don't Reblog! Please. It is a legacy post and thus‚ I cannot add reblog controls. I would if I could :(#LN #THE FIRES ARE REACHING US #agata #one doodle every day #something something little sun of the kingdom is a moniker that can be so fitting to agata but i had to create a whole au to make it so #i just think the sun motif fits her so well 🥺 i try to incorporate into her character as much as possible.

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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 3 years

Note

maybe Y/N Stark is a new avenger, Peter see her before in a college party where they had very great sex. When she is introduced to everone. Wanda reading her thoughts finds out what happened between them. and CAOS. I love you xx

Okay see I love this because it plays into my favorite headcannon that (y/n) Stark is just a big party girl. My favorite trope is just like mean x soft, love someone who is just soft for their baby and that is so my favorite way to potray (y/n) Stark, like she’s just kind of brat expect for with Peter. Anyway I’m saying a big fat yes, and here she is. Hope you like it babe! Love you xx

Guys I am still doing requests and promts so please feel free to send some in, or even just hit me up, would love to be your bestie 💖

Awkward

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Summary: The first post hookup meetup is always a little awkward

Prompts

Masterlist

(y/n)’s pov

New York city has to be the most magical place in the world, the lights are brighter, the buildings are taller, and the parties are way more awesome than the little boarding school dorm parties I’m used to. As a Stark it’s really just my social obligation to throw the best parties in the city though, and that’s a lot of pressure. I knew my New York debut would have to be awesome, so I rented out the 404 NYC and filled it to the brim with the best food and liquor money could buy, the most killer DJ I could find, and sent out an invitation to every socialite in the city.

Then I invited Peter Parker, a boy I’ve only ever met in passing really, but he was important to my dad. Dad always used to tell me he thought we’d really get along, but we never really got the chance to know each other before dad passed away. Now that I’m in New York I want to try to be friends, he’s also the only avenger my age so if I want to carry on my dad’s legacy I think he’ll be a good teammate to have. From what I remember he was just a dorky, quiet kid, he’d hardly said two words to me the handful of times we had met. So you can only imagine my surprise when he walked in and the dorky little boy next door had become possibly the hottest boy in all of NYC.

“Hey Peter,” I giggled as I waved to him, “I’m so glad you came.”

“Yeah, of course, I was a little surprised you invited me though…” he rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward smile.

“Oh yeah, I just figured a friend of daddy’s is a friend of mine,” I stopped one of the waiters walking by and passed Peter a drink, “Here, have this, it’s crazy good.”

He takes a little sip and nods, “Good. I’m glad you did, I was wondering if you were still gonna go to college out here after everything that happened.”

“Of course! I love New York,” I wink before taking a big swig of my own drink, “Plus I kind of wanted to give the whole Avengers thing a shot.”

“I heard, Fury said you’ve been talking about helping out.”

I nod, “Yeah, I don’t know if I really want to be a superhero per say, but it’s my dad’s legacy and I want to help out in some way.”

“Cool,” he blushed as he glanced down at his drink, “Sorry, parties aren’t really my thing still, I actually kind of just came to see how you were.”

“Aw,” I coo, “That’s so cute, I thought you would be, you seem more confident, you actually look me in the eyes now, mostly.”

He looked back up at me with a smile, “More confident sure, but I still don’t really go to parties.”

“Well you’re like an honorary Stark aren’t you?”

His whole face flushed red at that, “I don’t know about that.”

“Nah, you totally are, which means you’ve got to party like one,” I push the drink to his lips, “Chug that and we’ll get you another, then I’ll teach you how to dance,” I wink, downing my own drink to demonstrate.

He takes a deep breath and down the whole cup in one drink.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is how unusually warm it is, then it’s the arm around my waist. I roll over groggily and rub my eyes, giving myself just a few moments to take everything in. The first thing I spot is Peter, laying in bed besides me, naked. After checking him out for a second, what happened last night comes crashing back to my mind. I feel my face start to burn, don’t get me wrong, he was great in bed, but I just know I totally corrupted him. Oops.

It’s a little hard to feel bad when the sex was that good.

Peter’s eyes flutter open, looking over me sleepily before going wide eyed, “H-Hi,” he stutters.

“Hey,” I smile back, “You’re like a little space heater you know?”

“Uh, thanks,” he sits up very suddenly, looking a little frantic as he grabs his phone, “I-I’m sorry I really have to go, I h-have plans.”

I frown, watching him scramble back into his clothes, “No problem, I’m sure I’ll see you around?”

He nods, not meeting my eyes as he pulls his shirt on, “Y-Yeah, see you!” he’s out the door fast enough to give me whiplash.

Did I just get smashed and dashed by Peter Parker?

I feel awkward about what happened with Peter, I mean I had a good time but the more I think about it it just seemed like something was off that morning. I want to apologize or something, but I don’t have his number or anything. I was hoping he’d be at the Avengers tower while I’m in today, but no such luck. I feel really bad, I had a lot of fun with him, I really did want to be friends. He just really doesn’t seem like the type to hit it and quit it so I really feel like I did something wrong…

“Oh hey kid,” Bucky breaks my train of thought and draws my attention away from the papers I was looking over, “What are you up to?” “Looking over some of my dad's old suit plans,” I hum, “What about you?”

