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blessedbyahuntress · 11 days ago

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Sword Through the Heart

A/N: This is actually insane. I had so many mixed feelings while writing this (and yes, I woke up at two AM just to write this) and the last part is actually just so sad???? 😭😭😭

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Daughter!of!Demeter!Reader

Warnings: Angst, major character death, blood, and possibly some swearing??? I forgot

Word Count: 2.9k

(Before the events of The Lightning Thief)

You’d always loved your mother.

The kind and caring woman you knew to be Demeter was always looking out for you. She gave you your first weapon to protect yourself as your satyr guided you to Camp Half-Blood- two curved scimitars that gleamed in the sunlight and turned to two silver bracelets with gold pendants when you touched the hilts together. It was with these you killed your first monster.

It was your first week at camp, and your first time sleeping in Cabin Four; you’d been claimed during capture the flag that afternoon, after stealing your opponent’s flag all by yourself.

You replayed the scene in your head, holding a pillow close to your chest. There weren’t a lot of Demeter kids- your mother wasn’t really the social type- and that meant that the head councilor allowed two beds to be shoved together for extra slumbering space. Unfortunately you couldn’t sleep.

You wandered around the border, helmet tucked under your arm. To everyone you were just another kid to place at random and use as a distraction. No one really expected anything of you.

And you used that to your advantage.

You knelt close to the ground, brushing your fingertips against the moss. You seemed to draw strength from the plant.

There was a screech from the other side of the boundary, and you winced. It sounded like the Hephaestus kids caught a Stoll brother in their traps.

You narrowed your eyes at the river. The stones normally used to cross it were farther away than you had time to run to, so instead you followed your instincts. You dipped a foot into the water, but your combat boot didn’t stay wet for long; the reeds that grew at the bottom of the riverbed reached toward the surface and lifted you up with them.

You hopped onto the other side of the border. You paused only for a moment, looking behind you as you left your designated area.

“They won’t miss me,” you murmured to yourself before taking off.

But someone had watched your disappearance. Luke was furious of course- he didn’t like it when people strayed from their posts- yet he also felt a little impressed.

He would follow you, but only from a distance.

The wind ran its cold fingers through your hair, and you nearly laughed with delight before remembering that you were in your opponents territory.

Heart still beating fast, you slowed to a walk. The Hephaestus cabin surely had traps set everywhere, so you narrowed your eyes at anything suspicious and avoided it.

And then you reached Zeus’s fist. A couple of Aphrodite and Apollo kids were supposed to be guarding it, but they were mainly just flirting with each other. You rolled your eyes as you heard a few cheesy pickup lines getting tossed around.

You quietly touched the gold pendants together, your two deadly-looking scimitars springing into existence only a moment later.

An Apollo kid, one that was actually paying attention, seemed to tense. He aimed his bow in your general direction and shot.

You watched the arrow sail above your head.

You rose from where you had been crouching. “Is that all you got?” You asked teasingly, eyebrows raised.

“No,” came the muttered reply of the Apollo boy. He notched another arrow.

You lunged into battle, scimitars moving so fast, they had to have a mind of their own. Arrows came from every direction, but the only one that touched you only cut a slit in your jeans.

You started with the Aphrodite kids, planting a foot in one of their stomach’s before whirling around to sweep a leg out from under another girl. A boy came at you, dagger raised, but you could tell he didn’t know how to use it. You gave him a pitying look as you disarmed him with one scimitar, the other cutting an arrow out of the air.

You turned your attention to the Apollo kids, but growled in frustration when you realized they had retreated to a safer distance to shoot you from.

‘Screw it,’ you thought, touching the hilts of your scimitars together. You scrambled up the rocks, taking the flag just in time to block an arrow with it.

You ran back toward the border. You could hear Apollo kids shouting for backup, but you didn’t glance back. There were probably so many Ares kids on your trail by then.

The river was in sight.

A spear soared past your ear. You concentrated, soaking your power into the ground. A tree branch a few feet ahead of you curled its leaves around the weapon, suspending it in place until you leaped up to grab it.

You didn’t notice the glowing wheat symbol above your head.

Your little plant bridge was still there, but you had enough momentum to just jump across.

You skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. You managed to raise the flag in triumph before promptly handing it to Luke, who seemed to materialize right beside you.

Your eyes locked for the tiniest of moments, and you felt a shock run through you. The Hermes boy cleared his throat, opening his mouth. “You-”

Whatever he was going to say, he didn’t get a chance to finish.

The conch shell blew, signaling the end of the game. “Hail, Y/N L/N, Daughter of Demeter!” You heard Chiron boom before your vision had been overwhelmed by your siblings coming to welcome you and teammates going to congratulate you on winning the game.

Luke stood back, a small smile on his lips. You were far more outstanding than any of the Ares of Athena kids.

You made up your own category, he decided. Y/N L/N’s were a different kind of amazing.

Before you knew it, the memory turned into a dream as you slipped peacefully into sleep.

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

The second time you encountered Luke, you were holding a blade to his throat.

You yelped as you realized who it was, dropping your hand almost immediately.

You had come out for a midnight stroll through the forest, not caring about the monsters who lurked in the shadows of the vegetation. As the new head counselor of the Demeter cabin, you had many new responsibilities, and could not afford stable duty if you accidentally decapitated the counselor of the Hermes cabin.

“Sorry,” you said roughly, offering your hand to him. Luke gladly accepted, dusting off his pants as he stood.

You turned and started to walk farther into the woods.

“Wait!”

You turned your head slightly, giving Luke a confused look. “What?” You asked.

He jogged to catch up with you, ducking a tree branch as you moved it out of your way with simply a command spoken in your mind. Luke would never tell you how cool he thought your powers were, instead aiming to be the same airy, confident, and cocky boy he was before you came into his life and stomped all over his ego.

“Why’re you out here this late?” Luke questioned, slowing to match your pace.

You released a breath. “I had to get out of there for a second.”

“Ah.” Luke nodded with understanding. “Can’t stand your siblings? Or is it the responsibility?”

You sighed. “I could never hate my siblings,” you said quietly. “It’s just the pressure of having to be a role model.”

Luke’s mind tried to find a response.

