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certifiedskywalker · 3 years

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Trouble Doubled - Bucky Barnes

Even after everything, you’re still the person who Bucky Barnes runs to when things go bad. Only now, he brings Sam who fails to hide his grin when he sees how James melts under your touch.

WARNINGS: Blood, stitches, and TFATWS possible spoilers (I think I was vague enough)

“Ouch! That’s going to hurt in the morning!”

“Ha, it hurts now, actually,” Sam grumbled.

You pressed your lips together to stifle the grin that threatened to spill over them. Unable to help yourself, you glanced at Bucky in the hopes he too was biting back a grin. Stood by the door, slightly shrouded in shadow, you could make out the half smile that played on his lips. Though, his expression quickly melted into a grimace as Sam groaned. Reality quickly crashed back down on your shoulders and you turned back to the man laid on the table.

“You’re not going to like this.” Before Sam could ask what ‘this’ was, you began to palpate his wound. He flinched away from your reach at first, but then settled in the discomfort.

“Mm, yeah, no, that doesn’t feel good, Doc.”

“Not a doctor,” you said, still pressing lightly into the bruised flesh. “And I have to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. Otherwise, you’ll need a doctor.”

“Gotta work on your bedside manner,” Sam said as he winced. You pulled your hands away with a sigh and he met your eyes. “Bad?”

“In the grand scheme of things, no. Just try not to throw yourself off a building for the next few days. Think you guys can manage that?”

“Maybe. Harder to fly without jumping first.” Sam groaned once more as he sat up and the pain seemed to convince him to heed your warning. “We’ll try, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes at him before turning to look at Bucky. Still tucked in the darker corner of the room, he seemed small. His brows were knitted tightly together by worry and you imagined that, if he met your gaze, you would see concern in his eyes. Pushed forward by your own worry, you strode over to him. At your growing closeness, Bucky lifted his eyes to yours.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

Despite his protest, Bucky did not lock himself in place. Instead, he gave in and let you lead him by the arm, over to the table. Sam eyed him with a wide grin as Bucky landed in the same spot he had sat in only moments ago. He mouthed something to the century-old soldier that you caught, but could not make out.

“What happened to taking it easy? You told me after, you know, that you would ease into things.” You gestured to the rags you had used to clean Sam’s more minor wounds; the fabric pieces were now dyed a reddish pink from blood. “That doesn’t seem like easing into it.”

“You didn’t see the other guy,” Sam quipped.

“I like to think you didn’t leave any of him left,” you fired back as you pinched Bucky’s chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

Bucky did as you told him to and met your gaze. You took a sharp breath in at the sight of him, at how his pupils blew out slightly as you studied his reaction. All at once, the air around you grew thick. This close, you could smell the sweat and ash on his skin, along with hints of whatever air freshener he had in his apartment.

Was it coconut? Sandalwood? You couldn’t parse out which as you found yourself lost in the blues of Bucky’s eyes. The sound of Sam clearing his throat shook you from your haze.

“No signs of a concussion.”

“Really?” Sam asked, grin still plastered on his face. You raised a brow at him in question before you turned back to Bucky.

“Why? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he said, clearly tired of Sam’s commentary, “but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Super soldier or not, a head wound is a head wound. Can you?” You gestured to his jacket and, with a sigh, Bucky pulled it off his shoulders.

“How do you two know each other again?” Sam asked, glancing around the room. “And why are we in an abandoned building.”

“Hard to trace us back here. Didn’t want to lead them to Y/N’s place,” Bucky said, tossing his jacket to the side. He winced as he did, and then you saw the blood.

“Barnes!"

With reaching hands, you peeled back the crimson-soaked material of his shirt. Your movement revealed a long gash along his side that, with each breath, sent dribbles of blood to his hip. Sam made a sound of surprise and mild disgust at the sight. You were inclined to agree with another shout, but you were too caught up in how to stop the bleeding.

“Lay back,” you ordered, pressing Bucky’s shoulder. He yielded and you pushed his shirt up to expose the entire length of the wound. “Why didn't you show this to me earlier?!”

“It’s not that bad.”

"You're bleeding," you huffed, "which is pretty indicative of bad, if you ask me. Sam?"

"This is not my battle,” he raised his hands and shook his head. “I know better than to intrude on a lover’s quarrel.”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke up to correct him. In your mind, you came up with a quick excuse: Bucky was bleeding and you needed to focus on stopping it. Sam’s comment could be corrected later. Though, when Bucky didn’t speak up, you felt your chest tighten. As you worked on dressing the gash, you glanced up at him and found his blue eyes trained on you. He was dwelling on your silence too.

You pulled yourself out of the whirlpool of his gaze and reached over his body towards your medical supplies. As you stretched, your chest pressed lightly against Bucky’s, but you swallowed hard and refocused.

“Sorry, need to sow you up.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but he did avert his gaze. He found some spot in the ceiling to stare at instead of you. His distraction allowed you to work without the prickling temptation to sneak glances at his features; for the most part. It was only when Sam moved to stand over at your side you did you look up from Bucky’s wound.

“What?”

“Nothing, just wondering how many times you’ve done this before.”

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips at his reply. “Too many times to count. If it’s not an Avenger, it’s a masked savior from Hell’s Kitchen. Someone always needs stitched up.”

“But James here is your favorite patient?”

“Sam.”

Bucky’s tone set you on edge. It was warning, cold, and unlike the teasing you had grown fond of. Sam, knowing better than to piss him off, backed away from the table. You looked from him to Bucky and back again. When Bucky did not dare to meet your gaze, you felt a lump form in your throat. Tension weighed down your tongue, stopped you from saying a word or asking a question, despite your want to.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be, old man. I’ll check with Torres, see if he has anything.”

Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above you. He was quiet, like the first time you met, and distant. His gaze seemed far away, as if he were looking through the ceiling of this hideaway. After you heard the door of the room close behind Sam, you went back to work on Bucky’s side in silence.

Carefully, you sowed the gash and tried to keep your hands steady. Every other jab with the needle made Bucky wince. You flinched at his sharp intake of breath and mumbled an apology before you went on to the next stitch. Five apologies later, the bleeding slowed and you gently pressed a crisp, white bandage to safeguard your handiwork.

Immediately after you secured the gauze, Bucky moved to sit up. Before he could, you pressed on his shoulders again and pinned him in place. Though, you knew you couldn’t have pinned him if he hadn’t let you. Your upper body strength was nothing compared to his, you both knew that.

“Don’t move,” you said softly, “you’ll ruin my work.”

“It’s gonna be hard not to.” Bucky met your gaze and, in the dim light of the room, his eyes looked dark, almost sad. Something in his face, perhaps the dull, yet familiar laughter lines around his mouth or the bags under his eyes, alleviated the tension that had silenced before.

“You told me you wouldn’t. That you would take it easy and focus on making amends.”

Bucky closed his eyes at the disappoint that laced your tone. “I tried. I wanted to, Hell, I need to, but I can’t. I never could.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky began to sit up from the table top, “I’m a soldier. I need the fight.”

You watched as he moved, as your hands slipped from his shoulders and fell back to your sides. He pulled his shirt down over his freshly bandaged wound. When he was covered, Bucky looked back up to you, saw your frown and frowned too.

“Soldiers get to come home,” you pointed out, arms crossed over your chest.

“If they’re lucky. I’ve never been lucky.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at that. He was right. Bucky told you his story once before, after a therapy session left him feeling a bit more dry than high. He told you that he couldn’t tell you everything, that he wouldn’t. He didn’t have to, but you still hoped for him.

“Luck can change.”

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his feet. Now, at his full height, he towered slightly over you. Despite his looming figure, Bucky did not scare you. Even when he told you his story, what he had done, Bucky did not scare you.

“Yeah, well, luck, or fate, or whatever, brought me to you and here we are,” he gestured to the dusty dwelling around you. You looked around with a careful eye before you playfully shrugged.

“I’ve been in worse dives.” Bucky chuckled, a unforced sound that rose up from his chest against his will. “Really, I have.”

“I don’t doubt it. But we put you in danger, asking for your help here. I put you in danger.”

“Oh, are you serious?” You threw your hands up in the air, “there’s always going to be danger in this world. Aliens, war, bad luck.”

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he pressed, taking a step towards you.

You could smell the perfume of the air freshener again, how it clung to his clothes. It distracted you, threw you into thoughts of what his apartment looked like, if he would ever share that part of him with you or if he would keep it locked away with his full story. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from asking, from wasting your breath on a question he wouldn’t answer. His words would have to be enough for you and, as if on cue, Bucky echoed his sentiment.

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“How noble, wanting to keep me safe, Barnes. Just me?”

Silence was your immediate answer. Silence and Bucky’s full attention. You didn’t miss how his eyes flickered down from yours to your lips then back again.

“Just you.”

In the quiet that followed Bucky’s statement, you became frighteningly aware of your heartbeat again. It wasn’t pounding like before, but it felt loud, like it was pressing against your ribcage, begging to leap out and into Bucky’s arms. As if propelled by it, you found yourself leaning in towards his warmth just as he seemed to shrink away.

Before he was out of reach, you lifted your hands to his face and cupped his jaw. Stubble prickled your fingers and palm, though you were far too enraptured to care.

“Then stay alive,” you said softly, “change your luck and come home.”

In your mind, you did not picture Bucky’s home as his mystery apartment. Instead, you saw only this moment captured by some invisible third party. You saw home as just the two of you and the image made you heart beat a bit faster.

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, stewed in the new, easier tension between you. But then your resolve broke and you lips broke into a smile. Bucky mirrored your expression, a lopsided grin resting comfortably along his features. His eyes fell to the floor between you before he looked back into your face.

“Can...can I kiss y-”

“Yes, Barnes, please.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. Your hands slipped from his jaw to the back of his head where your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his brown hair. One of his hands found your waist and pulled you close to him, while the other cupped your jaw. In sync, his mouth moved against yours and everything around you melted away.

No more wonderings or mystery. It was only you and Bucky, come danger, trouble, or bad luck; and Sam who lingered outside the door.

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redpandaramblings · 3 years

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Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 7

Part 1 Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship, Bakugou is a dumbass but so is y/n

Where we left off-

You couldn’t do this anymore.

No more.

The fireworks illuminated you as your grip on the railing tightened until your knuckles turned white.

“Katsuki?”

“”What?” He asked roughly, barely glancing your way.

“Let’s break up.”

What?

What had you just said?

Bakugou looked up, wide eyed, to stare at his alpha. His beautiful Y/N. The hand in his pocket gripped a small jewelry box tightly. He hadn’t been paying full attention, instead he had been in his own head, practicing over and over what he was going to say. But then you had said… He couldn’t have heard right.

“What’d you say?” He whispers gruffly.

Bakugou watched intently. You were staring up at the sky, though it didn’t feel like you were actually seeing the fireworks as they boomed and flashed.

“I… It’s time for us to break up, Katsu. You know it, I know it. This…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, still not looking at him. “This hasn’t worked in a while. A long while. Years, if we’re honest.”

That… That wasn’t true! Why were you saying that? Bakugou stared at you, shocked. His eyes raked over you, and for the first time that evening, he actually paid attention. You… You didn’t look good. Your outfit was beautiful, and your hair was perfect. But now he noticed the slump to your posture, and the way your shoulders were tense and hunched. How long had those dark circles been under your eyes? Bakugou startled as he realized that whatever was bugging you clearly wasn’t just a today problem. Something had been going on for a very long time and he hadn’t noticed. How had he not noticed? He moved to inch closer to touch you, to hold and comfort his alpha. You held up your hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s alright. I know. I’m sorry I’m saying this today, that wasn’t what I had planned. But there wasn’t a good time before, and you were clearly so miserable tonight…” You blew a heavy breath out, glancing at the omega before looking away. “It’s time. Probably long overdue.”

Bakugou made a strangled little sound in the back of his throat as he stared, wide eyed. What was happening? This couldn’t be real. You were his alpha. His Y/N. Maybe… Maybe if he was honest with himself, things hadn’t been great when he had started out at being a pro hero, but that was over now. It was okay now. Things had calmed down. You were meant to be together! Katsuki took a step, reaching for you again. “Y/N, what are you saying?”

You took a step back, away from him. “It’s over, Katsuki. It’s over and that’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay!

“I know things might be awkward around the apartment,” you continued, “but it’s only for a little while. I’ve been offered a job, and I’ve taken it. I’ll be moving in a month. I’ll try to stay out of your hair until then.”

Bakugou’s mind screamed. He was frozen, his mind refusing to process what was going on. You were leaving? Leaving him in every single way? Where were you going and leaving him behind? When had you planned all this? What had happened for him not to notice his alpha was slipping away from him? Katsuki whined quietly. You winced and looked away.

“I’m sorry for saying this all tonight, but it needed to be said. I’m sorry.” You glanced his way, giving him a watery smile. “Goodbye, Katsu. I hope you find someone who makes you happy.”

With that you turned and walked away, your pace increasing until you had broken out into a run. Katsuki remained where he was, sinking down until he was kneeling on the peer. He stared after you until he couldn’t see you any more. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t… He pulled the small velvet box from his pocket and opened it with shaking hands. There was the ring he had picked out, just for you. From the light of fireworks that still flashed overhead he could just barely make out the inscription that he had asked for. “Forever.” Bakugou bit into his fist to muffle his howls of anguish.

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

It was strange, packing up. So many artifacts of your life that you have walked by and lived with every day without paying attention to you were forced to hold and consider. Take, toss, or give away. Some stuff was easy choices. You had packed your books up, and sorted through your clothing to figure out what you were going to take with you. But some things were harder than they should be. Like this. You held the unopened toothbrush package in your hands, turning it over and over. You had bought it years ago, when you had just moved it. It was for Katsuki if he ever stayed the night. And here it was, still unopened. It would be a waste to throw it away, unused. But you couldn’t stand to take it with you. You threw it into the give away box with an aggravated sigh. You had known this was going to be difficult, but it was even worse than you had anticipated. So many things in your living space reminded you of the blond that you were leaving behind. The little orange knick knacks you bought because they reminded you of him. The first edition runs of his very first hero merch. The dusty omega nesting kit that was hidden in the back of your closet. There were so many artifacts of your former plans and dreams, and each one hurt in a new way. The smell didn’t help.

You were certain you were imagining it, but lately it seemed like your apartment always smelled faintly of burnt caramel. It was a major reason you stayed away whenever you weren’t packing. It made you feel guilty, even though you were certain you were doing the right thing. He didn’t need you clinging on to him. He didn’t want you hanging on, and he had made that clear time and time again. And now? Now you had to figure out how to live in a world where Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t your sun and moon. You’d figure it out. Somehow. If you could just get that damned smell of caramel out of your nose.

You threw half empty containers of food and spices into the trash with more force than necessary. Maybe if you got rid of the food you had laying around the food smells would go away. You still had three weeks until you’d be moving, but there was enough savings in your account that you could eat out and live on the basics until you were settled in your new place. Or you supposed you could cook at Denki’s. You had offered to help him pack since his schedule was busier than yours. He was going to put in his transfer notice any day now.

You stilled and stared out the window without really looking at anything as you became lost in thought. It was something you hadn’t really processed before. The first time you were going to be moving in with someone, and it was going to be Denki. And it was going to stay Denki for the rest of your lives, or that was the plan at least. It was strange to think about. You could picture it though. Picture Denki and his grin. Imagine chaotic nights with Mario Kart and junk food. A slight blush tinted your cheeks at how easy it was to imagine what your future kids could look like. It wouldn’t be a bad life. It would take time. But you think the two of you could make it good. The friendship was there, and strong. Maybe, with each other's help, you could both let go. Heal. Maybe even come to truly love each other with time.

You glanced at the clock. It was almost time for you to go to work. You planned on giving them a couple more weeks. There honestly wasn’t much to do this time of year, but it got you out of the apartment, and that was something you really needed right now. You glanced around, deciding to leave your sorting as it was for now. In just a couple minutes, you were out of the apartment and on your way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes after noon. You should be gone by now. Bakugou had listened, pressing his ear to his door. He cursed the building’s soundproofing when he couldn’t hear anything. He was desperate for any sign of you. But he didn’t quite dare confront you. How could he face you? In the span of an evening you had turned his entire world on its head. He had thought you were good. That the two of you had been as solid in your relationship as you had been when it had all started. But then you had said…

You had…

You were…

A whine creeped out of his throat.

The past week hadn’t felt like reality. He’d gone to work on autopilot, focusing on the job in a way that didn’t allow him to think of anything else. His friends hadn’t started asking questions yet, thanks to how busy work had been. Bakugou never thought he’d be grateful for an increase in villain activity, yet here he was. But when his shift was over and he had to go home, that was when your words replayed for him over and over again. He spent hours curled in his nest, barely leaving. He still ate, drank, shuffled to the bathroom. He cared for himself enough that he could still go to work without anybody questioning too much. The only other thing he spent any time doing, he wasn’t exactly proud of, but he couldn’t stop himself. Here he was, going to do so again for the fourth day in a row.

Bakugou crept out of his own apartment. He knew you were long gone from the building, but his guilty conscience kept him moving quickly and quietly until he reached his goal.

Unlocking your apartment was easy. He wondered if you had forgotten you had given him a key when you had first moved in. Maybe you thought he had forgotten or hadn’t cared. Bakugou used to think he understood you pretty well. He wasn’t so sure anymore. He crept in, glancing around. More of your things were gone.

Bakugou whined quietly as he walked further into your apartment. The air stank of burnt and bitter chocolate. If you were so upset you smelled like this, how had he not noticed? He began carefully sifting through the piles that appeared to be for donating. He grabbed a couple old shirts that smelled strongly of you. He tried not to let it hurt when he noticed one of the shirts was an old tshirt you had stolen from him years ago. He knelt on the floor just staring for some time. This was real. You had broken up with him. And now you were getting rid of your memories together and were going to leave. He might never get to see you again. Might never smell your scent again. Or worse, see you with someone else. Smell someone else’s scent on your skin.

Katsuki didn’t fight his tears as he grabbed as many things as he thought he could get away with without it being noticed. In minutes he was back in his apartment, desperately tucking everything into his nest. The smell might last him a while, but not forever. He curled up tightly, pressing his nose into a place where your scent was strong. He couldn’t do this forever. He didn’t know what he could do. As much as he hated to admit it, it was time to ask for help.

And that is all for this time, my darlings! More is in the works and hopefully will get to you much sooner than this part did. Katsuki is starting to pull his head out of his ass, hopefully it's a trend that will continue. TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @luajosephdun-blog, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness, @lonelyheart-clubband, @katsuki-cait, @moonwritters26, @animexholic, @kyrah-williams, @emilymikado, @wolvesblaxe360, @ficklemcselfish, @helena-way07, @fandomsaremylifesposts, @baby-bakuhoe, @sukeraa, l@ucypevensie11, @idk-sam, @katsuki-cait, @weirdestlove, @sasa-slayer, @anime-for-live, @kaidousimp, @bluesdustyflames, @vitheria, @milktea0208, @maristaymulti, @whatdidshesayyy, @memesbyeloise , @fandomsgotmefucked, @killmehe, @shy-panda02 , @skylan666, @missmolliemoo, @misssugarless, @arcticsakura, @queenondeezmatatas, @lordmypantsaresocool, @bluesdustyflames, @am-198, @hornelittleweeblet2, @joonie-centric

Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I’d have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

#reader insert #bnha reader insert #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x reader #reader insert angst #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #omegaverse #omega bakugou #alpha reader #multi part fic #denki #fake dating #fake engagement #part 7

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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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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Rabid.