“After mission snack,” he smiles as he opens the fridge, “Peter and Wanda were right behind me.”

My eyes widen and I look right to the door, waiting for them to enter and debating what I should do. I guess just ask him to talk?

He meets my eyes as soon as he enters the room, his cheeks flush instantly and he clears his throat, “Oh, hey (y/n).”

“Hey,” I smile back.

Screw that fucking Spiderman suit, he should go to jail for looking like that.

“Hi (y/n)” Wanda smiles as she walks in behind him, “How are you?”

“Good, you?”

“Starving,” she rubs her stomach with a smile, “I need a snack,” she heads right for the kitchen while Peter just stands a few feet away from me. “How was your mission?” I ask.

“Good, nothing special really,” he crosses his arms over his chest, “How have you been?”

“Good.”

How do I bring this up? I mean normally if I hook up with someone I don’t care that much about talking to them after, but I really liked hanging out with Peter at the actual party too. He’s awesome in bed, let’s not pretend he isn’t, but he’s funny too, and wicked smart. Plus he’s a lot nicer than most guys, I don’t know, I just really got along with him. I really hope I didn’t ruin things between us.

“Well I’m just gonna grab a snack too,” Peter pushes his hand through his hair, a light pink color dusting his cheeks and nose, “I’m pretty tired…”

“I bet, you should get some rest,” I cross my legs and turn back to the notes, only to spot Wanda staring at us, “What?”

She smirks, “Nothing, nothing.”

I frown, “Okay, not nothing, what is it?” “You two are just having some interesting thoughts,” she snickers.

Both Peter and I flush red while Bucky cocks his head in confusion, “What are they thinking about?”

She gets ready to speak but I’m quick to interject, “Nothing.”

“The kids were just having a little fun,” she smirks, “Come on Bucky, I think they need a little alone time.”

He went wide eyed, “You two better not try anything in here.”

“Jesus Christ we won’t!” I snap, “You two are gross!”

“Oh I’m gross?” Wanda raises a brow, “I know exactly what’s going on in that little head of yours,” she glances towards Peter, “She’s into the suit Peter.”

“Hey!” I glare at her while he blushes, “Don’t kink shame me.”

“I’m gonna go throw up,” Bucky snatches up his food on his way out. “You better leave to,” I threaten Wanda, pointing my pen at her as threateningly as I can.

She starts laughing, “Yeah I’m getting out of here before you two start getting heated,” she winks to me as she saunters out of the room, “Wrap it up this time!”

“Hey!” I snap, my cheeks flushing once more, “I have an IUD,” I try to assure Peter, who seems to be malfunctioning, “Uh, you good?”

His mouth hangs open for a minute before he speaks, “I’m really sorry about them.”

I shrug, “It’s fine. I really did want to talk to you alone though, I’m really sorry about the party.”

He knits his brow, “Why are you sorry? I had fun at the party.”

“It seemed like you regretted it,” I bite the inside of my cheek nervously.

He purses his lips and shakes his head, “I don’t regret it. I shouldn’t have left like I did though, I promise I’m not normally like that.”

“Oh,” I don’t really know what to say, “So you really just had to go?”

He averts his eyes before shaking his head, “I kinda panicked?”

“Panicked?” I chuckle, some of my nerves starting to ease out, “Why?”

“I just haven’t really done that before…” he blushed.

My jaw falls open, “Oh my God Peter I am so sorry, I had no idea. I should have asked if I was your first th-”

“No, no! Not like that, I’ve slept with people before,” he shakes his head, “It’s just always been with long term girlfriends. I just didn’t really know what to do when we got up and I panicked.”

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes from my lips, “That’s really cute Peter, and I mean what you did was fine, I was just a little disappointed I guess. I mean I had a lot of fun just hanging out too so I was kind of hoping we could have kept hanging out, but if you just wanted a one night stand that’s fine too.”

“W-Well I wanted to keep hanging out too, I guess I should have just asked,” he laughs lightly at himself, “Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me by taking me on a date sometime,” I shrug, “You know, just if you still wanted to hang out sometime.”

He goes wide eyed before clearing his throat, “Oh, um, yeah, I should do that. Do you, uh, have plans tonight?”

I shake my head, “Nope.”

“Cool, uh, would you want to go to the movies then?”

I nod eagerly, “I would love to.”

“O-Okay!” he grins ear to ear, “I’m gonna go shower though, and change! I’ll be back in ten?”

“I’ll be right here,” I smile back, “Can’t wait.”

“Me either,” he begins walking away but spins suddenly loudly declaring, “Oh!” before he spins back around. He presses a quick peck to my lips and bites his lips, “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

I blush, my stomach filling with anxious butterflies, “I’ll be waiting.”

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royalnugget42 · 3 years

Text

Ok so now that I’m officially in the Resident Evil fandom here’s something

In the aftermath of the explosion in that little village, Ethan’s body is recovered. He is completely molded though, and has no memory except that he has a daughter named Rose, and he is sent to a secret facility to be contained and researched. He spends years being experimented on, poked and prodded and his regenerative abilities grow to astonishing strength.