“I’m just used to being in the shadows,” you continued. “Sometimes because I want to, other times because I’m just ignored.” You barked a laugh as you looked at the demigod walking beside you. The moonlight glinted in his eyes, and the only sign of a hard life was the scar running down the side of his face. “You never have a problem with that, I’m sure.”

“Oh?” Luke tilted his head.

You wrinkled your nose. “I mean- yes, you have to deal with quests and being the camp’s ‘Golden Boy’, but do you understand the true art of being ignored? Do you understand what that can do to someone? ‘Cause I think you don’t.”

Luke kept his head tilted, as if actually considering your questions. You snorted before falling into a comfortable silence.

At least, comforting for you. Not for Luke. As much as he liked the quiet, he preferred getting to know you better.

“So…” He started. “What’s your favorite color?”

You stopped, turning to give him a look that clearly said, what the hell?

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

You settled next to Luke.

The campfire roared, the golden flames higher than you’ve ever seen them. The warmth radiating off of the fire was almost too hot, but you were too tired to move to sit next to Annabeth.

You rested your head on Luke’s shoulder, yawning. You and Luke had become best friends despite your differences. Since last week, when he’d started calling you, “Sunshine” and “Weed Wrangler”, you’d opted to call him “Cocky Jerk”. He seemed fine with that.

Luke watched as you drifted off to sleep on his shoulder.

He was pretty sure he had a crush on you.

Luke tried to ignore the fluttering he got in his stomach whenever he was near you. He buried his feelings deep down inside him; he knew he had to leave soon anyway.

“What’re you looking at,” you muttered.

Okay. So apparently you weren’t as asleep as Luke thought you were.

“You,” he answered shamelessly.

You raised your eyebrows. “Wait!” You yelped, patting your face. “Do I have marshmallows on my nose again?”

Luke snorted in amusement before lifting your chin with two fingers. He’d gotten taller than you over the last few weeks, a fact that annoyed you. It continued to annoy you further when you realized you found it attractive.

“No.” He leaned down. “Just admiring your pretty little face.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Oh shut up, you Cocky Jerk,” you murmured.

Luke dropped his voice. “I think you like it when I flirt with you.” It was more a statement, as if he already knew he was right.

“Not a chance,” you said.

His hand gripped your chin now. Not hard, of course. He would never forgive himself if he wasn’t anything but gentle with you. He dipped his head down so your noses were nearly touching. You felt your breath hitch.

“So this bothers you?” He whispered.

“Oi!”

Both of you whirled around so fast, Luke’s lips tickled against your cheek. If you weren’t already red, you were sure you were a tomato by now.

Of course it was Connor Stoll.

“Lovebirds!” He called. “Take it somewhere else, please!”

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

(During the events of The Last Olympian)

The Empire State Building.

You hadn’t been up here since you saved Artemis.

You followed Grover, Thalia, Annabeth, and Percy out of the elevator, and cracks immediately appeared at your feet.

“Jump!” Grover cried, hopping to the next slab of white stone.

Percy grabbed Thalia’s hand and leaped after Grover. “Gods, I hate heights!” You heard her scream as they jumped over the chasm.

Annabeth was in no shape for jumping. You looked down as more cracks appeared in the stone beneath you. You took in a shaky breath and grabbed both of the daughter of Athena’s hands.

You lunged for the next slab, managing to throw Annabeth into Percy before gripping the side of the lab with one hand.

Your feet were dangling in open air, gravity pulling at them.

“Thalia!” You cried.

The hunter grabbed your hand with both of hers. She let out a grunt, and then Grover was there, grabbing your other flailing hand. They lifted you onto the stone beside Annabeth.

“Keep moving!” Grover grabbed your shoulder and hoisted you to your feet, Percy doing the same with Annabeth.

The five of you sprinted across the skybridge, more cracks underfoot.

When you made it to the other side, you glanced back at the elevator which hung there, suspended by nothing.

“We’re marooned,” Annabeth whispered. “On our own.”

You nodded before taking off. You didn’t have time to stand there, talking about the final end of Olympus. You had to get to Luke.

Ahead of you, you heard Kronos’s booming voice. “Brick by brick! That was my promise! Tear it down brick by brick!” There was an explosion, but you didn’t pull your eyes toward the noise, instead keeping your eyes trained on the ground beneath you.

“That was a shrine to Artemis,” Thalia muttered. “He’ll pay for that.” Still, you kept running.

You ran through a marble archway, complete with statues of your least favorite god and goddess- Zeus and Hera.

The mountain began shaking, and with a loud crash, you finally turned around.

“Thalia!” Grover cried.

You rushed back to your friend, already digging some ambrosia out of your pocket. The daughter of Zeus was trapped, squirming under the weight of a statue of Hera.

You handed her a piece as Annabeth said, “It’s Hera! She’s had it in for me all year. Her statue would’ve killed me if you hadn’t pushed us away!”

Thalia took the piece of ambrosia; there was probably a broken leg under all of that rubble. She gave you a grateful look, popping it in her mouth. “Thanks, Y/N,” she said. “But I’ll be fine. Go!”

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You turned and sprinted to the hall of the gods.

Kronos stood in the middle of the throne room, arms spread wide. You froze. All you could see was Luke, all you could see were your memories of him. The first time he’d talked to you, your first kiss, your last kiss. Luke, Luke, Luke, Luke, Luke.

“Finally!” Kronos bellowed. “The Olympian Council! So proud and mighty! Which seat of power shall I destroy first?”

Annabeth, Percy, and Grover all took a few steps forward, while you stood back, watching Luke- Kronos- with a horrified expression.

“My lord,” the boy- Ethan Nakamura, you remembered- warned.

Kronos turned around. He looked exactly like Luke had when he’d started talking to you. Annabeth let out a strangled sound, yet you focused on his eyes, the only thing not Luke. You felt unconsumed rage boil inside you as he said, “shall I destroy you first, Jackson? Is that the choice you will make? To fight me and die instead of bowing down? Prophecies never end well, you know.”

You stepped forth, eyes glinting with fury. “Luke would fight with a sword,” you said. “But I suppose you don’t have his skill.”

Kronos sneered at you. “You’re not worth my time-”

You cut him off with a throwing knife bouncing off his shoulder. Kronos blinked, and for a moment he was Luke, staring down at the blade in surprise, then up at the thrower. “Y/N?” he asked in a raspy voice, before his eyes flickered gold again.