The brainrot was real, guys. Hope you like it :))

Kyoutani Kentarou x female reader

tw blood, violence, implied minor character death, non-con, smut, nsfw

There’s blood splattered across the back of his hands the first time you make the unwitting mistake of catching Kyoutani’s attention. He usually can’t be fucked wasting time wrapping his fists; the skin across one of his knuckles is split and raw from his last job, but most of the blood isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

But he wouldn’t have noticed – it comes with the territory and he’s never really given a fuck whether there’s blood on his clothes or not – if it hadn’t been for that tiny gasp.

That soft, sharp little intake of breath, and like the rabid dog they claim he is, he snaps to the threat.

Nobody else at the table notices, and you seem to realise your mistake, freezing up the moment those honey brown eyes flash and zero in on you. Your throat bobs unsteadily – you look like a deer caught in headlights. Startled. Terrified.

Kinda fuckin’ adorable, if he’s being honest.

“I– I’m sorry, sir,” you mutter, ducking your head as you set down his drink with a tremor in your hand.

Vaguely, he registers Makki’s choked snort at the honorific – nobody’s ever called him sir before – but he can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck that the two of you have drawn an audience.

Not when you’re still frozen, hardly daring to draw breath at his side.

You’re new, that much is painfully obvious, but not stupid. You know who he is – who they are, and despite his reputation, he’s never been one to get off on fear or some fucked up version of a power trip; Kyoutani simply likes the feeling of lashing out, beating the absolute shit out of some asshole just because he can.

Because it feels good, gets his blood pumping.

Nobody would lift a finger to help you if he decided to take offence to your little slip up. And truthfully, he couldn’t give a shit – he’s used to people being on edge around him and it’s not like you’ve reacted any other way than how you’re supposed to.

It’s natural for you to be startled, scared even. But not here, not with them. Here you should know better, because here is filled to the fucking brim with men like Kyoutani. Oh sure, they might be prettier, polished and charming like Oikawa, but you’d have to be a goddamn idiot to think the man hasn’t stepped over bodies he’s put in the ground to get where he is.

At least Kyoutani never has to pretend to be anything other than what he is.

But a little blood in a place like this shouldn’t raise an eyebrow, and the way you’re staring at the table, eyes cast down and wide; Kyoutani can almost hear you cursing yourself out for your own stupidity. And it strikes him as he stares at you, drinking in every subtle shift in your body language, wondering why you don’t just tuck tail and run off like you so clearly want to, that you really don't belong in a place like this.

“Something the matter, Mad Dog?” a silken voice purrs, and he tears his eyes away from your trembling form to glance back at his boss, sitting at the head of the table. The brunette’s smiling idly, appraising the two of you and Kyoutani feels you stiffen beside him.

You don’t dare open your mouth, don’t so much as twitch, not even as Kyoutani returns his attention back to you. By now the entire table has quietened down, most if not all of the gathered men staring at you and you – pretty eyes filling with tears, hands clasped together and trembling in front of your dress – look like you just want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. And somewhat selfishly, there’s a part of Kyoutani that wants to keep you there like that.

Not afraid, exactly. Just… there.

He can’t explain it, doesn’t know why he hasn’t just told you to fuck off back to the kitchen, dismissed you with a grunt like he would have if any of the other servers had made the same mistake. He has bigger shit to worry about than some perceived fucking offence, but he finds himself pausing, drawing this little moment out for a lifetime before finally putting an end to it, “No.”

He jerks his chin, breaking the moment between the two of you to reach for the drink you’d set down before him, but still you don’t move, glancing between him and Oikawa like you’re afraid to move – as if you’re terrified that you’ve read this situation wrong and one wrong step and you’ll just make things worse. It’s so fucking endearing that he almost snorts, but it takes Oikawa’s voice, calm and level and almost kind to shake you out of your frozen state, “Run along now, cutie.”

You scamper off without a backwards glance, and if anybody notices Kyoutani watching you out of the corner of his eye while he nurses his drink, they have the better sense to keep their mouths shut about it.

And honest to god, it’s the last he expects to see of you. He’s not so stupid as to think you landed the job because you genuinely wanted it; people don’t end up in places like this because they have choices, they end up here because somebody somewhere along the line fucked up.

This city’s filthy, full of irredeemable pieces of shit like him and it takes innocence like yours, chews it up and spits it out. If you were smart, you would have left after your little run-in with him, so why the fuck are you right back in their private room less than a week later, nails biting into your palm and resolutely refusing to meet his eye?

Oikawa’s busy rattling off a list of drinks he wants, but this time it’s Kyoutani who’s frozen in place, staring at you with a scowl that has you shivering even as you nod at the Oyabun. He knows Iwaizumi at least is watching him with some kind of morbid combination of curiosity and concern, can’t find it within him to care as you try and slip from the room, giving him as wide a berth as you can without it seeming rude–

Not wide enough. Before he even registers that he’s moved Kyoutani’s reaching out to grab your forearm – his grip not tight enough to hurt, just to stop you from running off on him again. And the little squeak that leaves your soft looking lips sends a ripple of something electric jolting down his spine, but you know better than to try and pull away.

God, he can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin, every terrified thump of your heart. It’s addictive, he thinks, the feeling he gets just from touching you.

“Gimme a beer,” he grunts, waiting until you finally meet his eye.

The nervous little nod you give strokes some part of him he hadn’t realised existed. Kyoutani likes you like this; all timid and obedient. A little too much, maybe.

There’s a sharp elbow in his side courtesy of Yahaba, and he reluctantly releases his grip on you, leaving you to scamper away once more. Cute.

Yahaba makes some snarky comment under his breath and he barely fucking registers it, fixated instead on the skin of his palm; still warm and tingling from your touch. His hands are rough, scarred and calloused, the skin over his knuckles split from another job last night, a little red and bruised – even as he tightens his fingers into a fist they sting just a little.

Guns have their purpose, he’s not against a knife if he’s feeling particularly fucking vindictive, but Kyoutani’s favourite has always been his fists. There’s something about the feeling of skin and muscle giving way beneath his blows, taking all that pent up rage and aggression and letting loose with his fists. It’s a kind of euphoria he’s never found anywhere else; not in women or men or drugs or alcohol. Nothing comes close to the feeling he gets straddling some pathetic piece of shit and beating the absolute fucking crap out of him.

Sometimes if he goes a few days without a fight, he gets a little jittery. Not like the tweakers do, it’s not withdrawal so much as… a building up of restless, rabid energy. He gets on edge, snaps more, lashing out over petty shit until some poor asshole makes the mistake of looking at him the wrong way and Kyoutani just fucking looses it.

He feels it now, that same burning itch under his skin. He’s never thought of his hands as anything more weapons, but touching you, the warmth of your skin, how smooth and soft it was–

Kyoutani wants to do it again. Wants to touch more of you. And he’s not so fucked up yet that he doesn’t realise how twisted this all is, how a guy like him doesn’t belong within a thousand miles of some sweet, cute innocent thing like you. But the world ain’t fucking fair; you’re here and for whatever reason Oikawa’s taken a liking to you and so whenever they’re at the club, you’re the one management send to make sure they’re happy.

And Kyoutani wonders, golden eyes burning a hole into your back as you hastily clear away their empty glasses, whether you realise that if any one of them asked for a dance or for you to get on your knees and blow them, you’d be expected to do that, too.

You might as well be on Seijoh’s payroll now, just be thankful that as far as that side of things go, they’re not the monsters that the rumours make them out to be.

Not that he hasn’t noticed Mattsun’s gaze drifting to your ass when you lean over the table to grab something, the older man shooting him a salacious wink when he notices he’s glaring.

Not that he hasn’t let his own imagination take hold, leaning up against the glass wall of his shower first thing in the morning. His fist pumping along his throbbing cock, wondering what it’d be like to see you on your knees, those pretty eyes full of tears, staring up at him as you swallow him down like the good girl he knows you are.

The thing is, he’s never made all that much of an effort to hide his feelings from the others. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes him the butt of their jokes, doesn’t care what they think about the way he watches you – his attention snapping towards you the moment you slip past the door, purposefully trying to avoid his gaze. Not that it ever does you much good.

Oikawa hasn’t said shit, and that’s enough of a go-ahead as Kyoutani needs. It’s none of their fucking business anyway.

You’ve managed to get under his skin, push him to the fucking brink when he goes more than a few days without seeing you. He knows you don’t want any part of this; that you’re still fucking terrified of him. Kyoutani’s never been one to chase after somebody who wants nothing to do with him – there are plenty of women more than willing to spread their legs for Seijoh’s big bad Mad Dog if he wants an itch scratched. There’s no good reason why he can’t get you out of his head, why you’ve sunk your teeth into him and refuse to let go – even when it’s clear that that’s so fucking far from what you intended with the blonde.

It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t change shit; you’re his, whether you’re willing to acknowledge that or not.

And maybe he’s just living with his head up his ass, but he doesn’t quite realise how fucking inadequate this whole arrangement is until he needs a piss one night and ventures out into the club only to see some asshole trying to cop a feel and tug you down to his lap, his friends drunk and howling with laughter as you try to politely escape them.

Distantly he registers that he recognises the piece of shit as some low level fucking drug lord who’s been all but sucking Oikawa’s dick trying to get a bigger piece of the pie, but in that moment, he honestly doesn’t give a fuck who he is.

Kyoutani just sees red.

Nostrils flaring, steam practically pouring from his ears, he storms over. And adrenaline’s surging through him with every pounding beat of his heart, every synapse in his body’s electrified, ready to lay into this piece of shit for daring to lay a finger on what’s his.

He wants to beat him bloody, wants to fuck up his face – to whale on him until muscle and bone give way and there’s nothing left but bloody pulp where his head used to be. Him and his fucking friends.

But Kyoutani has his priorities, and he reaches you first, grabbing you by your elbow and ripping you away from them, a muscled arm curling protectively around your waist. And he’s deaf to whatever protests you have, to the excuses the pieces of crap in front of him offer up, can’t hear a goddamn thing over the pounding in his head as he fixes them with a snarl and all but drags you back to their room, shoving you less than gently in through the door.

“Stay here, don’t move until I get back,” he orders, and he loves you, he does, but when you open your mouth to argue, something inside of him tightens and snaps. He grabs you by the jaw, jerking your face up as he crowds in over you, golden eyes ablaze, “Not a fucking muscle, understand?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, crashing his lips down on yours to steal the kiss he’s been waiting fucking weeks for before stalking back out.

Kyoutani is beyond caring about ramifications, Oikawa’s always given him a fairly loose leash to do as he pleases and if this is what puts an end to that so fucking be it; he’ll take you and go. But he hears Iwa and Mattsun on his heels and neither one of them are trying to stop him as he storms back towards the drug lord and his little cronies, so he figures the boss ain’t too fucking bothered with what he’s about to do.

And maybe if he’d had a clearer head, he might’ve found it funny how quickly the floor clears when he vaults the couch, grabs the asshole by the front of his silk shirt and heaves him forward, sending him careening face first into a table full of drinks.

With the taste of you on his lips, the memory of this piece of shit’s hands all over you, Kyoutani doesn’t hold back.

The others are gone by the time he, Iwa and Mattsun return, it’s just Oikawa casually leaning back in his seat, you sitting rigidly in the one beside him, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair.

Kyoutani’s eyes flicker tensely between the two of you – he’s still on edge, still not right. He needs something more to feed that rabid fucking monster lurking beneath his skin, and his Oyabun knows it.

Oikawa smiles genially, patting your knee for just a moment (and oh, how Kyoutani hates the flash of jealous rage that rears its ugly head when he leans over and whispers something in your ear) before standing up.

“Mad Dog,” he says, eyeing him with a shrewd look he recognises all too well. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He nods at the two behind him and without another word the three of them exit, no doubt to try and smooth over the mess he’d just made.

Leaving Kyoutani alone with you.

And there’s a part of him that’s pissed off, because this was always gonna happen, but fuck, he was gonna make an effort. He’d wanted it to be nice for you… romantic, or at least as romantic as somebody like him was capable of.

You deserve that much.

His blood’s still thrumming, remnants of blind fury and jealousy and possessive need still burning through his veins. The fight wasn’t enough to sate him; it should’ve been – he’d left them in fucking pieces – but then again you’ve been toeing this line for a long, long time, and Kyoutani’s patience only goes so far.

He should at least take you back to his apartment, try and salvage this disaster of a night, but he knows deep down he can’t make himself walk out of here with you without taking what he needs.

He’s still not entirely in control, breathing hard as he stares at you, watches you fiddle with your hands in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze. “Stand up,” he says, his voice a rough growl.

On shaking legs, you obey, eyes flickering towards the doorway behind him, and distantly he wonders what you’re thinking. You’re foolishly naive, he’ll admit that much, but he doesn’t think you’re stupid. You know where this is going, and you must know that there is nobody and nothing that’s gonna stop what’s about to happen. Not even you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and now he’s the one to draw in an unsteady breath. “Strip.”

You blanch, eyes widening in pure panic. And there’s a part of him that feels guilty, that knows he’s scaring you right now and hates himself for it, but any chance of rationality winning out fled the moment he saw somebody else put their hands all over you.

“Strip,” he repeats when you make no move to start taking your clothes off. “Or I’ll rip that pretty fucking dress off myself.”

Kyoutani adores that little catch in your breath, the way you bite down on your bottom lip as you give in, meekly reaching for the zipper at your back.

You’re so fucking beautiful, every mouthwatering inch of you. Tentatively, you glance up at him after your dress hits the floor, as if you’re hoping that that’ll be enough, that he doesn’t want to see all of you. Any other time, and the sight of you in your matching set of lingerie might’ve been enough to calm him, but it’s not what he needs tonight.

His scowl deepens, and you’re clever enough to read between the lines. Your bra goes first, pretty lace panties joining the small pile of clothes on the floor a moment later.

Good girl.

His eyes darken as he stares, hungrily taking you in. Soft tits, nipples pebbling under the cool air, he’s dying to touch them, suck on them, mark them up nice and fuckin’ pretty. The gentle swell of your ass, smooth, supple thighs he can’t wait to get his hands on, and that cute little cunt of yours, all his. His to play with, his to tease, his to claim. Fuck, this is better than all the images he’s conjured up of you in the heat of the moment, stroking his cock to get off with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. He wants to compliment you, tell you how perfect you are, how cute you are – trembling naked in front of him, but he’s beyond words right now, hanging onto his control by a fucking thread as his cock twitches in his pants, all that blood rushing south.

You look like you’re about to burst into tears as you swallow, taking in a quick, hitching breath. “Kyoutani,” you begin in a soft, tiny voice–

And that last little thread snaps.

He’s on you before you can stop him, spinning you around and roughly slamming your hips up against the table. There’s no time to be soft or gentle, no time to even take off his pants, he just shoves them down to his thighs and reaches for his cock.

Fuck, he’d wanted to eat you out, to stuff you full of his fingers and make you cum on them first, get you nice and stretched out, but he’s still too wound up. Kyoutani needs to be buried inside of you, needs to fuck you – he’ll make it up to you afterwards, he swears it.

He’ll treat you like a fucking princess, just be good for him now.

And the scream that shatters that calm night air should tear at him – he doesn’t want to hurt you, not ever, it’s his job to protect you – but he can’t focus on that when your pussy’s clamping down around his fat cock, a dizzying heat enveloping him as your walls flutter and squeeze against the unwanted intrusion.

It feels like fucking heaven. Kyoutani’s hands are everywhere; your tits, your ass, squeezing reassuringly at your hip when a broken sob leaves your lips. And he’s kissing at your shoulders, nuzzling at your neck even as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, desperate to be as close to you as he can as his hips draw back and he pounds back in, grunting like a beast in heat.

He fucks you savagely, your hips slamming against the table with every thrust – there’ll be bruises no doubt, but he’ll look after those too. He swears to fucking god, he’ll take such good care of you. You’re gonna be his girl. You are his girl.

It’s easier than it should be to drown out your agonised cries and pleas for him to slow down, to chase his own pleasure within your tight, wet heat, his cock ramming up against your cervix with every stroke.

He loves you, loves the feeling of being inside of you – fuck, Kyoutani doesn’t think he ever wants to leave. His fingers find your clit and you cry out, a shudder wracking your body that almost has him seeing stars with the way your pussy tightens and convulses around him in response. He loses his rhythm as he nears his end, hips jackrabbiting into your poor, abused cunt as his balls tighten.

You’re slick now, cunt drooling around him as he fucks you hard and fast, lewd slaps echoing out with every brutal thrust. Kyoutani knows he’s holding you too tight, knows it’s probably hurting but he can’t fucking care when he’s so close and you feel so fucking good–

His teeth sink into your neck as that blinding pleasure takes hold; his entire body seizing up, abs tightening as his orgasm slams into him. Kyoutani cums with a hissed snarl, crushing you against him as thick, warm spurts fill your perfect little cunt right up. He fucks you through it, a slow, lazy grind of his hips against yours as he milks his orgasm for all it’s worth, pressing gentle, soothing kisses along your collarbone while you sniffle and sob pathetically.

“Love you,” he grunts quietly – truthfully – letting your exhausted body collapse back against the table. And it’s now he regrets not having taken you home to do this on an actual bed, just so he could lie you down somewhere soft afterwards and curl up beside you.

Still, there’s not much he can do but try and comfort you as best he can, rough fingers running soothingly up and down your back as he waits for you to calm down. He pauses after a moment though, staring oddly at his hands.

There’s blood smeared across his skin, caked under his nails, splattered up his tattooed forearms. And Kyoutani can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at his lips as he leans over to kiss your shoulder again, his cock still stuffed inside of you.

Most of it isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kyoutani #yandere kyoutani x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou #tw blood #tw violence #tw implied minor character death #tw non con #i love the angry tennis ball

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 7: Somnophilia (+Double Penetration - 2 holes)

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,397

Warnings: Somnophilia, double penetration, anal sex, sex toys (dildo + plug), dom!Roger, protected sex, light degradation (slut), edging

A/N: This was kind of inspired by a couple of different posts I saw on a (now deleted) porn blog. I’ve been wanting to do something with the concepts for a little while now and this seemed like the perfect opportunity!

I guess I was picturing 70s rog since its a flatmate/fwb type relationship but go nuts imagining whatever you want lmao

It hadn’t been Roger’s idea to set up a friends with bennefits type arrangement, but he’d liked the suggestion when you made it and before the end of the night was out you’d sealed the deal, so to speak. He’d been a touch tispy at the time, as had you, but when he woke up in your bed the next morning he hadn’t believed it to be a mistake, even if you were his flatmate. And so the arrangement (or as Roger dubbed it, The Fuckbuddy Pact) stuck. In an effort to make sure neither of you would feel weird about what happened and to avoid anything becoming too much like a relationship, Roger suggested that you should get all your kinks and weird fetishes out into the open straight away.

“That way we’ll both know what we’re in for from the jump,” he said, looking at you from the opposite end of the couch, “None of that getting to know you shit, or taking our time. We’re both here for sex so let’s just figure out what sex we’ll both like and get straight into it, right?” “Sounds excellent,” you’d said, cheersing his bottle of beer with your glass. It was how he’d discovered your interest in somnophilia (a term he’d not heard before and had needed a thorough explanation of). But once he knew what it was, Roger had been keen to try it out with you. There were other things too but the somnophilia was the newest to him and, thus, the most exciting. Before the month was out you’d figured out a system to incorproate it into your sex safely. The main rule was that if either of you was asleep and naked, it was okay to initiate sex. Eventually there ended up being a few exceptions or addendums added to that rule – it was still okay if the sleeping party wore a top of some kind as long as they were pantsless, and once or twice lingerie had been deemed to not count as clothes, but only on special occasions when you’d prearranged it. It became a regular part of your sex lives, which was especially useful for Roger who often didn’t get home from playing gigs until the early hours of the morning. If you were in bed and undressed, he’d take the opportunity to blow off some of the adrenaline without having to use his hand which was underwhelming compared to your cunt. But, more often than not, you’d do what most sexual partners did and got it out of your systems before bed time.