He can regrow whole limbs now. He found this out the hard way, when the scientists started cutting off bits and pieces of him. Whole bones have been regrown from nothing but mold, though he has to eat a lot of rotten food to make up for it. His captors never tell him who he was or what he did, not even telling him his name, and referring to him only by Subject F-001, or Series F.

Their guess as to how he got like this without showing any of the homicidal tendencies of his predecessors is a mystery to them. Perhaps it is the memory of his daughter, perhaps it is his isolation from the rest of the molded, perhaps he just has something in his DNA. Whatever the case, when he is not being hurt he is resentful and angry, but never violent, nor does he seem interested in spreading the mold further.

It’s 16 years after they took him that funding starts to run out for the project. They’ve devoted all the time to research that they can, and now they must look to utilize him in other ways.

They begin with that question, of why he is different from the rest of the molded, retaining some semblance of his humanity. They can’t take his memory of Rose, though they’ve tried, and instead start to introduce foreign samples of mold into his diet, to see if he gains any of their traits.

Did they know what was left catalogued in the E-series mold? Did they realize that every infected soul has left a mark in that strain? Did they predict...no they couldn’t have. But they should have.

Ethan Winters goes to sleep and dreams of his wife. He doesn’t remember having a wife, how could he? But he supposes this must be her, she is lying in bed with him and calling him baby. This is Rose’s mother, and she is beautiful. But she doesn’t say his name. He doesn’t know hers.

When he wakes up he sees a little girl with black hair at the foot of his bed. She giggles at him, but runs when he calls out, vanishing through the concrete walls. When he mentions this apparition, the scientists dutifully catalogue the apparent hallucinations in their notes on him, but they do nothing to help him when he begs them for knowledge.

“Where is she?” he shouts into the stark, empty air. “Where is my wife, where is my daughter? Where’s Rose?” There is no answer. Just the buzzing of fluorescent lights and the quiet beeps of machinery.

The second dream is of a kitchen. Sunlight pours through the window, and the wooden floor is grimy, but only because it hasn’t been washed since breakfast yesterday.

There’s an old man at the table. His wife brings a meal to the table, and whatever it is smells delicious. Their son, it must be their son, sits off to the side, scrolling nonchalantly through his phone. Their daughter is gathering silverware.

They are the picture of an idyllic, loving family. They smile at him and ask him if he’d like anything more to eat, gently chiding him. He’s so thin, shouldn’t he have just one more helping? So he dutifully finishes off another, before declaring he is done. The old man turns to him.

“You’ve got to go back soon. When you do you’ve got to remember.” Remember what? He only remembers Rose, he doesn’t even know who these people are. They aren’t his family, he knows that, but in a warped and twisted way they also are. The edges of his vision are black with mold as they all beg him to remember, to break free, to be himself again. Zoe is the last to speak.

“I know you remember us. We live on in you, everyone does. We’re all counting on you, kid.” He feels like he’s too old to be called a kid by this girl, but maybe this girl is older than she looks. Maybe he’s younger than he thought.

The little girl is back. She doesn’t run this time, just stares at him. It seems she is waiting for a question, and it’s only as he realizes this that he knows what to ask. “Who are you?” he asks. “Who am I?”

She laughs at this, bright and sharp as glass. “I’m your daughter, of course! And you’re my daddy.”

Rose? Is this little girl Rose? But no, she isn’t. He’s not sure how he knows but he does. This girl isn’t his daughter, except she is, isn’t she? They’re connected. A family in reverse. He didn’t make her, not like he made Rose, but she didn’t make him either. He’s too new for that. How can he be younger than his daughter?

“Evelyn.”

She smiles at the recognition in his eyes. There’s fear there, but also familiarity. This is at least someone he knows. If she is his daughter, then he must be her father. That’s how it works isn’t it? All at once he feels like a part of his identity is locked into place. If he is a father then he has to protect his daughters, both of them. He must find Rose, and his wife.

She fades away before he passes out again. He dreams of pain, in his hand, in his legs. He dreams of terror and aching phantom memories. There’s a woman, tall and beautiful, with hands like long knives, her daughters all over him, many-legged. There’s a doll, there are so many dolls, and there’s a woman in mourning. A creature of water and filth confronts him, spewing out acid that burns in his mind. He talks to a man that moves metal without touching it. The man tells him to remember, tells him not to give up.

“You were always so stubborn. Don’t lose that. You’ll get those bastards yet.”

There’s a woman, and she has Rose. He kills her, and as she crumbles she whispers that she is finally with her daughter. She whispers to him that they are family, that they are both related and the same. He takes Rose from where she cries amongst the stones, and feels his hands fall apart.

Evelyn is a good daughter. When he is awake, he tells stories, about his dreams, about her mother. Evelyn tells him things too.

“You and mom tried to kill me, but I never knew why. I had a long time to think though, and I think I might’ve been a bad girl.”

For what it’s worth, he is sorry, but Evelyn shakes her head. “It was for the best, after all. You weren’t really my dad then.”