Kronos barked a laugh. “Very well, L/N. You will be the first to die!”

You summoned your scimitars with deadly calm.

Kronos charged, and you sidestepped. The fight was more like two tornados meeting each other head on. Your skills were too well balanced.

Kronos backed you up into Hephaestus’s throne. Sorry, you thought. Hephaestus had always been one of your favorite gods- mostly because he tried to interact with demigods every once and a while.

You hopped onto the throne. You already knew that standing on a mechanic’s seat would get ugly for more than three seconds. Defense mode, the throne murmured, only confirming your knowledge.

You sprang over Kronos’s head, but as your back was turned, you felt a pain in your lower back. You looked down, eyes clouded with more confusion than pain.

Sticking out of your lower back, was a sword tip, or more specifically, the tip of Backbiter. Luke had quite literally stabbed you in the back.

“Y/N?”

You collapsed onto your knees, hands shaking as you grasped the ground with your fingertips. You gasped, the agony finally catching up to you.

“Oh, gods.” You felt someone’s hands caress the sides of your face. You looked up into Luke’s eyes, tearstained and no longer golden.

“What have I done?” He whispered.

Your blood formed a perfect circle around you and Luke. The sounds of Percy battling Ethan seemed far away.

You gave him a weak smile. “You did what you had to do,” you mumbled, stumbling over your words as you felt yourself slipping away.

Your gaze was intense, holding Luke’s eyes with every ounce of dignity you could muster.

“I love you.” Were your last words before life faded from your eyes.

Luke felt himself lose everything. He wailed, a screech that he had no control over, a heartbroken sound that just came tumbling out of his mouth. Tears welled up in his vision, blocking his sight of Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Ethan turning to see who had just made such a sound.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, Y/N! Please come back.” He stroked your hair, the same hair he’d run his finger through countless times.

Only now he realized this would be the last.

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo thalia #thalia grace #annabeth chase #grover underwood #angst #luke castellan angst

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has battled his way to you and is yanking Aegon back by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston yells, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his blood-soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader

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arrowheadedbitch · 1 month ago

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Overview of the things I've decided are canon for my son of zeus au so far (hopefully I don't forget any):

The gods are dicks. They arent *always* dicks, but I don't want to sugarcoat them from their original myths, they do bad shit and often

Denki is favored by Apollo, Dionysus, and Hermes the most, Persephone also likes him pretty well

Zeus is Zeus, meaning who knows when he'll decide he loves his son or hates his son or just genuinely doesn't care, he's such a little hypocrite bitch ain't he

Quirks are the exact same as they are in canon, the presence of the Greek gods didn't affect that at all, the gods have nothing to do with quirks and while they still are probably banging like rabbits they aren't really that active in Japan so no, no one else at UA is a demigod

Zeus slept with Kaminari's mom because he was intrigued by a mortal with a power in his domain (electricity) that didn't come from him

Since Kaminari's powers come from both his quirk and his dad, there's some complexities to them

Kamimari was born with lightning powers but they worked differently before his quirk actually manifested (I'm toying with the idea that his quirk manifested while being smiled by Zeus with lightning? I haven't decided if I like that or not yet)

Kaminari doesn't want other people knowing he's a demigod for classic hero story reasons but also because 1. Greek gods being real is a secret and he ain't about to be the one that spilled it 2. It'd be really complicated and annoying to explain and let's be real, at least one person would come out of that thinking he went crazy

Athena doesn't like him because, well, dunceface, duh. She does appreciate his strategic abilities though

Ares also doesn't like him because he doesn't like killing people, Ares and Athena hate that they dislike the same kid so much that they'd consider changing their tune about him on just that alone

In junior high he went on a big quest, I haven't decided on any details of it, but it involved a lot of fighting way to strong people while way too young as most quests do, this is also how he got into Apollo, Hermes, Dio, and Persephone's (and by extention Hades since he loves Persephone enough to deal with anyone she likes) good graces, the quest was likely given by Zeus and likely involved Hera trying to kill him

He's not really surrounded by people in the ancient greek community, it's not like he has a camp half blood and even if he did he'd skip it to go to UA training anyway, but he is pretty well known in those circles post big quest

I'm toying with the idea that he failed his first quest and thus had to go on a redemption quest

Kaminari doesn't like being serious, but despite what his classmates and teachers think, he CAN do serious, how else would he be such a big shot in the Greek community?

Imma be real, there was probably some kind of war that Kaminari had to lead an army in or something. I'm sorry, child soldier stories just have so many layers to dissect it's not my fault that they're compelling in a way

My point is, serious Kaminari is like war general levels serious, but not even LOA attacks are bad enough to bring out serious kaminari, are you kidding, did you gloss over the part about god war? He's having a little trouble taking literally any threat at UA seriously and he'll have trouble taking almost every threat as a pro hero seriously, it's not his fault junior high set the bar way too high on what situations are serious!

One of Kaminari's demigod powers, as the son of Zeus, is that he can't take fall damage. No matter how high up he falls from, he will never ever get worse than a few scrapes

Pissing him off really badly makes the sky get stormy, I'm talking immediate clear skies to nothing but gray clouds moving in and you can't even SEE the sky anymore, also possibly rain, he doesn't do it often but he can and he'd probably be able to control it if he were to practice his demigod powers along with his quirk but we all know he ain't gonna do that any time soon

He can sword fight, he hopes this never comes up

He has to keep reminding Dionysus about the legal drinking age, Dionysus thinks it's stupid and therefore never listens, they have argued about it multiple times

Apollo and Kaminari play chess together on occasion

Hermes at one point gave Kami a special knife when he decided he liked him enough to give him a gift, it's a magic thief's blade which is just a dagger that cannot be found on his person no matter what you do. Pat him down? You won't feel it. Scan him? It didn't show. Metal detector? It didn't beep at all. But he can pull it out whenever. He won't but he does *have* it just in case. I'm also deciding if making it not be able to leave him would be too much. I don't want it to feel like a riptide ripoff, I'm thinking maybe it sprouts wings and flies to him?