Roger already suspected that you were hoping for a quick tumble when he heard the knock on his door, but he had other things on his mind too as he told you to come in. “Hey, Rog, you busy?” “Uhhh yeah, sorry, running late for rehearsals but I can’t find my fucking drumsticks,” Roger said, moving things around his desk as he searched for the missing sticks. “Oh, damn.” “Let me guess,” he said, pausing in the hunt and turning to face you, “horny?” “My friend recommended a porn thing and I kinda got worked up.” You shrugged, unembarrassed to admit what you wanted. That self-confidence was enough to make Roger wish he could stay and give you what you wanted but he was already late and couldn’t afford to be later. Instead he laughed and turned back to double check his backpack, “I would but, I’m leaving as soon as I fin- Aha! Bloody things must have rolled off the bed. Sorry, Y/N.” “Oh, no worries. I’ll take care of myself.” He smiled at the thought, “Well I better go. See you tonight?” “Yeah, see ya. Have fun.”

It was later than he’d expected by the time Roger got home. Part of him (the part in his pants mostly) vaguely wondered if you’d still be up for something but the bits of him controlled by his brain thought it more likely that you’d have had a nice couple of orgasms on your own and called it a night. Still, he thought he might at least check in on you once he’d dropped his bag in his room. To his surprise though, his bed wasn’t empty like it should have been. He jumped when the light from the hall softly illuminated you, on your back and deep asleep, but his shock quickly turned to delight as he realised you were naked. “You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by the invitation you were giving him. But as he walked closer he paused again, noticing something he hadn’t been able to see from the doorway. There, beside your hand, was your favourite glass dildo, as if you’d passed out after using it. “Oh you are naughty,” Roger chuckled. He traced one hand down your body, between your breasts and over your stomach, and softly said your name, checking if you’d rouse. But you were deep asleep and not likely to wake up any time soon. A plan for what to do with you forming, Roger stepped away from you for a moment to strip down to his briefs. His cock was already beginning to stir at the sight of you. He reached out to touch you again, less cautiously this time, palming your breasts before dipping his hand lower and lower, down to your cunt, pleased to find you still wet from whatever you’d been doing before you fell asleep. You let out a soft hum as he explored you, thumb teasing over your clit as he wet his fingers between your folds. Roger paused at the sound, not ready for you to wake up yet, but once it was clear you were still asleep he sank two fingers into you. Slowly they penetrated your heat, pausing to make sure the sensation hadn’t roused you at all. But you slept on. Carefully Roger partially withdrew his fingers before sinking them in again, gradually working up to a consistent thrust that had your unconscious body sighing and spreading your legs wider. “Good girl,” he whispered, watching you carefully. The hall light was still on but his door wasn’t open fully so the darkness was only dimmed slightly. He twisted his fingers inside you, easily finding the spots that usually made you scream his name but which now just made your eyebrows knit together. By this point in your relationships Roger was quite confident that he could understand your body. He’d made you cum enough times, awake and asleep, to know what you liked and just how much you liked it. And he knew what it looked like when you were close to orgasm. Which is how he knew to stop, to still his fingers and wait for you to calm down.

There was no real reason to edge you. If anything it just made it more likely you’d wake before he’d got his dick wet. But he had fun with it. Watching the way you’d shift, your chest rising and falling more rapidly, your lips parted as whimpers fell from them, your hips automatically rolling to meet his hand. And then he’d stop again. It made him chuckle quietly to himself. Knowing he could control your body so easily was thrilling. It made him want to do it more. So as soon as your face had relaxed again, your limbs loose and limp, he’d settle into the rhythm once more, curious how much you’d take before you woke up and begged him to finish you off. It was tempting to just keep going. He pictured you waking with a moan, your first words a plea for release or better yet for his cock so he could fuck you properly. Roger groaned. In the time he’d taken to edge you a handful of times his dick had well and truly stiffened and, as much as he enjoyed toying with you, what he really wanted was to cum in you so when you woke you’d know you’d been used. With that thought in mind he withdrew his fingers fully, taking a second to suck them clean and enjoy your taste. Having you on his tongue just made him want to fuck you more so he carefully knelt between your legs, shifting one to give himself a better angle. He was moments from finally taking what he so wanted to take from you, when something caught his eye.

It didn’t glint as much as it did in the day but he could see it’s outline all the same. And when he double checked that he wasn’t imaging it, pressing his thumb against the hard end of it, you groaned. “A dildo and a butt plug?” He asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond, “Is that a surprise for me? Or is it just because nothing satisfies you like I do?” Roger’s hand slipped down to his underwear, pushing his briefs down enough that he could get his cock out. He hissed as he spread his precum along his length, contemplating how he should use you. “Could fuck your cunt now and hope you stay asleep long enough for me to get back there. Or maybe I should just go all in, have your arse straight away. That’ll mean wearing a condom though. Or would it?” he shook his head, now was not the time to try anal raw for the first time, “No, condom definitely.” He was still trying to decide what to do when you shifted in your sleep, rolling onto your side. The new position you lay in made it much easier to reach your arsehole. “That decides it then,” Roger said to himself, shedding his underwear and opening his bedside draw for his lube.

Carefully, he settled himself behind you and slowly began to remove your plug. It took a few stops and starts, pulling out and sinking in, almost fucking you with it, as you whimpered in your sleep but you seemed to press yourself back towards him as if trying to encourage him. “Just can’t get enough of me, can you?” he chuckled as he set the plug aside and spread the lube around your hole. He rolled the condom down his shaft and spread the lube along it too, humming at the slick friction of his hand, knowing he was about to feel something a hundred thousand times better. And then he lined himself up, pushing the head of his cock into the ring of muscles you’d so generously stretched out with your plug. He went slowly there too, partially so you’d sleep on and partially so he wouldn’t cum embarrassingly fast. When he finally began to fuck you, you moaned into your pillow, able to feel it in your sleep. Roger bit his lip to keep his own moan from getting too loud. You moved in your sleep again, your legs opening more as you half rolled onto your front. It let Roger fuck you deeper and gave him better access to your pussy too. “You’re a bit of a whore when you’re alseep,” he said softly, reaching for the dildo. You were still wet enough that it sank into you easily, like it remembered where it had been earlier and fit into your cunt perfectly. The way you lay meant he didn’t have what he’d call easy access to you but it was enough that he could thrust the dildo somewhat rhythmically. He faltered here and there as the feeling of fucking you distracted him but he didn’t feel too bad about the slips, knowing it was keeping you from reaching your release. Your sleepy sighs and moans got louder as he filled both your holes which just made him fuck you harder, enjoying the sounds you were making and wanting to hear more.

You woke with a broken moan in your throat, jerking under Roger’s hands but he shushed you, his palms warm against your skin and his voice familiar and reassuring. “Stay right there, baby. Being such a good set of holes for me to enjoy.” You couldn’t do much more than moan again, dazed from the sudden way you’d been pulled back to consciousness and realising what you’d felt in your dreams had been very real indeed. “This was what you wanted wasn’t it? When you fell asleep in my bed.” You nodded, the sound of the fabric of the pillowcase loud against your ear. “Uh uh, words Love. If you’re going to be a slut the least you can do is admit it.” “Yes, Rog. Want-wanted this.” “Good girl. And how do you feel now?” “Oh god, close. So close.” Roger slowed the pace of the dildo, putting more effort into thrusting into you, his hips slapping loudly against your skin. You keened at the loss of friction. “Slut-s don’t com-complain.” Roger grunted as he used you, “They t-ake what they’re giv-en.” You whined but that just made Roger laugh, louder now you were awake but broken by groans and moans of his own. It didn’t take much more for him to cum, stuttering out, “Fu-ck Y-Y/N,” as he did.

Roger was panting as he eased himself out of your arsehole, replacing his cock with the plug and giving your hip a light tap of thanks. The dildo was still inside you, but he’d not been moving it at all as he reached his climax so it wasn’t much help. “Did you cum?” he asked, his breathing still heavy as he flopped onto the mattress beside you. You shook your head and sighed, “And after I waited here all night to surprise you too. Thought you’d be home sooner.” “Is that why you had the toys? You got bored waiting for me?” “No, I was expecting you to come home while I was using them. Only then I came and fell asleep.” "Of course,” Roger laughed, “you still got your shag though, don’t know why you’re complaining.” “I’m really fucking horny still, that’s bloody why. What are you smirking about?” “Nothing. Just nice to know edging you in your sleep works just as well as when you’re awake.” “Prick!” you squealed though unable to contain your smile at the idea. “Don’t worry. Give me a few minutes to clean up and get my stamina back and then I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.”

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

#my writing #my blurbs #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine

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chloe-skywalker · 3 years

Text

Why Am I Here? - Darth Vader

Darth Vader x daughter reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,612

Summary: Reader gets “”invited”” to spend some time with the Empire. For reasons only Darth Vader knows, but will he tell? Or keep her guessing.

Authors Note: I’ve been thinking of making a whole series with a similar plot. So I’m trying this imagine out see how people like it. If you do and want to see more like this or with a similar plot comment below or say something in a reblog!

P.S. Its my Birthday Month!!!! YAY!

Masterlist

Star Wars Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Y/n stood there confused as to why she was here. Nothing about her should interest the Empire. She never given anyone any clues or hints as to if she is with the rebellion.

But yet they came to her senate booth and asked her to come with them. Not that she would have had a choice anyway. When they brought her to a ship, from there they took her to as they put it ‘Where lord Vader is staying’. When the troopers escorted her to a room, they told her this is where she will be staying. In the room was a huge bed, a big bathroom, and a closet. A closet that was full of her own clothes plus some other outfits that were beautiful. But it wasn’t just the closet that had things she owned in it. It was the whole room. There was small things from her room at home scattered all over. All the thoughts in her head stopped once the door opened to reveal the man that had her brought here.

“Why am I here?” Y/n asked with a strong voice. She truly is curious as to why they took her from her home. “Do you talk or are you just gonna stand there?”

Vader just stood there staring at Y/n before asking. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do. Your Darth Vader.EVeryone know who you are.” She nodded, the look in her eyes was very confused as to why he would ask that specific question. But there was another emotion that Vader couldn’t place.

“Is that all you know me as?” he asked trying to get a sense of how to approach why he brought her here.

“Should I know you as more than that?” Y/n tilted her head in more confusion and also now curiousness. What did he mean by that? Should she know him as more?

“You will be staying here awhile. I hope that this room is up to your liking. We’ll talk later.” With that statement, he turned to leave the room. It was obvious to Y/n that that was not the answer he was looking for from her.

“Wait-” Y/n started but he left the room before she could continue. There were more questions running through her head now than there were before he came in.

^ ^ ^

“Lord Vader requests your presence.” A Stormtrooper stated as he entered the quiet room.

Y/n let out a sigh of annoyance. “You can tell Lord Vader that I decline his request.”

The Stormtrooper left reluctantly. Y/n was sure that was not the answer the trooper wanted. Nor Darth Vader.

After about 20 to 30 minutes the door of her room opened. Low and behold Darth Vader entered the room. Y/n couldn’t help but smirk a tiny bit at the frustration in Darth Vaders walk and demeanor. It was quite comical. “Hello to you too.”

“You declined. What makes you think you are allowed to decline a request from me?” Even though he concealed it well Y/n could tell Darth Vader was frustrated with her previous actions.

“Oh, I know that I’m not supposed to. But it got your attention now didn’t it?” she tilted her head with a smile tugging at her lips.

Vader’s suit let out what could be considered a sigh. “I’m assuming you have something you want to say.”

y/n nodded at his assumption. ��I have questions.”

“You may ask them.” he moved to sit on the couch in the room he had provided her. Waiting for her to start asking said questions.

“Why am I here?” Was the first one and most obvious out of Y/n’s mouth.

“I have my reasons.”

“Are they valid for keeping me here without my consent?”

“Yes” Vader nodded

“Can I know the reasons?” Y/n asked to hope that she could get more than another one-worded answer.

“Soon.” he replied, smirking behind the mask.

“What does that mean?” Y/n groaned, this was getting her nowhere.

“You’ll find out soon.” Vader rephrased

“How far is soon?” she rolled her eyes at his vagueness.

“Have a goodnight, y/n.” Darth Vader stated as he got up and headed for the exit.

“Will we talk about this again?” Y/n asked standing up really quickly off the bed. Heading to follow him out the door.

“Soon.” Was the last word that left the Sith as he left, with the door shutting behind him.

“UUUUGGGGHHHHHHH” Y/n screamed, falling back onto the large bed. This was ridiculous. She was getting nowhere. Y/n had a feeling that she was going to e there for a long while. The least he could do was answer some of her questions if he was gonna keep her there. Hopefully, he will tell her more ‘soon’ as he puts it.

^ ^ ^

“You requested me?” Y/n snarked walking into what looked to be Darth Vaders room.

“I’m shocked you came. Your learning.” he seemed to snark back.

“Yeah, sure. Why’d you call me here?” Y/n questioned while switching her weight to one hip, moving her arms to hug around herself.

“Do you know my history?” Vader asked what was a very random question to the young woman.

“What do you mean?” she tilted her head in confusion.

“Before I became Darth Vader.” he elaborated, turning to face her.

Y/n shook her head, casting her eyes down as she answered. “No. i heard it was forbidden to talk about who you were before. So no one does.”

“To some people it is. Most in fact.” Vader agreed with her statement.

“But your gonna tell me?” Y/n’s eyes widened in shock.

“Yes.” It was a simple answer but it scared Y/n. What happens to people who know? That question just kept running through her mind.

“Am I allowed to know?” She asked after letting out a deep breath that was shaky.

“It’s my story to tell, Y/n.” Darth Vader smiled under his mask at her.

“Right” Y/n let out a light shaky laugh. It was one of their rare moments between them where whatever wall that separated them came down. Which Y/n didn’t know how to feel about. But Vader couldn’t help but feel immensely happy with those moments.

“Before the Empire, I was a Jedi. I didn’t follow the code completely. I was married, in secret to the love of my life. Right before the rise of the Empire, when things changed she was pregnant. I was to be a father. . . . She died in childbirth. Because of me. An I wasn’t there for her. I made a lot of decisions I regret, and that was one of them.” Vader explained, looking solemnly towards the floor as he thought about his past actions.

“What was your name?” Y/n asked once he stopped explaining, Some of the things he had just mentioned sounded very familiar. Her breathing picked up as she waited for his answer.

Vader decided to make a decision to show her his true face. No one has seen his face other than the Emperor since he turned from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader. Once the helmet was off Vader turned to face the young woman, maskless. “I think you know.”

“Oh my-” Y/n gasped moving her hands up to cover her mouth. So many thoughts running through her head.

“Y/n-”

Y/n held her hand up to stop him from saying more. “You know. You knew the whole time, and didn’t tell me! That's why I’ve been here this whole time. Isn't it!?”

Vader or maybe Anakin, could see how she was starting to feel upset. Betrayed even. But he knows she’s been held in the Empires custody long enough she deserved to know. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked with a whimper.

“I wanted us to get to know each other first. Establish a relationship before I told you.” he explained, hoping she would understand. But he knew that it’d still probably take time with her. Over the last couple months they have been getting to know each other, just slowly.

“Well, I do know some stories about Anakin Skywalker. My father.” Y/n spoke after letting some time pass, playing with her fingers nervously, aware that things will forever be changed.

Vader- or Anakin nodded in understanding. She had put it together and now she knew why he took her and why he’s treating her the way he is. He walked up to her, giving her a small smile. “I know we have a long way to some with our relationship, but I would like to make this work..” Vader softened his stature trying his hardest not to seem intimidating to his daughter. Not wanting to frighten her. “I’ve missed to much of your life up till now. I’m not missing any more of it.”

Y/n looked him in the eyes still not sure about all of this. But something was telling her that he is being truthful, and that she could trust him. He has protected her since she's been there. “Can you tell me more about my mom? And about you, or at least who you use to be?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I can do that.” He nodded, and couldn’t help how much his smile grew. The fact that she was willing to get to know him made his heart swell. She wanted him to tell her about Padme, he hasn’t been able to talk about her since he lost her. Maybe they could have a slightly normal father daughter relationship.

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dreamrecorder · 3 years

Text

Family in the Inn

Wherein Verr adopts Xiao and how he got you as a sibling.

The idea was from here ksks---- also this is quite long | Part hc part trad, Im not even sure anymore hahaha it’s just- siblings are a wholesome concept and there are so much things to add i dont know what to do haha Enjoy~

After a night full of battles against the demons lurking Liyue, Xiao struggled to keep the corruption in him at bay. He was losing his mind in pain as the screams continue to persist both in volume and their harsh words. He needed to get away from here. From the bodies that was slain by his very hands. He wanted to go away to somewhere safe.

It was an unconscious thought- out of nowhere, Xiao just teleported himself into whatever place he thought was safe and crash landed into familiar wooden floorboards.

The crash was loud- enough for visitors of the inn to rouse awake. Luckily, Verr and Huai'an were quick to reassure them that they are safe.

Verr Goldet was first to arrive in their balcony and what she saw tore her heart.

As if a mother to a child, she quickly rushed to the adeptus whose body writhed to himself while shaking violently. Verr didn't care about the malicious energy emanating from Xiao- she just went to his side and cradled what she can of him.

Normally, Xiao would instantly get away from any form of touch, but he was too weak and too tired- so he let her be.

Verr began singing lullabies as she wiped his tears away, hoping to ease his pain even just for tonight.

The lullabies- they were soothing. Moments passed, his shaking lessened along with the dark mist covering his body. Xiao merely focused on Verr's lullabies- clinging to the innocent words the lullabies carry as if hoping that they would take all his pain away.

And they really did- the way the she cradled him was very reminiscent of how a mother cradled a child. She didn't care if her clothes were now damp from his tears. She kept singing until finally, Xiao finally slept with a genuine peace gracing his face.