He doesn’t know what he is. The scientists call him series F, but he doesn’t know what that means. Evelyn used to be called series E. She says maybe his name starts with an F, but he knows that it doesn’t.

He’s different from Evelyn, but not so different that he is distant from her. Evelyn says that she tried to give him a gift, something she gave to lots of people. She gave it to his wife too, but she never gave anything to him.

“You have a gift too,” she says, “but it didn’t come from me. You made it all on your own. I came from this place, from these scientists, but you made yourself. It’s like you grew from nothing.”

Evelyn always wants to have more family, always wants to give more of her gift. She asks if Ethan is the same, and he realizes that he has never tried to give his gift to someone else. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He already has all the family he could ask for.

He dreams of his wife. Her name is Mia. He knows that now. His name is Ethan, and her name is Mia and they are family.

Scientists have been recording his conversations, and they’re growing concerned. Ethan spends so much time talking to his “daughter” Evelyn. They have realized by now that the E strain mold in his diet must have contained some trace of Evelyn’s consciousness, possibly along with others. They’ve stopped exposing him to it but it seems the damage is done. He asks for Mia and Rose at every waking moment that he does not spend talking to Evelyn.

They took a risk. They took far too many risks. Something happens one day, when a woman comes in to monitor his physical state. He was supposed to be sleeping, but the drugs wore off sooner than expected. He saw the woman through the door, and he begged her, to let him out, to bring him to his family. She ignored him. He pounded against the glass and she just rolled her eyes and took more notes.

Something snapped. No, not snapped. It twisted and warped and grew. It blossomed.

If this woman wasn’t going to let him see his family, then he would make more family. He would make her see his side, and once they were family she would have to help him. That’s what family does. His breathing slowed, and he closed his eyes. With every ounce of longing and loneliness he reached—

Agony.

#resident evil #re8 ethan winters #re8 #re8 coda #aftermath of the village #ethan winters #mia winters #rosemary winters #Evelyn resident evil #tw mold

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juletheghoul · 3 years

Text

Oblivius Chapter 9

It hurt to write this but it needed to be said. I love these dummies and I'm glad you all love them too. Love hearing from all of you - dms/asks are always open!

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst, language (let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

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Can your brain be at war with itself? When he considered his feelings he found that it could. Her declaration was a balm, the missing piece of the puzzle. A cavern within his soul that had been empty for far too long and desperately needed filling. The other side was pure rage. A hurt so deep and intertwined with the anger that it burned him.

It swam through him with an ardour that was palpable, sweating out of his pores and puffing out with every exhale.

Maybe that same cruel, hurt part of him wanted to make her wait, see if there was truth in her honeyed words.

I’ve waited for you half my life, Spills; let’s see how long you can wait for me.

The thought would always shame him in its cruelty. A spiteful little dig at her that he imagined would sooth the hurt he felt but it never did. Just made him feel worse. It was strange to him that the one thing he’d wanted for as long as he’d known her would be to hear those words. I love you too Francis, and the first time they’d almost knocked him over. Even seeing them written out in her message had taken the breath from his lungs for a second, but it wasn’t enough. There were so many things he needed to get off his chest.

One week turned into three, and after a month he’d had enough.

---

His nerves were shot as he made his way over to her place, his guts twisting up with anticipation and when she opened the door his heart was racing. He had so much to say, so much to get off his chest and when he saw her his first instinct was to kiss her. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and take her to bed, bury all his frustrations into her body but he couldn’t go down that road. It took every ounce of self control to deny her embrace.

“Please Spills, don’t - please don’t, if I hug you now I won’t stop there and I’ll lose my resolve. Please - we need to talk first.” He held his hands up to forestall her advances and the hurt look on her face almost broke him. There was too much to say.

——

Seeing him at your door, deep frown on his face and unwilling to even come close was like a punch to the gut. He was here, finally, after everything that had happened and his absence he was finally within reach. Or at least that’s what you thought at first, seeing him now it was clear that although he was here physically, he was somewhere far away emotionally.

The euphoria you’d felt at finally hearing from him, the text he’d sent asking if he could come over was now replaced with a nervous fear. Was he here to tell you he didn’t want you?

No, this is Francis, my Francis and things will work out. Please let things work out.

He made his way through awkwardly, a far cry from the confident Francis who brought you food for your hangover. It made you uncomfortable, made you nauseous - a swarm of flies buzzing in your stomach.

“Did you want something to drink?” It felt so foreign coming out of your mouth, you’d never had to ask him before. If he wanted something he’d usually just help himself.

“No thanks.” He sat on your couch and you came to sit beside him, careful to keep your distance and when you were both facing each other he sighed loudly. His eyes were focused on you but they were sadder than you’d ever seen.

“I was supposed to be married.” He came right out with it.

“I know.” It was all you could say. It was hard not to wring your hands, the anxiety was running rampant.

“Right now, I’m guessing Claudia and I would be arguing over where to live - on our way home from our honeymoon.” He sighed loudly. “She ended up going anyway.”