Yes, I've just decided, the Thief's Knife will fly to him if left behind and can squeeze into any crack no matter how small to get to him

I'm shinkami trash so you KNOW shinkami is about to be canon in this au

In either 2A or 3A, Kaminari tells Shinsou his secret about the gods being real and him being Zeus' son, he spends a great amount of time explaining all the details to Shin and answering his questions, it's a lot

What can I say? Shinsou is gus confidant, he was gonna have to tell him at some point 🤷🏻��♀️💅

He doesnt tell anyone else, but obv they've got to eventually find out somehow, what you think I'd just let it be lame?? Even after they find out, he won't tell them anything he doesn't have to, waits until it comes up to explain things, it's just too complicated he doesn't want to go through all that AGAIN and with twenty people this time

Oh and before you ask, I'm gonna say no on the flying thing. I know it could be a power of a Zeus kid, I know it could be cool, but no. No he cannot fly.

I can't think of anything else right now but I can't wait to wake up in a cold sweat tonight and realise what i forgot

Also, I'm gonna go ahead and tag @iys-cloud since I know iys really likes this au :]

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desi2go · 8 months ago

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Artemis

Pairing: werewolf!Felix x huntress!reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, mention of blood and weapons

Summary: You were a huntress, trained by the Artemis' nymphs to hunt werewolves. However, you weren't prepared to find ,our mate this way.

Author's note: Here it is! I enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll like it too. There is definitely another greek mythology fic with Hyunjin I'll start writing now.

Wild, untameble and strict. These were the words how you would describe the goddess of hunting, the forest, birth and the moon. As well as the guardian of women and children. Artemis. It was your destiny to follow her. You and all the other huntresses who were led by her.

In the past, for over thousands of years, her adherents were nymphs, female, semi-devine nature spirits. After Artemis had climbed Mount Olympus and no longer walked in the mortal world, the nymphs trained some young women who were willing to live up to her ideals. Staying virgins and to hunt creatures that don't belong in this world.

Werewolves. Offsprings from Lykaon who was turned into a wolf as a punishment by Zeus. The trained girls hunted them until they were old. Then, the nymphs will take new girls, never older than six years old, and the training starts again. This procedure went on for over thousands of years.

And one thing they imprint in the brain is staying a virgin. Artemis rejected men and was an eternal virgin. Once, a nymph was raped by Zeus. When the goddess found out, she was furious. She transformed her into a bear and hunted her down.

You were once a young girl that was taken by a nymph to a temple and was trained. Due to the young age, most girls took over the mindset of the nymphs, adopting the goal to hunt werewolves down and to kill them. They taught the children to fight at the age of eight. At first only with the bare hands, then with weapons, especially with bow and arrow since that were the prefered weapons of Artemis.

With the age of 20, the training stops and you become officially a hunter. You travel around the world, killing as much werewolves as you can over the years. And that almost completely unnoticed from the whole society. You were trained like that.

Tracing the steps of packs, following them and then, when the time is right, you kill them.

You were now 24 years old. For four years, you were now travelling, mostly in South Korea. Currently, you traced the steps of a pack near Seoul. As far as you knew, they were only male werewolves, eight in number.

The pack alpha was just two years older than you, while the youngest was one years younger.

Right now, you followed one of the werewolves through the forest. Werewolves had an incredible sense of smell, however, the nymphs provided the hunters some sort of potion that suppressed their scent. That way, you could easily hide and shoot the male without being noticed.

Taking a deep breath and one final step, you concentrated on your target. Unfortunately, you stepped on a twig that broke. The werewolf turned around, growling at you. You let the arrow fly through the air, the moment his glowy eyes targeted.

You jumped back, back so that you could bring some distance between you and the creature. The man yelped and whimpered painfully.

Another pair of footsteps was behind you.

"Shit" of course he wasn't alone. That would be too good. You ran. When the other werewolf found you that wouldn't end well. An angry and pissed wolf is no fun. His claws ripped through your jeans, leaving bloody marks and tackling you to the ground.

You rolled around and threw a dagger at the beast, jumping up as soon as he was distracted and leaved the forest, climbing into your old car.

In the small apartment that you rented for the time here, you disinfected the painful marks and took a shower. You knew that the other pack members will now search for you. They want to get revenge. Revenge for their pack member you shot. Well, he isn't dead yet since the arrows didn't hit the heart or the head.

But the arrows are laced with a poison with silver and wolfsbane. It was extremely painful and the person will die when they aren't treated properly.

☆☾☆

You were on high alert all the time after the that. Due to the potion, they seemed to have problems in locating you. But still, a dagger was always in one of your pockets when you needed errands and stopped by a grocery shop.

With a big bag in hand, you got out of the shop, the other hand fiddling with the car keys. You managed to get the passenger door open and were just placing the bag on the seat when a hand shut it with force. Luckily, you managed to get your hand out just before the door fell shut.

"Seriously?" You exclaimed.

Immediately, you grabbed the dagger in your pocket but the person pushed you against the car while you turned around.

Even at night, you recognized the face.

"Hello there, Bang Chan. How can I help you?"

He pushed you against the car once more. "Save it, hunter. You hit one of my members."

"Jup. That was me. So he's still alive?"

He growled low. A slight threat.

"Yes, he is. And he will stay alive. Because you are going to help him"

A amused chuckle comes out of you. "Why do you assume that I will help? I'm a hunter. Not a vet"

"You don't get to decide" Claws digged into your back as he pushed you forward into the forest.

The walk was rather short and Bang's claws nicked you from time to time, reminding you that he was in force. And the big cottage came closer. That must be their pack house. A bulky alpha stood outside, eying you sharply. You were led upstairs into one room. There was another wolf, you assumed it was Yang Jeongin, the youngest due to his appearance.

In the middle of the room stood a huge bed and you immediately recognised the wolf that layed on it. It was the male that you had shot this morning.

Well, you can't deny that he wasn't pretty. Actually your type, wouldn't he be a beast. The black hair was a huge contrast to his pale, nearly white skin. His breath was uneven and from time to time, a small whimper leaves his lips.

"Help him, hunter. When you want to live a little longer" Bang exclaimed and took place next to Jeongin.

Well, there wasn't really a chance when you wanted to experience your next birthday. You took off your small jacket and leaned over the fragile body. Wolfsbane was deadly to werewolves but even humans could die. That's why the nymphs teach you how to heal such diseases.

You touched his forehead. He felt really cold, even though he was sweating.