And that is how Xiao finds himself seeing Verr as a mother and how Verr finds Xiao as a son. Always know that this inn will be your home with someone who cares for you.

~~~

The following day came and Xiao finds himself in his room, waking up to the sunlight filtering from the window. By the bedside, the innkeeper sleeps with arms crossed. As if waiting for him to wake up. Even if he sees Verr now in a new light, Xiao still decides that he does not want to be seen for now. But before leaving, he mutters a sincere thank you.

When they cross paths in the inn, there was no closure whatsoever about what happened to him that night. But before he leaves to protect Liyue again, Verr called him. "Xiao,"

The adeptus stopped in his tracks and faced her.

"Stay safe. If you get hurt don't hesitate to come home alright?"

Ah. The words of a mother to a child. But Xiao is no child and not certainly a child to a mortal- but still, Xiao finds him saying, "I'll be back."

This simple pattern went on for years. While they never called each other 'mother' or 'son' verbally, the relationship is there. Whenever Xiao leaves, Verr always reminds him to take care. And when he comes back, she never fails to greet him, "Welcome home!"

Xiao felt loved.

As small thanks, there are times Xiao would help in the inn aside from protecting his home from monsters and hoarders.

Like- helping Huai'an with heavy crates of materials and teaching Yanxiao Sweet Dreams (the inn got a boost from his recipe). He'll help as long as it doesn't involve interacting with other mortals aside from the inn staff.

Then the time came when Verr announced she was pregnant.

Xiao's initial reaction... was to leave. He didn't want the baby near him- no, scratch that. He didn't want to be near the baby or else it would catch his karmic energy if ever he loses control. The baby deserved a life free from any danger- free from him.

And Verr was having none of that!!!

She noticed the lessening appearances of the Yaksha within the inn ever since her announcement, so he waited for her son at the balcony.

"The evening cold will not do you well and the baby." He said as he materialized a few feet away from her.

Verr noticed his walls up again and her mother instincts told her that something's up. So with careful prying, she finally learned his reasons of him staying away. But with a gentle smile, she reassured him that he can never do wrong or harm to the baby

Carefully, she let out a small joke, "Who knows, I bet the baby will be even safer having a brother like you."

Oh how she doesn't know how her joke struck a chord in Xiao's heart. The adeptus vowed to protect you at all cost.

Throughout his mother's pregnancy, Xiao became very protective of her. And that also means being careful of himself whenever he fights in order to avoid his karma leaking out. There was this one time even, Verr convinced Xiao for him to hold her swollen belly and feel the baby. The moment he felt that small kick! His heart burst feelings he didn't think he would ever feel! Pure joy and love for another.

The day came when you finally entered the world with strong fits of cries- as if demanding to be brought back to the darkness you were familiar with in your mother's womb!!!

Despite accepting the fact he now has a little sibling, he doesn't show up to greet you to the world. Perhaps he was still in denial? That all of this was just some dream that he's desperate mind conjured up? But still his heart beckoned him to go to you.

With swift and silent movements, Xiao entered the sleeping couple's bedroom and there he saw that small bundle of you. The way his heart welled up in pure happiness. The mere sight of you just confirms that all this is real and not a dream.

Awkward, but careful and determined, Xiao lifted your small form to his arms and against his chest.

The way you instantly cuddled into him with hand accidentally tugging his hair just sent Xiao into a pure moment of peace.

~~~

During your infant years, Xiao would always spend his time with you during the night by sneaking into the couple’s bedroom and just simply holding you close. Verr, having noticed his nightly visits to you, have even prepared your bottles of milk in case you were hungry during his visits.

The first time you cried while he was holding you, surprisingly, Xiao did not panic. He knew you were hungry and he silently thanked himself for observing mortal mothers back then. He simply took the bottle Verr had prepared and gave it to you as he began singing the very same lullaby his mother had sang to him. That’s how soft Xiao is for you.

Although there are other times when the inn was very bustling with business to the point of having Verr and her husband’s hands tied. These are the times Xiao will then just grab you from your mother’s hold with no word and take you to the balcony. With a prepared bottle in hand at that. Verr would always smile at Xiao’s retreating back.

Innocence, it’s such a pure thing honestly. While playing with you, you somehow grabbed his mask. Xiao was about to take it, in fear you would cry at its hideous look. But you never cried or whimpered. You simply toyed with it by putting it on your face or by playing its horns. Perhaps even hideous things can still have a chance at love?

Your first word came while Xiao was holding you with Verr close by preparing your baby meal and it was gēgē. You kept babbling that word over and over while tugging at his hair so happily and Xiao can only hold you closer as his body shook in silent, happy tears. Verr taught you that word *wink*.

Come toddler years and boy did Xiao’s worry for you intensifies. You were an explorer! The moment you learned how to crawl, you were going to places here and there! You almost gave your brother a heart attack </3!! Especially that time when you were crawling up the stairs on you own!!! Your exploring habits only intensified when you learned how to walk~ To tone down your exploring tendencies- Xiao would take you for small walks where your tiny, little legs can take you. It was a cute sight, the two of you walking hand in hand. You were so small~

Childhood arrived and you became a big bundle of energy. Since you’re not old enough to help with the inn, you often bothered your brother to play with you or walk with you outside. Of course Xiao will always agree with a smile.

Glaze lillies only bloom during the night yes? But oh how Xiao was proven wrong when you approached a wild lily and it instantly bloomed under the sun in your presence. The joy that shone your eyes was so prominent, it was infectious. Because of that glaze lily, that is how the two of you got into your favorite past time, story telling with your brother.

Also, imagine that sweet moment when you showed him your missing tooth and you both laughed off how you look ridiculous without it.

His stories were mostly vague, but they never fail to amaze you. Stories about flying cranes, about majestic stags, how Liyue was created by the Geo Archon. But never about the Yaksha, that was a truth for another time.

The time finally came when you were about to visit Liyue for the first time. It was for a physical check-up with Dr. Baizhu, Verr said. Normally, you and your mother should have left the inn a day ago because of the distance but Xiao insisted that he teleport the three of you to Liyue. That was the first time you disagreed with your brother. “But I want to see the roads and places going there!” Ah, an adventurer at heart.

Xiao crouched down to your level and ruffled your hair saying, “Sure, we can take the carriages on the way home. That way you can see the beauty of Liyue.”

But there was another thing that grabbed your interest. “But, gege, teleport? Are you like the adepti you tell me in your stories? Like they use their magic to go around places to keep us safe?” Then a fantastical idea popped in your head as you eyes shone bright! “Gege, are you an adeptus?!”

Xiao inwardly panicked and he had no words for your excited question. He didn’t expect to have you discover the truth so soon. But lying can bring him nowhere. He took a small glance at his mother, who was smiling at him encouragingly.

“Yes. I am one, but I will tell you more when you become older okay?” The first statement made you explode excitedly then the second statement made you pout. All in a milisecond. But at the back of your head, you listed this moment to your ‘adult stuff I want to know in the future.’

“Someday, I wanna be a cool adeptus like you!” You exclaimed proudly and Xiao smiled at your aspirations, but prayed with desperation to the Archons to never make that happen ever.

But this does not stop him from showing you his anemo vision. And now, your playtime involved use of his anemo <3

Your energy was basically uncontained when you step foot in the harbor and Xiao’s eyes were only at you. Despite having familial relationships, he still detests humans to a degree, so he glares at anyone suspicious walking on your merry way.

When you arrived Yujeng Terrace after the check-up, everyone was so surprised at how glaze lillies simply bloom at your presence, especially Madame Ping. But she was even more surprised when she saw you running to someone she hasn’t seen for so long. Seeing Xiao lift you up with a smile made Madame Ping’s worries for him ease down. Coming into eye contact, Xiao simply offered her a small bow. You noticed and saw the old lady he was bowing to. You were a respectful child, so even if you had no idea who the lady was, you also gave a small, shy bow to her way.

Since this was a one-day visit, you took your sweet time exploring the harbor with your mother and brother tailing you. You often would point things out that grabbed your interest. Sometimes, you would stop at the sight of a stray cat just for you to crouch down and pet it. You even found a black cat with gold eyes and a white diamond spot on its forehead. You excitedly lifted it to your arms and showed your brother, “It looks just like you, gege!”

On the first half of the travel back home, you marveled at the nature surrounding you. You never left the window side of the carriage you road. And then the latter half came, you were snuffed out like a candle with cat cozy in your arms and you cozy in Xiao’s arms, who was also asleep. Verr had etched this moment into her memory forever.

A/N: Might add another part? I dont know i am indecisive hahahaha If i do add some, prolly more about how you met Venti and Zhongli and your visit to your mother’s home land, Mondtsadt--

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin xiao #xiao genshin #xiao imagines #xiao scenarios #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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devildomimagines · 3 years

Note

For shit’s and giggles, let’s have the Brothers react to a pregnant MC. She’s 5 months and showing so when they see her groaning in pain from landing badly from the portal, they notice her covering her stomach and she’s like “I could’ve hurt my baby, asshole!”. Let’s say the dad’s not in the picture but MC just wanted a kid and didn’t expect to deal with Overlords of hell while she’s gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions and cravings. (I also wanna see em lose it when she goes into labor a couple months while they’re at one of Diavolo’s parties cuz I love chaos and just wanna see everyone but Barb panic)

Hi Anon! Thanks for your patience while I worked on this!

This was a little tough for me since I’ve never been pregnant 🤣 I hope this is some of what you were looking for!

Edit: I wrote some of this for the formerly Undateables, check it out here.

Belphegor

*Existential Crisis Ensues*

After the events of Chapter 16…. Oof.

He didn’t know but damn does that stoke his grief to be red hot and blistering once again.

When he recovers enough to pledge himself to caring for you, he builds the best nest to sleep in.

You never have a restless night with him making sure there are enough pillows to support your stomach or under your back and blankets for whether you are hot or cold.

Going into labor: For once not sleepy. He is a demon on a mission. Once he gets you to where you need to be, he collapses for some rest and earns a bed next to yours.

Beelzebub

“Baby?��

He was not aware, he innocently thought the weight was just because you were eating with him more.

He went to Lucifer first to get some guidance, he’s already starting to worry.

He’s very gentle with you from then on, offering a helping hand wherever you may be going. You’d have to remind him that you’re still sturdy enough to walk otherwise he would carry you everywhere.

The best at dealing with food cravings because he has them too! He even opens your eyes to weird food combinations that surprisingly work well.

Going into labor: Poor baby, and not the one coming out of you. He loses his appetite as you tell him what’s happening.

Asmodeus

“Baby!?”

He didn’t know but he’s excited!? A baby ‘you’ would be so cute!

He definitely knows all the tricks for moisturizing to minimize stretch marks, massages to relieve tension, and foot rubs for swollen feet.

Almost immediately starts buying baby clothes and planning baby photoshoots.

You do have to tell him a few times that what he’s doing is too much and you’re too tired. He respects that but he won’t stop trying.

Going into labor: I feel like Asmo would have a bullhorn ready to go yelling at people to get out of your way. It’s much more embarrassing but he’s doing his best.

Satan

You know the surprised face he makes with a hand on his chest, yeah that.

He has a vague idea about human pregnancy and labor, I can’t imagine it didn’t come up in any of his readings but he looks into it further now.

Surprisingly, he handles the mood swings the best, probably because he’s been through it with his anger. He gets it.

Satan is very thoughtful and considerate. Orders you decaf tea when you go out to his favorite coffee shop and offers to pay for any baby books if you express a need.

You absolutely change his world when you let him feel the baby kicking. That’s when it took a whole new meaning to him, this was life.

Going into labor: You probably told him your birth plan so he knows where to take you and what you need just from memory.

Leviathan

Frozen in place until it finally registers, “What?”

Really awkward around you for the rest of the day.

Furiously does research that night, scouring the internet for as much as he can digest about humans’ pregnancy and babies. He finds some really obscure complications and issues and then he’s scared for you.

The next day he’s watching you nonstop. You ask him what’s wrong, he says nothing but continues staring.

With his Akuzon account, anything you could need he can get in less than a day, just say the word.

Going into labor: Probably running away, I’m sorry if you thought he was going to be helpful with that.

Mammon

“B-b-b-b-baby?”

Whether you two have been intimate or not, he’s still sweating and counting on his fingers to try to figure out if he’s somehow the father.

He goes to Lucifer, “Hey! Did ya know about this?” And just motions to the whole of MC.

He steals borrows a baby book from Satan and starts spouting random facts to prove he’s knowledgeable. “A woman’s uterus will expand about 500 times its original size during pregnancy.” Thanks, Mammon.

Was he attached to your hip before? Yes. Is he even more so now? Also yes.

Going into labor: Confused but he got the spirit. He definitely thought the baby was going to be born right there if you pushed it out so he’s yelling “Don’t push MC! Keep it in!”

Lucifer

The only one of the brothers that actually knew you were pregnant as it was in your file/application for the exchange program.

Still kind of offended you took that tone with him but may start to worry about you more.

He already has a soft spot for you so you could ask him for anything and he’d do or get whatever you need.

I think he would know the most about human pregnancy since he probably had to prepare in advance to present the idea to Diavolo.

If you want a special treat, definitely have him feel the kicking baby. The warmth and love on his face is 100% worth it.

Going into labor: Obviously, the most together to handle the situation but the flashes of worry and concern in his movements and reminds you that he’s not unmoved and even the Avatar of Pride can get flustered.

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #tw: pregnancy

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lattechans · 3 years

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: seeing two guys at the same time isn't so bad when there's no strings attached, until it turns out the two are actually best friends. however, as they are both sweet, there is still a smugness to them both that might just be your doom.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nonidol!changbin x female reader x nonidol! wooyoung (ateez)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pet names, oral (f and m receiving), praising/lots of dirty talk and a lot of build up

𝐚/𝐧: better late than never, right? so sorry this took so long to post, my life got in the way of writing and all that but excited to finally hear what you guys think about this duo that's just full of trouble

₁₈₊

“as promised, i’ll be making you my specialty pasta for dinner tonight,” changbin told you whilst guiding you to sit on the couch at his place. you had been seeing changbin for a about a month now and truly enjoyed every aspect of his company – he was incredibly funny and caring and you two always had something to discuss about.

it didn’t hurt that he was an incredibly good lover too, treating you just right. and yet, you were seeing someone else on the side. not because changbin wasn’t enough, he truly was. but you had made it very clear you wanted nothing serious out of the relationship, thus you had agreed on a quite open relationship for now.

“y/n,” changbin snapped you out of your thoughts and sat next to you, hand inching closer to yours. you looked at him with a bright smile, happy that you got to spend time with him again. “this might come as a big surprise to you, so please don’t freak out okay,” changbin explained. your expression switched to one of confusion when he took your hand in his and carefully rubbed circles on your skin. was there something he hadn’t told you? was he secretly married?

“yeah?” you questioned under your breath, trying not to overthink the situation yet. “so i had a chat with one of my best friends and i told him about my dates with you, about how adorable and smart you are and...you know, other things,” his voice nearly silent by the end, however, his expression giving away how the thoughts of your naked figure beneath him truly made him feel.

you let out a laugh, thinking this was all he had to say; reassuring changbin that of course he got to talk about you, even your sex life with his friends. it was completely normal.

“well, the funny part about this is that my friend, wooyoung, found a lot of the things that i described to be very familiar.”

as soon as the name left changbin’s lips, you froze. you had started seeing wooyoung about a week after you had met changbin. wooyoung had grabbed your attention at a bar and to your luck, he had made the first move and asked you out the next day. things hadn’t really escalated between you and wooyoung yet as you were very much still getting to know each other but all you knew was that his kisses left you breathless and now in hindsight, he was very similar to changbin.

“oh, i–”

“so yeah, we made a short investigation into this and what we found out was that the two of you actually do know each other. and with nothing but good intentions, i invited him over tonight so that we could have dinner all together,” changbin explained, fingers still drawing calming circles on the back your hand. however, you couldn’t help but to notice the smirk appearing on his lips when a knock was heard from the door.

with that, changbin rushed to go open the door to his best friend and you were left squirming on the couch, suddenly conscious about how you looked – tugging your dress further down your legs, trying to combat the dull ache between your legs. why was this exciting you?

you heard the friends talk for a bit by the door, casually chatting as if wooyoung wasn’t invited over because of you.

“hey sweetheart, nice to see you again,” wooyoung chatted you up as he walked into the living room, quickly signaling that it’s okay that you were sitting down before you could get up from your seat on the couch. changbin slowly followed behind him like a shadow, but nevertheless, you couldn’t help but to divert your gaze between the two of them. both of them so different but inconceivable attractive, and buff.

“hi wooyoung, glad you’re here,” you greeted him with a smile, trying to hide your somewhat flustered state.

“she’s so flustered already, did you tell her?”

“oh about the thing? no i didn’t yet. you came over sooner than anticipated,” changbin explained to wooyoung, which undoubtedly peaked your curiosity even more. was this going where you thought it would?

changbin took a few strides to be able to sit by your side, hands finding their way to yours again. his touch still warm and comforting but a mischievous glimpse behind his dark eyes. “so, the thing is that we both really like you, so we figured that–”

“that it’d be fun to hang out, the three of us and, just have a good time together,” wooyoung interrupted and inched closer to the couch. you unconsciously licked your lips, the dull ache between your legs now almost pulsating. but you didn’t want to get your hopes up just yet.

“i was getting to that wooyoung,” changbin sighed and glared at wooyoung, who in turn just snickered. you knew wooyoung could be a tease but seeing he was exactly the same even with changbin, turned you on more than he would know.

changbin looked back at you, eyes scanning your features for a reaction, expecting you to not be as excited as you turned out to be.

“there’s no pressure of course. we’re both fine with this thing and–”

you didn’t want to interrupt but you really didn’t want whatever relationship you had with the two of them to be called ‘a thing’ anymore.

“can we not call it that?”

"what?" changbin asked, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. god, he looked attractive was all you could think about before you stuttered a vague answer.

"whatever this is..." you were signaling to the three of you with your hands, trying to get them to understand what you meant without saying the words.

“oh, would you prefer us to call it a threesome then?” wooyoung said without hesitation, and to no one's surprise, with a smirk now plastered on his lips. a devilish one at that.

and as much as that word should’ve shocked you, all it did was confirm that you were all on the same page about what was happening. so, you nodded and uttered a confirmation.

“that’s right sweetie, no strings attached...just pure fun,” changbin murmured and raised your hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss on your skin. it felt like his lips left flames after them, feeling incredibly warm in your clothing.

“such a good girl,” changbin whispered against your skin before connecting his lips to yours, his lips taking your breath away. you leaned into the kiss without holding back, your hands tangling in his hair as soon as they could, eliciting a soft giggle from changbin. both of your hearts doing cartwheels.

“let me see that beautiful body of yours,” wooyoung says as he kneels down on the floor in front of you, pushing the hem of your dress up to uncover you. after that, he let his hands keep rising up until he landed on your breasts, roughly massaging them in his hand.

“no bra? fuck,” wooyoung whispered under his breath, admiring the way your body moved in slow, passionate waves as your lips were attached to changbin’s.

"i want to taste you," wooyoung almost pleaded, hands trailing back down from your breasts to your thighs. spreading them open slowly, eliciting a soft gasp from you that interrupted your kiss with changbin.

"want to get on your hands and knees?" changbin asked, although it was more of a rhetorical question – you understood it as an order to be obeyed.

...

after positioning yourself on the couch, wooyoung climbed behind you, rubbing comforting circles on your hips.

“such a good girl, now, spread your legs a little wider for m– oh wow, you are so fucking sexy, baby,” wooyoung was basically drooling behind you. his words turning you on beyond your imagination.

changbin in turn, settled to kneeling in front of you, able to hold eye contact with you and presumably, help with the growing erection visible through his pants.

wooyoung eventually tugged you closer to him, his warm breath so close to where you needed him causing your body to tense up to which he sends you a sweet smile that you only catch a glimpse of before changbin’s cock prods your lips, turning your attention back to him. and with that, wooyoung licked a stripe down from your ass to your clit.

although the suddenness of wooyoung eating you out from behind nearly makes you lose your balance, changbin is quick to help you out.

“you can hold on to me,” he ensures. you nod and slide your hands to rest on changbin’s thighs, gripping on them to stabilize yourself before his cock.

the moans that you are unable to keep at bay sound like music to both of their ears and encourage wooyoung to go harder. he might have started off slowly, but is now ruthless and eats you out as if you were his last meal. his lips latch onto your clit, alternating between sucking and pressing his tongue flat. he groans and smacks excessively, sending vibrations straight to your core and rendering you speechless. wooyoung takes and takes and takes, finally pulling you even closer to him, silently instructing you to ride his face.

you don’t know if your brain received the message, but your body surely did. although your knees were giving out on you and you were at the verge of collapsing, his tongue had you entering all stages of heaven and hell at once and you kept chasing for more.

