#He WISHES the prophecy was lying

[buggiesnax]

Hello Critical Role and/or EXU Calamity fandom!!

[reidrum]

the prophecy part 2:

poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand | s.r.

A/N: she's arrived! i hope we like this one,,,,.....,,,.,maybe a part 3 what who said that

cw: angst, hurt/comfort no comfort, penelope is a really good friend, fem!reader, spencer's kind of a dick bro

summary: you and spencer deal with the aftermath of cat's words

wc: 3.01k

part 1

_______________________________________________

“I wish I fathered the child,” Spencer starts, JJ can feel her heart tighten, “Because you and I deserve each other, don’t we?”

Cat smirks, “You’re much better at lying now than you were last time at the restaurant, bravo. Better keep the performance up when you have to go explain yourself to your girlfriend later.”

Spencer’s face steels up and he’s trying his damndest to keep his composure, knowing the only way to get the location of his mother is to let Cat think she won the game. But with every mention of you that falls from her poisoned lips, he feels the burn sinking further into his skin when he thinks about what could be going through your head right now.

“Even if you think I’m lying,” Spencer stares at her, trying to push down any emotion on his face, “That’s the secret right?”

Cat is taken aback by his words, almost looking offended and triumphant all together.

JJ watches her eyes well up and dial Lindsey to give her the go signal, when Lindsey learns at the hands of the rest of the team her one sided lover was pregnant with another man’s child, she devastatingly surrenders the bomb controls and Diana Reid.

Spencer slackens knowing his mother was safe with his team, but he’s unable to stop thinking about Cat’s accusation.

“How did you know?” He asks as the guard stands her up to put the handcuffs back on.

“About Maeve?” 

He nods.

“At the restaurant, you were talking about a fake wife,” The guard walks her over to the door where she passes Spencer, only inches apart, “The ring may have been fake, but the way you spoke about her told me that she was real. And I’ve got eyes everywhere, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re different now than when you were with her.”

She pauses then chuckles, “But clearly this genius couldn’t figure it out.”

He feels the temperature rising again but JJ preemptively grabs his forearm before he has a chance to react, “The team has your mom, we’ll go meet them at the BAU.”

Spencer nods curtly and storms out of the room without a second glance at Cat.

————

The elevator doors open and he’s met with the relieving sight of his mother, safe and sound. He embraces her in a big hug while the team dissipates around them giving them a moment. Spencer holds onto his mother for some time, letting his emotions come to surface. The last 24 hours have been the most tumultuous he’s ever experienced—almost dying in prison, getting released, the kidnapping of his mother, and the most wrenching of all, you.

He can’t help but grip onto her like a baby bird refusing to fly. He’s been someone who’s had to grow up way faster than anyone expected, academically and mentally, in order to care for the people in his life when they weren’t able to themselves. It’s led him to questionable decisions with detrimental repercussions, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant they’d be okay.

Diana pulls away first and wipes the tears from Spencer’s eyes, “Can we go home?” He nods tearfully and pulls his keys out, walking to the elevator to go down to the parking lot. As they’re going down he feels the adrenaline dying down and the reality sink in. He has no idea how he’s gonna fix this—if he can even fix this.

In a taunt from the universe, he hears a text come through on his phone, from you, of course.

You should spend time with your mom and make sure she’s okay. I’m staying at Penelope’s for some time. We can talk later.

He sighs and shuts his phone off, slipping it back into his pocket. You were right, it had been a textbook definition insane 24 hours in his life, and he knew he needed to spend time with his mother in getting her resituated.

——

You and Spencer spent five days apart. Neither of you went into work, for obvious reasons, and all you could do was rot on Penny’s couch, barely eating or drinking enough water, hyper analyzing every intimate moment of your relationship with Spencer to find any clue that he wasn’t fully present with you.

Penelope would come home after her day at the office, bringing you food from your favorite takeout place just the way you like, the way only Spencer knew, and sit with you while you cried.

It nearly killed her seeing you so down, her dear friend who she cared for so much and wished desperately to take away all your suffering. But the empath in her knows that if she’s feeling this bad, she can’t even imagine how Spencer must feel.

She sits with you for twenty minutes in silence, your head in her lap as she strokes your hair before speaking up, “So um, he was able to put his mom back into a sanitarium. With a vetted full time nurse who said he’d get hourly updates from.”

“That’s great, Penny.” you mumble apathetically. A small part of you felt bad, despite what was going on between you and Spencer, Diana was also collateral in a whole different way. You were grateful that she could find some sense of normalcy after all that’s happened. You wondered if that could be you, receiving solace and safety from someone you were supposed to trust.

“He won’t stop asking, sweetie.”

You sigh, “I know, I’m sorry he keeps bugging you.”

She waves you off, “It’s not that. I—I don’t know how to fix this. You guys are my bestest friends, a—and to see Spencer go through wh—what he went through, and then seeing you after what he d—did.” she sniffled.

“Penelope—“

“I’m not trying to be selfish, I swear! I have big emotions you know this. I won’t tell you what to do or what I think you should, because honestly sweetheart I don’t know either,” she tears up more, “But I will tell you the facts, because like that dummy boy, fact dumping reassures me of what’s real. And I need you to remember that when your brain is trying to trick you otherwise.”

You start crying again seeing her all emotional and she puts a hand up, “Let me finish first, or you don’t get the donut I got you.” She laughs tearfully.

You match her laugh and let her continue.

“I only have one fact for you, and you might not like it but it’s the truth, no matter what you think.” she starts, “That boy loves you. Like he would petition the Oxford dictionary to put you under the definition of love, loves you.”

“But—“

“But two things can exist. He loves you dearly, but what he did was fucked up. How you feel is extremely valid. God, my love, I can’t even imagine how you feel. But if and when you go talk to him I just need you to remember that. Okay?”

You sit silently next to her, contemplating everything your brain has been computing the last five days. The spirals, the what ifs, the self doubt—you know logically you won’t get any clarity unless you face your fear, and accept that whatever happens is your predetermined fate.

“Okay.”

“I love you so much. I am always in your corner, and if it comes to it, I know his social.”

“Penny!”

“I’m just saying!” she laughs, “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you need to, okay?”

You lean forward to hug her, “Thanks.” you mumble. She squeezes you and rubs your back affectionately.

You end up finishing out the week in Penelope’s apartment, using Sunday to deliberate your plan of attack for when you finally see him again. All the questions, insults, and doubt are written down in your notes app to help you organize your thoughts. But there’s no real organization, because what category does this even fall into?

You text Spencer a couple hours before that you’d be willing to talk to him now if he was free, and not even a second later he replies telling you to come over whenever.

The walk to his apartment feels like edging closer to the end of a plank that you willingly got on. The dread presses on you heavier and heavier with every step, and soon enough you’re standing at his door with a boulder on your shoulders.

The soft knocks echo through Spencer’s barren living room, and his head snaps to the door. He’s not sure if he’s mentally prepared for this, but he wipes his eyes and ruffles his hair stressfully and goes to open the door.

It’s like a truck hit him seeing you right in front of him, puffy red eyed and looking so defeated, nothing like the girl he knew.

“Hey,” Spencer breathes out.

“Hi, can I come in?” you reply.

Spencer stands aside to let you in, “Of course, yeah.”

You walk into his apartment, feeling a strange sensation wash over you. The familiarity of his bookshelves and antique chess boards provides you with a comfort you wish you had over the last week. But right now it feels like someone placed barbed wire over it all, enticing you to get closer lest you get hurt.

Spencer stands awkwardly in the door, watching you trek about his apartment before finding a seat on his leather couch. He shuts the door and sits in the adjacent arm chair, not knowing if you’d be okay with him even sitting on the same couch as you.

You clear your throat, “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good, she’s settled in the sanitarium.” he says with a slight tone of relief you knew he hadn’t had in weeks.

“Good, good,” you trail off and avoid his eyes, “Um, so obviously, I came because we need to…talk.” Spencer nods and waits for you to continue.

“I don’t even know how to start. But, I am hurt. I don’t know how to process this, or even get to the root of this.”

“Cat was lying.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

He furrows his brows, “Yes, she was. She lies about everything, that’s her game.”

You avoid his eyes, “No Spencer, that’s just what you want to tell yourself.”

“Baby—“

“You don’t get to call me that right now.”

That hits him bad. He takes a moment to take in your appearance, how you’re picking at your skin, repeatedly brushing your fingers through your hair and picking the strands that fall out. You’re trying so hard to be brave, he can tell. It breaks his heart.

“How am I supposed to convince you I’m telling the truth when you won’t even look at me?” he says with a slight edge of annoyance.

“You don’t get to be upset, Spencer! Don’t give me that crap—“

“I’m not upset, I just want to fix this! Maeve is gone, as far as it goes she might as well be an ex-girlfriend. The same way that I don’t get worked up over your ex boyfriends.”

“That is not nearly the same thing. You didn’t get to see her, Spencer. She didn’t even get a chance to be your girlfriend,” you huff, Spencer’s eyes start welling up as your voice lowers, “How am I supposed to believe that you still love me, when you’re thinking of another woman when you’re with me?”

Whatever color was left in his face has drained out of his feet, the swirl of emotions bombarding him senselessly. 

He’s upset, he’s mad, embarrassed, tired, shameful. He’s feeling hopeless, he wants to just drag you to his sock drawer where that little box sits and show you exactly how serious he is about his love for you. But he knows that would be a cop out, and you wouldn’t believe him. He wouldn’t believe himself either.

“Do you think we’re the same?” you ask, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’ve stood up and started pacing the living room, unable to sit still.

“No! God no, you are so much more than she ever was.”

“Are you just saying that because I’m sitting in front of you, alive?”

He’s taken aback by your bluntness. You’re nearing the end of your resolve, and truth be told, you’re just mad at this point.

“Every time we’ve kissed, we’ve been in bed together, anytime you’ve shown any affection towards me, you were thinking of that…that bitch.” you spit out with venom.

Spencer snaps his head at you without missing a beat, “Don’t call her that.”

Your face drops, “Or what?”

He doesn’t say a word.

Calling a dead woman a bitch is beyond any morals you’d set for yourself, but this situation is one you could have never predicted. Doubling down you step closer, “I called Maeve a bitch, Spencer. And I meant it. Now what are you going to do?”

Spencer swallows grimly, “You can be pissed at me all you want but there’s no need to act…irrational over past things.”

“My boyfriend is thinking of his dead ex girlfriend when he’s fucking me! I don’t know what part of this you expect me to act rational about!” you scream.

He flinches at your raised voice, knowing you were completely valid. Spencer hates that he feels he deserves pity right now, that he can’t help how the grief manifested in him and confused itself with the love he has for you. He loved Maeve, past tense, or maybe he loved the idea of her considering he never got the chance to actually prove it. 

He loves you. Loves—present term. And he has the chance to prove it every single day.

Yet, he still fucked up.

He stands up, “I don’t…think about her when you and I are doing anything. I swear.” he pleads blankly.

“Bullshit.”

He breathes out, “Sweetheart…I don’t know how to prove this to you. I love you, always you.”

You hardened your face despite your heart clenching, “Cat wouldn’t use that against you if she knew it wouldn’t work.”

Spencer’s face drops. He knows you’re right, Cat even told him the evidence that proves it.

A full three minutes of silence pass by before Spencer decides to speak up.

“It happened one time.”

Your glass heart shatters, “…When?”

“When we went to New York for that weekend between cases.” he recounts reluctantly, “It just slipped into my mind a—and I didn’t realize it at first. But once I did I asked you to stop immediately.”

Tears are free falling down your face, “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you asked me to stop?”

“No—no it’s just me telling you what happened…It was…around the time of the anniversary of that day. So it was in my brain, and I guess it just…” he trails off.

“It just made you want to fuck Maeve?”

Spencer rubs his face with stress, “No, it didn’t. It made me realize that what I couldn’t have with her, I have with you and it’s a billion times better than I could have imagined.”

Your heavy breathes fill the room, and Spencer takes a daring step closer to you.

“I’m sorry, angel. I really am truly sorry. But I love you. I love you more than anything. I fucked up and I should have been honest with you. I’m sorry.”

For Maeve, for Mexico, for not being able to prove that you are the most important person in the world to me.

A soft whine escapes your throat, Spencer feels his heart shatter now, joining the scattered pieces of yours on the floor.

“I—I want to believe you Spencer, I really do,” you sniffle.

He feels the smallest glimmer of hope as you continue, “I don’t know how to move forward from this, I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll prove it to you, I swear. I’ll spend every day proving that I love you, and showing you that you deserve the world and that I’ll try my hardest to give it to you,” he swallows and takes a deep breath before continuing, “Things like this don’t happen to me, people like you don’t happen to me. You are once in a lifetime. I don’t deserve any chances from you, but I promise to spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me.” Spencer finishes with a tear rolling down his cheek.

A hiccuped sob escapes you and Spencer really wants to come closer and comfort you, but knows that that is quite literally the last thing you need right now. You angrily wipe at your face, battling your conflicting feelings on what the fuck is the right thing to do for you.

You realize that the truly sad part of all of this, is that you still love him. No betrayal could ever sway how you feel about him you think, and this seems to be the biggest one you can think of.

“I feel used, Spencer. Like I was a placeholder for something you didn’t even know you wanted.”

He pleads your name, “Never ever in my life have you been a placeholder for anything.”

“Well, at that moment in New York, I was.”

He shuts his mouth and bows his head like a cornered dog.

“I just want to feel like it’s me that you want,” you whisper to no one, “I just want to be enough. Why can’t it be me, Spencer?”

“It is you, it’s always you angel.”

You take a deep breath and let out, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” and you turn to walk out the door.

Spencer is left on the other side of the closing door, the shut of it echoing throughout his empty apartment. He pulls his phone out to text Penelope to expect you, and then drops on his couch.

Spencer knows many things, and while he has had his stupider moments, with all the certainty and truth in the world you are the love of his life. He won’t go down without a fight for you, because he’d always fight for you. Especially when you’re the one fighting him, he will always fight for you.

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prev

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

next

[mrkeatingsblazer]

The Prophecy [Oh, Was It Punishment] Part Two

Apollo x Child of Hermes! Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

It has been six months and seven days. Six months and seven days since the war against Gaia. Six months and seven days since Rachel has made a prophecy. Six months and seven days since Lord Apollo has been missing. Not even his children have heard a whisper from the God, not even a glimpse in a dream and while Demi-Gods are used to being ignored by their parents, it is never to this extent; it is never with this God.

You’ve found yourself with the three Apollo campers a lot, trying to comfort them during such a peculiar and unknown time. No child should have to worry for their parent. Will Solace especially has taken the blunt of the hardship. Being so young and taking care of both the wounded from the war and his cabin since the Battle of Manhattan has taken a toll on the kid. You find yourself relating to the younger boy immensely. When Luke left and you were finally claimed, Chiron made you the head of the Hermes cabin. Though unlike you, who has been out of camp more often than not and was allowed to appointed the Stolls the title of Co-heads, Will has been burdened with being alone with his responsibilities since he was 13. You watch him now, folding and unfolding bandages repeatedly out of a nervous habit. The frown on his face was subtle but still there. He could have been finished up with inventory an hour ago but chose not to.

“I think we’re done Solace,” you say from atop the infirmary counter, letting your feet swing back and forth.

“You can head to dinner, I’m fine here. Thanks for the help,” his tired voice mumbles in response.

“Kid, you’ve rewrapped that one bandage like 8 times now, I think it's been wrapped enough,” you say quirking your brow.

Will sighs, placing the bandage down before turning to you, “will you stop it with the kid thing, you’re only 2 years older than me.”

“2 and a half,” you point at him with a scalpel that was lying beside you and smirk, “and I’ll have you know I’m a legal adult William.” He looks you up and down and snorts. His expression quickly converts back downtrodden, as if that momentary joy was a mistake. Along with the fact that his father is gone M.I.A, camp has been more depressing than usual. Kids were going missing, and no one understood why; one of these kids being your little brother and Will’s best friend, Cecil. You watch as he shuffles around like a stray kitten, you’d never pity him not when you can relate. Hopping from the counter, you walk over to him and seize his arm, yanking him towards the door. It was a comical sight, with Will being almost 2 heads over you.

“[reader]- Hey!” he gently tries to get out of your grasp but fighting two wars made your grip nothing less than steel. You continue to push the boy towards the door

“Don’t even Solace,” you scold as he tries again to get away from you, “we will be going to dinner and after that we will be going to the campfire whether you like it or not.” you yank open the infirmary door and shove him out, “and hey, maybe a certain son of Hades will be there,” you smirk as the blonde turns bright red. He grumbles, rubbing his arm but compiling and following you to the dining pavilion. It was adorable to see the kid with his crush, especially due to who it was on. You’ve known Nico since he was an annoying but excitable little 10-year-old and Will even longer, neither of them have had a good childhood, most demi-gods never do. In a way, you were living vicariously through them. You did that a lot. With Annabeth who got with Percy, your old crush, Piper and Jason, Hazel and Frank. You couldn’t help but wish you had what they had or in the case of the former, who they had.