"Okay, he needs to get warm" The younger wolf immediately left the room, apparently to search some blankets. You lifted his thin blanket and shirt to see the wound. The arrow was already pulled out and his chest bandaged, already blood stained.

Jeongin came back with blankets and threw them over the wolf's legs. When you removed the bandage, you could see some of his veins being light purple due to the silver. As long as the silver was in his system, he wouldn't heal. You couldn't do much because it was already in his blood system.

He needed to get through it to heal. You cleaned the wound and bandaged it new. Then, you threw all the blankets over him.

"That's all I can do right now."

"If he dies, you will die as well" Bang threaded and walked out of the room. You sat on the chair next to the bed. Apparently his temperature rised to the normal which was perfect. Well, that will be a long night.

☆☾☆

Something moving shot you out of your sleep. Apparently, you must have fallen asleep, watching the wolf over the night. You blinked a few times before you saw into the brown, more golden, eyes of the wolf. He was awake.

That's good. That means, he is definitely healing. Jeongin was soon beside you, relieved that his fellow pack member was awake now.

"Felix, how are you?" He asked. Felix, that was his name. When you collected information about the pack, you stumbled over his name a few times. He was an alpha.

"Fine, I guess. But what is she doing here?" Yeah, he was definitely pissed that you had shot him. Well, you would be too.

"I'm actually helping you. You're welcome" you grumbled and yawned. Hopefully, you could get going soon. You were starving. Hunting the wolves can wait.

"Yeah, helping me by shooting an arrow at me. How nice"

"well, that's how I am" you answered, giving him an amused smile. "Let me check a last time on you before I want to go"

You pulled the blankets down without waiting for an answer. Pushing the shirt upwards, you revealed his toned body. What a shame that he was a wolf. When your cold fingers touched his warm skin, he sucked breath in, flexing his muscles.

"Looks good. Can I go now?"

Jeongin sighed and you followed him through the house to the front.

☆☾☆

Little did you know that soon as Felix saw you that morning, his whole life changed. It changed because of you. And not because you had shot him but because the world became just a bit brighter, more colourful. All his life he had searched for you. His soulmate, his other half.

Seeing you there, he couldn't take his eyes on you. He didn't even noticed the arrow until it hit him. The pain took over and you quickly ran away, just when Hyunjin shot through the bush.

He had felt the silver travelling through his veins, making him slowly unconscious. The last thing he saw was Hyunjin who came up to him. A cut under his eye from the dagger you had thrown.

In the middle of the night, he woke up again. The pain was still there but bearable. He looked to the side and he saw you laying with your head on his bed, sleeping tightly. When you moved you shot up. And oh, you were beautiful but he was a little bit pissed that you had shot him. That wasn't how he wanted to meet his soulmate.

After you checked on him, you quickly exited the house. Hyunjin was already beside him.

"How are you, Lix?"

"Good I think." He mumbled

"Really Felix? You seem sad" his friend stated. Well, he wasn't wrong.

"She is my soulmate, hyune." Felix exclaimed.

"Shit. I'm sorry man" Hyunjin rubbed over his back.

One week later, Felix walked through the city. He and Changbin wanted to drink something at their favourite bar. And he definitely didn't expect to find you there. Next to you a man with a nasty smile. Was that your boyfriend? Jealousy washed over him but it deflated when he observed your body language.

Without you noticing, the man mixed something into your drink. Soon, you grew tired and before the man could lay his dirty hands on you, Felix pulled you to him. You were so befuddled that you didn't even notice Felix.

When you slipped, he lifted you with a wince. His wound wasn't healed completely. The rest of the silver stopped it from healing faster. But that was irrelevant. You were safe now, in his arms.

Changbin shielded you both from the man who protested. Then, the wolves brought you back into their cottage, earning a warning glare from Chan. You were still a huntress. Deadly and if you looked closer armed to the teeth. He pulled out the a dagger and a pistol that were secured in your waistband. And in your jacket there was another dagger.

Felix layed you on his bed. The same bed he layed just a week ago with an injury. Softly he took your hand. If you just could feel the tingles he felt when he touched you. Maybe then you wouldn't want to kill his pack.

For hours, he sat next to you, admiring your face. When you relaxed, you looked so kind and young. He wondered how old you were. Around 25? But definitely not older. Gently, he brushed a hair strand out of your face.

When you woke up, you didn't even realise that he sat beside you. You let out a yawn, that Felix found incredibly sweet, and tried to hide your face from the sun. Why did you leave the curtains open?

You turned and borrowed your nose in the cushion, smelling the scent. Wait, you couldn't remember that you went home. You shot up and saw Felix watching you.

"What are you doing here?" You exclaimed, searching for your weapons. You realised you weren't even in your apartment. No, you remember that room. You watched over Felix here.

"I correct, what am I doing here? I can't remember anything"

He chuckled. "Well, you were at a bar and a creep put something into your drink. You were almost immediately out like a light. I brought you here"

"uhm. Thank you, I guess."

"It's okay. I owed you" he exclaimed and his face was decorated with a pretty smile.

"Of course, you didn't owe me anything. I just shot you" you exclaimed ironically.

"I know. But you will think I'm a liar when I tell you that I saved you because you are in fact my soulmate" he told you and got serious.

You laughed. Funny, very funny. The nymphs told you about the whole soulmate thing.

"Funny. But I'm a hunter and definitely not bound with a wolf. Humans don't get bounded with wolves"

"Your wrong. It happens but really rarely" he tried to change your mind. You sighed. That's not good if he said the truth. All your life, the nymphs told you over and over again that falling in love is something that Artemis hated. She for it it, especially with a wolf. That's suicide.

"You know I should kill ya? I'm a hunter. Keeping your pack alive is against my principles."

"And still, I'm sitting here next to you. Clearly alive" he said with a sweet and amused smile.

You rolled your eyes. You hated how amusing it was for him.

☆☾☆

Just minutes later, you walked back home. Your head hammered and you were confused. Why would Selene, the goddess of the moon that was the cause of the wolves having mates, pair him with you? That was crazy.

Even if you two would start developing feelings for each other, the nymphs would find out. They would send another huntress to see why your presence has changed so much. There is barely a chance that they wouldn't find out.