He was staring at you and you couldn’t really describe the expression. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t fear or distrust. “Spills, what am I supposed to think? I know that you’ve always known how I felt about you.” He was trying not to get too agitated, trying so hard to reign in his feelings and you couldn’t argue, all you could do was sit and let him get it off his chest.

“It’s so hard for me not to think that this is all a ploy you concocted to keep me for yourself. Never actually wanting me, but not letting anyone else have me. Please - tell me I’m wrong.”

You chewed over his words, as much as they hurt - you couldn’t blame him for thinking these things. Your timing had been abysmal.

“I know Francis. I know why you’d think that and if the roles had been reversed I’d probably be thinking the same thing but you have to know it’s not like that. You have to know how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you.” You wanted to reach over and touch him, maybe if you could just hold his hand, run your fingers through his hair - he’d be able to feel what you felt. Transfer it onto his skin somehow but you couldn’t yet. He was still too raw and it would make him angry. Would see it as another ploy to entrap him.

“How? How would I know that? How could I possibly see this as anything other than manipulation? Your timing is bullshit.” You saw it then, the look on his face was anguish.

“Do you have any idea how much I worked to convince myself that this would never happen?” He was gesturing to the two of you. “How hard it was to be so far away from you, and hear that you were just happy to be with someone else? How fucking hurtful it was for you to suggest that I be your last resort in case you were single at thirty? What am I supposed to think?”

His emotions were getting the best of him now and you saw his eyes shining. He was so angry, and you deserved this. “Claudia was there when you didn’t want me Spills. We may have fought, and disagreed on things but she wanted me from the get-go. It didn’t take her fifteen years to admit that she might feel the same way about me that I felt about her.”

“Francis I-”

“No. Let me finish- please. Let me say everything I need to say because it’s eating me up inside and I won’t be able to look at you if I keep it in another second. I need you to understand that although I love you - with everything that I am, I was ready to let you go for someone else. I had a life planned with that someone and that just a whisper of you possibly feeling even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you all this time, fucked me up. I threw it all away, I ruined my wedding. I did something I never thought I’d ever do - I betrayed her.” The tears were rolling down his face, he couldn’t stop them and your body burned to console him. Your hands itched to wipe them away and you had to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I am so angry, Spills.” His voice was cracking and he couldn’t look at you, he was hunched over, elbows braced on his knees as he held his face in his hands. “I’m so angry and I want to forgive you and just ignore all these feelings and love you, take you to bed and show you how much I’ve wanted you but I can’t right now.” Your eyes were burning, a painful lump burning in the back of your throat.

Am I too late? Please Francis, please look at me.

“Francis, please - I know you’re angry, and I know I hurt you, but you know in your heart that I love you. Please look at me, please - we can fix this.” You tentatively scooted closer and he looked up at you. Big brown eyes sparkling with tears over the hurt you’d caused.

For a moment you saw him much younger. You saw the sweet, beautiful boy you rejected staring back at you and you couldn’t help but touch him. Softly putting your hand on his shoulder, feeling it tremble beneath your palm and he slowly shifted towards you. That was all you needed. You pulled him to you, letting him crush you in his embrace.

“I’m sorry Francis, I love you and I’ll wait as long as you need me to wait. Please don’t push me away.” His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and you could feel his anger and his sadness as he held you close. You were rubbing his back and scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him as best you could while whispering your feelings. Everything - anything that would convince him that you were on his level.

“Let’s start slow, and figure this out together. I shouldn’t have waited so long and I shouldn’t have denied my feelings for you. You’ve always been the one for me and I should never have made that stupid pact with you. I should have kissed you back. I’m sorry, I love you, believe me - please.” You were holding onto him tightly, pulling him to lay on you on your couch; he was wrapped up in the space you made for him.

“I want to, god I really want to Spills, you’re the love of my fucking life and I need you.” He was squeezing you tightly and you couldn’t help but pepper his face with kisses, little kisses between I love yous, your lips stained with the salt from his tears and you saw the deep breaths he took with every declaration.

“Keep telling me, please just keep telling me.” His eyes were closed, his words were whisper soft.

“I love you Francis, I love you.” You must have told him half a hundred times and you’d keep going until he believed you.

---

You both lay there for a long time, quietly soaking in each other's warmth, he’d kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable with you underneath him. His weight was reassuring and you pulled his shirt up slightly to rub the warm skin of his back.

All of the time wasted apart was devastating, you could almost see it then. The alternate timeline of your lives together. Maybe you’d have gotten married before he left. Maybe you’d have a couple of kids by now. A house. A dog.

“I don’t want to be, but I’m still hurt and upset." He sighed.

"I believe you, and I love you, but I think we should take things slow.” He pulled you out of your reverie, lifting up off you as he spoke. You missed his warmth instantly but he pulled you up with him and sat back on your sofa, tucking you into his side.

“I’m okay with that. Slow is good.” You kissed his cheek as he rubbed your back.

“I should go.” He was reluctantly getting up and for half a heart-beat you held onto him, he gave you a little smile. “If I stay, I’ll never leave. Slow, right?” He was putting his shoes back on and walking towards your door and everything in you wanted to beg him to stay but you knew he was right. If you’d jumped into something right now without giving him a chance to heal and come to terms with his choices he would hate you.