You remember your days on the Argo. When there were no battles or group meetings, you were subjected to sit and watch the love emulating around you. For a while you thought the countless couples around you meant something, that because they were all members of the crew and got together, that for sure meant you were to get with the last single member, Leo. He thought so too. After his little thing with Hazel, that even now you don’t try to understand, you felt as though something was forming between the two of you. At one stage you found yourself hanging off him more than you were around Percy and Annabeth. You couldn’t help but be attracted to his mind, his creativity, his light. Your two best friends encouraged the blooming relationship between the two of you, even with Percy not liking Leo a whole lot, and so did the rest of the crew.

Everything changed after he came back from Ogygia. He came to you first after he returned, making you feel special in a sort of pitiful way. Expecting a grand reunion, you were instead greeted by his starry eyes as he spoke about another girl- no not a girl, a Goddess, who had him returned to you utterly smitten. Your heart broke as he told you he was planning to find her again. When you were given the truth by Eros, it made sense in the end. Leo being sent to Calypso was the Fates way of ensuring you remained loveless and killing him was just a way for them to remain cruel.

You sat through dinner at the Hermes table, which was smaller than it ever has been in years. Connor was beside you flinging peas at Clovis who would jolt at the impact before dozing off once more. Nico Di Angelo was sitting at the Apollo table, next to a blushing and, surprisingly, flirting Will Solace. You sighed looking around at all the missing campers, be it they left for college, died during the wars or as of late, were lost to Gods knows where. Even the rising moon seems dimmer than it should have been. You wonder if that was on purpose, was it Lady Artemis’ way of showing her sadness for her twin brother? Was she also in the dark as much as all of us?

By the time the campfire rolled around, you just wanted to retire to your cabin, but chose not to, for the sake of your sibling, Will Solace and yourself. As Austin was doing his cover of ‘My Sweet Lord’ by George Harrison, you heard rustling coming from the forest behind you. At first you passed it off as nothing more than a noisy nymph. It was when you heard a yell did you twist your ring, transforming it into your sword. The object was gifted to you before you even knew of your parentage, by an original member of the Argonauts, Atalanta. You recall the words of the swift footed women, who aided you during your mission to save both Lady Artemis and Annabeth; “never let a man take you unless he can keep up,” she winked before racing off. Many other campers joined you in seizing their weapons, Nico and Clarisse come to either side of you, swords ready. Two figures stumbled out of the forest, neither were recognizable. The taller seemed to be giggling and relying on the smaller to carry their weight. As they came closer you could make them out. A small Asian girl with black coke bottle glasses was cursing the taller brunette boy. He was gangly and average; you deemed him instantly not a threat.

“Hold! Who goes there?” Chiron boomed.

The boy gave a wobbly grin along with a shaky wave and replied, “oh, hi! I’m Apollo!” before collapsing to the ground

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo and f!reader are in a semi established relationship aka idiots in love. they are about 20 and 21 here. cw some insinuation of infidelity on reader’s part but not against gojo. wc 1.2k

divider by the ever wonderful @/cafekitsune ❤️

Almost as if he’s made of pure pixie dust, Gojo appears in your bedroom without a noise or sign of his arrival while you rest in bed, blankets pulled up around your hips.

“I wish you’d at least text me before you do that.”

You don’t react anymore, learning a few months ago he teleports in and out wordlessly simply to get a rise out of you, and he sits on the edge of your bed opposite your body with a huff.

“I don’t understand why you hate surprises so much. If a handsome man appeared in my bedroom out of thin air using his awesome power I’d be excited.”

You snort, patting the bed and inviting him to lie down even though you really shouldn’t. In fact, you really really really shouldn’t yet you open your blankets and watch him slip out of his jacket. He tosses it on the floor as carelessly as ever and he comes to your bed in a white t-shirt untucked from navy pants, long arms automatically seeking out the shape of your curves.

“Satoru, I don’t mind if you sleep here but we shouldn’t be doing that.”

He frowns, cocking his head to the side.

“What? Cuddling?”

“Yeah, cuddling or fucking or any of it. It’s not appropriate.”

Raising his brows, he sits up in your bed for a moment and contemplates what you mean.

For the last several years, the two of you have been locked in this push and pull game of who will break and admit everything first - who will let the first I love you slip in the real world and not just during sex when both of you are left with enough deniability to dart out of the corner those three little words have painted you into?

The dynamic is complex, sure, but it has worked this far and it perplexes him why you would want to change something that is working so well. Lying back, he doesn’t wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close but traces the curve of your shoulder with the soft pad of his index finger instead.

He doesn’t want to ask because he already knows why you are putting walls back up to keep him out, yet he does.

“Hiroki?”

You shouldn’t but you groan frustratedly hearing the name of your current boyfriend leave Satoru’s pretty mouth. The two of you aren’t official and have only been seeing one another for several weeks but you want to give him an honest shot to be with you. The last two men you’ve dated haven’t fared well, losing out to the man with the moonlight colored hair currently occupying your bed, but you feel Hiroki deserves better than that.

He deserves far better than what you’ll eventually do to him when you get bored and go running back to the man next to you but you keep the thoughts to yourself lest they become a self fulfilling prophecy.

“Yes. It’s inappropriate.”

Satoru chuckles and slips his finger beneath the strap of your tank top, slipping it off and tracing down your collarbone despite the way you slap at his hand.

“What’s he like?”

Heat rushes into your face, cheeks searing from the tone of his question. It’s condescending but you know he can’t help it, his attitude a side effect of having the world presented to you atop a shining silver platter. You’re not even angry with him for asking, you’re angry at him for proving that you’re struggling to find a way to describe Hiroki.

He’s a sweet man, your age with only four months separating your birthdays. He’s patient and mild and a little skittish around strangers. His favorite music is acid jazz and his favorite color is purple. He eats hayashi rice at his favorite restaurant every Wednesday night.

These are not ways you can describe the man you are seeing to your frustratingly dazzling pseudo boyfriend.

Sighing, you reach for Satoru’s hand and pry it off of you before his finger can come any closer to your throat and chin and face. You’re sure he was gearing up to pop it in your mouth like he always does. His hand creeps right back to where it was the second you drop it.

Finally, you stumble upon the word you want to use to describe Hiroki and it leaves your lips with a defeated sigh.

“He’s normal.”

Satoru laughs so loud you’re afraid it’ll wake up the entire floor of your neighbors. You shush him, burying your face in a pillow you’ve plucked from behind you.

“Normal, huh? As if that’ll keep your interest for long.”

Scoffing, you sit up and his hand slides down your chest and into your lap. He struck a nerve but he isn’t apologetic, blue eyes blinking up at you lazily from where he rests against the pillow he designated as his when you moved into this apartment two years ago.

“What are you insinuating?”

He smirks, glad you’ve once again slipped into his carefully laid traps. Your teeth are bared and your brow is furrowed, arms folded over your chest. Once again you’ve underestimated how well this man knows you.

“I’m just saying that if normal is what you wanted, you would have left after graduating instead of sticking around.”

Instead of getting involved with him, abnormal as he is.

“You’re being an ass.”

You know he’s right despite the insult, so you barely argue. This has been a cycle since the start of your twenties - swearing Satoru off completely only to let him sleep in your bed because neither of you sleep well when you’re alone until it eventually comes to a head and your feelings spill over and it’s back to square one.

“I mean, at least you always come back to where you belong.”

Shooting him a downright terrifying glance, you shift and roll onto your side so that you are no longer facing him. He rolls onto his own side and presses the front of his body against the back of yours, a familiar cradle you’re glad to be wrapped in.

When he settles, his fingers trace down your sides in wide swaths and you squirm before flipping back onto your other side to face him. You capture his face between your palms and look over each of his features, his dimples and nose and beautiful skin and those fucking eyes you want to be less suceptible to.

Then you kiss him. It’s as chaste as you ever have, or at least since the last time you decided you wanted to call him yours, and he smirks against your lips.

“That’s all you get tonight,” you start and he begins to whine and argue until you press your finger against his lips, shushing him. “Let me do this right and call Hiroki in the morning to break it off first.”

Grumbling, he acquiesces because as always, at least you’re back where you belong even if he has to wait until the morning to remind you why you were silly for leaving in the first place.

[superbsaturn]

arlefuri ; general dating headcanons

[ tw. last bullet point is nsfw! ]

arlecchino x furina (arlefuri)

it comes as a shock to furina that the first person to apologize to her since the end of her trial— and the successful avoidance of the prophecy —was none other than the knave. she never expected, nor would she force, her friends and ex-colleagues— or anyone, for that matter —to apologize for their treatment of her during the trial. however, it was certainly a shock when lyney arrived at one of her theater troupe’s rehearsals with a delicious smelling cake and a card meant for furina’s eyes only, which read in elegant cursive:

lady furina,

i hope you are doing well. i’ve requested that my children send you this cake to show my support to you and your troupe for any and all upcoming performances. while i had simply made a request for lyney to go out and buy a cake, he insisted on gathering a few of his siblings and baking it themselves, so i do hope it is to your liking.

i want to formally apologize and recognize your selfless acts as the former archon of fontaine. in our previous meetings i had been rather hostile towards you, and i am aware my presence leaves a less then pleasurable impression on you, however, i want to offer you some closure.

if you are interested in conversing with me, i’ll be at the cafe outside of hotel bouffes d’ete tomorrow evening around 9. should you wish to join me, it would be my pleasure, but i understand if you decide not to.

i hope you fair well, lady furina.

arlecchino.

furina had reread the letter about four times lying in her bed that night before she finally came to a decision. she needed this closure, whether she wanted to admit it or not. she was shocked to arrive at the cafe and find arlecchino stripped from her usual attire, wearing only a button down with the sleeves cut right at the dip of her shoulders, and her usual dress pants. she had already ordered herself some tea and was sitting with her legs crossed when furina sat across from her.

that night furina fell asleep with tears in her eyes, but for the first time in five centuries it was not because she felt self pity, but rather it was because arlecchino had said the exact words she had been needing to hear everyday since she had been cursed.

since then, the two would meet up once a week at the same cafe to enjoy fontaine’s nightlife, catch up on what could be shared, and enjoy tea, pastries, and one another’s presence. occasionally arlecchino would also attend furina’s theatrical performances, which caught the attention of a few steambird reporters. it didn’t help that a picture was taken of them at furina’s front door to her apartment after arlecchino had kindly walked her home.

eventually those walks home would lead to furina inviting her in for more tea and idle chatter, and those later turned into arlecchino cooking in furina’s apartment because she learned furina didn’t know how to make anything other than macaroni. one day, after some mindless contemplation, furina asked “would this be considered dinner dates?” without even thinking. she immediately blushed a scarlet red and was about to back track when arlecchino responded with a chuckle and a warm “i suppose they would be”.

that same night, when furina was walking arlecchino to the door to say goodnight and goodbye, arlecchino paused briefly and asked “would it be okay if i kissed you furina?” not wanting to startle her. there would be times where furina would involuntarily flinch when arlecchino moved too quickly, always quickly apologizing right after, but arlecchino understood. it was a fair reaction after all, so she was going to ensure that furina knew exactly what she was going to do and what her intentions were.

when a breathless “please” left furina’s lips, arlecchino hummed pleasantly, resting a warm hand on furina’s cheek and leaning down, kissing furina slowly but passionately, only deepening it when furina’s hands came up to grasp the lapels of her jacket. after breaking apart, a flustered, breathless furina returned back into her apartment, head spinning, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

she would later realize that what it was was a relationship with a very tender but stoic woman. it had been a long time since arlecchino had allowed herself to be an emotional being. with her children she showed them what she wanted them to see and nothing more, despite being a caring father. with the harbingers they only knew her on a professional level. but the night furina felt comfortable to finally— finally! —shed her gloves, she witnessed just how human the knave truly was.

although arlecchino hadn’t attended furina’s trial, she had received reports from her children and other subordinates of the events that took place. so she wasn’t surprised when her eyes came in contact with the burned skin of furina’s palm, which she gently took into her own hands, raised to her lips, and placed a gentle kiss upon it. “you can trust me, furina,” she whispered to the tearful woman, “i never want to see you hurt again.”

arlecchino was very gentle with furina, and while that mostly shined through in private, it was not odd— after a while —to see the two out and about with a gentle hand placed on the former archon’s back, or whispered words shared between them where no one else could hear.

nsfw: it’s why that night that arlecchino witnessed furina’s scar, she gently carried her through her apartment and onto her bed, carefully crawling over her and kissing every inch of skin that she could. she grazed her lips against furina’s neck, her hands carefully holding her close as furina whimpered against her. that night arlecchino showered the former archon in praises and compliments, leaving furina a blushing, flustered mess who hid her face against arlecchino’s chest at the end of the night. falling asleep with a peaceful smile on her lips.

[fluffysucker]

Once every few lifetimes.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

The prophecy was redone.

A/N: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

This could be avenger!Bucky or an AU. Whatever you like and fit your imagination

This idea sounded so good in my mind. Hopefully, it turned out fine. Please, tell me if you catch the many songs references in here

Main Masterlist

You knew you shouldn't be out here. You should be in the king-sized bed in your hotel room. You should be sleeping so you didn't miss your flight tomorrow.

But you couldn't. Even if you wanted, you wouldn't be able to. You had to do it.

The streets were empty. There was barely anyone out at this hour. Only you and a few people getting back home after a party. It was the weekend, after all.

You made it to your destination. You looked at the famous momentum. You had been here earlier this week. But at night, it was different.

There was no crowd. It was barely lit, with only the moonlight shining above it. You took in everything about the landmark. The perfectly sculptured statues. The ancient buildings behind it. The stones around it. The clear water. Everything about it, right now, felt holy.

You took small steps until you were standing right in front of it. You touched the stones at the end, moving your fingers over them slowly. The stones were worn out. Signs of age and afflictions showing.

You smiled pathetically when your fingers greased the two names with a heart between them craved on one of the stones. Their wish must have been to stay together forever.

You wished for that, too. You wish you had stayed together. You wish he would have come with you. You wish this was the trip of your dreams, like you had always planned. You wish he hadn't broken up with you at the airport minutes before your flight. You wish he would have told you earlier.

You wished your boyfriend of three years hadn't chosen your sister over you.

You wished the man who you thought was the love of your life, the man who you thought was the one, the man who you thought loved you, would have chosen you.

You wish anyone would have chosen you.

Hand on the throttle

Thought I caught lightning in a bottle

Oh, but it's gone again

And it was written

I got cursed like Eve got bitten

Oh, was it punishment?

You wiped the tear that slipped your eyes quickly, wishing the two strangers all the love and happiness in the world, hoping that at least someone had good luck.

You sat on one of the stones, letting your fingers dance in the water. You could see the large number of coins at the bottom. You thought about the lovers who made the wish to stay together forever. You thought about the lovers who got to experience this beautiful city together. You thought about all the trips, get-togethers, proposals, and honeymoons that happen in this city.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you thought about how your dreams were ruined. You thought about how you got back here again. You thought it would never happen. You thought you were finally someone's first choice.

You were wrong.

For the past week, you acted like nothing happened. You ignored all the phone calls trying to reach you and talk about it. You tried to enjoy the trip you had been crafting to perfection for years. You tried not to think about it.

But as you were lying in the hotel's bed after packing your bags, you couldn't help it anymore. That was how you found yourself here in the middle of the night.

The Trevi Fountain

During your tour earlier this week, the Italian tour guide told everyone how all wishes made on this mountain were granted. You laughed when the locals agreed with him. Every country has its own myth. Apparently, that was Italy's

But you were hopeless.

I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope.

A greater woman wouldn't beg.

You brought a coin out of the pocket in your jacket. You stood up and looked at the many statues.

Everything was finally hitting you. For a moment, you felt numb. You thought it was a dream that would end once you were back. But you knew you were waking up to a nightmare.

You were going to be back to the fact that your boyfriend and your sister had been seeing and sleeping together for a year now. The fact that your man and your own blood played you for a fool and betrayed you. The fact that the two closest people to you decided to work on their relationship after stabbing you in the back.

What could be worse than that? The fact that you didn't know how to move on. The fact that you almost slipped many times and sent them pictures during this trip. The fact that you still wanted them.

Cards on the table

Mine play out like fools in a fable, oh

It was sinking in.

Slow is the quicksand.

Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand

Oh, still, I dream of him.