Days passed and you tried to get your mind straight. In the meantime, you had hunted another, smaller pack some kilometres away from here. Now, you were finally back in your apartment and cleaned your weapons from the dried blood. You stilled, when you heard a knock. Who would visit you? Maybe the old, forgetful lady from above? She asks for your help sometimes.

The small dagger was placed behind your back for the possibility that it was someone else. You opened the door and Felix gave you a kind smile. In his hands, there were grocery bags.

"What are you doing here?" you asked rather fierce than friendly. Without asking he slipped into the apartment and took off his shoes.

"Courting my mate. Where's the kitchen?" He told you like it was something normal to be strolling in here. In the home of a hunter who was armed to the teeth.

"Are you crazy?" you questioned and crossed your armes as you followed him through the apartment. "Sometimes yeah. Now please tell me where your kitchen is, sunshine."

You sighed. It seems like Felix wouldn't go away any time soon. You directed him into the kitchen. "And don't call me sunshine!"

He chuckled and placed his bags down, rummaging through them. "Okay, I won't, sunshine"

"You're unbelievable" you just muttered. He placed meat and some other ingredients on the countertop.

"I didn't know what you like so I figured i would buy something simple that I can cook for you. And for the dessert, I baked brownies earlier."

While he cooked bibimbap, you observed him nervously. He pretends like he was really close to you. Like a real pair, not a huntress and a wolf. It was crazy how much he seemed to trust you when he stirred the pan, his back facing you. Theoretically, you just need to throw the dagger and he would be dead.

But you can't figure out why but something within you stopped you from doing that. That what you were trained for. Maybe it was the bond between you that made you change your mind just a slight bit.

He turned around, drying his hands on a kitchen towel, giving you a kind smile. "Can you please set up the table? The meal is nearly ready." You just nodded and grabbed plates and cutlery, placing it on the table.

During the meal, there was a silence that was really uncomfortable. It was like he wanted to say something and eventually, he initiated a full conversation with you after some time.

Two weeks passed and during that time, Felix often visited you. Soon, it was kind of normal to have him around for dinner and the cold wall that you had built up during all those years of training crumpled down and Felix got to know the real you. Someone who isn't just defined by being a huntress. You grew comfortable and even if you wouldn't admit it you loved to spend the time with him. You knew that you must move away rather quickly so that the nymphs wouldn't suspect something.

Currently, you were getting ready for meeting Felix at their cottage. You assumed that after he cooked for you more than seven times in two weeks it was just kind to return the favour and cook for him. He assured you that most of his pack members weren't there because they all had something against you. Not that this was unjustified.

A sudden knock let you slip out of your thoughts. Definitely that wouldn't be Felix since you would go to him this time. You opened the door and were shocked when you saw who was on the other side. Lila, a huntress that you grew up with in the temple. She was one of your friends and actually shouldn't be here now.

"Lila! Nice to see you again. What brings you here?" You welcomed her. A laugh erupted from her and she braced you into a warm hug. "Hello, y/n. I wanted to see you again after months of being separated."

"That's so sweet. Do you wanna come in?"

"Thanks. So how is the hunt going?" She was always like that, getting to the point of her stay instantly.

"Good. I took down a pack two weeks ago" she gave you an approving nod. "Good that. What pack do you hunt now?" What should you say? Since you got to know Felix, you weren't sure if all wolves are bad. You started to see that not everything the nymphs told you is true.

"I took some time off from hunting. I enjoy it here" you avoided the question. "Then we can take the next pack down together. I heard that here is a pack of eight" Great, that's just great. You can't defend Felix when she was here. You needed to warn him.

"Yeah, that sounds good" you mumbled. Without her noticing, you wrote Felix a quick message on your phone that you couldn't make it.

You could tell that he was disappointed but his life depended on it.

The next morning, you tried to get your mind free from all the heavy thoughts and decided to go on a quick walk. Jogging along the empty streets, you listened to your music and enjoyed the nature along the streets. Due to your earphones, you were distracted and wasn't prepared to be pulled into the woods. You yelped and held the dagger against the person's throat.

"Easy, sunshine. It's me" Quickly, you withdrew the knife and gave him a smile. "You're lucky, I didn't stab you. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Why did you cancelled last night?"

"Another huntress showed up. She wants to hunt your pack. I-" you stopped when you heard the bushes rustle. It could be the wind but therefore it wasn't windy at all. With his heightened senses, Felix tried to detect what the noise was.

There was another rustle and you quickly pushed yourself over Felix, tackling him to the ground and your body above his. Just where Felix head once was, there was now a silver arrow, undoubtedly from a hunter. You got down from Felix and scrambled up to face Lila who walked out the bush with her bow aiming at Felix.

"Go away from the wolf, y/n!" She shouted.

"Lila, please. Drop the bow" you pleaded, your own dagger in your hand. You didn't want to hurt her. She was a former friend after all.

"Seriously? He is a werewolf! You used to hunt them!" She exclaimed angrily. You couldn't hurt her but you couldn't let her hurt Felix.

"I know it sounds crazy but he is my soulmate! Selene herself selected him as my other half"

"That's pathetic. Go to the side and let me take care of him. Now" her voice was cold and filled with determination. You shook your head and felt Felix trying to push you aside, giving Lila the chance to aim at his chest.

The arrow glided through the air and before it could reach it's designated target, you shielded him and the arrow pierced straight into your skin, just centimetres above your chest. The first blood drained your shirt in a deep red, a sharp pain shot trough your whole body, making it impossible to stand. Felix catched you, taking you into his arms. There where tears in his eyes when you looked into those brown spheres, they were the last thing you saw before the black void swallowed you.

☆☾☆

Fear took over Felix's whole body when he saw the arrow piercing through your skin. He held you, shielding you from the other hunter who still aimed her bow at him. It angered him how low it affected her that she just shot someone from her group. Or she isn't showing it. He let out a low growl as a warning.

Before she could harm you in any way again, Chan and Minho came out of the bushes. He had mind linked them earlier when you had talked to her and he knew that this wasn't taking a good turn. Chan knocked her over, slapped the bow out of her hand and before she could do anything that could hurt someone, he knocked her out.

Minho came towards him and you. Felix wanted to snarl at him for coming so close when his mate was hurt but he knew that he just wanted to help you. And you definitely needed that. Without moving you too much, your mate held you protectively in his arms as he ran through the woods to the cottage. Jeongin and Minho needed to get a closer look at the wound to treat you properly.