“babe, look at me.”

you pick up changbin’s command and look up at him. your hips stuttering once you met his eyes, half-lidded and blown with lust. he’s staring at you as if he was about to devour you, burning the very image of you in his mind.

“i think it’s time for us to give that pretty mouth of yours something to do, huh?”

you drew your tongue out as changbin slowly slid his length into your mouth, lewd groans leaving his lips as you took him in as deep as you could. you built up a pace he was pleased with, sucking on him with fervour, moans threatening to spill past your lips even with your mouth full. but you knew changbin liked it messy, so you were not afraid of letting saliva drip down your jaw onto the sofa, trying to slurp it up.

it didn’t take long before changbin was as much of a mewling mess as you were, choking on his spit as you continued to swallow around him, throat wet and tight.

behind you, wooyoung is nearly growling, telling you to be good and suck changbin, and you moan around the cock in your mouth at the filthy words he’s spitting right into you.

“gonna take him down your throat? let him fuck you? will you let him pound into your throat till you can’t even talk?”

you shudder as wooyoung presses his lips on the small of your back, hand coming to contact with your ass as a light spank. you can tell by the tilt in his voice that he’s smiling, and it sends embarrassment surging through you, and arousal. being sandwiched between these two beautiful men while you suck one of them off and the other one whispers filth against your skin, fingers dancing on your ass like a dream come true.

your pace quickens on changbin, your own high not too far away as wooyoung kept his attention on your clit, sucking on you with new hunger.

changbin’s hands tangle themselves in your hair, pulling softly on the strands as he loses himself in the rhythm; wooyoung slightly rocking you forward and making your mouth meet perfectly with changbin’s thrusts.

“fuuck, don’t stop,” he pleads, “i’m so close” and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut. changbin’s skin is hot to the touch, and you notice the way his abs clench and his hard length throbs in your mouth. his lips are plump and pink from biting down on them to quiet himself, but it’s no use. the way your mouth so enthusiastically swallows around him has him falling face-first towards a climax.

his hips stutter and his thighs shake slightly under your touch, waves of pleasure rocking through his body as he finally releases thick white ropes of cum on your tongue. your mouth, tongue, and hands continue to work him, cum and saliva dripping down the side of his length as you suck him thoroughly, moaning around his tip for good measure. the sensation of it all almost overwhelming him now.

“i think it’s your turn darling,” changbin teased as he held your jaw, his cock falling from your mouth with a quiet pop, a moan leaving your lips directly as wooyoung hit an incredibly sweet spot with his tongue.

wooyoung just moans in response, clutching onto your hips as changbin toys his fingers now on your lips, admiring the way that there was still remnants of him around your lips.

“keep your eyes on me as you cum,” changbin hisses, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches the scene unfold. he swears he could’ve ascended to heaven right there and then as you struggle to maintain eye contact with him; struggle to keep your eyes open as you begin unraveling on wooyoung’s tongue.

your mouth opens for a silent scream, their names leaving your lips as gasps for air. you come back to soft praises, gentle hands wiping at your forehead, patting your shoulders, nimble fingers fixing your hair away from your eyes.

as wooyoung and changbin both look at you, the former rubbing softly at your wrist while the later stares at your teary eyes in quiet wonder, you allow yourself to smile at them.

“that was amazing.”

“glad you had as much fun as we did,” wooyoung murmured, wiping the sides of your mouth with a warm washcloth. you would have usually protested such treatment but you couldn’t lie – the sides of your mouth hurt from changbin’s girth and the soothing rubs on your thighs made the burning between them feel less uncomfortable.

after what felt like forever, changbin gently leaned to give you a tender kiss, letting himself sink down beside you on the couch. your thank yous were slurred, but he just shushed you and placed another kiss on your forehead.

“wooyoung c’mere,” you giggled when you realized that he had simply sat on the armrest of the couch, further away from you two. he took a quick look at changbin, and although you were unsure of what their silent stare meant, you welcomed him for a kiss that still faintly tasted like you nonetheless.

couldn't you just have the both of them?

taglist @es-kay-zee @lizsvcks

#changbin smut #skz smut #wooyoung smut #ateez smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #ateez scenarios #wooyoung imagines #changbin scenarios

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scummy-writes · 3 years

Text

Better in The Morning

Rating: Explicit (Minors dni)

Words: 5703

Pairing: Theo/Arthur

Tags: Jealousy, Drinking, Blood Drinking, Anal Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Choking, Idiots to Lovers, Biting, Theocona

Full fic under the cut!

Preview:

The feel of Theo’s tongue against his drew a shudder out. Arthur twisted his fingers into Theo’s shirt, head beginning to spin as Theo’s kisses grew rough, more demanding, making Arthur’s hands shake as he blindly searched for the buttons of Theo’s shirt and clumsily worked them. It was difficult to concentrate or even attempt taking back control when Theo kept stealing his breath, and Arthur was pleased; safe from the burden of thinking past impulses.

Three buttons undone, and Arthur’s palms spread out against Theo’s chest as they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. He watched as Theo surveyed him, taking in the sight of his hair disheveled, his slick and swollen lips. Arthur knew the heat spread across his cheeks was obvious, and when a ghost of a prideful smirk took over Theo’s features, Arthur wrapped his arms around his neck with a strained chuckle.

------

Sex was just a formula in the end: Flirting, enticing, tempting touches. Hushed promises breathed against heated skin, the shuffling of clothes along with the creak of a mattress. Slow, purposeful touches that crept faster, until thinking wasn’t needed as instinct took over.

Or, most of the time it’s how it went.

Arthur hazily looked at the woman laid bare in front of him, sweat shining on her breasts while her hands dug into the sheets. Her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hung open as her gasps and groans began to rise higher in pitch. With such a pretty little bird beneath him and pleasure making his mind spin, how was it that his thoughts kept flitting elsewhere? Making his breath catch for other reasons; movements falter.

What a disservice to the one calling his name…

Arthur leaned over her, making her shiver with the playful nips he drew along her jaw, trailing further and further below until he could nose her pulse, sighing at the fragrance of perfume mixed with such a lovely drink. He timed his bite with a harsh thrust of his hips, feeling her nails dig into his back as she clenched around him.

It wasn’t as if it was a bore, but the only thirst quenched tonight was that of his throat. He found himself getting dressed rather quickly after discarding the condom, and the woman hazily reached out to him, barely having caught her breath and struggling to keep lucid with the pleasure still trembling through her.

“W-where are you…?”

“Ah, sorry luv,” He feigned a pout, giving a quick kiss to her cheek, “got a rather busy morning tomorrow, can’t quite risk being late.”

Granted, he wasn’t a total ass. Arthur made sure to clean up the mess they made without disturbing her too much as she faded out, but he was still out on the streets faster than usual. Huffing to himself, he stretched as he walked.

When was the last time sex felt so pitiful for him?

Deep down Arthur knew the reasons why, but he was stubborn, if anything. Refusing to give his feelings a name as they steadily bubbled within him, begrudgingly recalling a scene from earlier this afternoon. Where he had finally caught a glimpse of Theo after days on end of elusive misses; the man having been too busy to even linger for breakfast- or rather, linger long enough for Arthur to wake up and join.

He had been so excited too, walking up to try and ask the art dealer for some of his time. Only to stop when a woman seemed to join Theo, watching as her bright laughter brought on a smile he had never seen from Theo before.

It was such a small scene, and truly, shouldn’t he feel happy for his stoic friend? Instead, his throat had felt tight, a wash of bitterness overtaking him as he turned back around, finding himself heading towards visiting his favorite pub.

Now, Arthur kicked a pebble ahead of him as he walked home, unable to properly distract himself as he played the scene out over and over in his mind.

---

Arthur sighed, dropping his pen aside as he took his glasses off. Crumpled papers were littered on his desk, and his current sheet in front of him was just filled with scratched out words and ink blots. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to produce, after being awake for well over a full twenty-four hours now. It wasn’t as if his eighth cup of coffee would magically yield better results than the last.

“Blast…”

It was too late to go out of the mansion at this point, far too late to see if he could even swoon some minx into a distraction- and the appeal of that dwindled down as he remembered the pisspoor attempt from last time…

Standing up, he stretched his back before slumping.

Running from troubles were always temporary, in the end. After a while, they caught up, and Arthur knew when he had to settle in and let them run their course. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be sour over it, hating the way his anxieties and fears would churn in his stomach, but at least his reluctant acceptance still gave him a vague feeling of agency over his own mind turning against him.

The parlor felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison to his stuffy room, and Arthur placed the decanter of whiskey he snatched on the side table, knowing he could be left alone to ruminate over his childish feelings in peace, nursing a glass and hoping to fall asleep. The warm glow the light gave off certainly helped him feel a bit drowsy, even if his wandering thoughts were working against him in that regard.

Arthur settled himself into the chair, pouring himself a drink as he surveyed the cover of a book. Just a harmless collection of poetry, but recalling the way Theo seemed so absorbed reading it in the salon made his stomach stir. Against his better judgement, he opened the book and flipped through the pages, scanning each stanza and wondering.

Was Theo reading this and thinking of that woman? Each flowery bit of prose bringing that same smile she had managed to drudge out as Theo thought about her?

Arthur knew he had no right to be so torn up about this, not when he had a body count that was too high to remember, but…

It still stung regardless. Pooling in the pit of his stomach, making his breaths harder to take in the longer this feeling ruminated inside. He knew that, even if he weren't so cowardly, that he hadn't a hope of pulling those smiles out of Theo. That his refusal to admit his feelings, even to himself, was what had landed him in this mess.

Of course, while he sat there bitterly overlooking poem after poem, the man he had been lamenting about comes into the parlor. At the height of Arthur’s self degradation, nonetheless.

A gruff sigh spilled out of Theo once Arthur wearily met his gaze. He didn’t say anything at first, eyes glancing at the bottle resting beside Arthur, then towards the book he held. If Theo had any strong feelings towards the poetry, he didn’t show it as he walked over, taking the seat beside him.

“Didn’t think you read the stuff.”

Didn’t think you did either. But Arthur shrugged, setting the book aside, “someone left it in here.”

It was quiet. Theo didn’t seem to have any reason to come into the parlor, but he sat patiently beside Arthur regardless, toying with the decanter’s top as time ticked by.

“How long have you been here?”

“Mm. Dunno. Long enough to wonder how long until le Comte updates his library,” he gestured his glass towards the book resting between them, “that book is older than the both of us.”

Arthur could feel Theo’s gaze on him. It wasn’t like the man was attempting to hide it, but he kept silent as Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey with a sigh.

“Couldn’t find a ‘bird’ to put up with you tonight?”

And deal with another woman with a mothering complex trying to ‘nurse him’ back to whatever his normal was? No. He just shrugged at Theo’s question instead, raking a hand through his hair as he slouched in his seat, shaking his head, “wasn’t in the mood.”

“Mm. Finally gaining a conscience over leaving those women alone in the morning?”

The gentle prod was obvious, but Arthur ignored it as he poured himself another glass. He wasn’t sure what brought forth concern on Theo’s end. Did he look as haggard as he felt? Sleep had never came last night, and he knew that much was obvious, but what else was causing Theo’s eyes to narrow while Arthur stared into the amber liquid?

Downing it in one go, Arthur made the motion towards the decanter but felt Theo’s hand on his.

The warmth of Theo’s hand stole his thoughts away. He was so used to wearing gloves that he found himself unable to recall a moment where they had skin to skin contact before now. Skinship that wasn’t drunken brushes between each other. Arthur swallowed thickly, mind overcome with imaginings of Theo holding that woman’s hand and smiling- smiles Arthur could never evoke from him, feeling his chest clench again.

Drinking suddenly felt like a need, rather than a want.

“Theo?”

Theo blinked, swallowing when his eyes wavered with something Arthur couldn't catch, “we both know you’re a lightweight, slow down on the drinking.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, shaking Theo’s hand off, “we’re at home, anyway, ‘s not like I’m going to cause trouble.”

“Arthur.”

“Bloody hell, what is it?” Theo recoiled at his tone. He took his time with a response, ruminating on the words for a reason Arthur couldn’t fathom, but the words just made his sudden temper worse.

“Drinking isn’t going to help whatever mood you're in.”

Silence stretched out between them as Arthur held his breath, his glass still resting on the table as they looked at each other. Theo’s concern was evident, and deep down Arthur knew that it was genuine; possibly even what had prompted Theo to come into the room to begin with, but jealousy kept skewing his perception. Arthur clicked his tongue as he finally tore his gaze away.

“It’ll help me sleep tonight,” another pause, then Arthur rubbed his eyes with a huff, annoyed at himself, “I haven’t slept for ages-”

“Drinking will knock you flat on your ass, but you know as well as I do that it’ll make you go through hell when you finally do wake up.”

“Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment-” It certainly felt like it when he couldn’t stop himself from deliberately pushing people away from him, but Theo ignored his depressive tone, yanking the decanter out of his grasp.

“Then, view this as a punishment.”

"For God's sake- you're going to do this all night aren't you?"

It wasn't so much a question, not with how Arthur rolled his eyes, finishing off his glass before Theo could think about grabbing it. "You do know there's more booze in the mansion, don't you?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders, "I know that if you're too lazy to go distract yourself with one of your 'skirts', you're too lazy to scour for more."

Arthur didn't respond, eyes closed as he leaned upon his elbow, propping his head up with a sigh.

"... What do you propose, then?"

At Arthur’s first stumble out of the parlor, Theo tsked and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, huffing a reprimand in the process. It was an accident, Arthur really hadn’t drank that much yet, but… He let himself be led towards his room, feeling careless ideas come to mind the longer he let Theo keep his grip.

Each step closer, Arthur considered his options, feeling his emotions battling out his rationale. What proof did he have of Theo really getting with that woman? A quick glance and Theo had no lipstick markings on his cheeks or neck, no scent of perfume… Most people were quick to spend as much time with a new partner in the beginning stages. Given that Theo rarely had any breaks from work and didn’t appear to spend his rare day off with the woman Arthur had saw, it opened two possibilities.

Either they had yet to breach the hurdle of admitting their feelings towards each other, or they had been together for longer than Arthur realized.

The latter stung at the back of his throat as he swallowed the thought down, focusing on the first. Because if they had yet to get together… Well, Arthur could do what he does best.

He smiled bitterly to himself, playing up the role of a drunk as they neared Theo’s room.

Excuses. That’s what Arthur needed; something to make his behavior forgettable in the morning. Something to make his shame easier to deal with the next day. He took advantage of Theo’s dazed state after they stumbled into his room, cupping his cheeks mid-scold and stealing a lingering kiss. At first, Theo seemed frozen, unsure of how to react, and Arthur’s fear exacerbated. He nipped at Theo’s bottom lip, feeling his shoulders drop with relief when the man finally kissed him back.

Theo was hesitant, his grip unfocused as Arthur managed to take the lead; distracting him as he slowly backed Theo into his desk chair, straddling him easily. When they broke apart, panting as Theo’s confused look swept over him, the taste of him still lingered on Arthur’s lips as he nervously licked them, “don’t you want a distraction too?”

Theo’s gaze narrowed for a moment. The threat of getting an answer he feared pushed Arthur to act impulsively, crashing their lips together in one fluid movement.

Regardless of how clumsy it was, Arthur was thankful when he felt Theo’s grip focus on his ass, pushing their bodies flush together and dragging out as gasp when his fingers threaded themselves in Arthur’s hair; holding him in place as their rushed kisses deepened. Every heavy breath between them reeked of ethanol, and as Arthur felt Theo slowly get harder, he pushed the thoughts of their crumbling friendship aside.

“You’re not going to stop there, are you?”

With a slow blink, Theo finally came back to the present and slid his palms over Arthur’s ass again. A surge of heat rushed through Arthur, making him bite his lip in pleasure.

They weren’t sober by any means, but neither of them were drunk. Yet when Theo suddenly began pressing his lips against Arthur’s neck, he let out a breathless, excited laugh with his groan, Arthur’s head spinning as if he had drank his limit three times over.

A brush of Theo’s fangs against his skin made Arthur thread his fingers through Theo’s locks, shivering with the teasing waves of pleasure it brought. Slowly, the chair they sat on began to creak as Arthur rolled his hips, grinding their clothed erections together with an open moan. It only took a few more desperate pushes to coax Theo into changing positions.

Arthur nearly yelped as Theo abruptly stood up, carrying him over towards his bed with much more ease than expected- only to drop Arthur onto the mattress.

“Bloody hell, Theo, I’m not a toy-” but his flash of annoyance disappeared as Theo straddled him, working his shirt off. Unable to look away, Arthur’s eyes raked over Theo’s chest, a hum of appreciation unabashedly slipping out, “... maybe we should have done this sooner.”

Theo scoffed, beginning to roughly unbutton Arthur’s shirt, looking pleased when Arthur arched into his touch. Excited, Arthur smirked as he slid his hands between them, deftly unbuckling Theo’s belt.

It was rushed, and Arthur liked it that way. Dragging out teasing touches just opened up the chance for his unwanted thoughts to consume him and take him out of the mood. Arthur wanted to speed this up, drive Theo mad enough to shove his face into the mattress and give him the mindless pleasure he craved. So he tugged Theo’s zipper down and cupped his length, a breathless laugh escaping him when Theo briefly thrusted against his palm with a low grunt.

Arthur took Theo’s open pleasure in stride, grinning as he slipped his hand into Theo’s boxers, grasping his cock and giving a few loose strokes. Already, precum was leaking from Theo’s slit, and Arthur couldn’t help the soft groan he let out when he felt it wet his palm, “all because of me, hm?”

“Something like that.”

The unintentional pout he gave made Theo bark out a laugh, which caused his lips to twist into a frown. ‘Something like that’. He’ll make it because of him, regardless of Theo’s pride.

Running his thumb over Theo’s slit, he dragged the precum gathered there in a slow, teasing circle along his glans, loving how Theo’s eyes fluttered shut with a moan, “mm, are you sure?”

Theo’s eyes snapped open in annoyance, and suddenly Arthur’s belt was roughly being undone and tossed aside so Theo could yank his pants down enough to take his cock into his hand, mimicking Arthur’s earlier motions. Giddily, Arthur thrust into Theo’s grip, letting out a content, low sigh, “finally.”

He had to wonder what he looked like to Theo, a man he was unsure of would even find pleasure in any of this before now. A flushed, sultry mess like the minxes Arthur happily devoured, tempting Theo to explore new sinful approaches to their relationship?

Arthur almost scoffed at himself, but he still played his part; tugging Theo down by his arm, demanding another flurry of biting kisses as their cocks brushed against each other. He took delight in the strained moan Theo choked on when Arthur reached between them, grasping their throbbing cocks in his hand. There wasn’t any need for words. Theo quickly began to slip his tongue back into Arthur’s mouth, thrusting in time with Arthur’s strokes, swallowing their muffled moans.

But then Theo’s fingers pried Arthur’s grip open, threading their hands together and instead forced Arthur to stroke them like that- as if they were holding hands. It shouldn’t have tripped Arthur up, not when the move made it easier for them to chase after their release, but he found his thoughts slipping back towards a different type of neediness.

It took a lot to break apart from Theo, who quickly busied himself nipping at Arthur’s neck while he caught his breath long enough to speak, “H-hey, surely you don’t want it to- ahn, end like this?”