It was painful to think how, after many failed relationships, Josh, your ex-boyfriend, was supposed to be it. He was supposed to be your forever. He was the one you complained to about the tragedies of your love life. And he promised to be your fairytale ending.

But here you were. Alone. All alone.

The knife was driven so deep into your heart that you didn't know where it didn't hurt. Too many emotions invading your being.

You wanted to scream so loudly and let the pain out. But you couldn't. Because you were drained. You were sad. You were disappointed.

And I sound like an infant.

Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen

A greater woman stays cool.

But I howl like a wolf at the moon.

And I look unstable.

Gathered with a coven around a sorceress' table

A greater woman has faith.

But even statues crumble if they're made to wait.

But most importantly, you were afraid.

Was this how your life was meant to be? Utterly alone. Were all these failed attempts at love a sign of your miserable future? How were you intended to find someone to choose you when the two people presumed to love you the most didn't? Were you doomed to only watch from the sidelines?

Were you cursed to a never-ending cycle of pain and rejection while others had their happily ever after? Were you never meant to have your person?

Were you going to stay alone like this forever? Were you going to die alone?

I'm so afraid I sealed my fate.

No sign of soulmates

I'm just a paperweight.

In shades of greige

With the coin still in your hand, you found yourself getting on your knees on the cobblestones.

Before you could try and form words to express your excruciating feelings, you dropped the coin into the water, hoping the ache was enough to deliver the message.

But you didn't stop. You had another one.

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It'll be ok

Still on your knees, a coin so tight between your fingers, you closed your eyes, thinking about your wish, thinking about everything, and thinking about your future.

"Please,I've been on my knees. Change the prophecy. Don't want money. Just someone who wants my company. Let it once be me. Who do I have to speak to. About if they can redo the prophecy?"

Tears streamed down your face as you finally let the pain and fear in. Sobs flew from you uncontrollably. You felt the crushing weight of the doubts and torment. Everything was hurting.

Were you destined for this agony and loneliness?

You were sitting in your boarding gate area. Every few minutes, you would look at the big screens to check that you were in the right area.

The last thing you needed was to run around before boarding or miss your flight. You were already tired enough.

You sipped on your coffee as you tried to get some energy and help with the headache. You barely got any sleep last night. Spending your last night in your dream city crying your eyes out wasn't on your bucket list. But it was what it was.

You considered staying in Italy forever, but you didn't know if you wanted to taint the city more. Also, you knew you had to go back at some point. So you preferred to rip the bandage off and get it done.

You kept looking at the phone in your hand. You had your phone on airplane mode the whole trip. And you knew it was going to blow on your face once you turned the mood off. Josh and Maddy, your sister, probably made their relationship public.

You signed before putting the phone in your bag. You weren't ready for this. You got up to get some very needed food in your system.

You only took a few steps before a brick wall hit you, making you fall to the ground. This couldn't be a man. Nobody was this heavy or strong.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." You heard as you tried to sit up.

"Barnes, watch it. Can't have you knocking girls like this." Another voice added.

"If you weren't so childish, that wouldn't have happened, Sam." The first person spoke again.

"How is your blindness my problem?" The second guy, whom you figured was called Sam, replied.

"Ma'am. Are you okay?" The first guy, Barnes, asked you.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it." You started checking around to see if all your stuff was with you.

"Here, let me help you." The guy offered you his hand when you tried to get up. You took it and gave him a small smile.

"Everything okay?" He rechecked with you as you looked at your bag.

"Yeah. Thank you." You replied, finally looking at him properly.

You had to suppress the urge to say, "Wow," out loud. He was gorgeous. He was probably the most handsome man you had ever seen. He was tall, very well built, and had the most amazing face. His features were beautiful. Blue ocean eyes. Sharp jawline. Small dimples. He was very attractive.

You coughed quickly, disguising the fact that you were checking him out.

"Sorry about your coffee." He pointed towards your cup of coffee that had spilled as you fell.

"It's no problem." You said. You were thankful that it didn't spill all over you. That really would have been your last straw.

"Let me buy you another one." He offered it sincerely.

"No, thank you. I was already on my way to get something to eat." You declined his offer politely.

"Perfect. Me too." He said it in a cheerful tone that cracked a smile on your face.

"If you agree, I would like to join you and buy the food as an apology for this." He offered again. He was insistent.

"You can join me, but you don't have to pay." You told him. It would be nice to have someone company after a week of doing everything alone.

"Oh, we will see." He was really taking this seriously.

You laughed softly as you went to get your bags before going with him, but he stopped you.

"Leave them. Sam will keep an eye on them." You turned to Sam, who had a smirk all over his face.

You tried to turn it down, but again, he insisted. You thanked Sam before leaving with the mystery man. The two men shared a couple of words that you couldn't hear before both of you left.

"I'm James, by the way. But most people call me Bucky." He told you as you started walking away. You shared your name with him as well.

"So what brings you to Italy?" Bucky asked you.

"Well, that's a long story." You laughed sarcastically.

"We have time." Bucky said it with a smile. You returned the smile, too.

The tension was high in the house. Everyone was nervous. The holiday spirit wasn't enough to overshadow the stress looming around. This was the first big family reunion after what your family chose to call 'the incident'.

You didn't bother to care when your family decided to let Maddy pass with what she did. You didn't want them to cut her off, but at least hold her accountable. But they didn't, and you didn't care.

Tonight would be the first time you saw your sister after what happened. Your lack of reaction to the news that Maddy and Josh would be at Christmas dinner made your family worried. They didn't know what to expect from you. Which made your whole family anxious about tonight.

However, what happened wasn't remotely close to anything they had in mind.

You showed up at your parents' house with a big smile and a honk of a man in your hand.

"Everyone, this is James Barnes, my boyfriend." You introduced him to them all. You could swear you heard your sister-in-law mumbling 'Yummy' under her breath. And you understood.

Nobody had expected you to have moved on and upgraded like this. But you did.

All throughout the night, everyone was surprised. You were very civilized with both Maddy and Josh, acting like nothing had ever happened.

But the bigger surprise was Bucky. He was perfect. A successful, charming gentleman. A true man. Everyone loved him.

You watched from the side as Bucky was chatting with your uncle. God, he was winning everybody over. You joined him, and his hands immediately came around your waist. He was cracking jokes as you sipped from your drink.

And in a blink of a crinkling eye

I'm sinking, our fingers entwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

I'll drink what you think, and I'm high

From smoking your jokes all damn night

The brink of a wrinkle in time

Bittersweet sixteen suddenly

"Where did you find this specimen?" Your cousin, Lily, asked as she entered the kitchen where you were currently loading the dishwasher.

"No, we need to know." When you didn't answer, your other cousin, Daisy, joined in.

"I got lucky." You weren't going to tell them how you fell for him when you first met. Literally.

"You look so happy." Lily said with a smile.

"Never been happier in my life." You answered honestly. Bucky made you the happiest.

"I thought you said the same about every man you have been with." Karen, your aunt, who always preferred Maddy to you, said. It was clear neither she nor Maddy were enjoying your new profound happiness. They expected misery from you today.

"Everybody makes mistakes. And I'm glad I didn't keep mine." You knew who she was referring to, and you refused to give her satisfaction.

"Plus, I wouldn't call them men." You smiled at her and Maddy before you left the kitchen.

You found Bucky before you could see him. He had his back to you as he was talking to your dad and brother. The mention of your name made you stop and listen.

"So, do you love her?" Your dad asked. You already said the words to each other, but you wanted to hear his answer.

"More than I have loved anyone in my life. She holds my heart in the palm of her hands. I'm completely defenseless in front of her. She owns every part of my being and soul. She is my life."

You could swear you felt your heart jump from your chest. How did you get so lucky.

Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

It's just a game, but really

I'm bettin' on all three for us two

Get my car door, isn't that sweet?

Then pull me to the backseat

No one's ever had me , not like you

"I think she is a bit annoying." Your bother said that after a couple of seconds, making the three of them laugh.

You took this as your cue to join the conversation. You gave Bucky a peck on the cheek as you wrapped your arm around him.

Tonight was the greatest Christmas you have had in years. Everyone was sitting in the living room. There weren't enough seats, so you retired to the most comfortable seat in the room. Bucky's lap.

Bucky had his arms tightly around you as you laid comfortably on his thighs. Everyone was talking. But you were in your own world.

I feel so high school every time I look at you

I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you

"Did you have fun?" You asked as you played with the ends of his hair.

"Yes. Your family seems lovely." You laughed at his sarcasm. Bucky had a personal vendetta with your family. You made him promise he wouldn't act on it today and to be on his best behavior. And he did.

"They all loved you." You told him. He may have to act like he liked your family, but he won them all over.

"Did you have fun, doll?" His question was more serious than yours. He was prepared to snap at them the second he felt you weren't fully okay. Bucky wanted to check that he didn't miss any signs.

"Yes. It was really fun seeing their reactions." You whispered the last part in his ear, making you both laugh.

"Nobody thought I would be bringing the hottest man on Earth." You added as you pecked his lips.

"A pretty girl like you only deserves the best of the best." Bucky kissed you

"For the record, you really had a terrible taste, doll." Bucky said this after he broke the kiss. You couldn't stop the loud laugh from escaping.

"Can't argue with that." You replied.

Of course, Bucky knew all about Maddy and Josh. You may not have told him early on in your relationship. But you told him. Which is why he didn't like your family much. They should have thrown both of them out once they knew.

As for Josh, Bucky had to physically restrain himself from punching him when he met him today. He only stopped himself because he promised you. And after meeting, God, Bucky thought Josh the worst guy that had ever lived. And Bucky had met criminals and killers

Who ,in their right state of mind, leaves you? . Who breaks your heart and hurts you like that? Who chooses anyone above you?

Bucky could never understand. Bucky would choose you in every lifetime.

"For it's worth, I heard there is some trouble in paradise." Bucky shared the gossip he heard from your cousin, Amy, with you.

"Yeah, well, I hope they figure it out." Bucky looked at you confusedly after your answer.

"What? If they wanted so badly to be together, then I hope they stay together. I wish them all the happiness." You answered honestly.

"You really don't mind?" Bucky asked you.

"Not all." You were truly honest.

"I'm actually grateful for them." You added. Bucky looked at you questioningly.

"How would I have ended up with the greatest man on the planet if they broke my heart?" You answered Bucky.

The fact that you thought Josh was the love of your life made you laugh now. That relationship was doomed from the beginning. All the signs were there, and you chose to ignore them.

However, you were truly grateful, because, now, you had Bucky. The best thing that has ever happened to you. The man who showed you what true love really looked like.

"Can't say I'm grateful for your heartbreak. But I'm so grateful for Sam's childish tendencies that led me to you." Bucky said before he kissed you.

The kiss was soft yet sweet. Both of you were reminding each other how much you loved each other. How grateful for the incident that brought you together.

Truth, dare, spin bottles

You know how to ball I know Aristotle

Brand new, full-throttle

Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto

It's true, swear, scouts honor

You knew what you wanted and boy, you got her

Brand new, full-throttle

You already know, babe

"We should go to Italy together," Bucky suggested after he broke the kiss.

You looked at him with love and adoration, pouring out your eyes. You would love to go to Italy with Bucky. Experience the city like you have always dreamed.

But you wanted to go to thank those who heard you. Those who granted your wish. Those who altered your destiny. Those who changed the prophecy

"Yeah, I would love that, Bucky."

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

𝓲𝓶𝓾𝓰𝓲 𓆗༒︎𓆘

wc: 2.9k reader: afab (no pronouns at all used to refer to reader) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- swearing, angst, violence (very little depicted and no graphic descriptions), also happy? ending? love? something along those lines. summary: in the case of his failure, the serpent god imugi chooses two new vessels every one hundred years. the primary vessel is raised in isolation and the spirit god awakens in this body. the ultimate vessel lies in wait until it's finally time for the merge. you're so close you can taste it. if only this generation's primary vessel wasn't such a pitiable, loveless creature. modern dark fantasy AU. find other works here ੈ✩‧₊˚ yep it's a 𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓴𝔂 fic. bit the bullet and went for it. though a lot of lore describes imugi as a dragon/lizard king, this version of him is based on the imugi character in the tale of the nine tailed. he's more like an elegant, tortured serpent-human villain? i just think ricky is perfect for this concept and it was fun to write tbh! i took a lot of liberties with the lore lmao. lemme know what you think xx

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: experienced!reader and touchstarvedvirgin!ricky, both of them are subby and dominant at different points that's just how imugi rolls y'know, choking (reader and ricky receiving), oral (ricky receiving), p-in-v penetration, cumming inside w/ no protection (i literally don't care if you don't use protection i'd nevershame you just thoroughly research the consequences babe), angsty and dark but also love there's love that's kind of really sweet in this EW so be warned.

𓆗༒︎𓆘

a young, icy blonde man walks purposefully down the dark, ornate halls of his estate. one would think he was a prince. and they’d be right. just not the kind of prince that first comes to mind.

“ricky, sir,” you beg as you rush after him, grabbing his silk-sleeve covered arm when he’s finally in reach. “please.”

his head whips around, serpent eyes glowing as his pupils contract and expand. you know you’re not allowed to touch him under any circumstance and the palpable rage in his eyes almost makes you regret breaking the long-respected rule.

almost.

“let go,” he huffs, gaze so white-hot it could melt you to a boiling puddle on the marble floor. when you shake your head, he shoves you down, forcing you to your knees in front of him. “let go or i’ll kill you.”

you don’t. you can’t.

not when you’ve seen what happens if he rushes into battle with the gumiho before the merge. not when you know this decision leads to his servants laying him to rest in the garden every time.

not when you know you could wait a hundred years for his return. for the merging process to begin again. 

a patch of scales appears across his neck, glowing green and unnatural in the dim light of the hall chandelier. you know he means it: he’ll kill you. 

he’s done it three times before. perhaps it’s inescapable this time, too.

so you tip your head back. expose your jugular. wait for him to slice his lizard claw through you like you’d seen him do to so many of his enemies before you.

your friends. your family.

you were only sorry they’d have to die in their next lives, too. all for some prophecy they had nothing to do with.

he brings a hand to your throat, engulfing it in his palm and tilting your head side to side as if examining where to make the incision. he looks you over for another moment, before realization hits him. “you saw something, didn’t you?”

your eyes water with frustration, wishing you could just tell him. even if it meant having to sugarcoat things. if only your own curse didn’t make things that much more difficult. 

his awakening happened at eighteen, the power of imugi coursing through him at an uncontrollable frequency. that’s when it always happens: the destruction of the town and everyone that inhabited it. 

knowing what was coming, you hid— lying in wait until it was over. this time, you’d approached him right after the disaster. though many primal vessels didn’t recognize you after their awakening, you could tell in his contracted serpent eyes that, to some extent, ricky did.

ricky, of course, being the new “fashionable” name imugi chose for this vessel. imugi was always one who wanted to appear cool. whatever the trends were of the time, you could bet his vessel would be following them.

he was an interesting god in more ways than one.

when ricky demanded to hear how you’d somehow known to hide from destruction that left every townsperson dead except for you, you’d stuck with your usual explanation: you were a clairvoyant.

it was a guise you could easily keep up, since you already knew everything that would happen between now and your own awakening. it proved useful enough to each primal vessel and ricky took you in: letting you stay as his guest (prisoner) in his secluded mansion estate. 

there were two little problems though: the first being that you weren’t allowed to tell him his own fate. or else you’d both die. learned that one the hard way. 

most times, you could figure a way around this. you were incredibly clever after all and wise with knowledge beyond your years (literally). but with something so direct as life or death, you always found yourself in a bind right about now.

the second little problem was that imugi always liked to present his ultimate vessel with a charming challenge every rebirth cycle. that challenge was that the catalyst for the merge was different every cycle. 

and you still haven’t figured out what it is this time.

“what did you see?” he demands, tightening his grip around your neck. “tell me.”

biting your lip, you nod dutifully. “just kill me.”

“at this point, i should,” he seethes, throwing you further to the ground as he lets go of your neck. “fucking pathetic waste of investment.”

he spits on the floor beside you before turning around and continuing towards the door. it was beyond time for desperate measures.

“quanrui,” you breathe. the name he’d worn in youth before the birth of imugi had ripped through the weak vessel and torn his human self to shreds. the name his keeper used to call angrily when she’d catch him outside playing with you as a child. through the wrought-iron fence... exchanging pretty-colored stones.

he freezes, body stiffening at the sound of his real name. his jacket falls from his arm to the floor.

“i love you.���

he turns around slowly, lips parted in shock. the patch of green scales around his neck dissolves back into pale skin and his eyes turn a deep, chocolate brown.

“i love y—,” you begin to repeat before realizing you’ve chosen the wrong word. “i mean... i need you.”