“Francis?” He turned towards you. “Will you take me out on a date?” You wiggled your eyebrows in the way you knew had always made him laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I’d like that.” He kissed your cheek, just barely grazing the side of your mouth and he was gone. Leaving you with your heart, and skin burning for him.

We can go as slow as you like.

--------------------------

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sunsukuna · 3 years

Text

— (call me by my name, and i’ll call yours). pt. i

☞ gojo x fem!reader. rated m. tw in tags. ☞ wc: 2959.

Gojo Satoru is a thief.

As evident by the notably empty container resting atop the cool and dark granite counters of your kitchen.

You didn’t cook often. There’s never really time, with your profession, for that. Cooking is a commodity turned luxury. Along with other basics like sleeping, sleeping restfully, sleeping in your own bed, sex, and sleeping.

You’re rarely home; your kitchen, along with most of your small studio, is kept fairly bare. Nothing in the fridge aside from a couple of water bottles. Nothing on your counters aside from sparsely used glass jars where you keep sugars, flours, and other dry ingredients. Nothing inside your cabinets except a few plates, bowls, cups, and a handful of your favorite spices. And nothing in your drawers besides enough eating utensils for a maximum of two people.

When you do have the time to cook, you prefer to savor the experience. The most substantial chunk of your time is spent contemplating flavors, textures, and smells—along with considering options for accompanying wines and desserts and hunting for fresh ingredients. Last night’s meal had been a tender salmon filet, picked from the nearest seafood market, baked and drizzled with tangy lemon and sweet honey. You had peppered with a dash of your most loved dried red peppers and served it with a plentiful side of vegetables. The recipe you put together turned out to your liking, even more so when you realized you had enough left to enjoy it again for lunch today.

Yet, here you are. Standing alone in your apartment, eyes unmoving from the plastic container, sans your fucking food, that was supposed to be neatly tucked away in your fridge.

Eyes still on the container, you wordlessly reach into your back pocket to grab your cellphone.

“Hey, Siri,” you say, jaw clenched and shoulders taut with tension. “Call ‘That Gojo Fucker.’”

Gojo is suspiciously quick to answer to your call, the phone not even ringing before his voice is blaring through your speakers.

He greets you cheerfully, almost singing your name and then humming a quick, “How can I help you, darling?”

His voice, laced with mirth and mischief, is enough to make your skin crawl and your gut twist with anxiety.

At his best, you consider Gojo to be a likable nuisance. You’ve know the ocean eyed curse user for a little over a decade, his presence constant even during the more tumultuous stages of both of your lives. He had managed to surprise you early in your friendship with his loyalty and earnest demeanor. Seemingly flighty by nature, Gojo Satoru holds unwavering dedication to the select few he chooses to accept into his life. Though occasionally rash and more often than not self absorbed, Gojo is a friend you’re thankful burrowed his way into your life.

But at his worst—you imagine him on the other end of your phone with an irritatingly familiar grin on his face, a smile stretched wide with ill-placed excitement—Gojo is just a nuisance.

“I told you not to call me weird names,” you chastise. “You ate my food, Gojo. Again.”

There’s a beat of silence followed by muffled sounds you can’t fully distinguish. The sound of fabric (ah, maybe clothes?) rustling and unintelligible whispers coming from a surprisingly dainty voice you’re not sure you recognize. And then—did he just mute himself?

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he finally responds after another moment.

“We’ve already discussed this,” you continue, choosing to ignore the fact that he’s very obviously in the middle something he doesn’t want you to hear. “You’re not even supposed to be in my apartment when I’m not here, and I—”

“Darling, how am I supposed to know when you’re home if you never answer my calls?”

“Enough with the pet names,” you scold quickly, your voice overlapping his. “And that’s literally not the point.”

“You never respond to my texts either,” Gojo continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “You respond to nerd-Nanami’s texts.” His tone matter-of-fact.

You can feel a migraine taking root, sprouting a dull ache between your brows. The urge to hang up is tempting as you consider ordering take out.

“Kento only texts me about work.”

A startled and undignified squeak tumbles from your mouth when a thunderous boom bounces through the speakers of your phone and straight to your eardrum. You hastily pull your phone away from your ear and decide it would be safer to put the call on speakerphone.

“What are you doing?” You nearly yell while your right hand tenderly massages your ear. “Are you on a mission?”

Your questions are followed by another wave of deafening silence. He’s muted his mic again, causing your forehead to scrunch in confusion. Gojo shouldn’t be on a mission today. A frown falls upon your lips. He’s supposed to be taking a day off.

“Gojo, you’ve gotta stop working during your time off. You’re going to go bald early,” you sigh, shoulders slumping as tension is released.

Another beat of silence trails behind your voice before you decide to hang up. Ordering delivery is starting to sound better and better as you start rustling though the drawer in your kitchen dedicated to local take away restaurants you adore. It won’t bring you the same satisfaction as a home cooked meal—your eyes shift to the empty food container once again as a sharp pain settles in your stomach—but it’s better than nothing.