“Mm, think you can handle otherwise?”

Arthur just chuckled, running a hand through his sweaty bangs, “don't make me beg, Theo, I'm not sure either of us could take it.”

The cocky tone earned him a harsh nip to his pulse, making Arthur let out a choked noise when Theo paired it with a squeeze to the tip of their cocks. Theo finally let go after a moment and carefully got off of him, reaching into his nightstand to pull out a jar of lube.

"I can't believe you jerk off more than sleep around, ' Arthur mused and removed his undergarments as Theo rolled his eyes, '...what does the stubborn Theodorus Van Gogh get off to, hm?"

His question seemingly went ignored as Theo came back to him, fingers slick with lube. Gently he rested his knees on the bed, nudging Arthur to spread his legs before he spread lube around his hole.

Arthur hated this. He hated the careful way Theo pushed a finger inside of him, watching as Arthur held his breath. It’s not as if it hurt- god only knows how often Arthur’s been more adventurous- but the process takes time. And asking patience from a man who was struggling as much as he was torture.

“Better tell me if it hurts, klootzak.”

He nodded, knowing Theo would stop otherwise. After a few careful pumps, Theo pressed another finger inside, drawing a content sigh of his name from Arthur. By the time the third one was in, Arthur slowly began to stroke himself, shooting a smile Theo’s way when he watched intently, “enjoying the show?”

“Wondering how you manage to keep from being a quick shot.”

"Believe it or not, I do have some self control."

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he scoffed.

The way Theo smirked as the tip of his cock started to push into him made Arthur’s arousal flare, and… Well, it didn't feel bad, but Arthur winced as Theo inched deeper, his length thicker than Arthur had initially believed.

With that slip in confidence, Theo stopped abruptly, making Arthur grumble impatiently.

"Come now, you're not going to tease me this badly, are you?"

"You're already wincing-"

"Well, I didn't realize your thick-headedness extended that far down, Theo."

Regardless, Theo carefully pulled out of Arthur, evidently ready to settle on a different method of getting off.

“If you’re that worried then,” Arthur sat up, stealing another kiss before muttering against Theo’s mouth, “lay down.”

The look Theo gave was skeptical, but he backed off. Laying down he eyed Arthur, his caution ebbing away as Arthur threw a leg over his waist, straddling him with a grin. He kept one hand on Theo's chest as he reached behind him, giving Theo’s thick length a few good strokes before steering the tip of his cock to his entrance. The anticipation that had built up in Arthur’s abdomen dissolved into a fiery heat once he gingerly lowered himself onto Theo’s cock, his quiet gasps making Theo grab onto his thighs in a flash of worry.

“Hey, don’t push yourse-,” but Arthur’s hips sank down in one fluid movement before Theo could finish, taking Theo’s cock in as deep as he could manage.

“F-fuck, Theo, I-” a shudder overcame Arthur as his own cock throbbed with need.

“Yeah? Thought you said you could take it?”

He shot Theo a bleary-eyed glare, one that barely lingered, his expression morphing into one of pleasure as he tested a roll of his hips, loving the way Theo’s length pushed back into him impatiently.

Arthur spread his hands out on Theo's chest, doing his best to ignore how fast Theo's heart was beating as he used the leverage to start an unsteady pace.

It was difficult to quip about Theo's flushed features, not when his head was already spinning from finally getting Theo tangled up with him like this. Each bounce on Theo's cock slowly made Arthur's composure slip, his speed faltering when he managed to plunge Theo's cock in deeper on some thrusts more than others.

Admittedly, it drove Arthur nearly mad; getting Theo just where he wanted him, only for Arthur to clumsily take his cock like this. Whereas Theo… Arthur hesitated, shivering from the excitement buzzing throughout him, Theo still wore a confident smirk with his skin just as flushed as Arthur’s.

"I thought you've done this before?"

"I have- y-you're just so bloody thick-" Theo's rough hands grabbed ahold of his hips, interrupting Arthur as Theo pulled him down just as he thrusted upwards, drawing out a strangled cry from the writer, "Theo!"

“Does it hurt?”

“No-”

“Then,” Theo tightened his grip, keeping up the pace and covering the speed Arthur was lacking, “stop complaining.”

And maybe Arthur really had too much to drink; he couldn’t focus on anything but chasing the pleasure of this secretly harbored fantasy coming to life. He was unable to care about the noises spilling out as Theo roughly guided Arthur’s hips to meet each thrust he gave.

The throbbing arousal coursing through him reached a dangerous peak not too long after, and Arthur’s nails dug into Theo’s chest as he attempted to regain some clarity and control himself better. But Theo slowed and stopped moving, causing Arthur to pant out a curse.

"Y-You're such a devil-!"

"Mm, doesn't seem to stop you from mewling."

Arthur’s head spun as Theo pulled out, drawing an embarrassing whine out until he was pushed onto his back. Theo's palms slid along the underside of Arthur's thighs, ass, until he grabbed his sides, pushing in deep with a lazy roll of his hips.

"Uhn- ah! Theo-" Arthur’s voice was already strained, but another groan bubbled up when Theo picked up the pace. It was obvious Theo was getting close, his jaw clenched tight as his thrusts delved deeper, harsh enough to make the bed creak in tandem.

Fumbling, Arthur tugged on Theo’s locks to crash their lips together again. Nails dug into his hips for a moment, and then Theo broke them apart, eyes narrowed at Arthur’s chuckle.

Finding a hand at his throat, Arthur lightly gasped as Theo’s barely-there grip focused on the sides of his throat. It was enough to give Arthur a chance to rasp out any type of rejection to the idea, but instead the writer dug his heels into Theo’s ass, urging him to keep going.

At first, Theo kept his hold as it was, but as he began to get closer to his release, he tightened it just enough for Arthur’s knees to press against his waist, Arthur’s eyes going hazy at the new pleasure.

And then he let go, permitting Arthur to take in a deep breath, “fuck…”

“Tell me if I need to stop,” Theo warned, but Arthur just chuckled.

“Don’t stop until you cum. You’re, ahn, just as close as I am, h-huh?” Arthur gave him a smug look despite the flush on his cheeks, despite the way his bangs were ruffled and damp with sweat; Theo gripped him tight as he leaned over, nipping and sucking a mark onto his neck, right where his collar couldn’t reach. Arthur’s cock throbbed at the sensation, feeling as though he was being claimed.

“Then- Tell me where you want it.”

"I-inside! Oh hell, Theo, I want to feel it-"

Arthur's back arched as Theo's grip tightened again, feeling Arthur clench around his cock.

"Feel what?"

Release, Arthur sucking in air as he spoke all at once.

"Want to feel your cock throb- a-as you cum, mmph. Make me feel- ghk-!"

Another tightened grip, and Arthur's eyes welled as Theo slammed into him, heavily panting as Arthur shook with each thrust. The lack of air nearly became unbearable, but just before it was too much, Theo let go. Instead he pushed on Arthur’s thighs, nearly folding him in half as he thrusted once, twice, and then spilled inside with a rasp.

The faint smell of ethanol lingered between them, mixed into the way Arthur desperately tugged Theo close, smashing their lips together in clumsy kisses. He threaded his fingers through Theo's hair, keeping him in place for just a moment, to meet his gaze when they broke apart.

"Theo."

His name is muttered as a lovelorn sigh, Arthur's eyes searching his for something, but Theo dipped his head against Arthur's neck, avoiding the unspoken confession as his fangs broke skin.

“Ah-Ah! Oh gods-” Arthur’s nails dig deep into Theo’s back and scalp, his noises turning into choked rasps as Theo reached between them, jerking Arthur off to the timing of his slowing thrusts.

Arthur lasted just long enough for Theo to pull his fangs out, to let out a string of curses as he tensed and spilled over Theo’s hand, and then Theo pulled out with shuddering breaths, forehead planted against Arthur’s shoulder.

It took what felt like ages for the two of them to catch their breath. As soon as the afterglow fades and a slow ache replaces it, Arthur found his thoughts immediately settling onto his current issue: Theo. Who was refusing to look at him, head still pressed against his shoulder.

Embarrassment started to creep in the longer they refused to speak.

What did you do, Arthur?

"Well, that was a nice bit of fun," he swallowed thickly, hoping Theo can't feel the hammering in his chest, "perhaps we should do this again sometime…"

Theo groaned, frustration clear, "is sex the only thing that's ever on your mind?"

"You weren't complaining before-"

But Theo finally got up, sitting back on his knees, "can you get up?"

"What, kicking me out so soon? No wonder you can only get with your hand."

"Bath, Arthur. Trying to see if you can make it to the le therme."

Oh…

Shame struck Arthur once they both sink into the water, the heat drawing attention to all the parts of him that ache. He was lucky his job wasn't anything like Theo's, and that he could get away with sitting on his ass all day.

Getting here wasn't as easy as he thought. All his bravado fizzled away when it became apparent just how hard they had gone at it, and Arthur's stumble when getting up prompted Theo to…

Well, he's just thankful no one saw how pathetic he looked getting here.

Arthur sank a little deeper into the water as the silence between them stretched out, glad the heat was helping his lower back. But the longer they were quiet, the more Arthur’s thoughts rushed; had anyone else heard them? What was Theo thinking right now?

Had Arthur just ruined whatever was built up between them, or were those feelings completely one-sided?

An annoyed tsk caused him to glance at Theo, who was rubbing his neck.

“Did you have to leave a mark so high up? How am I going to explain this…”

Ah… now that he was looking at Theo in the light, he noticed his desperation all over him. Lovebites along his neck and collar, Theo’s hair still mussed and scratches along his shoulder… At the thought of others catching a glimpse, Arthur felt his jealousy simmer.

“I think it looks good,” looked like he’s taken, at least.

"I feel sorry for all those women you sleep with if they wake up like this. Tch, I look like a fool."

Arthur wasn't sure what to feel. Proud? Sated? There was a sliver of joy humming inside of him; he finally got a taste of what he'd been craving for so long. But guilt and fear were quickly taking ahold of him, unable to keep himself from wondering just how bad he screwed things up.

"What does this mean now?" The question slipped out as soon as he thought it, and Arthur felt his ears burn as Theo shrugged.

"You said you wanted a distraction, and you got it."

Ouch. But he did deserve that, he supposed.

"So… We just go along like this never happened?" Theo gave him a noncommittal grunt, and Arthur kept on, "Theo, just humor me, will you?"

There was a sigh, Theo rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know what answer you want, Arthur. For fucks sake, neither of us were thinking."

"Doesn't this have higher stakes for you? What about that pretty bird you keep taking strolls along the Seine with?"

Theo froze, giving Arthur an incredulous look, "you mean Mr. Garnier’s wife?"

Arthur went quiet, feeling heat in his cheeks as he processed Theo's words, and the accompanying embarrassment. Weakly, he stammered, "i-is that the only woman you've… you've been seeing?"

And Theo, the bastard, burst in laughter as a response. Not quietly either; loud enough to make Arthur's ears ring as the foolishness of this situation sunk in.

"Theo, for gods sake-"

"Is that what this was all about? Is that why you were in such a mood earlier?"

Arthur covered his face, his pride washing away, "my god man, do shut up."

His laughter continued until it faded off into a chuckle. Seeing Arthur still unable to look his way, Theo finally relaxed, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and tugging him close.

“Come ‘ere.” Arthur still doesn’t speak, but Theo slowly continues, choosing his words carefully, “is this really why you’ve been moody lately?”

“At this point, does it really matter if I give an answer?”

Reviewing tonight’s events should have been enough of an answer, but with the reluctant confirmation, Theo just gives Arthur a half-hearted squeeze. It made Arthur finally relax his shoulders, no longer hiding his face.

“I’m… Not good with these things, Arthur,” No, he wasn’t. It was another reason Arthur had been so surprised to see him happily with another woman. But now, knowing all of that jealousy was pointless, to an extent, well… Arthur kept quiet as Theo continued, “even before arriving here, when I didn’t have so much weighing me down, I wasn’t good at this. But…”

Theo trailed off before taking another deep breath, “if this is genuine... then I’m willing to give it a try. With you.”

Surprised, Arthur looked over to meet Theo’s gaze- only to see the man was turned away, the tips of his ears reddened.

“‘I’m not good at these things’, he says…”

Theo turned to shoot him a glare, only frowning when he realized it let Arthur see just how badly he was blushing.

“I’m trying.”

Chuckling, Arthur felt his anxieties start to ebb away, “you really want to do this? With a mess like me? If this thing goes south, well…”

“I’d be handling this ‘mess’ in one way or another, regardless.”

“Very romantic, Theo. Thanks.”

The quip eases them both with the laugh it brings, and this time the quiet that stretched out was comfortable.

“We’ll need to talk about this more, in the morning, but for now,” Theo slipped his arm around Arthur’s waist, relaxing, “don’t work yourself up. We’re fine.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You’re not the only one good at reading others, you know.”

Arthur merely hummed in response, letting that comfortable silence come back.

It felt odd, to say the least, to even consider getting into a serious relationship. Years of waving off most chances at happiness caused an almost knee-jerk reaction to do the same here; to chase Theo off with showcasing the worst of him. But Theo had already seen all of that.

There was still the chance of this not working out, or working out in the way they planned, but Arthur finally let himself rest against Theo, choosing to ignore those obnoxious worries at least for tonight.

------

I've discovered a friend can innocently send me a song saying it makes them think of a shared favored ship, only for me to dumbly open a word doc to scramble in a fic inspired by it.

I've wanted to write a longer Theocona fic for a while now, I didn't think it'd be like this, especially given how it's. Rusty. But if you read through it all: Thank you!

While I love these fools, I'm not too sure when the next time I'll write another fic for them. Theo's really hard to write, and I have so many older wips I need to finish... Maybe sooner than later I'll have another, but an established relationship themed one...

Thank you again for reading!

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cloudy-minded-idiot · 3 years

Text

closing time

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female reader (kinda?)

warning: mentions of blood, a probably very inaccurate description of a wound being treated (lemme know if I should add anything else)

word count: around 3,000

a/n: wrote this before bed last night and edited it this morning. feedback would be appreciated, just pls don’t be too hard on me, since it’s the first fic i’m posting on here. i have a vague idea for a second part if anyone’s interested.

summary: a wounded stranger stumbles into your life one night, and you find yourself helping her out despite your better instincts.

next part

It was a slow night for a change. The last customer had left half an hour ago. An elderly man who had only bought two packs of cigarettes and some strawberry mint gum to go along with it. He was a regular, came in at least once a week, always bought the same thing. The kind of customer you enjoyed after a long day: quiet and quick to leave.

You were all set to lock up for the day. All you could do now was wait for your shift to actually be over. A difficult thing for someone who was inherently impatient and had nothing to distract herself with. Your phone had died halfway through the day, and you had finished your book sometime around lunch. Any other night, you would at least have your co-worker or your boss to chat with, but Mr. Douglas had left early today. Something about his in-laws coming to visit. You hadn't question it.

A glance at the clock. Ten more minutes. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, just listening to the ticking sound. For a while, you counted along. It was calming. Almost enough to lull you to sleep. Not that that took a lot, you were pretty tired after all. You had long lost track of the seconds gone by when, in between the rhythmical tik-tok, a shrill bell chimed. The one above the entrance you knew all too well.

You had to suppress an annoyed sigh. Last-minute customers.

Whatever complaint you had on your mind was quickly replaced by utter shock when you opened your eyes. In, through the drugstore-door, staggered a woman with fiery red hair, covered head to toe in dirt. Bruises lined her face, and she kept one hand pressed to her abdomen in a futile attempt to stop blood from seeping out of a wound. Little droplets fell to the floor despite her efforts, marking her path to the counter.

"Holy shit!" you breathed out, eyes probably wide as saucers. You continued dumbly, "I think you need to see a doctor."

An understatement, to be sure. If her sickly pale complexion was anything to go by, she was sure to keel over sooner rather than later.

The redhead shook her head determinedly, a pain-stricken look on her face.

"No doctor. No hospital. Just need some medical supplies," her remark was accompanied by her slamming crumpled dollar bills on the counter.

"O-kay," you said slowly, leaving the counter and taking her by the elbow, "I'll get you your supplies, but you seriously need to sit down."

You opened the door to the break room, guiding her to a chair that she more or less collapsed onto. She winced in pain, and you stayed a moment to make sure she was all set before hurrying back out. In a frenzy, you jogged along the shelves, mentally trying to create a list of supplies she could need. Rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, scissors, tweezers. You also grabbed some painkillers and a bottle of water on your way back.

Dumping all the supplies on the round wooden lunch table, you watched her nervously as she started to cut off parts of her shirt to get better access to the wound. Almost instinctively, you grabbed the trash can holding it out for her to dump the blood-soaked fabric into.

"Water," she croaked out in between painful gasps, "Need to…rinse the wound."

Mutely, you nodded. Rummaging through the cabinet of the small old-fashioned kitchen counter until you found a big bowl and filled it up. Dipping a towel into the lukewarm water, you knelt in front of the woman.

"Let me do it. You need to save your strength."

She looked like she wanted to object, but, in the end, she gave you a curt nod. There was a lot of blood. You did your best not to irritate the wound too much. By the time you were finished, the water itself was a deep crimson. She had closed her eyes, sweat covering her brow. She grabbed you by the sleeve of your shirt when you tried to stand up, holding you in place.

"Now with alcohol," she told you. Your eyes flickered to the bottle on the table.

You hesitate. Swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Do it," the redhead commanded, eyes still closed. She let go of your arm then, returning hers to the armrest of the chair. Her fingers left behind bloody prints.

You obeyed her order, wincing along with her in sympathy as you pressed the alcohol-drenched cloth to her wound. You could only imagine how much it must sting. Her grip on the armrests tightened until her knuckles turned white. When you were done, she inspected the wound, eyes narrowed to see in the dim light of the fluorescent lamps. A long silence stretched between you two. She looked up, meeting your gaze for the first time. Her eyes were a mix of greens with little specks of grey thrown in. Under different circumstances, you might have admired them a little longer. They were quite beautiful.

"Can you sew?"

You nod slowly, sensing where she was going with this and not liking it one bit.

It took a while to find sewing supplies. Taking deep breaths, you willed your hands to stop shaking and followed her murmured instructions. Put on latex gloves, sterilize the needle and thread. She sounded very calm as she explained how to make the first stitch, didn't even flinch when the needle pricked her skin. It helped calm you down a little.

By the time you cut off the excess thread, you found yourself unable to recall doing any of the other stitches. The rush of the moment made the procedure seem to pass faster than it probably did in reality. She eyed your handiwork for a moment before giving a small nod of approval, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at her lips.

“Not bad for a rookie.”

“Thanks,” you breathed out, already preoccupied with sifting through the first aid kit.

Wrapping the wound was much more your forte. The redhead leaned back in the chair once you finished, washing some painkillers down with a big gulp from the water bottle. With the adrenaline wearing down, you felt as exhausted as she looked. Leaning back against the table leg, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing as your apprehension lessened little by little.

You took a couple of moments to mentally catch up to what just happened, processing the sheer craziness of it all. Your brain was brimming with questions. Who was she? Who hurt her? Why didn’t she get professional help? They were on the tip of your tongue. But the woman passed out before you had the chance to ask her anything.

With tremulous hands, you cleaned the store for the second time that evening, wiping up blood from the floor, the chair, and the table. You discarded the rags with the rest of the used supplies. All the while, you checked on her multiple times, unable to shake the fear she might die right then and there. She looked unnaturally pale, but her pulse continued to drum rhythmically, her chest kept rising and falling with every breath she took.