“need me,” he repeats softly, full lips pouting as the words fall from them. the primal vessel to the dragon king, born without parents and raised without friends, seems to understand this concept more than that of love. he was used to people needing him, even if it was only to keep themselves alive.

you blink back at him, eyes swimming with desperation. are you getting through to him? will he stay here with you?

“show me,” he orders, closing the door and taking a few slow steps toward you. “show me how you need me.”

you force yourself up to your knees as he closes the distance between you, standing in front of you and waiting for your demonstration. you look up at him, eyes locking as your fingers reach for his belt buckle. it’s nothing you hadn’t done before with other, albeit less powerful and handsome, men.

but he hesitates, flinching back as if he’s afraid of your touch. 

“would you prefer to undo it yourself?” you ask calmly, thinking he might just wish to keep your grimy hands off his expensive clothes. 

“it’s... i don’t—,” he stutters, suddenly avoiding your gaze as if his life depends on it. if only he knew. “i’ve never...”

you feign a gasp. of course he hasn’t. he’s touch-starved and brooding and tragically beautiful. a broken man carrying the soul of a god. like every primal vessel before him. “but how can that be true? you’re so desirable, ricky, sir.”

“shut up,” he barks suddenly, a quick smack across your cheek to put you back in your place. “i’m... i’m sorry, just—... just keep going.”

you fight the urge to smile. this vessel had far more heart than the others. maybe that’s why you’d grown quite fond of him in the years since you’d met him.

your fingers connect with the metal of his belt buckle, unclasping it and pulling it through before discarding it with a clank on the marble floor. he jumps at the sound, swallowing hard as his attention returns to your hands on his black dress slacks. 

“may i undo this, too?” you ask quietly, tapping on the clasp and zipper. he nods slowly, glancing over his shoulder as you make quick work of the fastenings. 

pulling his slacks down with his black, satin boxers, he inhales sharply when the cool air hits him. for a different reason, so do you.

you’d be lying if you said your mouth didn’t water at the sight.

looking up at him through your lashes, you wordlessly ask for permission to continue. he breathes in and out shallowly before nodding just once. so you wrap your hand around his length gently, steadying him as you take him into your mouth.

swirling your tongue around his tip before pushing him in even further, you watch as his head lolls back— tattooed neck exposed as a large patch of scales works its way up his body. 

“feels good?” you ask, unable to help the smugness in your voice as you pop him out of your mouth. you pepper kitten licks around the head of his cock as a strangled moan falls from his lips— a clawed-hand moving to cup your jaw, brushing your cheek cautiously.

you notice the young prince continues to avoid eye contact, no matter how much he’s enjoying what you’re doing to him. you suppose it makes sense. he might fear being vulnerable. he probably never learned how to.

“look at me,” you encourage softly, hand pumping him steadily. “want to see your eyes...”

you’re reminded violently to always be careful of what you ask for as you’re tackled to the ground, glowing, serpent eyes no more than an inch from yours. 

“you think you’re worthy of the gaze of the imugi prince?” ricky hisses— hands pinned beside each of your shoulders as he hovers above you. 

he reaches one hand down to the designer pants that he’d bought you for you last year. you couldn’t wear rags in his presence. dragon claws tear through the fabric, ripping them and pulling them off of you. he doesn’t even have to use a claw to rip through your underwear, discarding them as a patch of scales flashes across his right hand. you should’ve expected such theatrics from imugi’s vessel. the smile that is forming on your face is completely erased as he promptly buries himself inside of you— a moan escaping both of you.

he meets your gaze, pompous smirk accompanying his yellow eyes as he starts to thrust into you. this new skill is undoubtedly the effects of imugi’s extensive spiritual well of muscle memory. “are you happy now? are these the eyes you wanted to see?”

truth be told, they were not. perhaps you’ve just had too much experience already with having imugi inside of you...

“quanrui,” you mewl. “wanna see your eyes...”

he doesn’t respond and instead averts your gaze— continuing to thrust into you, silent and detached. you’re fairly certain this will begin just as it started, until...

“is this what it feels like?” he asks suddenly, chocolate eyes full of innocence once more as he looks at you uncertainly. “love?”

the question shocks you, only able to cry out when he thrusts even deeper into you— cock hitting the fleshy wall of your cervix. you recall what you’d said to get his attention. to keep him from storming out of the door and into the clutches of premature death.

of course, you’d been manipulating him. it was your duty to imugi. how sick you are growing of your eternal duty to that snake.

but you nod. you lie. if you wanted a human life free from the serpent king, you shouldn’t have ever picked that flower from his castle garden.

“then i must love you, too,” ricky breathes, emotion emphasized by a collapse to your chest— deepening the angle of his thrusts until you’re begging for release. “i must’ve loved you even through the fence.”

you gasp, partially because of the desperation in his pace and partially because the last thing you expected was for him to utter such a sentimental confession. you could always tell that he recognized you, but you had no idea until this moment that he remembered from where.

“i’ve never met another person outside of my house before,” the little boy said solemnly. “you’re the first. i’m six. i like your socks.”

“thanks,” you replied with a smile. you’d found him again, even faster in this life than the last. the imugi prince. “my name’s (y/n). i’m seven. my mother owns a bakery in town. she gives free bread to all the children.”

“my name’s quanrui,” he returned, corners of his lips upturning softly. “i wish i could go. i’m not allowed to leave. bad things could happen to me. i guess that’s what happened to my parents, anyway.”

with every rebirth, you felt more sorry for the primary vessel. always so confused about their identity until the truth was revealed: they were never meant to have one in the first place. 

“i like rocks,” quanrui said suddenly, digging in his pocket and pulling out a beautiful emerald stone. “i picked this one up by the fountain. it’s pretty. you should keep it. also i like you.”

something as pure as that had never happened before. you begin to smile now, thinking of it.

a familiar sensation in your stomach begins to bubble abruptly, but it’s not the one you’d normally feel during this act. it’s painful. and the intensity of that pain swells rapidly until you’re screaming in its wake.

“what’s—...” ricky stutters, palpable fear in his eyes. “what’s wrong!? am i hurting you?”

scales, green and eerie begin to patch across your skin; vision blurring as your human eyes are replaced with that of a serpent. vicious claws sprout from your fingertips, so sharp you accidentally cut a small slice across his cheek.

he pulls out of you, clambering back as the frightening transformation occurs before his very eyes. he doesn’t have time to worry for long, as a screeching sound rips through both of your skulls. covering your ears,

you count the seconds until it stops— the heinous noise suddenly replaced by something else.

what the fuck...

you hear it: ricky’s thoughts tickling the back of your brain. 

can you hear me? is the merge complete?

his eyes widen as your voice rings through his mind, blinking as if he’s sure he must be hallucinating. no, no, no. this—... i’m dreaming. i just need to wake up! that will end this nightmare and—

oh, i don’t think so, gorgeous. i think we’re finally getting started.

his jaw drops as you crawl towards him, body stiff and cautious as you slink your way closer. your hand reaches to cup his cheek, thumb ghosting over the small incision you made.

“i know this is a lot to take in, but... i’m actually supposed to dispose of you now. it’s unwise for two imugi vessels to be running amuck,” you hiss, fingers running through his long, white hair. “so i’ve had to make a habit of... retiring the weaker one.”

he gapes at you, eyes shifting back and forth from yellow to brown. “you—... you’re the second vessel? that’s why you could predict the future... you knew all along what would happen? since... since—”

“since the fence, yes. i know. what a shame,” you coo mockingly, wrapping your hand around his neck as he’d done to you earlier. you shove him to the floor, flat on his back as he looks up at you. he doesn’t struggle. “and i’m called the ultimate vessel, thank you very much. it’s so tiresome... always having to be the one to step up and educate you primaries. but then again, telling an innocent child he was born to die is a bit grim. even for imugi.”

ricky stares at you, brow furrowed pensively. what triggered the merge?

his question is a good one. i don’t know. what happened immediately before? 

ricky’s eyes widen. “i—... i said i love you.”

love? could that have really been the catalyst that imugi chose? for his vessels to fall in love? there was one glaring problem with that...

i was lying.

“you didn’t mean it?” he asks after your thought permeates his mind. sadness is visible on his face, but there’s something else much more dangerous underneath it. something like suspicion. and you simply can’t have that.

you smile at him softly, starting to roll your hips against his. he inhales sharply at the sensation, involuntarily grinding against you.

“if you walked out that door, the gumiho would’ve ripped you apart,” you assert, hand reaching to his still-hard cock and lining it up with your entrance— sinking down onto him with a satisfied sigh. “imugi can only win that fight after the merge. i tried my best to allude to that, but you primaries always go and—”

“i’m not them,” ricky yells, causing your lips to part in shock. “stop referring to me as the primary vessel. i understand: you knew all along what would happen to me. you manipulated and lied your way into my life. into my home. my body. and i know now that not one of those things belonged to me from the start. but... my heart does.”

your serpent eyes fade as his human ones bore into you. 

“and the only time i ever felt like it even worked was when i was with you.”

could it really be true? was the reason you were so fond of ricky, more than any other primary vessel before him, by design? had you always been meant to fall in love with him in this lifetime?

a love strung up and puppeted by imugi himself. doomed to end in tragedy.

but this boy beneath you couldn’t see that truth. part of you wished you couldn’t either. part of you wished you could be him for once.

“this never happened before,” you say softly, running your free hand across his chest as you slowly start to lift yourself up and down on his cock. even if this is the most brutal end yet, you might as well make the most of it.

“w-what do you mean?” he asks breathily, voice raspy as he grapples with the renewed pleasure.

“in the previous lifetimes,” you respond with a smile. “this never happened in any rebirth cycle. i think we got close to it once— during a battle so hateful that six servants perished... alongside the both of us.”

you feel him gulp under your palm. 

“but maybe this makes sense,” you continue, speeding up your pace. “in every lifetime, you never learn to love. in every lifetime, you rip love from me. we’re a sorry doomsday pair.”

he moans under you, biting his bottom lip as you milk him between your walls. “fuck...”

“i wonder what would happen if we tried to be partners this time,” you say, high rapidly approaching as the head of his cock hits the sweet spot of your upper wall. “maybe we have what it takes to cooperate with each other. not to mention, we could do this whenever we wanted...”

“but... but imugi wants you to kill—.”

“oh no, the killing you part is all me,” you say with a laugh, the vibration making him whimper. “i really hate competition.”

“fucking— please,” he whines, hands rushing to your hips and guiding you up and down as you start to lose yourself. “kill me if you want, just... let me cum before you do.”

you oblige. he moans sweetly, another few thrusts and he’s spilling himself inside of you. as you feel yourself fill up with his warmth, you reach your climax— back arching as you ride out your high.

you look at him. why are you the only one burdened with eternal memory? you’re astounded by the way he grows more beautiful in every life. 

thank you. he smiles, one eyebrow raised. “does my beauty save me from death?”

you capture his image in your mindseye for another moment, leaning down and connecting your lips to his. it’s a tender thing. in no lifetime have you deserved it. 

when you pull back, you smile and shake your head. “i’m afraid i still desperately yearn to kill you.”

“i don’t believe you,” he says suddenly, hands helping him upwards to a seated position. almost-human eyes meet almost-human eyes.

you blink back at him dumbly. what?

“i don’t believe you, because... i found them,” he says, claws tracing up your incandescent, scale-covered thighs. “in your top dresser drawer. in a blue velvet sachet.”

no. wait. don’t say it. please, don’t say—

“the stones,” he says, a charming and devastating smirk on his perfect lips— eyes flashing yellow just for a moment. quanrui. ricky. imugi. no matter how hard you fought it, you loved them.

all of them.           /              all of them.

[hotdwriter]

A prophecy- Chapter 1

Benjicot Blackwoodx ofc

A girl raised in the sept of dragonstone during the dance of the dragon is tortured by vivid dreams. Her ability is a great asset to the queen, to forsee the future. The house of Blackwood is somehow linked to her dreams, what could that possibly mean?

~4K words

(Can be used as a self insert, due to little to no description of the character)

A few men, with clothing representing their house sigils, were walking up to each other. She couldn´t make out their voices since her view wasn´t clear enough. Suddenly the men started fighting, and in the next second, she only saw dead bodies spread across the meadow and bloodied limbs in the river.

With the blink of an eye, the scenery was long gone, and instead, she now saw the sept in front of her. ´A vision´, she thought. Her breathing became irregular, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

An elderly woman dressed in a gray gown walked outside the sept and noticed the girl in front of her. "Vikenja!" The woman snapped her out of her dreamy trance. The girl met the septa and bowed slightly in acknowledgment. "Septa Margareth, I will be inside very soon."

The older woman looked at her with distrust in her eyes. "Always have a good grip on your necklace if you wish not to sin, Vikenja."

Septa Margareth continued to walk down the steps and left quickly afterward to teach the royal children. The girl turned her gaze to her own hands, which now held the pendant of the faith of the seven. A tear fell into her palm, wetting the charm. Since her early childhood, she has dreamed of visions that soon became true.

One would say she was insane; the septa called her stained due to sinful behavior. Vikenja, not being a believer in the faith of the seven, had often gotten into trouble for speaking her mind out loud, belittling the religion she practiced.

Septa Margareth was the only mother-like figure in her life since she was raised in the house of the seven. However, she never truly fit in due to her visions, which were treated as if they were the work of the devil.

Vikenja took a deep breath and stood up again, now entering the seventh. Her first task was to light the candles inside the dark hall. It was cold inside, and the hall looked the opposite of holy. As she began to light the different-sized candles, a new vision flashed before her eyes. It was the same as before, but the view was more clear now.

Vikenja was able to make out the different house sigils. She gasped as she realized the men in front were from House Blackwood, including Lord Samwell, one of the Queen's most loyal supporters. Their bloodied corpse was lying on the grass with an arrow sticking out of it.

In less than a second, the match fell out of her hand and onto the table, which, in return, was lit on fire. A surprised scream erupted in her throat as she quickly searched for a bucket to fill with water and extinguish the fire with it. While smearing the sweat off of her forehead and straightening her hood, she let out a deep breath.

´ I must let Her Grace know of this´, she gasped.

But would the queen even believe the girl? Vikenja hesitated; her gaze was glued to the puddle of water, with multiple drops falling to the marble floor. The Septa might have ignored her ´unholy´ dreams, but the queen could have a different view on this, a ´non-religious´ one.Vikenja quickly ran out of the house and went on her way to the castle.

Thanks to Dragonstone being a small island, the route didn´t take too long. As she arrived at the gates of the castle, a knight noticed the girl's attire and greeted her. "Please bring me to the queen; I have urgent news for Her Grace."

He bowed in return and opened the gates. His footsteps were heavy and fast, echoing through the entire hallway. Vikenja was quick on her heels to follow, and the knight soon stopped in front of a tall door and opened it, announcing Vikenja's presence.

The girl bowed in front of her queen and watched the knight close the door behind him. The queen was in her chambers, sitting in silence as she grieved the death of her son. The atmosphere was thick and overwhelming with sadness.

As the queen turned around to see the girl standing at the door, she quickly stood up and flattened out the folds on her dress.

"Septa Vikenja, might I ask what news you wish to announce?" The girl took a quick breath and corrected her. "I am not a septa yet, your grace. I am still in training," she began. Rhaenyra nodded in acknowledgment, though the confusion was still visible on her face. "Your Grace, it lies in Your judgment to decide what You wish to do with the information, but..."

Vikenja thought about how to tell Her Grace about her dream. "I am afraid that House Blackwood and House Bracken will soon have a battle at the Burning Mill where the men of House Blackwood will fall, including Lord Samwell. I saw it in a vision, Your Grace."

Vikenja's eyes were glossy and droopy. The queen hesitated, unsure how to answer. Her brows furrowed as she looked outside the window and watched the beach. "Do you often have such kinds of visions?"

"I was born with the torment of seeing the future, like some sort of warning, I suppose." Her voice quietened at the end of her sentence.

Rhaenyra looked at her with a certain amount of understanding held in her gaze and took a step forward. "May I?" she asked and proceeded to take off Vikenjas Hood. As the queen saw her silver hair, she raised her head. Her theory was correct; the girl was a true dragon dreamer, just like Rhaenyra's own father. "You´re a dragon seed; it is in your blood to see dreams as vivid as if they were reality."

Vikenja looked at her with a questioning gaze. "Dragonseed? I am afraid I am not able to follow, Your Grace." She wasn´t aware of her parentage, since she was raised in a house where last names did not exist.

"I suppose you do not know about your true parents; it does not matter now, but you are a descendant of House Targaryen. In our lineage, some have been born with the ability to foresee the future." The queen now held Vikenja by her shoulders in a comforting manner.

"It is a burden and a blessing at once."