“…”

Your brain is fast to process the unexpected sound behind you, just a few steps away, as being undeniably familiar. It’s the voice of a friend, you realize, who’s just called you by your given name. A name you covet so fiercely you’ve only shared it with a humble group of three. But your body reacts faster than your mind, a kitchen knife is in your hands and sent whistling out of your hands before your heart beats twice. You throw it with practiced ease and precision. Enough force to injure but not to kill.

A second knife is in your hand not a breath later as you turn to face your intruder, prepared to thoroughly mince whoever had the misplaced gall to break into your home. You have to force yourself not to scream when you find the first knife you threw frozen in the air in front of an ashen haired fiend fashioning a devilish grin staring at you.

“Gojo,” you seethe, your brain catching up. Your words tumble out in mess of curses and shaky breathes. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to stop fucking teleporting into my home, you slimy bastard.”

The impulse to throw the second knife isn’t lost on you, but you decide to toss it to the counter, abandoning the urge, knowing it wouldn’t make contact with your target.

“I really, really don't like when you do that, Gojo! It’s goddamn bad enough when I’m not here; it’s a complete invasion of privacy,” your voice is shrill at this point, vexing to your own ears, but you keep going. “But I really fucking hate when you sneak up on me, Gojo! It’s so—”

“Gojo this, Gojo that,” he interrupts your tirade, lazily pulling the knife you’d thrown out of the air and placing it on the counter. “Never Satoru, but always Kento. You know, darling, you’re kind of a brat.”

For the second time today, a feeling of confusion washes over you.

“I—w-what?” You reply a bit dumbly, your anger quickly replaced by growing bewilderment.

“You’re a brat,” he repeats simply. His voice is low, hushed, and ladened with unnerving apathy that causes you to bristle. You’ve heard this tone before—calculated and deceptively passive—but you can’t recall a single time he’s directed it at you.

Gojo takes a few steps forward, long legs quickly closing the already small distance and caging you between him and the countertop. His proximity is making you unusually nervous. His closeness makes your skin itch and your mouth dry. A new fluttering of anxiety bubbles in your gut, climbing the walls of your rib cage and nestling itself beneath your chest where you can feel heart thumping faster than you’d like.

You’ve been close to Gojo before. Your initial aversion to being touched by others dissolved entirely after years of missions and training sessions that have placed you in unavoidable positions. Gojo, especially, isn’t a bother after becoming accustomed to his incessantly grabby hands and roaming fingers that often found themselves lingering on your waist, squeezing your shoulders, tracing the patterns on your wrists, or laced between the waves of your hair.

Gojo’s touch, above anyone else, is one which you are well acquainted. And yet, in this moment, you realize you’re terrified for him to touch you.

You feel like running when you catch his crystalline eyes peering down at you, his midnight tinted lenses discarded alongside the knife on the counter. The look in his eyes, maddening and hungry, is enough to drown you. You want to bolt when his hand finds its way to the hem of your too large t-shirt, a jarring reminder that you have nothing on underneath because you hadn’t been expecting guests. Gojo’s other hand snakes itself into your hair, a sensation normally welcomed and relaxing, but you let out a surprised gasp when his fingers tighten around your locks and give a sharp tug.

Your hands quickly find themselves pressed against his chest, desperate to push him away and reintroduce much needed distance. You will yourself to ignore the heat of his skin that burns your palms through his thin button up. You give Gojo a push that does nothing to move him but does earn you another pull, this time harder, on your hair. A whimper crawls its way from the back of your throat, and you watch as his pupils bloom—obsidian eclipsing sky colored eyes.

“Did that hurt?” He licks his lips, eyes dropping quickly from yours to your neck.

The audacity of his question pushes you to finally speak, despite your still rampant nerves.

“Of course it hurt, you fucking creep,” you hiss, pushing at his chest again. “Gojo, let me go right now or I’ll—”

Another sudden jerk on your hair causes your words to be lost within a painful whine.

“Satoru,” he cuts you off with a grunt, hooking the hand that had been toying with your shirt under one of your thighs and lifting you onto the counter with ease.

You shudder at the feeling of granite beneath you. It’s frigid against the bare skin of your thighs. Even more chilling against the bare heat of your pussy. An overbearing rush of panic clouds your thoughts, jumbling your mind with anxiety, anger, confusion, and something else you’re uneasy to name.

Gojo discards your hair, both of his hands resting atop your thighs and dangerously close to touching—

“Call me Satoru,” Gojo breathes out, distracting you again. “I want you to call me by my name.”

“You’re being really weird.” You muster your voice, albeit weakly, and ignore his odd demand. “I want you to back up, and let me go. Please.”

His grip on you tightens, blunt nails digging into your thigh. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if his hands have always been so large. Your eyes widen as you realize they nearly swallow the whole of you.

“Oh,” he offers you a short, hollow laugh, “I didn’t know you could say please.”

“Gojo, I’m serious.”

