#immortals fic

[hertzwritings]

Athens Awaits

A/N: I made the unfortunate mistake of watching The Immortals and now I’m literally wet for Theseus. It is what it issss! So I decided to do a one shot (possibly a mini series) with that hunk of a god. Love that for me. I have dived into the lore, so I’ll try to stay as close to that as possible, but with Henry Cavill is my muse, y’know?

Feedback feeds the soul, my loves!

MASTERLIST

HENRY CAVILL + CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Theseus x Royal!reader

Warnings: Language, smut (MINORS DNI), p in v, oral (female recieving), mentions of battle, weapons, blood

Athens awaits

The city around you were abuzz with chatter and the golden buildings shone in the soft, setting sun. One shouldn’t think that there was a looming threat over Nicopolis by the Hyperion army by the way the joy and laughter filled every street.

The few men who had showed up a week ago from Calydon had talked about the army and their strength, all bloodied and heaving chests.

You hid your face further inside the cloak, hoping no one would see you wandering the streets of the lower city quietly, trying to get to the Temple of Athena without being seen.

Not many would react with kindness to the princess.

The temple was empty, only petals from flowers left behind on the tiles. Your bare feet were silent against the cool tiles and you finally let the hood fall from your face, staring up at the statue of Athena. You gently laid down the flowers and a few coins down at her feet and kneeled in front of her, silently praying for the Hyperion Army to go around the city, not through it.

“Princess.” a soft, dark voice rumbled from behind you and you gasped, quickly getting on your feet, pulling your dagger from your waistband and stood, ready to fight, looking at the man in front of you.

He had a slanted smile, an eyebrow quirked and hands up, clearly showing he wasn’t here to fight. He was shirtless.

“I’m not here to fight you, princess.” You let your dagger fall. “Theseus.” You said as he stepped into the soft light and you finally recognized his face as the man, who’d been at court, warning your father of the army in the horizon. “What are you doing here?” He stepped closer to you, staring up at Athena as well. He smelled like sunlight.

“Same as you, I suppose.” He glanced at you. “Praying. Waiting.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in the Gods.” You said softly. He smiled at you.

“I don’t. But my mother did.” You nodded, understanding the hidden pain in his voice.

“Mine too.”

You stood in silence for a while, looking at the statue in front of you, the sun setting rapidly.

“You should be back up there, protected.” He whispered to you. You shrugged, the cloak sliding off of your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

“I should. I shouldn’t. My destiny is mine, not to be handled by bodyguards and swords.” You retorted. He chuckled and his eyes fell on your shoulders and the thin string resting there, holding your dress up and together. He turned to you fully.

“Does your father know you’re here?” He asked in a low voice, stepping even closer to you. You raised your eyebrow.

“He doesn’t need to know everything I do.” You knew you were playing with fire, but Theseus was intoxicating, like honey and sunlight, and his eyes were the colour of the far off sea.

“Really?” He asked. He was so close, tantalisingly so, and you felt your nipples stiffen, as his hand slid over your shoulder. You nodded.

“Yes.” You could feel his breath on your face, calloused fingers rough against your skin. He chuckled and dipped his head, forehead against yours.

“Does your father know that you’re close with a soldier, a faithless one at that?” He whispered. You smiled softly, your hands finding purpose on his bare back, tracing the faint scars.

“Faithless. Depends on the faith, wouldn’t you say?” you asked, smiling at him.

“Which faith do you think me?” his fingers hooked the strings on your shoulders, slowly letting them fall from you, the fabric barely resting on the swell of your breasts.

“You tell me.” You retorted, your fingers swiftly undoing the strings on the back of his pants, loosening them.

“I believe my faith is in you, Y/N.” He finally spoke your name, much more like a prayer of old - whispered gently, almost scared, in the darkness and shroud of the Gods of old. You smiled at him, finally heaving a breath big enough for the dress to finally drop from your shoulders. Your chest exposed to him, his fingertips as gentle as the wind, brushed over your hardened nipples, and you sighed a breath of relief and lust. His breath hitched at the sight of you.

“Is that so?” Your fingers found his curls, tugging them gently, pulling him closer to you.

“It is.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke, sending tremors down your body with anticipation.

He didn’t miss it. “Can I kiss you?” His voice was barely a whisper, his warm, rough hand now on the small of your back, digging into your skin with concealed lust. You simply nodded.

He didn’t waste a second, lips harsh with desperation on yours. He was soft, endlessly careful, but you felt the restraint he put on himself. You moaned against his lips, desperate for more, anything, as his lips danced over yours, while your fingers tugged at his hair. You bit his lip, earning you a growl from him as a warning.