Rhaenyra sat on the couch and motioned for Vikenja to do the same. The girl slowly made her way to the red furniture and let herself fall on the comforter. "I must thank you for trusting me with this personal information, though I must admit my confusion. A dragon's dream is mostly linked to one's future; it must mean that you are somehow linked to the battle of the burning mill."

Feeling the anxiety rise in her body, Vikenja began to pick at her short fingernails, and her lip began to quiver. Her being linked to such a grotesque event was troubling her mind. How could she possibly have anything to do with the murder of hundreds of men? "I do not understand, Your Grace."

Noticing the self-harm, Rhaenyra quickly took the girl's hand in her own and carefully caressed it. She then took a strand of Vikenja's hair and tucked it behind her ear, caressing her head in a motherly way. Rhaenyra knew the girl lacked a mother figure in her life, and she felt herself magically drawn to comfort the child; somehow she saw her son Lucery in the girl.

"I am afraid I cannot give you an explanation behind the meaning of it." Vikenja slowly leaned into the queen's touch, letting her own guard down. "Tell me, dear child, how old are you?"

"My fourteenth name day was three moons ago, Your Grace."

Rhaenyra looked down at their interwoven hands and sighed softly. "Tell me, Vikenja. Do you wish to live the rest of your life in September?" The unexpected question made Vikenja overthink her current situation. The religion that was forced upon her made her feel imprisoned, but she never thought about anything else.

It was always very clear to her that she´d become a Septa and practice the faith of the seven until she would grow too old to see another day in this world. "I suppose I didn´t give it much thought, but I don´t have much of a choice," she said, turning her head to the other side so that the queen wouldn´t see the tear falling down her face.

"You could live here in the castle, grow up, and learn more about your ancestry." Vikenja's eyes widened at the offer. Why would the queen do such a thing? "I have nothing to offer in return, Your Grace."

Rhaenyra averted her gaze down to her feet as she let go of Vikenja's hand. She then stood up and paced around the room, Vikenja's eyes watching her the entire time.

"We are currently at war. I need everyone's help, especially if they can foresee the future. Besides, you have the dragon's blood flowing through your veins, and there are untamed dragons on this island."

Rhaenyra truly felt bad; she knew her offer would give her a worse fate than living the rest of her life in a boring Sept. It was selfish of her to involve a girl in the war, but Rhaenyra was desperate.

The queen stopped in the middle of the room to await the girl's answer. "Are you sure, Your Grace?" Sincerity was written across the queen's face as she took Vikenja's hands again. She pulled the girl from the comforter and took her into an embrace. "Your presence would be appreciated greatly."

The girl nodded slowly as she pulled out of the embrace. A physical touch from the queen herself made her feel conflicted. It felt like a mother's embrace, which made Vikenja slightly uncomfortable.

"Do not fret; I will announce it myself to the Septa Margareth. You might go to your new chamber; Ser Lares will show it to you." Rhaenyra opened the door and whispered something to the knight standing behind the walls of the queen's chamber. He nodded in return and bowed in front of Vikenja, motioning for her to follow in his footsteps once again.

"Your Grace," she said, lowering her head and leaving the Queen Chambers. She walked through the castle's hallway at a quick pace. The walls were thick, the stone was of a dark color, and the surface of the floor was marbled, similar to the sept. Vikenja was able to see her reflection on the marble. She had a troubled expression, and her eyebags turned a light purple. Her new life would be dangerous from now on; it was even expected of her to bond with a beast, which even the bravest of men were afraid of.

The girl almost stumbled into the knight when he halted in front of a dark brown door. "Your chambers, Lady Vikenja."

Her brows furrowed at the newly given title. She bid him goodbye as she entered her new chamber. To the right was a tall window, showing the scenery of the cold sea. In the middle was a queen-sized bed with golden charms carved into the bedframe. She stood on a black carpet; she presumed it was from sheep.

Next to the bed was a nightstand, graced with candles, and a bathtub next to a closet. The room radiated a certain amount of warmth and comfort that she wasn´t familiar with. Everything looked so expensive and luxurious; she never would have thought she´d see the privilege of living with royalty. Vikenja walked up to the bed and caressed the soft material of the bedsheet.

She closed her eyes in delight at the newfound softness. A knock came from outside the door, and a maid entered with a gown that was black and red. The maid was a young girl herself, not older than seventeen.

"Lady Vikenja, the queen requested for me to give you a bath and dress you in the gown I´ve brought." She nodded and walked towards the maid, asking for her name. "Belise, my lady."

"I can take a bath alone; please leave the gown on the bed." The maid nodded and filled the bath with water before putting the dress on the bed and closing the doors behind her.

Vikenja exhaled deeply as she took off her gray gown, stepping into the warm water. She took off the religious pendant hanging around her neck, throwing it on the ground with enough force to see its break.

She then closed her eyes as she sat down. The candles in front of her flickered while she let her thoughts run freely. This would be her new life now, being washed in the freshest of water and clothed in the silkiest gowns in the entire realm. It all felt surreal for her, like it was all a dream she was having.

Her dreams all held a warning, so she was told. Was this also one?

-----

Rhaenyra walked into the library, where she found the septa Margareth teaching embroidery to the princesses Rhaena and Baela. Both of the girls shared the same bored expression. It seemed like they did not care at all for such things, especially when they could be training outside instead.

"Septa Margareth, a word, please" the queen said, shifting her weight on one foot and playing with her golden ring. "Your Grace," the two girls mumbled before leaving the hall, leaving the two women alone. The Septa stood up from her stool and bowed in front of the queen. "Your Grace, is something troubling you?"

Rhaenyra cleared her throat before answering, "The Lady Vikenja will not continue her training." Instead, she will be staying here in the castle." She gave the Septa a short explanation, refusing to give her any more clues.

The Septa opened her mouth to reply, shocked to hear such a thing. Rhaenyra interrupted her, not giving her the chance to ask more questions. "I will not repeat myself Vikenja will stay here from now on. Tell the princesses their class is finished for today."

Rhaenyra didn´t wait for an answer and quickly spun on her heel to leave the library. She was aware of the weight of her actions. She may have caused the future death of a child, but she had to do it, didn´t she? Or was it Daemon entering her head and influencing her judgment?

Speaking of which, he still has not returned, and she has ceased to care for him. Rhaenyra selfishly projected her dead son onto the girl, easing her grief by mothering Vikenja.

--------

The feeling of comfort suddenly left Vikenja's body, as she was now aware of her newfound duty. Vikenja quickly washed her hair with the oils that had been put to the side and readied herself to meet the queen again.

As soon as she opened the doors, Ser Lares turned to her and stepped aside. "The queen has requested your presence in the grand hall." Vikenja gave him a quick nod and walked beside him.

The doors were opened by a different knight as Ser Lares led her inside. In the middle were multiple people gathered around a long table, which was a map of Westeros. The queen stood at the front, next to a boy a bit older than Vikenja, as she met the girl's gaze, her eyes lightening up at the dress the girl wore.

"Lady Vikenja Waters, please accompany me." She smiled softly, but her voice held a firm tone of authority. The Lords who stood beside her looked at her with curious eyes. As her eyes wandered through the different people, she noticed a man who looked familiar. His clothes were of the same color as her gown, though his sigil was the one of Blackwood. Vikenja met his gaze, and then she realized it was Lord Samwell.

The dead man in her vision Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked at the queen, who slightly nodded and took her hand in her own.

"Is the bastard a dragon seed?" Lord Staunton spoke freely without mincing his words. The girl felt under pressure as she felt her anxiety rise once again.

"As you can see, Lady Vikenja is of Targaryen descent; she bears the blood of the dragon." She lives here in the castle and will soon claim a dragon, so we will have more dragonriders on our side."The brunette next to Rhaenyra watched Vikenja with distrust in his eyes, similar to the Septa Margareth. He didn´t know Vikenja's true intentions.

Vikenja glanced at her silver hair while listening to the queen's words. She was never aware of the fact that her hair color held significance—not even the blood that ran through her veins. Lord Samwell glanced at the girl's face, and his gaze wandered down to her body. "How old is the lady?"

"Fourteen, my lord," she answered loudly enough for him to hear. He nodded quickly and seemed to be in thought afterward. The queen returned to the political discussion they held before Vikenja's arrival. While trying to pick up any of the information the conversation withheld, she understood little to nothing.

After the meeting was over and the Lords left, Rhaenyra shifted her attention to the girl next to her. "Do you wish to visit the dragonmont with me?" she asked, giving her a small smile.

Vikenja nodded, unsure whether to say something or to keep quiet. "You will learn everything about political arrangements when the time comes, dear child." She caressed the girl's shoulder as she led her to her own dragon.

The girl gasped as they got near it, never having seen a dragon up close. She wasn´t as scared as she thought she´d be, but instead was in awe.

"Her name is Syrax." Rhaenyra walked up to the dragon and petted its head. Vikenja giggled as she watched the dragon lean into its owner's touch. Rhaenyra guided Vikenjas Hand to pet the she-dragon. The scales under her palm were a weird sensation for the girl.

Rhaenyra felt a tear slip from her eye as she watched the girl caress the dragon. The girl's nervousness and naivety reminded her a lot of Lucery. It might have been the reason she offered housing to the strange girl.

"You will need to know commands before claiming your dragon. The words Dohaeris mean to obey, Lykiri means calm, Soves means to fly, and Dracarys means dragon fire. You will need to know how to calm the dragon beforehand, so it won´t be alarmed by your presence."

Vikenja nodded, processing the new information. "The dragons are somewhere up on the dragonmount. There are three of them in total, the gray ghost, the cannibal, and the sheepstealer. The cannibal is rumored to be a dragon with black scales, while the gray ghost shares the same color as its name, and the sheepstealer has a brown color to its scales."

Rhaenyra refrained from explaining the dragon's names to Vikenja, not wanting to fear the girl.

Rhaenyra proceeded to point up to the volcano in front of them. Next to it was the narrow sea. "Be careful."

Vikenja nodded and bid her goodbye, walking towards the sea. The air was fresh and smelled salty, and the water was a beautiful light blue. By taking her shoes off, she could go into the cold sea, her dress getting drenched while bathing her feet.

As she looked up into the sky, she noticed a white figure pacing through the clouds that hid the sun. ´It must be the Grey Ghost´, she thought. His scales were pale gray-white, and his build was slender, which made it hard for her to see him. Vikenja slowly made her way out of the water, drying her feet with her gown before putting on her boots again. She hummed a soft melody in the hope of awakening the dragon's curiosity.

She then began to walk around the sea, still humming the melody that she was familiar with. It was the same melody that she always hummed to fall asleep due to her fear of sleeping alone. It always calmed her nerves when she was left alone.

Minutes, eventually an hour, had passed, and she was still humming the melody. Vikenja was going to stop, but then she saw the same figure in the clouds again. She quickly began to realize that the dragon was encircling her, flying to the music she was producing. Vikenja held out a hand as she hummed more loudly now.

The dragon landed on the volcano and screeched at her. "Lykiri, Grey Ghost," she said as she put a hand in his direction. She began to walk up towards the dragon, trying her best to be slow and calm. "Lykiri," she repeated, but now in a firm tone. The dragon lowered its head as it awaited Vikenja. She continued to hum the song while taking the last step towards the dragon, and then she waited for the dragon to lean its head into her palm while whispering Lykiri the entire time.

The shy dragon slowly leaned into her touch as he listened to her commands. "Dohaeris, Grey Ghost!" she exclaimed while walking to the dragon's body, climbing it slowly. As soon as she sat on top, she regretted her decision to not have a saddle.

But she knew this was her chance to bond with the dragon, so she commanded him to fly.

"Dohaeris, Soves, Grey Ghost!" she exclaimed, the anxiety raising in her voice. The dragon stood up and began to walk before quickly taking to the sky. Vikenja had to grip his horns so she wouldn´t fall. She screamed as the air whipped her face, closing her eyes.

When she noticed that the dragon's movements were more smooth, she opened her eyes again to see the scenery before her. She held one hand out to graze through the clouds. It was a calming experience, it was nothing like she expected it to be. Due to the bond between Vikenja and her dragon, she was able to feel his emotions the other way around. Their personalities were similar in a way, both have always been alone.

Vikenja smiled as she petted his back. Both of them continued to fly for a few more hours until it was time for supper. Her dragon landed on the beach, in front of her chambers. She quickly dismounted him and sent him back to fly away, before alarming the guards of her presence.

Four dragonkeepers were soon sent, carrying a saddle for the dragon. When Vikenja called her dragon, she had to calm him the entire time, so that the men could do their work. She felt her anxiety rise due to feeling the dragon's stress.

She softly hummed the same melody as before, until the dragon keepers were finished and Grey Ghost could fly back into the sky and away from the castle.

Vikenja felt proud of herself for the first time in her life. She felt as if she had accomplished something that would change her life forever. With a dragon on her side, she was now a force to be reckoned with.

The girl soon went into the castle to meet with the queen and tell her about her accomplishments. The queen welcomed her with an embrace, which Vikenja awkwardly accepted. Rhaenyra kissed the top of her head and told her how proud she was of her. The more time Rhaenyra spent in the girl's presence, the more she didn´t want to let go of her. She couldn´t make the same mistake twice, could she?

[jiubilant]

cw: brief blood mention, child experiencing medical emergency (asthma attack)

He supposes that the child will die before its father will allow him upstairs. The mother and an ancient steward had hurried him into the vestibule, stammering dire prophecies like priests in a Hlaalu play: the boy was purple, he couldn’t breathe, he could only weep and cough and choke on draughts of honeyed shein. Save him, the mother had begged. Save him and I shall pay you double.

The healer lashes his tail, impatient, and digs a hand into the bowl of dates on the antique stand. The steward wrings his hands by the staircase. Upstairs, the child’s father shouts something insulting and familiar.

“He’s a healer,” the mother protests. “A Guild healer, Moder, of good standing—”

More than half of the healer’s house calls in Ald’ruhn start and end like this. He cracks the pit of a date between his teeth, one of the few violences that his vow allows, and gives the steward a cloying smile. “Will my services be required after all, sera?”

“Oh, yes,” says the old man, clacking the yellow fingerbones of his prayer-string. His eyes are red and watery as tavern wine. “Oh, yes, Argonian. I pray you’ll wait. Please, the master is, is”—the prayer-string shakes in his hands—“is only concerned for his son—Tisa!”

The thing flying down the steps, the healer deduces after a startled pause, is likely Tisa: a wan and curly-headed child in the sackcloth of a Temple novice, her face wild, her eyes puffy and red. The steward tries to catch her. She ducks him, nimble as a nix, and skids to a halt before the healer.

“You’re wanted upstairs,” she says, breathless. No honorific, of course. She lifts her chin like a pale little Rilms. “Ama and Ada bid you come at once.”

More shouts echo down the stairwell. The healer gives the lying creature an incredulous look. “Ama and Ada bid nothing of the sort.”

The girl hesitates. Then, with a look of repulsed determination, she takes his sticky hand.

“Please, kena,” she says. Her face quivers. “He’s only three.”

He lets her tug him up the stairs. Double, the mother had said. The healer only gambles when he likes the odds. The boy’s cough—a thin, strangled rattle, just audible beneath his parents’ noise—is one he knows well.

“In here,” whispers his escort, and pulls him into a chamber with all the usual charms of a sickroom: the sour air, the family flapping around like cliff racers, the suffering child swaddled seizing and choking on the pallet—

“You fools,” the healer snaps, pushing the parents aside like ninepins. “You smoke-sniffing s’wits—sit him up!”

It’s the girl Tisa who leaps to do his bidding. The father’s outraged spluttering he ignores with a practiced ear; he’s already deep in his bag, rummaging for the ingredients of the vapor that he mixes often for himself. Oil of corkbulb, oil of kurroot. Spirit of hartshorn, imported. The hovering steward, at his command, rushes in a bowl of water; the healer infuses it with a dropper, boils it with a snap of his fingers, and thrusts the steaming bowl under the child’s nose.

“Deep breaths,” he says, watching the child’s struggling face. “Through your nose. Your nose,” he repeats sharply, for the boy is still gulping for air like a landed fish.

Pious Tisa, holding her brother under the armpits, gives the healer a look that could peel paint. “Don’t snip at him!”

“What’s it doing to him?” demands the master of the house.

The healer wishes briefly and fervently for more date pits. He passes the bowl to the girl, checking first that the boy’s turned a healthier hue, and bows to the affronted man with his hand on his heart.

“Muthsera,” he says with his most sycophantic smile, “the child suffers from an ailment of the lungs. I’ve treated it before. To ease his breathing, muthsera, I’ve mixed a remedy—”

“It smells,” says the boy in a weak, scratchy voice, then sniffles. His sister sobs in relief and throws her arms around him, nearly spilling the bowl.