What now? Should you call the cops? The hospital? She seemed pretty set on not getting any authorities involved. Perhaps with good reason?

You resolved to find out tomorrow, hoping you would not grow to regret it. Slinging one of her arms over your shoulder, you lifted her up and carried her bridal style, mindful of her injury. She wasn't too heavy, but you still were glad you had had the foresight to park your car nearby. After making sure she was safely strapped into the passenger seat, you went back and finally closed up the shop.

________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you were woken up by some clattering sounds coming from your living room. With a groan, you forced yourself out of your bed and stumbled through the door into the next room. The redhead was walking around in the dim light, rummaging through your drawers and dropping things left and right. You watched, for a moment, too perplexed to say anything as you rubbed your eyes tiredly.

“Shouldn’t you be resting or something?” you ask, voice rough from sleep. It was still way too early to be awake. You had thought the pain killers would help her sleep for a couple of hours more. Looks like you were wrong.

“Later,” she muttered just loud enough for you to hear. Crouching down, she opened the bottom drawer of the tv cabinet and pulled out some DVDs you had stored there, only pausing to look at the title of one of them with a smirk.

“Is this not a kids' movie?”

You had no idea what she was looking at, but you crossed your arms, feeling a bit offended anyway. Blame your lack of sleep for making you a little sensitive.

“Do you make it a habit to judge the movie taste of people who were gracious enough to let you stay in their home overnight?”

The woman didn’t answer verbally, just put the movie back and closed the drawer again. She turned to face you, her expression turning serious all of a sudden as if only now remembering where she was and how she got here in the first place. She looked apprehensive, taking a couple of steps in your direction.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?” her voice conveyed a sense of urgency, eyes staring into yours imploringly. Confused, you just shook your head.

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Good,” she nodded, her attention already returning to her little scavenger hunt.

The redhead walked across the room, sifting through your kitchen cabinet next.

You sighed, picking up a couple of things she had knocked over in the living room and putting them back in their proper place. Every few seconds, you would glance at her from afar. She was still wearing the outfit she had on when she came into the drugstore. With her unconscious, you hadn’t seen any way of getting her into some new clothes, at least not without possibly irritating her wound or waking her up. She could surely use something clean to wear. Her current attire was dirtied and bloody, not to mention that her shirt now looked like a makeshift crop top since she had cut off parts of it last night.

“You know, if you just told me what you’re looking for you wouldn’t have to make such a mess of my apartment,” you winced as one of your spice shakers fell out of the cupboard and landed on the stove just as you finished speaking. Luckily, nothing broke.

The woman paused mid-motion, still on her tiptoes, body halfway turned towards you.

“A radio. An old one preferably.”

Frowning, you picked up and folded the blanket she had discarded on the floor in front of your couch.

“What for?”

The redhead eyed you for a moment, hesitant and unsure whether you could be trusted. In the end, she kept quiet, ruling against explaining herself. You reluctantly accepted her decision, tossing the folded blanket back on the couch cushion in resignation.

“I should have an old radio alarm clock somewhere in my wardrobe. Will that do?”

It took you a couple of minutes to find the old thing, hidden away in the very back of your closet, underneath some clothes you hadn’t worn in forever. When you returned to the living room, your visitor was leaning against the kitchen isle, nibbling on one of your pop tarts which she abandoned as soon as she saw you. Eagerly she took the alarm clock off your hands, acknowledging you with a grateful nod. The redhead sat down on the couch, plugging the device into the closest outlet.

You more or less kept an eye on her while you made yourself some coffee, but you had no idea what she was doing. To you, it looked like she was just fiddling with the controls, only static and a couple of high-pitched sounds filling the living room. It was grating on your nerves, but you made no comment. By the time she finished and turned the radio off again, you were already on your second cup.

“Are you expecting any visitors in the next couple of days?” she asked casually, sidling up next to you in the kitchen.

You raised an eyebrow, placing your empty cup in the sink.

“No. Why?”

“I need a place to lay low until Tuesday.”

“Lay low?” you parroted, “What for? Who are you hiding from?”

Subconsciously, she glanced down at her bandaged wound, and you followed her gaze, slow realization coming over you.

“Did they do that to you? Did they hurt you?” you asked more softly. She only shook her head in confirmation, “Then why not just go to the police? I’m sure they can help you better than I c-"

“No,” she cut you off immediately, gripping your wrists tightly in both her hands as if to physically keep you from taking your phone and calling the cops. This only made you grow more concerned.

“No. We can’t go to the police. It’s not safe,” she loosened her grip on you a little.

Your eyebrows were drawn together as you thought about what she said.

“Why would it not be safe? Unless...,” you swallowed as a possibility crossed your mind, “Are you in trouble? Did you do something illegal?”

When she didn’t immediatley deny your statement, you started to jump to conclusions, your voice rising with panic.

“Oh, shit! You did. What was it? Were you in a fight? Did you kill someone? Holy shi- Does helping you make me an accomplice? Am I harboring a criminal in my ho-”

She cut off your rant by slapping a hand over your mouth, thus muffling your words.

“Be quiet, your neighbors might hear,” she hissed, gaze darting to the door, almost like she expected someone to burst through it.

Your eyes were wide in fear, but you listened to her, your heart racing. She slowly removed her hand, giving you a warning look as though she feared you would start talking again. You didn’t.

“I’m not a criminal,” she told you earnestly, “I am, however, on the run, so I would appreciate your discretion.”

“On the run from whom?”

The question was no more than a whisper, too scared to raise the volume of your voice. She held your gaze for a moment before shaking her head.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Classified,” you repeated, incredulous, “So let me get this straight. You show up at my job, bleeding all over the place and telling me not to call the authorities. I help you out, let you crash at my place and you, in return, wake me up at an ungodly hour, make a big mess of my living room, imply that you might have done something illegal, and expect me to let you stay here until Tuesday without getting any information whatsoever?”

“I know this isn’t fair...,” she admitted, and you laugh humorlessly.

“Not fair? I would be crazy to agree without at least having an idea what I’m getting myself into.”

The redhead nodded in agreement, looking away guiltily, teeth biting down on her lips. She seemed genuinely beat down, something even you, as a stranger, could tell was foreign to her. Oddly enough, you felt bad, although you knew, realistically, that you had done nothing wrong.

You let out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Curse your empathetic heart.

“Three conditions,” you conceded, making her look at you in surprise. Holding up a finger, you started your list.

“One. No more throwing my stuff around. If you need something, ask. I don’t want to have to clean up after you.”

She nods, having the decency to actually look sorry this time. You put up a second finger.

“Two. You tell me your name. Doesn’t have to be your full name or even your real name if that’s a secret or whatever," you added with an indifferent shrug, "I just want something other to call you than ‘hey you’.”

“What’s the third condition?” she prompted, not commenting on the second one.

“You promise me that you’re not the bad guy in this situation and that helping you won’t land me in trouble somehow.”

The redhead cocked her head to the side, an almost fascinated expression on her face.

“How would you know I’m telling the truth?”

“I don’t,” you countered without hesitation, “I’m just gonna have to trust your word here. Just as you will have to trust mine that I’ll keep your presence here a secret.”

For a moment, she regarded you with some indescribable emotion on her face before nodding in concession. Letting go of the one wrist she was still holding, she took a step back. Caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even realized how close you were standing. Thinking about it now made your face heat up for some reason. The redhead raised one hand as though she was about to take an official oath. She held your gaze unwaveringly as she spoke.

“I promise you, that I will not make a mess in your home anymore. And I solemnly swear that you won’t get in trouble for helping me in any way whatsoever.”

Something about her demeanor told you she wasn’t lying. You shake your head satisfied, a small but relieved smile taking over, some of the tension and apprehension leaving your body. She smiled tentatively in return, extending her hand to you in greeting.

“The name’s Natasha.”

Glancing at her proffered hand, you took it and gave it a small shake.

“Nice to officially meet you, Natasha.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Unwinding in the Vines

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader can’t get enough of cuddling Spencer.

A/N: Hey Heyyyy! Here’s my twenty-third fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! Sorry this one is again out a little later than usual- I’ve started a new job and it was my mom’s birthday today! This ones based on this request from @lexieshuntingsstuff- it’s a user smol sweet moment between Reader and Spencer. Feel free to send me an ask here (I promise I don’t bite lol) Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Vague mentions of death (of minor characters & a tree lol) & Reader is overprotective of Spencer after he had a run in with an unsub- other than that it’s just a smol fluffy moment.

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.2k

His arms were wrapped around my torso tight. They wound around to hug every dip and curve of my body, like the vines of ivy trailing up the tree he was resting his back on. Unlike the tree, who was being choked slowly to death by the vine, I thrived under his hold.

His hold on me made me feel safer than I ever had been, grounding me. Him being clingy also assured me that he was real, I could feel his skin on mine, even when his touch was dampened by our clothing. Though I craved him being closer, even more clingy than he already was being, I’d have to settle with how we were. I tried to sink into his touch even more despite it not being possible, winding my own arms up around his to create vines of my own.

I often felt unsafe, specifically at my job which was also Spencer’s. He was by my side through every investigation, through thick and thin, willing to do whatever it takes. It didn’t matter whether we were personally involved or it was the most routine case we had all year, he was always by my side. Though I often craved for him to be closer to me, to smother me with his whole body twisted around me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

I then hooked my legs around his, intertwining myself even further into him, no longer knowing where I stopped and he began. It had been too close of a call during the last case for me not to want him so close. He was the one holding me, but really I was protecting him from the man who dared pull a gun on him even though he was dead.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer spoke up pulling me out of my daydream for a moment.

I fiddled with my fingers that I had intertwined with his, assuring me that he was here, safe and here to keep me safe. He nudged my side as I started to drift off back into my thoughts to prompt me to give him an answer, “How much closer I want you,” Was the first answer that came to my mind, until the true answer came to me. I hesitated, reluctant to spill my guts even though I knew he wouldn’t be mad, “ and- how glad I am that you’re safe…”

His breath hitched, probably him thinking back to his brush with death, all because of some cocky unsub so chaotic he had been hard to predict. I wanted to apologize for bringing it up, but Spencer had already moved on from the subject, choosing to focus on the positive, “I don’t think I can’t physically be closer- unless you want our atoms fuse.”

I giggled a little along with Spencer, making our chests vibrate with one another. Twisting myse a little around for just a moment I booped the tip of his nose delicately before teasing him with my tongue stuck out just a bit, “Think you could figure that out doc?”

“Maybe- I could probably do it with an assistant.” He teased right back, with a boop on my nose too as revenge.

“Only if it’s me.”

“I’d never be able to do anything without you.” My heart swelled at the affection, just as it always did around Spencer. He always leveled attacks of affection on me, which some would find obnoxiously overbearing. I thought those people were crazy. I loved him so much, letting him go or him letting me go sounded sad. When we were unable to touch each other at work I always felt a slight pain in my chest at the thought of it. Guess that probably made me clingy as well, but Spencer loved it just as much as I did.

My mind had shifted back to thinking about the BAU, our job that caused constant turmoil within me. Ever since he had nearly been fatally wounded I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything else for us, something safer. Looking up at the clouds floating along without a care in the sky, I envied their ability to be carefree, to be able to see where the wind takes them.

“Did you ever think this was where you’d be?” He looked up at the clouds with me, perhaps also wishing life would be just as easy and carefree.

“No.” It was true, and also not surprising. Whether his answer was about his job or about me, I knew that even not that long ago he never would have imagined being here underneath the tree with me. Though, I was still worried that he no longer wanted to be a part of the BAU, especially after the recent fiasco. I did not want him to stay only for me.

“Do you want to be here?” My meaning had a double entendres, at surface level meaning his time with the BAU which even with my anxiety over recent events, I knew realistically we were meant to be there. Suddenly I was now anxious for his answer to the other meaning, whether or not he wanted to be here tangled up with me. We had said the words I love you out loud, and even then self doubt liked to poison me.

“Yes.” His arms choked around me tighter, but I never felt more free to be me. I never felt more alive than when I was close to Spencer, thriving with him. My own arms were holding Spencer down to me, but he had told me once that I was the only reason he ever grew to be better which I happily did along with him.

My stomach rumbled, interrupting our deep conversation. It was loud enough that Spencer could hear it even with the breeze that was muffling almost everything. He moved his hand down to rub my stomach, soothing it for the time being. “Do you want to eat the rest of the food?”

Wistfully I looked over to the picnic basket that we had packed for our time to unwind. We had eaten only a small portion of it before he had pulled me back to rest on his chest. My stomach may be slightly rumbling, but I wouldn’t want to give up my hold on Spencer or have him give up his hold on me. “No, you’d have to let me go if I did.”

I felt warm, almost hot, his arms insulating all the heat inside me along with what I produced on my own. My cheeks were definitely burning, but I didn’t care, I felt safe here away from the horrors I faced everyday with him. I never wanted him to stop clinging on to me like a koala bear or like the vines around us. He brushed a finger along my cheek, which was probably hot to the touch as he then asked, “Are you sure I’m not holding you too tight?”

Nuzzling my face on the side of one of his arms, I then squeezed my palms around him three times, a silent confession of my love. Turning my head up I saw him looking down at me in adoration, not at the other beauties of nature around me. I squeezed him tight once again, trying to entangle us permanently like a vine to a tree before I told him, “No, it’s perfect.”

Ask Me Anything

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #30 fics in 30 days

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lokescurse · 3 years

Note

Hello I hope you're feeling better soon and please a - z for naoya and the nsfw alphabet hehe I'm greedy for Naoya content. Sending love and hugs

Thank you~❤️I'm doing okay, still recovering but I was well enough to finish this. I hope the wait was worth it! Some of these letters were already answered for other people, so I'll be linking back to the posts where I put them. Otherwise, here you are, a full alphabet for our favourite little menace of the Zenin clan:

These are gn!Reader friendly!

As one could expect, MDNI, thank you!~ Specific warnings under the cut.

C/D1/K/W1 & B/D2/J/N/W2

Warnings: Mentions of cum, katoptronophilia, limited aftercare, oral sex (both receiving), rough sex, mocking, degradation, humiliation, praise, choking, implied unprotected sex, creampies/cumming inside, detailed descriptions of uncircumcised dick, semi-public sex, quickies, exhibitionism, descriptions of pubic hair, use of toys, sexting, dick pics, overstimulation, dumbification, multiple orgasms, and orgasm denial. Also if there are grammar and spelling mistakes, I’m sorry but I didn’t have the energy to proof read this a million times lol.

A = Aftercare: Aftercare with Naoya is...minimalistic, really. If he’s awake enough after sex, he’ll probably want to wash off with you so that you don’t have to worry about yourself or your bed sheets in the morning, though. This can be a shower or a bath and he doesn’t really have a preference, so if you just want a quick rinse that’s fine & if you’d like to put some scented bath salts in the tub and just soak for a bit, that also works. He’s not really picky during this time (in fact, Post-orgasm Naoya is probably the most agreeable version of him lmao). Anything more than this is a bit of a toss-up, however. He’s probably just gonna want to go straight to bed or he’ll have to even skip the wash, adjust himself, and head off to whatever he has next on his daily agenda. But, if he does get to stay in bed for the night, expect him to also use whatever power he has to sleep in with you the next day.

D = Dirty secret: This is one that even a very beloved partner would have significant difficulty wrangling out of him.....but Naoya really doesn’t mind the idea of wearing lingerie, even if it’s a bit more on the feminine side. He has a great figure and he knows it. What’s more is that he loves all kinds of accessories that accentuate his naturally pretty features. So it should come as no surprise to learn that Naoya has definitely tried on a few things in front of his mirror, and somewhere deep in his computer are the selfies he took while wearing the pieces he liked most. He’s especially partial to black garments with lace trim and lots of straps & garters. Perhaps even more than the lingerie itself, he loves thinking of all the praise and compliments he’ll receive for wearing it. So his partner had better be prepared to absolutely drown him in heartfelt flattery if this is a thing they’d like to see more of in the future.

E = Experience: Naoya isn't very experienced, in my opinion. I do think that he'd be willing to have a few one-night-stands here and there just to get out some of the frustration that he can't relieve himself, but that doesn't mean he was all that well-educated on what to do. He's not innocent by any means, but being with him means being willing to understand that he'll need some actual practice to be exceptional at anything in the bedroom. His one strength is that he does have some natural talent with his tongue and fingers, though, if you get my drift. It's a learning curve, but he'll get there. F = Favorite position: I’m of the mind that Naoya enjoys the butterfly, cowgirl, classic missionary, and spooning positions best. Ultimately, these are all positions that either 1) let him see his partner’s face & body, 2) let him press his skin directly against theirs, or 3) both. A position that allows Naoya to choose between getting up close and sensual or leaning back and enjoying the view is going to land on his favourites every time. All four of these also allow him to have good control over the pace to some extent or another (which we’ll establish later as being fairly important to him). Even cowgirl gives him the option to steady his partner’s hips and push into them at his desired speed from below. An honourable mention here is doggy style, but he tends to only like it while him and his partner are facing a mirror. Like I said, he likes to be able to see everything.

G = Goofy: Naoya doesn't tend to be goofy during the act, per se, but he does enjoy bringing his normal scoundrel attitude into the bedroom with him. He's the mocking, sarcastic, and teasing sort. At times, it can also just be him playing coy in an attempt to get his partner to admit to/beg for something they want done to them. He's the kind to hear his partner say "please..." and ask "please, what?" even though he knows full well what it is they're looking for. Playful, to say the least. We’ll get more into this when we get to U.

H = Hair: While the idea of Naoya also bleaching his pubes is...interesting to me, I do think that he keeps them the natural black colour they are. As far as the cut goes, I’d say he’s very well groomed. He keeps it well-shaped and tame down there, sometimes he might even shave it completely if he’s going to be too busy to see to it properly for a while. He does also take into account what his partner likes, though, as he wants to make sure he’s as attractive to them as he can be in every possible way. Tell him what you like and, if it suits him, he’ll do his best.

I = Intimacy: Let’s face it, Naoya’s not the romantic type. While he can be tender, it’s rare that there’s a time with Naoya that isn’t punctuated by roughness or mockery to some extent or another. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something deeper to it at all. More accurately, Naoya’s roughness is largely due to his enthusiasm to be wrapped up with his partner in the first place. Obviously, his nigh insatiable appetite is also to blame, but it’s not the only contributor to his eagerness. When Naoya desires someone, he desires them wholly, and he seeks no one else. So while his partner probably shouldn’t expect a soft/romantic lovemaking session unless it’s their birthday or some such occasion, they should know that everything Naoya does is specifically, and only for them. It has its own inherent romance to it, even if it’s not always clear.

L = Location: There a few different locations that Naoya loves to get tangled up in. His own bed, the estate sauna, the training mats in the dojo - they're all great and he'll almost never say no to them. But there's one place that Naoya absolutely loves to defile with his partner more than any other:

His father's bed.