During the whole process, he sat beside you, holding your hand even though you wouldn't even feel it. But the warm skin against his soothed him even if you weren't awake. However, the skin contact reminded him that he hadn't lost you, that you weren't dead.

They got the arrow out and stopped the bleeding. With a bandage, they were finally finished and let Felix and you alone. You laid on his bed. Just weeks ago, he laid there too, with an arrow that you shot. But he wouldn't wanted it any other way. That way he got you and it was worth the pain.

When you woke up it was late at night, the moon shining through the window into the room. You felt something warm on your leg. It was Felix who slept tightly with your thigh as a pillow. Your whole body hurt but you were fine. But where was Lila? Felix seemed fine. What happened?

But that were questions for later. You were tired and didn't want to wake Lix. Tenderly, you brushed his fluffy hair out of his face, gliding through the strands and playing with them. With your hand in his hair, the dark swallowed you once more and you fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up again. Felix still asleep and it seemed that he didn't even move. You teased his hair once again, especially the strands at his neck. It was so long, already touching his shoulders. But he seems to be ticklish and squirmed away from your hand, nuzzling further in your skin. His eyes fluttered open and he yawned.

"You're awake." He stated, his voice still deep from the sleep. "How are you? Does it hurt?" He questioned and pushed himself up, sitting straight on the stool.

"I'm fine" you said with a smile and took his hand in yours. "But where's Lila?" His face darkened and he sighed.

"Chan knocked her out and brought her here. We figured out that she is dangerous for us"

"I know. Can I see her? I need to speak to her"

"Are you sure? You just woke up." He pouted, showing clearly that he wasn't agreeing to that.

"I need to" you answered and pushed yourself up. It hurt and only with the help of Felix you reached the room where Lila was. You opened the door and walked into the room, Felix fussing over you. He was like a mom, watching carefully over his baby.

Lila sat on a stool, on the table next to her was a plate with food that she didn't even touched. She looked up when she saw you. "Hey" you said. She looked exhausted and like she didn't even slept a bit.

"Y/n, you're okay?" she asked hesitant. "Yeah. Even though you need to work on your aiming"

She let out a laugh, clearly relieved that you weren't angry. "Why did you protect him?" She asked. You walked across the room, sitting down on the other stool and pleaded Felix to let you two speak alone. He wasn't a fan of that but agreed.

"He is my mate. And I know that this felt so wrong at first but he showed me that there are other things in life than just hunting. I liked the life of a hunter but I love the life here, with Felix. And this pack is caring." You explained.

"So, you are giving the life of a hunter up?"

"Yeah. And I hope you can understand me. I'm not saying that you should agree to me but at least accept it."

She gave you a heart warming smile and nodded. "I won't say anything to the nymphs. I want you to live a happy life" you returned the smile and took her hand. "Thank you, Lila"

You escorted her out of the cottage, saying goodbye because she will return to the temple. You hugged and watched her disappear into the woods. Felix came towards you, having watched from the house, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pushing his nose into your hair.

"I can smell your scent!" He exclaimed happily. You giggled. "Yeah, because I didn't take the potion to suppress it"

He wiggled further into your hair, smelling you. "You smell so good."

"You're silly" lightly, you pushed him away to shut up his pouting with a kiss. He was shocked at first, his eyes growing double so big.

"Was that a kiss? Do it again" he demanded and pursed his lips. You laughed and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pressing his lips onto yours.

#stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #lee felix x reader #stray kids felix #felix x reader #felix angst #lee felix #stray kids #felix x reader fluff #felix x y/n

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heartmii · 1 year ago

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TOA 00

✮⋆˙apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: male reader but can be seen as gn, angst, mentions of blood.

✮⋆˙ this was honestly a fic idea i had for a while but since toa isn't really that popular, i figured it wouldn't do too well so instead here's a one-shot! Has been continued !

✮⋆˙ next

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"nonono.. beloved..." the god whispered as he dropped onto his knees beside your bloodied body. his hands trembling when he reached out to touch you.

your eyes were shut when he arrived at your spot. an opening deep in the forest behind his temple. after he'd set the sun and, his sister took her shift, he would then meet you here. here, where he learned of your body, and you learned his. here, where the whispers of intimacy stayed between two souls. here, where, apollo, the all-powerful god, submitted to a mortal and allowed his body to be used for love.

now, in the shadow of his love, was only grief. for as long as you love, grief will one day be in its place. a game of chance. it is said love is a fool's emotion as only a fool would jump into a game knowing the outcome would be a loss.

and perhaps, the god was the biggest fool of them all. loving a mortal promised nothing but loss, yet, when your eyes flickered open and connected with his, a fool was what he became once again.

his heart thumped against his chest. grief soon turned into hope. although your eyes were weak, and your skin was paling. you were alive. breathing. death had not claimed you, there was a chance you could live — a chance he could save you.

"apollo." even on your deathbed, his name would roll off your tongue like honey. he was worshipped, and his name was said many times a day by mortals wishing for his blessings or his wisdom.

but, your call for him was different. when you called for him it wasn't for him as a god, there was no expectation behind your words, no secret goal. if you did expect anything, if there was a goal, it was nothing more than simply just the presence of apollo. you would say his name gently as if you didn't want to scare him off, a reminder he could let his guard down around you.

there's a difference in being valued for what you could give versus being valued for who you were. something apollo could not comprehend until he met you. "what is it, beloved?" he murmured, his attempt to be gentle with you in your fragile state as his cheek leaned into the hand you had outstretched towards him.

your thumb rubbed circles against his skin. "I've been waiting for you." apollo swallowed down a sob. he could hear it in your voice, how hard it was for you to speak full sentences. broken breaths in between each of your words.

quickly, he answered before you could speak again. "i know, love, i know. it was my father's doing. he dispatched hermes to distract me... he knew i was coming to see you..." he let out a shaky breath, "my father punished you to punish me."

zeus's cruelty was nothing new to apollo. his father had been cruel to him his whole life. it was the whole reason he began the revolt against him alongside hera and poseidon in the first place. to be liberated from his father's tyranny.

they'd been found out, of course. hera had already received her punishment. she was to be suspended into the sky wrapped in chains. all of olympus winced as she cried through the night but no one dared to help her out of fear of their "mighty" king.

he wasn't supposed to hurt you. never in a thousand years would apollo have done any of this with the knowledge that you could be caught in the crossfire between him and his father. this wasn't how their game went. zeus had never gone after his lovers before. but dammit, he should've known better. he should've known his father would make sure to break him down. come for his every weakness. now, because of his carelessness, you are a pinch close to death. practically drowning in your own blood and only being able to use the tree stump behind you for support to stay upright.

the longer apollo's eyes stayed on your struggling figure, the foggier they became. "oh, im so, so, sorry." he choked out, the sob he swallowed down earlier forcing its way back up his throat. "this is all my fault."

he felt your thumb swipe at tears he wasn't aware he'd been shedding. how could you still be so gentle with him after he had put you in this situation? so attentive even though you were the one who needed the most attention?