“Hold that steady,” the healer snaps, then pastes the smile back on. “In cases such as this, muthsera, much that enters the passages of the lungs can choke them. Most dangerous are ash and dust, smoke—even sanctified smoke—bottled scents, strong spices, excessive exertion or excitement—”

“How long must he breathe of this remedy,” the mother interrupts, her voice hoarse, “before he is cured?”

“This ailment can be soothed,” says the healer. “It can’t be cured. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a charlatan.”

“If it can’t be cured,” says the master of the house, his face hard as a Redoran club, “why should I pay you?”

The healer looks to the child’s mother. Like the light slanting in from the window-slit, her eyes slide to the ground.

* * *

He’s so disgusted with the whole business that he slips around the house to the kitchen. The family’s servants—elves all, but elves more bent and deferent than their masters—greet him with effusive kenas and more work: he lances several boils, draws a splinter like Rangidil’s sword from a houseboy’s thumb, and smiles politely at the cook’s goiter. When he spells the swelling from the steward’s knees, the old man weeps and tries to embrace him. He dodges the spindly arms and hurries to the Rat in the Pot for supper.

“My Wit,” says the so-called Nerevarine when he drags his cushion to her table. When she smiles, her single sharp eye all but disappears in the folds of her face. “I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Pah.” With an ill-tempered jab of his eating-knife, the healer spears a slice of curried yam from her bowl. “I have nightmares about you.”

The eye twinkles. “Will you come tomorrow?”

“To watch Bolvyn Venim gut you in ritual combat?”

“The other way around,” the Nerevarine suggests, smiling. “If I am what I will be. Many touchstones try the stranger.”

She’s trying him. After an hour of trying to outdrink her, she asks with amused sobriety about Skink; he pays stiffly for their greef, bundles his face, and wobbles out. A wind kicks dust and ash down the lamplit street. The three-year-old will be coughing again, unless Saint Tisa has the sense to stuff the windows.

He’ll leave the Black Isle, he thinks with a sudden shiver, like that of a fever. The filthy wind stirs his feathers. He’ll beg Skink for a post in some Niben guildhall—no, he’ll board a ship to Akavir as surgeon, salve the scrapes of merchant-mates, and the air he’ll breathe a thousand leagues from Morrowind will be clean and salty-sweet.

“Kena,” a sweet, fluting voice calls from the alley.

Every feather on the nape of the healer’s neck prickles. He turns.

What sways like a sleepwalker into the lamplight is, he sees at once, no longer a man. The knife in its jerking hand is red and wet. He knows no remedy but one for a dreamer of the Sharmat’s dreams, which drip like the knife with blood.

“We see you,” it whispers, trembling with rabid joy. “With our eye.”

Most dangerous, the healer thinks, are ash and dust. Exertion and excitement. He takes a deep, even breath—

The thing springs. Drink makes the healer slow. It’s almost on him before he throws out a hand, seeking with his magicka through the hallways of its body: capillaries, veins, the great orchestral chambers of the heart.

The knife flashes. He closes his hand into a fist.

He’s examining the body afterwards—and wondering, between breaths ragged with shock, what he will tell the guard if they appear—when heavy footsteps crunch to him through gravel and ash. The Nerevarine claps him on the back with a huge hand.

“Well done,” she says, sportsmanlike, as though he and the dead man had been playing quoits. She kneels beside him to inspect the corpse’s knife—a rusted kitchen tool, useless to her—then flicks it aside into the dust. “Did you do to him what you did to those smugglers in Gnaar Mok?”

The healer breathes with rigid calm through his nose, through the scarf spelled to catch the worst of the ash. The breaths come in rasps, as if through a hand around his throat. “Yes.”

“And to that necromancer your Master Wizard set you on?”

He remembers Skink’s praise, that sibilant voice like silk drawn through a golden ring. He grimaces. “Yes.”

“Leaves no trace.” The Nerevarine stands with a grunt, dusting her knees. “The duel with Venim is scheduled for high sun, in the battle-pit under Skar.”

For the first time, he half-believes her the true incarnation of Nerevar. She takes no chances. She’s asking him, in the middle of a street in Ald’ruhn, if he will stop the heart of the Archmaster of House Redoran.

It’s shortness of breath, the healer thinks, that’s made him so weary in so short a time. And the greef. He closes his eyes. Every bone in his body aches for the hard, communal pallet in the Guild of Mages’ dormitory—not the one across the street, but the one in Balmora, where he wakes to Ranis’s barking and the rich, dark smell of Ajira’s coffee.

He’ll always want that pallet, wherever he goes. He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’ll come.”

The Nerevarine, with a kagouti’s smile, helps him to his feet. “I’ll walk you to the guildhall.”

He stifles a cough in the scarf. The road-dust ripples like the sea.

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere”

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 13

Glorious Magnificent Goddess | Loki x Reader

You and Loki retreat to his hideaway to recouperate after your run in with Lugh. Loki helps you practice your magic again as well as rewarding you for your bravery. But how far can you really escape a God?

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, lots of praise, possessive Loki, making out, teasing, oral ( f receiving), p in v, cockwarming (if you squint), dirty talk but also…angst, emotional hurt/comfort.

A/N: This is mostly smut but there's definitely some plot there too. Please don't judge me for my terrible prophecy writing.

Also this chapter wouldn't have been written with nearly so much smut in it if I hadn't been so sexually frustrated reading @lokisgoodgirl 's The Lakes series. There's no little Tesco here and we're far from The Lakes but this chapter is dedicated to you :)

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

—

Somewhere between your sheer terror of being kidnapped and Loki’s sweeping rescue of you from the floor, you’d passed out. When you woke you were lying on a sofa in front of a roaring fire, the logs crackling merrily in time with the soft low hum of Loki’s voice. 

You turned your head to see him moving deftly around a small kitchen, pouring steaming soup into a bowl while he sang quietly. At first you didn’t recognise the words, but the more you listened and allowed the song to wash over you, the more you understood. He sang of home, of love and comfort, songs that spoke to the very bones of you until you melted into the cushions and blankets, at peace. Somewhere deep down your memories hummed back, even if you couldn’t remember the words yet. 

He turned, still singing the last of the tune, and smiled gently. In the firelight he looked shockingly ethereal compared to his domestic surroundings, his hair glossy and dark, tumbling about his shoulders in almost cherubic curls. The shirt he’d worn under his suit was now only loosely tucked into his trousers, the collar undone and his sleeves rolled up just past his elbows. 

“You’re awake,” he knelt next to you, cupping your face in his hands and drawing you close, kissing you so tenderly you thought you might still be asleep, dreaming of being awoken by Prince Charming. 

“Was I dreaming? We went on that stupid mission and it was awful -” you scrunched your face the memory. “Do you think it’s always that chaotic?”

“It wasn’t a dream, Darling, unfortunately. We were intercepted by someone.” 

It came rushing back, the man’s hands grabbing at you, the blinding light he seemed to be able to control and the spear he wielded. But then, you’d had a spear too, and armour, silver and velvet and flame. You looked down at your clothes, the armour was gone and in its place was one of Loki’s soft cotton shirts. 

“I knew him, I think. I saw a memory with him in, and my mother, they were friends. He said his name was Lugh and we were in his home, it was snowing - But I was younger then. And I saw one of the men who - who -” 

Loki placed a steadying hand on your arm, remaining by your side, his eyes darting over your face and searching for any trace of pain or suffering. “Hush, darling, let’s not talk of it now. You’ve had a trying time, rest and we can talk of it in the morning. 

“But I’ve seen him before, Loki, I have and-” You sighed, falling back on the sofa. “I wish I could just remember.” 

Loki kissed your cheek and moved back to the kitchen, “well, this Lugh, he frightened you and I will not tolerate that. Here, I made you soup, you should eat and get some strength back.” He placed the tray on an oak coffee table and piled cushions onto the floor for you to sit on. 

Sliding down onto the nest of pillows, you allowed yourself to look around the room, it was small but cosy, furnished with solid oak and thick, luxurious fabrics in velvet, knits and heavy wool plaid. Large cushions backed the sofa and chairs while the walls were lined with books old and new.

“Where are we?” You asked, blowing on the warm soup before taking a small sip from your spoon. 

“A secret place, a cabin. We’re still in America, if that’s what you were wondering. Those ridiculous spangled idiots showed up and blew our cover so I needed to retreat quickly. I can teleport, but not very far, and this was the nearest place I could drive to after we were far enough away.” Loki said, matter of factly, before joining you on the floor and dunking a thick crust of bread into your soup. 

“Hey, that’s mine,” you reached a foot out to kick him gently and he laughed, pulling it into his lap.

“Share, Ásynja , don’t be selfish,” he smiled, dipping again but offering you the bread between his fingers. 

“I didn’t know you lived anywhere else.” You’d always imagined that when he wasn’t at the compound Loki retreated to some icy fortress covered in black and green furnishings. Something dramatic and luxurious, you certainly hadn’t imagined a cosy log cabin. 

“I like to have a few retreats, a few bolt holes here and there. Plus Brunnhilde uses them from time to time when she’s on official business, hotels aren’t really her style, she prefers to deplete my stores of whisky and mead.” Loki didn’t look upset though, he seemed pleased to be able to offer somewhere comfortable and inviting. 

“I would’ve thought showing off in the lap of luxury would be right up your street.” You teased, Loki liked the finer things in life and there was no way you were complaining when he extended such luxuries to you too. But there was something so satisfying about teasing the god of Mischief. 

“Oh, yes, it is,” his smile morphed from playful into predatory, his voice dropping an octave into that rough rumble that made you melt, “but it’s the privacy we enjoy. We’re in the middle of nowhere, my Darling-” 

“And no one can hear me scream?” You joked, raising your eyebrows. 

“Exactly.” He tugged on your leg again, before reaching forwards and pulling you into his lap. Beneath the wool slacks he was already hard, the firm length of him straining against the zip. His shirt was loose on you, rucked up around your waist to accommodate your spread legs and you were mercifully bare beneath.  

“Loki,” you breathed, pressing yourself down into his embrace, moulding your bodies together. Between your thighs he throbbed, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, reigniting your adrenaline. 

Loki’s large hands slid up your back, one splayed wide cupping your waist, the other on the back of your neck, tipping your head down so he could growl against your lips, “I love when you say my name,” he nipped at your bottom lip and you kissed back, sucking his tongue into your mouth like you were ravenous. “My Ásynja , take what you need my darling, I am yours, at your mercy, my breathtaking Goddess.” 

Together you fell backwards onto the rug, Loki breaking your fall and gently laying you down beside him. His hands ghosted down your side, barely touching you while his magic melted your clothes away leaving you both glowing in the firelight. 

“You were magnificent tonight, a true goddess of the Aesir, I -” His hands fluttered over you, his eyes trying to take you all in at once. 

You had never seen Loki lost for words before and it was a glorious feeling, knowing that you had reduced him to this. 

“I have to have you, darling, can’t keep my hands from you.” He growled, touching every inch of your bared skin. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you though, Loki.” You assured him, kissing along his broad shoulders, inhaling the rich scent of him, so close. 

“Ah, my darling one, I did nothing.” He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of you, each kiss like a butterfly's wings brushing against his skin. 

“Wait-” You sat up, “you didn’t do anything?” 

“No, did you think I had some part to play?” He looked at you quizzically, “you think I conjured a burning spear? Silver armour?” 

“Well - I -” He curled an eyebrow at you, encouraging you to complete your thought. “I did that? That was me?” 

“Of course” he laughed out the words, surprised that you weren’t already aware. 

“Well. Okay.” You lay back on the rug and stared at the ceiling, unabashed in your nakedness, and Loki fought the urge to simply climb on top of you. 

“Hmmm, indeed.” Instead he traced his finger over your sternum and between your breasts, down to your belly button and then over your hip. Tingling goosebumps erupted in his wake and you watched as he skipped from your hip to where the bracelet he gave you still circled your wrist. “Besides, if I had created armour for you, it would be in green and gold.” He murmured, bending to place a kiss on the delicate skin below the bracelet. 

“Would it now, have you thought of how you’d dress me for battle?” Now it was your turn to lift an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you show me how you’d prepare me for battle.” 

Loki gave you a predator’s smile before pulling you closer. “Too many clothes required for battle, darling, how about we practise the celebration instead?”

As you drifted in and out of sleep the memory of Loki’s hands on you followed your sleeping thoughts, his hands spread wide on your thighs, squeezing and kneading while he feasted on you, his body supplicant before you, worshipping as he’d promised. You writhed, rolling closer to him and hooking your leg over his. There was still a deep ache within you, a roiling of your magic needing release and bubbling to the surface in your whimpers and bucking hips. 

Loki stirred beside you and pulled you closer, your naked body was bed warm and soft compared to his perpetually cooler constitution and it felt good to be thawed by your presence. He cupped your cheek, turning your sleeping face so he could look over your features. There was still a tendency for your eye colour to shift without you realising, but everything else had settled and now every time he looked at you the same beautiful face shone back. 

He kissed you on your forehead, revelling in the gentle smile that spread across your lips, he kissed your cheek and nose, moving across your face until your eyelashes fluttered and you snuggled closer, fingers digging into his sides. Slowly, so slowly, he moved down your neck, pressing kisses onto your collarbone and nuzzling into the swell of your breast, he laved wet kisses onto your nipples, blowing cold air over the sensitive flesh just to watch them pebble and tighten before him. 

Loki’s kisses were featherlight, meltingly soft but you needed more, craved more. Light flared within you and, behind the grate, the fire crackled in response, burning blue and filling the room with light. 

He lifted his head watching you with lust blown eyes. 

“Incredible, my darling goddess, do it again,” he encouraged, kissing lower until he could nip at your soft belly, his thumbs pressing into your hips to stop you from lifting upwards. “Do it again and I’ll give you anything you want, name your price.”

“I can’t,” you whined, giving up on struggling in favour of looping your leg over his muscular shoulder. 

“You can,” he traced his nose lower, lower, the point of his tongue guiding him until he hovered over your aching core. “You can do it, Ásynja , you are powerful and strong, you control the fire, you control the light, show me, make me tremble before you.” His words were a whisper, a prayer, his eyes locked with yours despite the lewd poke of his tongue from between his pink lips. 

Frustrated you dropped your head back onto the rug and the fire roared again, the candles dotted around the room flickered. Between your legs Loki smiled again, murmuring something in the same old norse language that you were still trying to remember. But it was hard to care what he was saying when he was teasing you so deliciously, his tongue writing every sinful thing he wanted to do. 

“Please, Loki.” You hummed, tugging on the long strands of his silky hair in an effort to move him. 

“A moment more, my darling one.” He cooed, sucking on the inside of your thigh while his fingers entered you slowly, curling into your fluttering walls. 

“You promised me anything,” you gasped, heat pooling between your legs, Loki marvelled as your arousal slicked down his fingers. 

“I did, and what does my most wonderful Goddess require of me?” He asked, his voice hoarse with lust. 

“Fuck me, Loki- ugh,” he felt you clench around him, so soft yet so strong, and he knew he needed to have you just as much. “Fuck me like you mean it, I’m your Goddess, yours, take me, worship me, and make me yours.” You reached down and squeezed his hard cock as you spoke, watching his mouth fall open at the pressure.

With a growl, Loki prowled up your prone body, hooking your leg around his waist as he settled over you. All you could see was the curtain of his hair, the sharp lines of his face and his glittering eyes. The swell of his cock between your legs was hot and heavy, a tease of what was to come. It felt like it had been so long since you were alone together that you were desperate, clawing, inching your hips up until he was notched at your entrance, waiting. 

“Please,” you begged, breathlessly and he slid home in a single thrust, filling you to the brim and binding you together. “Oh! Loki!” 

“Yes, that’s it my darling,” he began to thrust, rolling his hips to rub against your clit with every movement. “Say my name.” 

“Loki, Loki, Loki.” His name became a chant in time with each thrust. “I’m yours, oh my god, never let me go.” You buried your face in his neck, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin as he ground against you, locked together so tightly he could barely pull back before you were bringing him closer again. 

“Never, I’ll never let you go, you’re mine now. All mine,” he panted, the feel of your lips and teeth a blissful pain, “and I’m yours, all yours.” The flames roared, their reflection catching in the glass of the lamps artfully dotted around the room, painting the walls in jewelled colours, emerald, sapphire and ruby red. 

He sat back, pulling you into his lap so he could kiss your chest and hold you closer. You moved together, riding towards your release as if you were charging into battle, never close enough, never fast enough, chasing your pleasure while Loki looked at you in awe. 

With a final roar he buried himself inside of you and the banked fire of your desire burst forth consuming you both. In the fireplace the flames licked out onto the hearth, the candles flared and blue flames encircled you both. 