Your eyes meet his again, and a long forgotten feeling scorches your insides. Starting in the pit of your belly and settling hotly in the center of your cunt. The realization makes you want to run away again, adrenaline sweeping over you amidst your panic and anger. The look in Gojo’s eyes is upsettingly knowing, as if he’s also unearthed what had been lost, perhaps purposefully buried, between your storm of emotions. That feeling you had been fearful to identify just moments ago, so severe you’re forced to acknowledge it.

“You’re so fucking disobedient,” Gojo groans. He sounds annoyed, but the low sound and unexpected swear leaving his lips sends another wave of longing through you.

“You’re fucking bratty,” he continues as he readjusts his already firm grip on your thighs and pulls you forward.

His hips meet your cunt, and your breasts press against his chest. You hazily consider if he can feel how wet you’ve become through his trousers. If he realizes your bra and panties won’t be found underneath your shirt should his hands wander any further.

He must because his next words leave him in a shaky breath. “You’re fucking mouthy,” he rasps, lips now pressed against your neck while his teeth lightly tug at your delicate skin. “I ask you for one thing, and you—fuck—can’t even do that.”

Your hands that had desperately tried to push him away earlier find themselves covered beneath a cascade of soft, snow colored locks, pulling Gojo closer. You can’t remember when you put them there. Your mind is too clouded with want; your thoughts are too fogged with images of what it would feel like to have his large hand cupping your breast, his tongue lapping at your pert nipple while he fucks into you, two fingers deep, with his other hand.

“You’re so wet, baby,” his voice no louder than a whisper. “You’re dripping on me, you’re fucking soaked, and I haven’t even stuffed you with my cock yet.”

You open your mouth with the intention of telling Gojo to kindly fuck off, irritated by the mocking undertone that had plagued vulgar his words, but all that comes is a lewd moan so shameless it spurs another humorless laugh from him.

“If you say my name, I’ll touch you properly,” he hums, mouth hovering over yours. His fingers dance along the slick folds of your aching cunt, teasing as he presses a finger at your entrance and his thumb to your clit. “Say my name, and I’ll fuck you.”

Greedy for more, you rock your hips forward, moaning loudly when you feel his finger slip inside you. The sensation is lost as quickly as you’d found it, though. Your brows furrow in confusion as your vision suddenly tilts, your mind sluggish to realize you’re being lifted from the counter and thrown over Gojo’s broad shoulders. A choked cry unintentionally falls from your mouth. Your hands, balled into fists and beating at his back, go ignored as he wordlessly carries you to your bedroom.

“Put me down, you asshole!” you screech, indignation and embarrassment leaking into your voice. “Fucking put me down, Satoru, I swear to fuck—”

Another strangled cry flies out of you when you’re sent falling backwards onto your plush bed. It takes a moment before your vision looks like it’s supposed to, the world correcting itself to be right side up. Gojo stands before you, and for the first time since his arrival you can really see him.

His white shirt, normally pressed and tucked neatly beneath the waistband of his pants, is disheveled. His hair, too, is a beautiful mess made by your hands. His lips plush and pink from painting your neck with kisses and bites that would probably leave marks. You swallow thickly as your eyes travel to his pants. They’re black, as usual, and tailored to fit his tall build. Your jaw drops, ever so slightly, when you see yourself smeared across the front of a tent in his pants.

When Gojo calls your name, your eyes snap upward to find his. Heat pools in your cheeks, and your ears feel like they’re on fire. You can’t help but feel ashamed of yourself. What the hell were doing trying to fuck your longest friend and coworker? And on your kitchen counter? You’re woefully aware that it’s been a long time since your last sexual encounter, but surely nothing could excuse or justify this type of mindless behavior.

This isn’t who you are. And Gojo, despite his prowess and frequent affairs, isn’t this either. Not with you—never with you. In over a decade, he’s never made any kind of advances that made you feel uncomfortable. Playful flirting and pet names aside, Gojo’s never touched you like this. He’s never spoken to you like this. There’s never been a single indication that he’s ever viewed you as anything beyond a friend; that line had never been crossed. Crossing it had never even been considered.

So how the fuck did a phone call about your missing salmon turn into you almost getting your guts rearranged in your kitchen?

Something must be wrong, you realize, your mind buzzing with newfound clarity as your lust driven haze dissipates. Gojo says your name again, clearer and louder than before. His underlying distress and panic don’t go unheard either. When you catch his eyes again, your heart plummets to your stomach and you feel like sobbing.

“I see,” you say numbly. The puzzle pieces are starting to fit together. “You were cursed, ‘toru.”

Whether he flinches at your use of the old nickname you hadn’t spoken in years or the fact that he had come to the same conclusion as you, you’re not sure.

“If we live through this, I’m gonna make fun of you for years,” you say resolutely.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of your era, owner of The Six Eyes and Limitless techniques, has been cursed by a nightmarish pair of curses you’ve only had the displeasure of reading about in tattered textbooks and ragged scrolls. The man is a thief and a fool.

And, just your luck, he’s dragged you into his curse.

“So, sweetie,” you smile bitterly, “how do we kill an incubus and a succubus?”

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #Gojo Satoru smut #tw.dubcon #tw.food #suna.scum #no beta

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