“Don’t.” He whispered against your lips.

“Why?” You whispered back, fingers nimbly removing the strings on his pants.

“I wouldn’t know how to stop.” he bit your lip, drawing a moan from you. “Then don’t.” you simply replied.

And he followed orders.

With a groan, he wrapped you in his arms, stepping out of his pants and grabbing you by the waist and pushed you gently against the wall of the temple, his tongue against yours and lips harsh with desire.

His fingers pushed the remaining dress down, freeing you completely and he was quicker than an arrow with his fingers. They were everywhere, your moans echoing in the temple as they dipped in your folds. He chuckled darkly as you rolled your hips against him, desperate for friction and his fingers deeper in you.

You moaned against his lips, his tongue darting out to meet yours in a passionate wrestle - he pumped his fingers slowly, dragging against your walls and curled his fingers up, hitting your g-spot and you gasped against his lips as hot flames of pleasure licked your skin, the coil in your stomach tightening. He chuckled a little against your lips, his fingers moving faster and faster. You felt his hard cock against your thigh, warm velvet, and you wanted to be ruined by him.

As he picked up his pace, you mewled against him - he stilled his movements, removing his lips from yours and slowly removed his fingers before getting on his knees, his lips kissing every inch of exposed skin as he went down, and right before his lips reached your peak, he sent you a smile, that was sinful, promising and loving all at once.

He kissed your wet folds, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe along you - you gasped, your knees buckled and his hands went to your hips to steady you as his tongue darted out to your clit, languidly eating you out.

When his tongue dipped inside of you, you lost control. The orgasm overtook you, pleasure coming in waves as he ate you out through your orgasm, lapping up everything you gave him. Your body was shaking and if he didn’t have his hands on you, you’d be on the floor.

When you finally came out of your reverie, he gently pulled you down to him, kissing him as he laid on top of you. You could taste yourself on his lips.

“What do you want?” He asked against your lips. Your legs were spread, he was resting between your legs, his cock twitching against your inner thigh.

“You.” You whispered against him, rolling your hips to bring him in - he smiled softly and lined himself up, his hard tip against your slick folds and stilled, looking you in your eyes.

You looked back at him, a still sea behind his eyes as he pushed inside of you, sheathing himself in your heat and groaned as he bottomed out, eyes still on yours. He was shaking as he held himself back, allowing you to adjust to him.

You rolled your hips experimentally and he moaned, a sound you’d never forget - you wanted to be ruined by this man, you’d thank him for murdering you slowly. He couldn’t hold back anymore, his lips slamming against yours and he started pistoning in and out of you with a speed not known to man. You moaned his name and prayers fell over your lips as you wrapped your legs around his hips and his hand found your breast, grabbing it harshly as he rutted in you.

The flames of pleasure were licking your skin again, your pussy pulsing around him, forcing him deeper and he moaned a quiet fuck under his breath. The sounds of your wetness against his hard cock filled the temple and echoed around the walls, creating a sinful song around you mixed with your stuttering moans. His speed was stuttering, clearly trying to hold back - you found his lips, kissing him desperately.

“Please…” You whispered against him, your own orgasm on the brink - you were teetering on the edge, almost falling off it and he kissed you back, tongue sliding against yours, hand in your hair.

“With me.” He said, picking up the pace and let his cock fill you completely, head hitting your cervix and you bucked under him, finally falling freely into pleasure.

You heard him roar through the haze of your pleasure, and felt him twitch in you, filling you with his hot seed before slowly stilling.

He was still on top of you, kissing your lips, cheek and throat, soft lips against heated skin. Your fingers were wrapped in his hair and you felt his spend slowly trickle out from you.

He cleared his throat before kissing you longingly again and slid out of you.

He handed you your dress and you slowly got to your feet to put it on.

He let his hand cup your cheek, kissing you softer than a butterfly’s wings and leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

“I believe I should talk to your father.” He said with a soft smile. You hummed.

“Why?” He kissed you again and wrapped your hands in his, pulling away slightly.

“I need to convince him that you can marry a common soldier.” You blushed at his words.

“You’re anything but common, Theseus.”

“Only because I know you.”

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TAGLIST: @acaceta @summersong69 @luclittlepond @keiva1000

@a-skov @thatonechickhere @summersong69 @themanfromu

@spookyboogyuniverse

[hope-to-hell]

Here comes the Theseus sex pollen that absolutely no one asked for. To Die of Thirst. Sex pollen, and therefore dubcon. Theseus should have been more cautious.