Loki pulled away, his eyes tracing over your face as he always did, checking that you were happy and safe and smiling giddily as he was. And then he saw the flames, swirling like ribbons in the wind. 

Guiltily you tried to pull away, but he held you firm, still deep inside of you and as he caught your gaze again you felt him throb against your sensitive walls, “magnificent,” he murmured, before tipping you back against the carpet and continuing his worship. 

The morning came too soon, the mist that danced between the trees faded as it got closer to the cabin windows and you let out a puff of hot air against the pane. You set your cup of coffee on the side and drew a heart in the condensation, smiling as it turned green and gold as the rising sun beyond touched the tops of the pine trees in the valley. 

On silent feet, Loki crept up on you, circling his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder where your shirt slipped away from your collar. Here he planted a wet kiss, squeezing you tighter when you giggled from the sensation. Between you both, you wondered if you’d ever have need to go clothes shopping again. With a flick of his wrist Loki had sent his suit into oblivion and had manifested a surprisingly sensible pair of dark jeans and a sweater. To his own surprise, try as he might, he couldn’t make it green and instead the fibres continued to insist on a rich, dark blue colour instead. 

“Loki,” you chided, but you didn’t push him away, your body sought him at all times, reaching for his touch, so you allowed him to set his feet between yours and settled his hands on your hips. 

“Darling, we should talk about what happened, now that we’ve had time to rest.” 

Loki led you both out to a small covered porch at the back of the cabin, it’d been too dark to see your surroundings when you arrived but now you could see over through the trees to an open vista. A lake took up the majority of the valley, tailing away into a rushing river at its furthest point. Both sides of the valley were covered in dense trees, golden brown patches in the late autumn and dark green pines knitting together the amber canopy, the mist still rose from them while you settled into an old swing chair. The view was incredible, stealing your breath and your words as Loki settled beside you. 

“It reminded me of Norway,” he said, casually, “and so I had to have it. Especially as things became so -” he waves his hand, “messy, in Asgard.” 

“It’s beautiful, I could stay here forever.” 

“As could I, darling, but we must address what happened. This isn’t the first time you’ve been attacked and I grow concerned it could happen again.” Loki was rarely so serious, even in the early days of your training he had been playful and coy, teasing your abilities from you. 

You sat in silence, sipping your coffees while you thought of how to proceed. 

“So, I suppose we start with the obvious, we know one of the players in this game now,” Loki said, decisively. “Lugh, it is not a pantheon I know well, though my father was always respectful and my mother knew various members. Though it is possible when my memories were taken, I forgot about other gods as well.”

“I suppose... I don’t know why he’d pretend to care now when he had me happily locked away like some fairytale princess.” You huffed. 

“He mentioned your mother? That they were friends? With your mother gone, we could assume he is trying to act on her behalf, protect you as she would.I know my father often behaved in such a manner, keeping secrets when he ought to have told the truth, and then calling it protection, kindness.”

“Do you think - do you think he was the one who kept me locked up as well? Despite it all he didn’t seem like he wanted to be violent, I can’t understand how anyone working for him would be violent when he could have killed us both there and then. And then there’s the boy.”

Loki looked at you, his head tipped to the side. “The boy?” You had mentioned the boy earlier as well, but he had thought you were simply delirious. 

“When he touched me, Lugh, I saw a memory of us together. My mother and I were at his house, he was kind and gentle. He encouraged me to go outside and play with a boy, it seemed like I was - happy?” You stared into the trees, hoping some clarity would emerge inside you to stop the churning feeling in your stomach. 

“I learnt a lot from my father and one of the most important lessons he ever gave me, well, I don’t believe he intended to teach this as a lesson. But I learnt to never trust his mood. One minute he would love me and call me son, the next he would send me away for decades at a time. I would counsel against trusting Lugh, if he’s lived as long as Odin, the time has eaten away at what’s left of his sanity and I don’t doubt he would be kind to you in one moment and lock you up in the next.” Loki shrugged, melancholy at the memory of Odin, and then took a long drink from his mug. 

You looked over to see a sad smile tugging at his lips, as if making fun of Odin was easier than the honesty of his statement. 

“Perhaps - but, I recognised his eyes, the boy. I saw him again, he came for me. After I got away from those Asgardian’s, he tried to get me to go with him and I refused. He told me to stop using my magic, just as Lugh did, and then I was taken again by - hmmm.” 

“If he warned you against the magic and then you were taken again, perhaps it was not Lugh who kidnapped you.” Loki raised his eyebrows and you nodded, silent and contemplative, already wondering the same. “Perhaps he really was trying to protect you?” Loki still hadn’t told you about the sigil he’d seen, about how he knew who your last captors were. How would he explain to you that your betrothed was out to find you? He had no memory of that war between the Aesir and the Vanir, how could he spoil what was growing between you with a fear like that. 

“Perhaps. I just wish there was something in my past I could trust and believe in.” 

He felt sick lying to you, even if it was by omission.. Loki had promised himself that he would protect you and he would, for now you needed comfort and peace more than you needed the truth. 

You lapsed into silence, finishing your coffee and setting it onto the wooden porch floor. The quiet washed over you, the sound of the water and the rustling trees, even the calls of the birds felt perfectly placed to put you at ease. 

After a while, Loki spoke again, quiet and low with that same serious voice that was so unfamiliar. “I still loved him, Odin, though he kept many things from me. Just because things are confusing now, doesn’t mean your happier times are forgotten. You used to speak of your Grandfather and now - well - there has been no mention of him for some time. You are allowed to miss him, and your life before this. It is no slight against me for you to have enjoyed happier times with others. I only wish for you to be happy again now.” 

Emotion welled within you, “I do still think of him. I miss him so much, even if - I know, I know he wasn’t real. But he was real for me. He was kind.” You stuttered, reaching out for Loki’s hand to ground you. 

“I’m glad.” Loki squeezed back, tangling your fingers together and he held you as you cried “ I think we should consider going back to Tønsberg , to show Brunnhilde what you saw. Perhaps she has some more answers, now that there has been time to think.”

“I thought we were supposed to rendevouz with the team again?” You sniffed, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “won’t they be looking for us when we didn’t meet to swap cars?”

“Well that’s what we were supposed to do, but they’ve got their item now, I thought we could enjoy some time together here and then, when you’re ready, I shall take you home.” Loki put his arm over your shoulders and held you against his side, the deep scent of amber still lingered on him, mixed with the crisp, clean, scent of pine. You tucked your feet up onto the seat, leaning your weight into his warm, strong body and allowed yourself a moment of peace to think of it, a home for you and Loki.

You hadn’t felt as safe and secure since you first left your flat, any time the God was in your presence you felt at peace, content with the world and your place in it. Loki was right, you needed some time together, and practising your fire skills was exactly the kind of cosy activity the glowing hillside and crisp air required. 

You whiled away a few more hours, snuggled together in the early winter air, Loki created a small green fire that glowed in front of you while you practised sending blue sparks dancing around the edge. 

Inside the cabin the fire smouldered, warm and inviting. Wood stacked by the fireplace shuddered and a single log rolled off onto the floor surrounded in white light. 

Distracted outside neither you nor Loki watched the divine woodwork taking place inside as the log slowly became smaller and smaller, leaving chips of wood in it’s wake. Finally, after an hour of craftsmanship, the light faded and left behind a small wooden box. It grew hot, as it sat before the fire and opened, revealing a misty mirror inside, and a swatch of delicate lace wrapped around a glass sphere. 

The lace unravelled, allowing the marble to roll away from its container, bumping against the back of the sofa and coming to a stop before the fire, heating up and then cracking, releasing the secret inside. 

A soft voice escaped, “I saw a vision of a flock divided, a tup of pure chaos and a ewe of love, a ram standing watch, a singular lamb frolicking, a lamb with a fiery fleece. It has burnt the farm. But from the ashes rises lush land, strong crops and healthy babes. I have told this vision to my husband, and Lugh, he does not believe me when I say she is no threat, he believes this to be a prophecy of Ragnarok, he cannot see the verdant land beyond the fire. You must hide the girl, my friend, I can protect her no longer.” 

Frigga’s voice, lost to the mortality that even the seemingly infinite possess, faded into the quiet of the cabin. 

And outside your chatter continued obliviously, happy and full of love. 

<< Part 12

Part 14>>

[happyk44]

Zeus being like "we need to kill our living children because prophecy" and Hades is just "fuck you" and defies Nico and Bianca instead. Bianca is seething when she sees little Percy, Annabeth, and Grover sneak into the Underworld. She's spent way too much time with Zagreus.

But Nico is curious. He thinks the little heroes are cute. Watches them succeed to get around Cerberus. Watches one of them suddenly flying towards the pit. The other two are panicking.

Poor kids, he thinks, and he touches down in front of them. Catches the satyr with one hand. He yanks away, determined to get to the pit but Nico is an unmoving as a dead man. Just stuck to the ground and peeling off his wild shoes with ease. The satyr is lowered gently to the ground. Nico melts the shoes into shadows.

"You look hungry," he says.

They all stare at him. Then scamper into a little clustered triad. The girl nudges the boy and he huffs before clearing his throat.

"Um, Lord Hades-"

Nico's lip twitches. "I am not my father, little demigod. Do you wish to speak with him?" The boy's soul is untamed waves and a hurricane. "Ah. My cousin." He pauses. Gives it a think. "Perseus, right?"

The kid goes a little pink around his cheeks. Flushes down to throat and up through his ears. "Uh, yeah. Um. It's Percy." He blinks. Clears his throat. "Percy Jackson."

Nico thinks about it. "I think I'll just say Perseus, if you don't mind. I quite like it as a name. Strong. Heroic."

"Yeah, sure," Percy says quickly. His soul is a sea of panic. Tinged red around its edges. Tastes syrupy sweet at the back of Nico's throat. "You- I-"

The girl saves him. "We would like to seek an audience with Lord Hades. If we can." After a beat, she tacks on a tinny, "Please."

"Annabeth Chase," Nico says. She stiffens, eyes going big. "Athena's child." He glances over to the satyr. "Grover Underwood. Cute name. Fits you." Grover stammers before thanking him quietly. "My sister is with my father now. I'll see if I can steer her away. She's not always the best company to have when speaking with Papa. Especially with what is going on now."

The kids twitch and he stifles the urge to giggle.

The ground melts beneath them. They gasp aloud as earth turns to obsidian tile. His room is clean and tidy. Filled to the brim with silly junk throughout history. Trinkets and toys he's picked up from his travels too.

"You can wait here," he says. And he disappears without another word.

It takes longer than it should, to steer Bianca out of the way. Hades is no help. Bemused all the while. Nico tries to get him to take a nicer stance, but he's stubborn. Normally so is Nico, but he can't imagine the trio in his bedroom are taking his absence easily, so he caves and let's his father being as intimidating as he wants.

Personally, Nico can't see it. His father is his father. Whether he's twenty-feet tall with black eyes and a crown of nightmares, or six foot six with warm hands and smiles.

"Be nice, Papa," he says as he guides the children into the throne room.

Hades grunts and glares down at his nephew. Nico sighs and stands in the back. They are children. Perhaps if they were older he'd care less. But he remembers what it is to be twelve years old and staring at a god that wished you were dead an unbreathing.

It is haunting and hurting.

They speak and it's confusing. The children are lost with every word his father speaks. His father is getting more and more annoyed with every word they speak.

No one is lying, but no one has the reality of the situation at hand. Nico strides forwards, out of the shadows. Hades's eyes are angry, but he quiets. He does not like to shout in front of Nico. Not when the anger rockets back at Nico's soul like a mirror and leaves him winded. The trio goes silent.

He slides his hands through the flimsy material of the backpack. Electricity crackles at his skin. He flinches and steps back.

Percy is confused. His soul is a crashing thing, drowning his mind in panic untold. Annabeth is horrified. Her soul is sputtering. There is no logic to this. No facts to back up what she has discovered. She is unsure, for the first time in her life. Grover is on the verge of fainting.

"He didn't know," Nico says. "None of them did."

Hades scoffs, but let's Nico flip through the pages of their souls like a history book. Ares and the backpack. But that is not possible. He cannot touch his father's bolt, or Hades's helm. Not without permission and certainly not with his own bare hands. Further back, there is a face. Scarred and angry. He is giving Percy the shoes.

Grover takes them when his back is turned.

Smart creature, Nico thinks.

He lets goes and the trio breathes.

"There is a boy," he says. "I'll need to look at him, but I feel he has orchestrated this mess."

Hades's lips curl. He is unhappy. He wanted to blast his nephew to pieces and lock the others up for their troubles in bringing him along.

"You have got to stop talking to Bianca," Nico huffs. "Give me a day. I will head to camp-"

"No," Hades says.

Everything topples downhill. The Furies descend. Skeletons take charge. Shadows whip and hiss like volatile snakes.

Nico blinks and they are gone. Sunny grass, untouched by darkness. There's the crashing of the waves behind him. The kids are gasping. Nico steadies their ever-changing souls, collisions of nauseous colours.

"My mom," Percy gasps. His voice is on the edge of tears.

Nico stares at him. Then presses a cold hand to his shoulder. "She will be fine. My father knows what it is to have a mother lost to their child. She is a guest, although unwilling. No harm shall come to her."

"How-" Annabeth presses small hands to her face. "The bolt- how-"

"Luke Castellan," Nico says. "Is he a kind boy?"

Annabeth twitches, stares up at him, frustrated, confused. Grover answers in her stead. "He's a good person."

"Hmm." Nico turns to see his cousin waiting for them on the sand. "Even good people can be turned to do terrible things. Many people do terrible things in the name of good."

Percys soul gardens when he catches sight of their shared cousin. Ares's demeanour does nothing for Nico. But it fills the crevices of Percy's misery with boiling rage. Nico squeezes along his shoulder. Mats his soul with a softening quell.

"Breathe," he says. Ares approaches. Too calm. Too steady. The people around him scatter with every step. "Ares, you are an idiot." Dreams are awash in his soul. He is faintly pressed behind a matte wall. He laughs, carefree, amused. But behind that wall, his truer self is screaming. "I much prefer it when my sisters bully you. Rather than whoever is doing so now. Did you not notice the memories in your head turned awry?"

He scoffs. They banter. Nico lets Percy, angry and distressed at being played with, take the fight. He remembers the ways he wished his father would let him knock their family down a peg. When his siblings were blasted apart miles away in another state. His mother electrocuted and turned to ash in front of his very eyes.

As Ares lay panting on the sand, Nico takes a hold of his soul and clears the wall away.

"Next time stay vigilant. What would your mother think of you working with her father in this way?" He flicks the other god's forehead and watches him rocket down into the earth. The kids stare at him. Awed. Confused. Percy is wet and breathing hard, pink around his ears.

"You should return the bolt," Nico says. The wind sweeps. "In the meantime, this prophecy has waited far too long to pass." He sighs. "It should've been me. Or my sister. Someone long before your time, Perseus."

Nico pats his head and he squeaks. It's adorable.

"I will assist where I can," he says. He presses a token into Percy's hand. The other two jolt as similiar beads tuck into the flat of their palms. "Just give me a call."

The earth gives out beneath their feet and they disappear into sand and darkness. Nico runs his wrists over one another and glances up to the mortals pooling around the beach. Police officers looking mystified at the sudden absence of the two players in their so-called gun fight.

He will string a tale into their cores, a belief so certain no one can dash it away. And then he will retire to his father's side just as he did when he was ten years old, the stains of his mother's death lingering on his skin.

Certainly the three of them will make use of his tokens in due time. He will wait for them to do so.

And then he will help.

[willicewc]

Just a quick drawing of my Lionblaze is Scourge's reincarnation au :) I am still sick so the drawing is a bit wonky here and there.....

This au is still a vague concept and everyone is free to interpret it or create their own story line with it ! It's mainly made to make Lionblaze more revelant as a character, I liked the idea of him having the power to be "impossible to defeat in battle", and at the same time, be the reincarnation of the one of most deadly cats in the series !

So what if Scourge's new chance at life - being Lionblaze - turned out to be not that much of a good idea ?

Starclan "rant" ahead !

Starclan is often a bit weird when they give out powers and prophecies, such as lying to Squirrelflight about being infertile so that she would adopt the Three. ...Or forcing Jayfeather to become a medicine cat against his will, going literally against their decision to reincarnate Cinderpelt so that she would become a warrior because she was made a medicine cat against her will ??? If we follow Starclan's logic, then Jayfeather would have to then be reincarnated to become a warrior because his dream to become a warrior was cut short by Starclan ITSELF ???

Anyway, Starclan being so strange about its decisions, it would be right up its alley to make Scourge's reincarnation have a power to give him a full chance at bettering himself, just like how Brambleclaw was given the chance to kill off Firestar to become leader, and chose to kill Hawkfrost instead.