It's risky and he knows well that it's not always an option, but if there's ever a moment in which his partner is game and Naobito is busy elsewhere, Naoya will practically sprint there. The whole way he's biting his lip at the thought and loosening his clothes to prevent lost time. He can't help but to love the high that comes over him when he and his partner have their way in the Very Important Private Room Only for the Head of the Zenin Clan. It serves as both a reminder of his own personal motivations, as well as just a giant "Fuck You" to his father in general. The best of both worlds. M = Motivation: Naoya isn’t a difficult man to turn on, as he’s practically always at the ready. You can pretty much just vaguely allude to the concept of sex and his brows (and something else) will begin to perk up. However, I do think there are a few little things that will get him particularly entranced with his s/o. One of them is low-cut or revealing clothing. Parade yourself with confidence or tease him with a suggestive outfit and he’s already ravishing you with his eyes at every possible moment. Naoya loves beauty and ostentation, so if his partner takes the time to pick out clothes that really highlight all their best curves & features, you can bet that Naoya isn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself. For male/masc partner’s especially, I think he also loves shows of strength. Naoya can’t help but stare when he sees taught muscle flexing, or be impressed by how easily his partner can lift heavy objects that he can’t (as I’m writing this, I’m thinking maybe maybe maybe Naoya might just have a bit of a size kink, too eheh). Finally, something that works for all kinds of s/os is that Naoya absolutely loves having his neck touched - it’s probably his most sensitive, non-erogenous body part. If the person he’s involved with at the time comes up behind him while he’s sitting on a couch or at his desk, gently grazes their fingers along the side of his neck, and whispers something suggestive in his ear, Naoya’s all but putty in their hands.

O = Oral: Oh, Naoya, Naoya, Naoya. When isn’t this man wagging his tongue? Honestly, even he knows that he really ought to put it to better use sometimes. And so he does, but you almost hate to admit that he’s so damn good at it. As one could imagine, it’s filled with a ton of teasing, though. There’s plenty of him blowing lightly on the excited skin, lots of kitten licks and soft kisses, and of course it wouldn’t be sex with Naoya without a heavy dose of “use your words” and other taunts. Ultimately, there’s not much Naoya Zenin loves more than really taking his time between his partner’s thighs and watching as they completely come unraveled beneath his diligent tongue. It’s so good to him, that he’s often caught moaning around his partner’s sex, sending pleasant vibrations all along the flesh there & enhancing the experience further. Sometimes, even, he can’t bring himself to stop after his s/o’s release finishes coating his lips, and he’ll continue to press his tongue against them until they’re jolting from overstimulation. Even then he might not stop without a safeword. Asking Naoya for oral really is a gamble in that way. There’s no telling whether he’ll leave his partner at a comfortable satisfied, or catapult them thoroughly into mindless and exhausted.

Naoya prefers to give and, honestly, if he had to choose the method to his climax, he’d just choose sex over oral if he had the time. That being said, Naoya was made for multiple orgasms. So if there’s only enough time for oral, expect for him to try and make use of every possible second. Therefore, his partner should probably make sure they rest their jaw afterwards.

P = Pace: Generally speaking, Naoya prefers the act to have a more rapid pace. As one can expect from someone with a speed-based technique, Naoya has a great capacity to keep things moving quickly. The bedroom is no exception. Even in moments where the scene is more sensual, he can’t help but raise the pace as time goes on. There’s something about the extra friction and the desperation it fills him with that makes the sex all the more passionate in his eyes. Just him and his partner, recklessly chasing their highs together. Mmm.~ ♡

Q = Quickie: Naoya loves quickies, for the most part. He kind of has to, seeing as he has to always be somewhere for some reason or another. His partner can probably expect at least one each week in-between blocks of missions, meetings, and other monotony. Sometimes it's the only kind of sex there is, which is mostly fine for him....but he does sometimes long for the more calm, slow moments when he can really take his time. A balance between the two, is really what he craves. R = Risk: Naoya is very willing to experiment and take risks, as I'm sure you've probably guessed by this point. He's down to try almost anything once, and some of his favourite acts are ones done in places where it would be easy to be caught. The things he likes are also pretty varied, and he doesn't mind going from soft to harsh or anywhere in between. Ultimately a pretty exciting partner once he starts getting the hang of things. S = Stamina: I’ve talked about this before in separate posts, but I think it’s fair to say that Naoya likely has pretty good stamina. I don’t necessarily like when other people just say that every character they write for can go multiple rounds all night because that’s not always realistic. But, since Naoya so very specifically has a speed-based ability and we know how important strength, performance, and training were to the Zenin...I don’t think it’s unfair to say in this case that, yes, Naoya can probably go for quite some time. I’m also of the mind that he cums quickly, but is not easily overstimulated, leading him to be able to hit multiple orgasms without getting too overwhelmed or tired. Ergo, this man can and will keep you up way past your bedtime if you ask nicely. ♡

T = Toys: I like to think that Naoya is pretty open to the possibility of using toys. After all, they can very easily result in a heightened experience for both him and his partner. He’d especially love using things like vibrators, clamps, and plugs because of how readily they can bring his s/o over the edge and deep into overstimulation. And since he’s someone who also likes to cum multiple times in any given session, I can definitely see them as being useful to him, too. Ultimately, I think this is a “you name it and I’ll try it,” sort of subject for Naoya. He’ll give anything a go at least once.

U = Unfair: Oh, are you kidding? I think we’ve established by now that teasing may as well be Naoya’s own, distinct love language. It’s impossible for him to refrain from denying, teasing, and openly mocking his s/o during any stage of sex. For him, it’s an integral part of the fun. He loves to make his partner beg, to mock their whimpering, to intentionally “miss” any of their sweet spots, and to give only the slightest of touches against the skin for far too long. Bringing his partner to the brink and sinking them down over and over again - having them completely at his mercy...oh yeah, he positively adores it all.

V = Volume: I think this is where I differ the most from a lot of other people who write for him, because I absolutely think that Naoya is shameless enough to fully moan whenever the mood strikes him. No hushed grunting or strangled noises with this man. He will just let it all out exactly as he feels it. After all, Naoya’s not a person to conceal his emotions as is. Why would he bother to hide what a good time he’s having? Plus, if you’ve been around my posts long enough, you know full well that I think he would also really enjoy trying to embarrass his partner by repeating their own sounds back to them when they get particularly amusing. So, really, there’s no way I would have ever told you that this man is quiet, of all things. Lmao.

W = Wild card: Naoya loves to lock his partner in place, especially when he’s close to cumming. This can sometimes be in the form of choking, but other times it’s just him pressing closer against them or wrapping an arm across the chest/sternum to anchor them to him. It’s quite the display, really. A hand or arm will come up to curl around his s/o’s body, his pace will quicken, and his breathing grows ragged. He has almost no mind left for dirty talk and simply moans readily into his partner’s ear as he reaches his peak inside them. The whole time, he’s holding them firmly in place and making sure they take every drop of his seed.

X = X-ray: He’s beauty, he’s grace. Naoya’s overall body is lean, fit, and sculpted. His musculature is more on the subtle end, but each gentle slope and rounded hill is wrapped so perfectly in smooth, even skin. His ass is especially noteworthy, as it is that somewhat square shape with divots in the sides that one can expect from a very fit build, but also with enough mass there to give the actual cheeks that lovely & grab-able bubble-like quality. Truly, it’s an enticing thing that any good partner would be loathe not to appreciate. Rotating the man a bit, let’s talk about what he’s workin’ with, you know what I’m sayin’? 👀 Naoya’s a proud member of the Pretty Cock Squad, in my opinion. It’s not particularly large or small, sitting at about a comfortable 6-6.5 inches. He is uncircumcised and almost religiously clean. His foreskin is about the same colour as the rest of him, but with a red, blushing quality to it. It’s also very smooth & soft to the touch. There are no veins visible, save for a single prominent, raised one along the underside that looks almost like a seam turned out. The head underneath is cutely rounded, very pink, and super sensitive - which is largely why he cums so fast. Overall, it’s a member to be proud of, and he’ll certainly take any opportunity he can to show it off to his partner. Hopefully they like dick pics during sexting!

Y = Yearning: Oh, boy. This man is horny 24/7, babe. It’s honestly a wonder that Naoya isn’t trying to chase his high every moment of every day. If he isn’t engaging in a sexual act himself, he’s probably thinking of the kinds he’d like to be involved in later, or ones he’ll think about with more clarity when he has a moment alone. So any time a partner even jokes about getting intimate, Naoya will be there actively hoping that they mean what they say deep down because he’s already thinking about just how he’d like to do it tonight.

Z = Zzz: Conked out immediately. Naoya can last quite a while, but no matter how high your stamina is, there comes a point where you need to stop for a bit. It's actually because Naoya is able to exert so much energy during the act that he needs sleep so badly after. Don't be surprised if you roll over to snuggle up to him sometimes only to hear him softly snoring away. Just make sure you wake him up at some point so he can brush his teeth!

Okay! With that all being said and done, I’m gonna tag you ( @depechemoth ) as well just to make sure you get it since sometimes tumblr doesn’t tell people when their asks get answered anymore + I spent a lot of time on this so I don’t want you to miss it!

#WHEW! Sorry this took so long but it was a lot to think about lmao!#Kinktober #Naoya Zenin #Naoya headcanons #Naoya smut #Naoya x Reader #Naoya x gn!Reader #smut alphabet #not sfw #not sfw text #mdni #asks #depechemoth #long post

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javier-pena · 3 years

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.��

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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darlingletshurttonight · 3 years

Text

The Piano

(okay yall i wrote something. this takes place after gaon finds out yohan is alive the second time. i had written this for myself but if this helps anybody get their daily dose of gahan, here it goes. its not proofread or anything so bear with me :’])

Gaon walked out of the mansion, feeling empty. Of course, he was happy that Yohan was alive, and he was with Elijah. He was relieved that he was able to keep his promise to Elijah. It was such a relief that they were together again.

Only, without him.

Yes, he had fucked up. Yes, he almost messed up the bleak relationship Yohan and Elijah had. It never struck him how easily he blended in with them. Okay, it did strike him, but he chose to ignore that it might not have been permanent. It probably never would be. He just... wished he could go back.

As he walked his usual path home, he noticed another sapling, growing in dire conditions on the side of the road. The leaves were yellowing, roots sticking out from the mud.

"Are you alone too?" he murmured, picking up the broken pot.

He held it close as he walked down the stairs, wondering when was the last time he felt so lost. Alone.

Maybe this was a good thing? Even if the thought of having nobody made him shiver in anxiety and pain. He couldn't even process how he lost so many people so quickly. He regretted some things, he appreciated some things. By the time he reached his front door, his sleeves were stained with the mud, and mind still hazy from everything that had happened. He was hoping the walk would clear his mind. But this wasn't something a walk would fix. He soon realized, this wasn't something that diving deep into work and losing the little sanity he had left would fix. He skipped meals, came home late and didn't talk to many people. His only company was his mind, which wasn't really helping.

He was sitting on the bench on his terrace with his dinner that consisted of a single coffee. He knew that he was getting a fresh start, he had to start living for himself now, there was no other way. He wondered how Elijah's rehabilitation was going, was she able to feel her legs? Was she able to stand, walk around? What was their relationship like now?

He felt a turmoil every time he even vaguely thought of Yohan. His emotions would fly through a spectrum. The more days went by, the more he got time and clarity to think, and the more his anger and acceptance clashed.

Was he not enough?

He was never a part of them, he was just visiting.

Did he not repent for his mistakes enough?

They needed time away to heal.

Did Yohan lose all the trust he had in him?

Elijah's treatment was a priority.

Had Yohan finally pushed him away?

He must have needed space from the person who didn't choose him many times.

Had Gaon, read it all wrong?

There was only so much he could do to convince himself that there was once a beautiful phase in his life - short, surrounded by pain and betrayal - but beautiful nonetheless. He now had to build meaningful relationships with people from the ground up, and people were exhausting. He was tired of losing.

Why was he the one always losing his people? As he watered his plants, he noticed the newest one not doing so well. He put in some fertilizer, adding some rocks at the bottom and placing it in a different location.

Maybe this is what he needed. Some reorganizing.

Gaon had known how to play the piano. His father's piano was still in the house, by the corner. He had learnt a few things from him. He wasn't the best, but Gaon liked learning it exactly the way his father played it. After their death, he never looked at it. He had managed to sideline its existence, simply because no one could play it the way he was used to.

It seemed old now, worn out. Gaon had cleaned it once in a while, just as any other furniture in the house. Not a single key had been played since the last few years, this was the first time Gaon was properly looking at it. He sat on the seat, immediately regretting it. He felt the keys softly, trying to gain some familiarity.

Nothing.

He pressed a key, another one, and another one. His pace got quicker and the sound messier as he desperately tried to make sense of the unfamiliarity,

He stood up in frustration, and gave up on the attempt. As he lay curled up in bed, the weight of not just the loneliness but the strength he didn't have to continue weighed on him. His tears fell, and he was at the rock bottom again.

He came home the next day, and stared at the piano from the kitchen table. Why he was so adamant on playing it, he didn't quite understand. He rummaged through some old boxes in his house, and found a music notebook, with some loose sheets inside. Placing them on the sill, he tried to read and play. He didn't care if he was playing it right, he just wanted to play. He wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel the comfort of sitting next to his father who played a love song for his wife, every time she came home from work. He wanted to feel that belonging.

He played after work everyday. He missed a lot of notes, he had to look up tutorials to understand things he had forgotten. He wasn't acing this, but it kept him going.

He chose to ignore the images of Yohan that crept in his mind as he played the piano. And then one day it didn't hurt so much to think about Yohan as he played. And the next day he deliberately thought of Yohan, not that he had to put in much effort for that. He imagined playing the piano for Yohan. He might never have Yohan again, but this was for him. For letting him choose his own paths, for giving him a family and that feeling of belonging, for allowing Gaon to see him vulnerable, for trusting Gaon. And, for accepting the way Gaon was.

Gaon was planning to reorganize his house after the day of the reform meeting. He'd have some time on his hands to give it some thought. A few days ago he had bought groceries and made himself proper dinner. A few days before that he had cleaned up the mess that his house had become.

Before he left for the meeting, he noticed the leaves of his new plant turning a rich shade of green. He smiled on the way to work.

But the smile disappeared when Jin Joo mentioned she was leaving. He realized he could've spent some more time for her. But he wasn't going to regret it. enough of that. He promised to visit and keep in touch. He knew that she wouldn't expect him to, but he was still going to try.

What he did not prepare for, was to see Yohan again. He had given up. And here Yohan was, standing in front of him. His unkempt hair, informal clothes, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the hopeful smile. Was this another chance? There was so much Gaon wanted to say. There was so much Gaon wanted to make sure Yohan knew. His heart raced as he tried to conjure up some words, something, anything.

But he realized he didn't have to say anything, Yohan knew. Of course Yohan knew. He knew him better than anyone.

He stood frozen, a smile and tears plastered to his face, as he watched Yohan walk away. Now he knew, they were finally on the same page. Gaon would chase Yohan to the ends of the world, if Yohan allowed him. But Yohan was always by his side, right from the beginning. He loved Yohan, and it was only a matter of time before he would bring up the courage to tell him so.

He visited the mansion as soon as he could escape from the office. He saw the lights on for the first time in a month. He'd never understand how he had conflicting emotions, yet a sense of comfort everytime he was here. He entered the house, on his way to Yohan's study, where he knew Yohan would be. The last time he did so, he was holding a knife. This time, it was his own heart in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks as he turned around the corner and watched Yohan leaning against the table, hands folded across his chest, as if waiting for him.

"I was waiting for you" he said. His eyes were unreadable but Gaon knew he didn't just mean about this meeting.

Gaon closed his eyes and let a tear fall. He'd never thought he'd hear this voice again. This was all real, after all. He really was here.

"What brings you back?" Gaon managed to ask, taking a few steps forward. He didn't even try to hold his tears back, whatever the answer was going to be, he was going to show Yohan his honest feelings. That's what he was here for. He wanted Yohan to see him.

He watched Yohan's face softening, relaxing his arms. Gaon wished he'd hold him.

"I came to check on you"

Gaon felt like the floor was swept off from under his feet. He was worth it after all.

"Thank you" he whispered, sniffing away his tears.

"How's Elijah? Is she here?" Gaon asked, after a pause.

"No, she's getting adjusted to the center there. She's okay, she misses you"

"And you?"

Gaon watched Yohan look for an answer. He hadn't prepared for this blunt question, and frankly, neither had Gaon. The longer the silence was, the more afraid Gaon felt to know the answer.

Yohan had a habit of communicating with his eyes. Gaon was pretty good at reading them, but today he just had to be sure. What he didn't know was that Yohan was remembering every waking memory of him missing Gaon in the last month. Elijah's first appointment, their first meal they had made themselves, every single meal they had, the milestones Elijah was reaching, just...everything. How was he supposed to say this?

When Gaon got impatient, he decided to simply confess.

"I've missed you," he let out a breath he was holding all this while "a lot. I was losing my mind"

"Gaon-ah"

"I really thought I had lost you two forever," he paused to get a reaction, anything, from Yohan. He realized Yohan wouldn't have anything to say unless Gaon laid himself bare for him. So be it.

"I didn't even think you were real today, at the office. I was really really happy that you got out of all that alive, only that, you left. I wished you'd have told me. I was angry at first"

Yohan furrowed his eyebrows.

Gaon continued, "But I know Elijah's treatment was important, and you needed some peace, after... after all that. I'm sorry for everything I caused. Honestly, you gave me a second home and I, I just can't imagine...I cant imagine a world without you"

He averted his gaze and said one last thing, "If you want me to leave, please say so. I'll -"

"I've missed you, Gaon-ah"

Gaon dared to look at Yohan.

"So much that it hurt"

Gaon swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Yohan stepped forward.

"After everything we've been through, I could never leave you behind. I thought you knew me better than that"

They stood close, their faces inches apart. Gaon couldn't tell what the anger in Yohan's voice was for. But he was willing to take it. He would take anything.

He stepped forward and held Yohan's shoulders, gently pulling him into his arms. He buried his face in Yohan's neck, the cloth of the robe absorbing his tears. He felt Yohan's arms sliding up his back, grip slowly tightening.

Neither would let go for a long time.

Later that night, Yohan watched as Gaon moved about the kitchen at Gaon's home, preparing dinner. He sat on one of the chairs, arms folded, eyes moving wherever Gaon went.

Gaon felt his gaze and didn't hide his smile.

"I'm guessing you haven't been eating well" Yohan observed.

Gaon bit his lip. "Guilty"

Yohan shook his head and looked around the place. "You play the piano?"

Gaon looked over, his hands still working on the stove. His saving grace stood there in all its glory.

"My father used to play, mostly for my mom. I had learnt from him but didn't touch it for a long time. I got back to it a few weeks ago"

"I'd like to hear you play"

Gaon's eyes welled up but he focused on the cooking. He smiled back at Yohan, like it wasn't a big deal.

Gaon stared at Yohan as he ate. He ate like a child, and Gaon adored him. He rubbed some crumbs off Yohan's lips and fed him some more. Was this really happening? He didn't really care, he was just happy.

They sat on the piano seat together. Yohan stared at Gaon as the latter played. Although Gaon's face felt hot with Yohan's gaze in such proximity, he focused on the music. He wanted to play it right.

"This is something my father used to play for my mother. I used to watch them sit here and reminisce about their college days"

Gaon struggled to get more words out. He wanted to be explicit with Yohan. He wanted to be unabashed. He took Yohan's hand, the one that held the scar. As he traced a finger over it, Yohan laced their fingers together.

Gaon looked at Yohan, who had scooted closer than ever. He squeezed Gaon's hand, reassuring and soft.

"Let me love you" Gaon whispered, as if saying it any louder would break the delicate moment.

He closed his eyes and gently pressed his forehead against Yohan's.

"Please" he added.

"Are you sure?" Yohan asked, his voice heavy. Like he’d played this conversation multiple times in his head before, and had thought of all the responses he could come up with, with very few of them favorable.

Gaon swooped in, closing the short distance between them.

On the terrace, the new plant bloomed a flower bud.

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