————

The water is cool and sweet and it is poison, it has to be, but Theseus is thirsty and it makes him careless. It makes him push aside the sense of this is wrong until the water is already inside, diffusing its poison out into his veins. He should’ve noticed: clear water with no animals around? Can’t be good. But here he is, and though there’s time to stop you drinking, it’s too late for him and

Is this dying? His eyes are so wide and he doesn’t understand. This isn’t dying, not yet, not quite, but it will be. His blood is burning and he’s— gods above, is he hard? He’s seen it happen, seen corpses with tented trousers, knows enough about death and dying to think that maybe he’s already passed, already halfway to Hades.

Theseus. Are you—

No, he isn’t well, he’s the farthest possible thing from it; all his blood burns just below the surface and he is alternately wracked with chills and sweat, feverish and tormented and he is still so hard.

Are you—

Please. Don’t. You can’t

It’s just the smallest, briefest brush of skin, just a single fingertip on his arm below the sleeve of his tunic, but it’s like a dam breaking. He breathes out wet and harsh and spit flies from him with the force of it; he turns and has you on the ground before you can even blink. His eyes are pits; his whole body is heaving with pain and the effort of holding back and with— with need, it must be, with a ferociously pulsating animal wildness that has him reaching for you even as he tries his best to claw himself back.

Go, he says with his last wavering shred of self control. I can’t-- I can't hold back. But you don’t, and so he doesn’t. And Theseus, sweet and careful Theseus who brought you flowers once with the stems torn and his fingernails still stained green, Theseus who stroked your hair and let you lean against him in the dark and tearful nights when all was surely lost— this Theseus, your Theseus— is gone, given over to raw animal need.

I want, I want it, he says without knowing what it is. He can’t think, can’t do anything except rut into empty air as he’s trying so desperately to get you free of your clothes; your hands move to help but become tangled in his movements, and when your arms become trapped in your sleeves he leaves them there. Stay, he growls, and the poison is fully inside him now. It drives him to lay you bare, and to try to do the same to himself; he cannot, he cannot take the time and so he grips his tunic at the chest and tears, splitting linen. But he is free, he is naked, he is hard, so very hard, livid and ferocious as he parts your thighs with bruising fingers, as he hauls your legs up and over his shoulders.

And this is not the first time you wanted, or the first time you deserved, but it’s the first time you’re going to get. Theseus is big on all counts; if he could, he’d spend hours readying you to take him. If this were how he’d planned it, he would light the lantern with the perforated shade, and under its flickering golden constellations he would kiss you breathless and open you slowly on his hand.

But this isn’t how he’d planned. It’s burning and aching and there's a sudden rush of guilt across his face when he’s fully seated in you and the haze lifts for just a moment. It’s guilt, and then it’s gone as the poison pulls him under and he is lost. He has you folded like a book with your legs about your ears; he leans down over you and is so unimaginably deep inside. And he doesn't last, he can't possibly; he comes with a breathless grimace-- and he is still terribly, painfully hard. But he holds himself there for a little while, making sure his seed stays deep. And Theseus, please, are you-- but he's moving again, soreness spangling each movement with little shards of light across your vision. You weren't ready for him, how could you have been?

But with movement comes a growing pleasure, his way slicked with seed and liquid need. It comes with a gradual opening of your body to him anyway, as you stretch to accomodate his girth. And he comes, again and again, until his seed seeps out with every thrust, until sweat falls from the bridge of his nose into your open mouth, until the endless motion has that warm golden feeling beginning to coil in your belly. And when at last it becomes more than you can take, when that coil opens and you shudder apart around him, Theseus follows you down. And this time, when he stills, he stays still.

And when he pulls free at last it's with a rush of fluid in his wake and a wince at the soreness of his cock; startled and guilty, he looks up at you and asks are you alright with clarity at last; he's still muzzy with the poison's strangeness, but somehow it's begun to work its way out. Thank you, he says, as though you ever would have run from him. Might've been better if you had.

In the end, it's not your place to choose. Give me the agency at least to have made that decision on my own.

And he is chastised; he turns away to look for something to clean the two of you. It'll be his tunic, ruined beyond repair; he will clean you with tenderness, with his tongue when the rasp of cloth becomes too much for your sensitive flesh. He will bring you flowers, and you will talk, and he will listen. And maybe, given time, he will light the lamp and watch its constellations overhead as you ride him slow. But that is for another day.