Knowing that Lionblaze's main inner conflict is the fear of losing control and killing people against his will, being Scourge's reincarnation would make that way more difficult. What if Scourge had genuinely always been a horrible person ? What if Scourge was meant to be terrible in every single timeline, Tigerpaw or not ? Would Lionblaze be able to fight off this strange, tingling need for blood ? Starclan really be testing my boi Lionblaze in this au.

But anyway I hope you enjoy that small sketch! It's not much, but it's honest work lol ! :)

Oh, also, sorry for the Starclan rant again, I feel like I keep ranting about Starclan but Starclan is such a strange mecanic in Warriors ??? Like they go against their very own concepts at some points (the cinderpelt/jayfeather point...), not even counting the fact that they would let Ashfur in Starclan when he threatened to KILL three cats just because Squirrelflight friendzoned him years before wtf??? Or sending Frecklewish to the Dark Forest??? I might make a full written post to talk about Starclan because Starclan is a really weird plot device and they can't seem to keep track of what they are doing. Such as : Let's forbid the medicine cats from having kits. But let's give the children of Crowfeather and Leafpool some powers. Why would Starclan give powers to children that are born against their own values ???

Idk man Starclan is really weird sometimes and I wish they were more... Logical ? Maybe these are just neatpick ? If you have anything to add, if you agree or not, feel free to tell me ! :)

(Also should I write Starclan as a "it" or as a "they" ? I am a bit confused so I used both on this text !)

[mirrorbvllhoon]

ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (Dionysus!Jake x Ariadne!fem!reader)

This ain't no phase

I promise I'ma be the one who stays

˚｡⋆‧ XO (Only if you say yes)

WC:2.1k

CW: fluff, being abandoned, betrayal, and I think that's it

Y/n had woken up a few hours after the sun rose to paint the earth canvas with its light, the same light that covered her skin like a cloak, the warmness of the sun heating her body after the abysmal coldness of the night had weakened the strength that she had left, she looked to the horizon, to the reflection of the sky over the see, how there was no longer a ship on the deck, how she had arrived accompanied to the island of Naxos, but now she was alone, there was no ship, no food, and of course, no Theseus.

Her eyes closed, her body still lying on the blanket Theseus decided to leave her with, his last act of mercy if it could have even been called that; in the silence of the day she had no other thing to than remembering, longing for her old live who now seemed so glorious compared to the vanity of her situation now, how only a week ago she was still a princess in Crete, how she was free, oh how she longed now for that liberty, she remembered how she had decided to help Theseus…out of the kindness of her heart

She remembered the palace the gardens that surrounded it, the labyrinth under it, which hid a minotaur, only the gods knew for how long that beast was roaming around, and King Minos of Crete, y/n’s father, in an attempt to protect his kingdom selected seven young men and seven young woman, who then were taken to the minotaur’s labyrinth, each and every year the tributes arrived to satiate the beast’s hunger and thus for maintaining the treaty between the kingdom of crete and the kingdom of Athens.

That was until Theseus decided to put the massacre to an end, hoping to become the hero the prophecies told of him had prepared him to be, he sailed with the other young men promising justice and vengeance to his land and that each and every young men and women would visit their families again.

It was time for the tributes to be seen and presented before King Minos, however the young y/n was accompanying her father, she had no interest in the politics and the sacrifices, however she couldn’t contradict her father, so she just watched and stood quietly along him, that was until her eyes were focused on the young Theseus…

That same night she arrived at the dungeons where the tributes were made to sleep and rest, she stood next to Theseus' cell and whispered for only him to listen

“I think it would be a waste for someone like you to die in here” she pronounced

“Oh, but if it’s the princess y/n herself, to what do I owe the pleasure?” answered Theseus, his voice filled with bittersweet discomfort.

“I will help you to escape the labyrinth” she whispered, taking a ball of yarn and a sword, “Here, you will use this yarn to make a path and this sword will allow you to kill the beast… I must confess I do this just because I don’t wish for my hands to have the blood my father has spilled”

“Or… you could just admit you fancy me, I saw how you eyed me up there” he said, a crooked smile on his face.

Her empathy was nearly reduced to an object of desire, and although she had thought of Theseus as a young handsome men, she wished for freedom more than she did for a lover but there was something in him that tried to proof her wrong, and the deafening silence spoke for itself, maybe y/n was in love after all.

Once Theseus had put and end to the minotaurs life he ran away along y/n to the island of Naxos, after betraying her country, she had become a runaway, yet the crown over her head still reminded her that she was Theseus queen… until he decided she wasn’t.

There she was, alone in Naxos, Theseus had what he wanted, freedom for his people and glory attributed to his name, because y/n had helped her in secret, no one would know the secret behind his great escape from the labyrinth.

She had no food to eat, no cloak to cover her from the night’s coldness, she was alone on her own, no kingdom, no lover, how could she bear living?

Her eyes opened again, the sun had set already, and in an attempt to eat she started to walk through the island, searching for something that could satiate her hunger.

“Who are you?” a voice spoke from behind the bushes, that made her turn around searching for the recipient of said voice.

“Who are you?” she answered, fear in her voice yet the sound was still firm.

Silence then a low chuckle, “You are quite a brave mortal to even dare to speak to me”

The young god stepped outside from his hidings, and now in front of y/n stood Jake, a cursed god, yet the less cruel of them, his body was astonishing and so was his face, a god of wine and festivities that had a face that could be worshiped, yet to his eyes the women in front of him was an enigma, beauty adorned her face contrasting the torn edges of her dress and her arms a product of the bushes and thorns that surrounded the area, the smirk drawn on his face turned to confusion, the same confusion that adorned on her face and pricked under her skin.

“Are you hurt?” he asked his voice turned to a soft almost melodious tone, “I’m Jake, I’m sorry if I scared you, don’t cry please”

The tears in her eyes weren’t teared for him, they belonged to Theseus as her old self, yet now she was in front of Jake, a god so delicate and kind because of his mortal mother, of how he had shared the feelings and sadness that humans felt as well, all of that hidden through the pleasures and theatricalities of his facade.

“You didn’t scare me, I’m just searching for something to eat, I haven’t eaten in so long”

“And why are tears in your eyes? if they are from hunger I can bring you something to eat, and something to change too… whatever you need I can give you that”

“I betrayed my country to save the life of the prince of Athens, we escaped from Crete because otherwise we would’ve been killed, I thought he liked me but then this morning he just abandoned me… his ship is gone and so is every trace of him”

Jake was cursed by Hera into madness, but not only that, his own mother was a mortal, so unlike the many gods that existed and wandered through the earth, he was far more compassionate and understanding of the human emotions and the complications that the same ones created, so when he heard about what had happened to the beautiful young women in front of her, he couldn’t feel anything else than sadness and pure anger.

“Well for being a prince he is such a prick” Jake scoffed after the princess had told him each and every piece of the story.

She looked at him for a second and chuckled, “Well he is a prince, aren’t all of them the same?”

“Well, they’re mortal…”

“You forget the fact I am mortal as well” she scoffed, playfully acting as if his words had hurt her, placing her left hand over her chest.

He got close to her, taking her hand and putting it to the side of her body, a genuine smile drew from his lips, “Of course darling, but you are you”

y/n blushed at the remark, and freed her hand from his hold.

“I stand by my offer”, Jake continued, “whatever you want I will give you, you can follow me, I can show you a place where you can stay for however long you wish, I’ll take care of you”

He offered her hand and for a brief moment y/n remembered Theseus and the empty promises he had made her, but this time when she held his hand it was all different, this time there was no risk no what-ifs, this time she knew it as clear as the water that surrounded her, she wouldn’t be left alone.

The days passed by and as promised, Jake had provided for her anything he desired, dressing his affect and love for the princess as mere chivalry, however she was smarter than that, she knew for a fact that there was something else than a deep bonding because of their circumstances, then the day arrived where in the midst of gazing at the stars at night she held her courage and decided to ask him.

“What’s it that’s going between us?”

“What do you mean darling?”

“I mean this, I don’t understand, is it pure kindness or chivalry? and if it is, then why do you keep looking at me with those eyes and smile at me with that damned beautiful smile… I think I’m in love with you, but then…”

She was in the middle of her ranting when she felt a pair of lips crashing into hers, inviting yet full of tenderness, Jake’s arms found her back and hugging her close, he separated from the kiss, now her head rested on the crook of his neck and his hands played with the strings of her hair

“I’ve loved you since I saw you for the first time in those bushes, you took quite a long time to decipher that… I thought I made myself obvious when I told you I would give you whatever you wished for” he whispered to her, kissing her forehead.

“Well, you should’ve specified… what if I told you I wanted to be a goddess?” She replied, hoping that her comment would take him off, instead just a small chuckle left her mouth.

“Then I would’ve given you ambrosia and made you a goddess, my goddess if that’s what you wanted, if you wanted to I would give you a whole constellation…”

“And what if I told you I wanted us to get married?”

“Just give me a date and we’ll make that happen”

she looked at him doe-eyed, she couldn’t even understand how she had gone from being a princess, to a runaway, to alone to herself again, and now she had the opportunity to be herself with Jake by her side, and now there she was, with him hugging her tight protecting her body with his whispering sweet nothings and “I love you”s every few seconds.

“I love you too” she whispered, which made him smile, then both of them fell asleep.

When the wedding day finally arrived the isle of Naxos was dressed in the most beautiful flowers and trees, the island couldn’t have looked greener than that day, when Jake and y/n stood in front of each other, vowing to love each other forever for the whole eternity, and this time it was meant to be.

“I do” he had said before kissing her again, as he had done many times before and would continue to do many times.

He took the tiara over her head in his hands, taking her by surprise for a second, until he tossed it to the sky where it became no longer visible, confussion lingered over but he assured her that once the night arrived she would understand.

The night arrived sooner that day, thanks to the desire that unraveled between the two young souls, and when y/n took a look over the darkness of cloak that covered the sky canvas, she could see something familiar.

“Is that my tiara in the sky?” she asked quietly, Jake's hands surrounding her.

“Now everyone will know of how much I love you, and when you forget about it too, you can look to the night sky and you'll see”

Life was kind to both of them, allowing them to leave happily with each other, with the pass of time Jake had turned y/n into a goddess, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to exist without her, the proof of their love remained written on the stars above and on the hearts and mouths of the people who told their tale, spreading the rumors of how a princess promised to be a queen became a goddess, and how value comes from the right set of eyes, because in Jake’s eyes, she was the most beautiful and deserving of everything.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[pininghermit]

Not a request but more so idea throwing for pondering fun. Imagine like human reader throughout Adrian’s lifespan dies over and over again, but with each new life they slowly shift into a more vampiric form. Time and time again, the two keep finding each other and with every death and life brought, the two could finally live out the rest of their life’s together for as long as they wish

AN: Hmmm interesting. Here's a thought or two of mine (longer than I expected. Feel free to send more of these asks because I kinda like the concept of writing these quick pieces. Hopefully shorter for the future ones.). Also very much unedited but I am impulsive af so here we go.

Part 2

TW: Blood, death, gore, possessive Adrian...

Your first meeting with Adrian had been when you were on the brink of your death in that lifetime. Lying on the icy unforgiving ground your blood seeps through the snow covered earth. Painting everything red. It had been an unfortunate fate where you met the other half of your soul as you bled through you wounds.

And Adrian too realized that. He held onto you as warmth left your body. He could not let go for days and sat there talking to you. He spoke of himself, his life, his likes, his dislikes but none replied.

He never gets to find out your likes or dislikes, your name, your hobbies. The only memory of you that remains with him is your fading breath.

He mourns for a loss he could not fathom overcoming. It felt like a declaration of fate. Like another wound that would mar his heart and soul for eternity.

He wanders forests and dark woods yearning for any sign of relief. Looking for an end. It is then that he meets you again. Or rather you come falling in his arms.

Perched on a tree's sturdy branch you flinch at the barest crunch of the leaves under his feet. It is fall when Adrian meets you and the forest floor is full of decaying leaves.

Startled by the noise you lose balance and Adrian unknowingly catches you even before he, himself can gather what's happening.

Your arms wrap around him and your face buries in the crook of his neck. The warmth of your breath next to his heart brings Adrian back to life.

He does not need the alignment of stars or prophecies to know its you. The darker hue of your eyes or the longer length of your hair cannot stop Adrian from recognizing you. How can they when he's been looking for you all along? Nothing in the world could have hidden you from him.

World comes to life and Adrian sheds away the bleak cloak of mourning.

Dressed in thick leathers and armed with a formidable bow you turn out to be huntress in that lifetime.

Adrian builds a life with you. A small hut by the edge of the forest where you both speak your vows and exchange the plainest rings from the village smith.

A simple life full of joy, love and peace. Time spent full of smiles and embraces.

Adrian lets go of his castle, of all the riches to be with you. Living in the small hut Adrian assumes the role of gardening in the small plot of land by your house. He cooks, he mends, he does all waiting for you as you hunt.

It comes to an end abruptly. It happens on a normal afternoon when you leave for the hunt. Adrian kisses you goodbye as he prepares the kitchen for the evening but you do not return. Neither does Adrian once he leaves to look for you.

He does not find much of you other than a disfigured leg left in the quiet forest. The rest of you is gone with the pack of wolves that devoured you.

Adrian does not mourn. Rage fills him as he hunts your killers. He does not care for the laws of jungle that you believed in. He kills the entire pack with his bare hands.

It is the familiar despair that greets Adrian this time. It is rage. Had he not given up on the wealth you would not have to hunt. It was his fault for letting you venture into the forest alone. He should have been more careful.

So, Adrian gathers all his wealth and becomes the Lord Dracula as he awaits your return. He would not let harm come your way. Not even the barriers of age would dare to part you this time. Adrian would make sure of that. He would find a way.

He looks for you. He tries to follow the tug of his heart. He for you in the forests and valleys. But he does not find you there. Instead, he finds you in the plague ridden camps of the city.

Your face is covered by faded linen as your brows furrow in concentration while cleaning up a withering youth. Not even the thunder and unrelenting rain break your focus.

Adrian stands there, dressed in his finery. A stark contrast to your own simple dress. He does not move even when the rain completely soaks his velvet cloak.

That night Adrian steals you away from the god-forsaken camp. He does so, in the middle of the night when you fall asleep to the tiredness of the hectic day.

He takes you to his castle. Away from the wild and the world that seems to intent on your separation. He inches closer to bite the unmarred column of your neck. His fangs dripping with the venom that would bind you to him for eternity.

He holds you tight. Your limbs locked in his arms to avoid any movement. It would be painful but Adrian would make it quick. He smells the slight lingering fragrance of mint as he moves closer.

Closing his eyes Adrian feels his teeth sink into your skin. You struggle in his arms but Adrian holds tight. Your blood fills his mouth. It is sweeter than any nectar.

The Dhampir did not care for blood. Adrian did not need it to survive so, he had avoided suffering of others but your blood is unlike anything ever. All the suffering and pain from the ages leaves his body with your mere taste.

He is lost in the rich taste of your blood when he first feels it. A burning sensation. At first he dismisses as his own reaction to blood but it isn't him...

Adrian's eyes flinch open and what greets him is the decaying column of your neck. Your skin blackened and burned. Your eyes unfocused and your heart still.

He notices it then the slightly pointed tips of your ears. A half-elven healer.

Surrounded by riches and comforts found rare in world Adrian loses you for a third time.

He does not allow himself the comfort of grief. Not even a tear. Adrian condemns himself of a life where he forbids himself from even a dream of you.

Not even death or whatever end awaits him would be enough penance.

Wandering mountains, seas, ruins, Adrian exists. He would no longer allow himself the luxury of even looking for you. He would not allow the fates to align your path to his.

He never stays in a place longer than a day.

So, he does not resist when the blade of a sword nicks his neck as he walks the unlit roads of a remote village. He does not even flinch when his own blood flows onto the blade.

A small part of his being looks forward the pain that would ease the burden of his own exile.

Warm breeze of a summer's night flows through the valley that he finds himself in. The blade buries into his skin. His blood now blooming on the sleeves of his shirt.

And then it is gone. Adrian staggers at the loss of the weight of the blade on his shoulder. "Now that we've repaid past dues would you turn back and hug your lover who has traveled past decade looking for you," Adrian collapses on his knees as your voice fills the silent night.

He does not find the courage to turn back. Nor does he find the strength to run away as he should have done.

In this lifetime you meet him in the form of his regrets. As a reminder. You meet him as a reflection of himself. A Dhampir.

You hold him close as the night carries the scent of the coy blooms.

You come to him forever. For long enough for you to take away all the pain, the yearning, the self-hatred.