And your eyes, they bore into his with the same amount of warmth as always. "hey.. its okay...we'll be okay." you mustered up a smile and, for a second, apollo believed your words, that everything would be okay. because your superpower was making him - everyone - feel like everything would be okay.

reality hit him with a strangled cough coming from you. he jumped, immediately, blinking away the rest of his tears as his hands helped to support you, your blood coating him. his breath quickened. every second you were falling further into the embrace of death. he was wasting time moping instead of helping.

apollo trembled as he went to press a hand over your wound. "let me heal you."

"no," you denied. it was all you could say with the little bit of strength you had left.

a helpless cry left apollo's lips, his tears flowing once again. your answer did not surprise him. in fact, he expected it. in all of your meetings with apollo, you never failed to mention that you cherished the value of a mortal life. to value which is rare, and what is more rare than a mortal life with the only promise that it would one day end.

apollo was a god. he was never born to die but born to continue living and changing as time allowed. life meant little to him, he'd taken many lives without much thought just as much as he created lives.

that was normal in the life of a god but, you were not a god. only a man. a fact that was being painfully made apparent more so now than ever.

power coursed through apollo's body and, yet, he could not get himself to use it. you were just a man. a man who got a god to submit to your will. you taught him the value in life, the value in you. in turn, he could not disregard your wishes as he could anyone else. he hated it. apollo hated how he loved you so much, he couldn't be selfish. how even when you were slipping through his fingers, he stopped himself from healing you because he knew you would be unhappy if he did, and he would be dammed if he was the reason for your unhappiness.

it was childish to believe that at the doors of death would you change your mind, abandon your humanity, and beg him to save you. "is this really what you want..." he asked. a plead, his last attempt to bargain with you.

you didn't answer his question. he preferred that. it left room to wonder, pretend there was a chance at something else. instead, you reached behind his head, pushing it forward until it gently bumped against your own. you didn't speak at first, opting to admire the face of your lover one last time.

“you're so beautiful..." you breathed out through your staggered breath.

apollo scowled at your words. Not finding the humor in your inappropriate timing for a compliment. “really? that's what you have to say right now." he frowned, his lips jutting into a familiar pout.

“it's true," you hummed, bumping noses with him.

he allowed you to indulge in your affections, scrunching his nose in response. a pointless attempt at gaining some type of normalcy within the situation. yet, the reality loomed over him. he could not shake it off as easily as you. “you’re dying and your last words to me are going to be something I hear from everyone.”

your laugh was music to his ears. soft, like your voice, but full of joy. the type of laugh that could light up a room and have even the gloomiest laugh along with you. he needed to savor it. to imprint the sound in his mind for the days he needs the encouragement to keep going. you found laughter even in a moment like this.

"it's only a matter of truth," you said, eyes flickering to his lips followed by a tilt of your head. when your lips brush, you murmur against his lips. "besides, wouldn't you miss hearing it from me the most?"

his stomach flutters at your words. of course he'd miss hearing your praise. not just for his beauty, but for anything. he held you in the highest regard, like you were a god yourself. but, it was easier to pretend he didn't care, and instead leave those words unspoken.

he settled for angling his lips to meet yours and disregarding your previous question. "you're being ridiculous." apollo mumbles, ignoring his aching heart.

then there is only silence as the two of you lean in to close the gap between you. like a magnet pulling you forward. when your lips touch, there's an immediate desire. your teeth smacking against each other, your hand pulling apollo's head in closer, deepening the heated kiss as much as you could. he didn't expect to feel droplets on his cheeks. you had cried. the realization made him want to weep.

you had nothing to lose, so you gave it your all. one last time.

the pull away was hesitant, and even then, your lips still ghosted one another's. forehead's touching, your eyes met. "i love you," you declared as if it was the first time you had confessed.

"i love you too." a silent goodbye hidden behind the desperation of his words.

you sighed contently as your expression softened and your eyes shut with a smile. apollo wanted to speak, to yell at you to keep your eyes open. keeping them on him until you couldnt anymore instead, he chose not to speak. the look on your face didn't let him.

you were happy. happy to accept your fate. you showed no signs of regret, no anger, no guilt, nothing that would keep you on this earth any moment longer. dying happily. who was apollo to take that from you?

his cries and begs would only put stress on you. you didn't deserve that. your death had to be just as beautiful as your birth.

so, apollo continued to sit there, watching your breath. how after a few seconds, it would begin to slow down, and the little tufts of warm air he felt against his cheek gently came to a stop. the cool air of nature taking its place.

your body was heavy against his. cold too. he didn't care, he would hold you until you were warm again. soon, as the hours went by, he would have to bring upon another day. a day that you would not get to be apart of.

until then, he would hold you under the moonlight one last time

they were caught. after making it onto the ship and successfully snagging caligua’s stupid sandals, they were taken by surprise by a horse. It was ridiculous. as piper laid out cold on the steed’s back, apollo made conversation about his demise. It was a nerve racking walk to the emperor’s throne room. caligua wasn’t merciful and apollo wasn’t sure of the whereabouts of meg and jason.

as a god, he thought he saw everything. but as lester, the surprises were never ending.

they made it to caligua’s throne, apollo’s eyes immediately scanning how many enemies were in the room. he wasn’t shocked to see the loyal attendants of caligua, nor was he shocked to see meg and jason trapped beside him.

but when his eyes settled onto the person beside caligua’s throne, apollo wanted to throw up. his heart thumping against his chest making him lose his breath. It was you. how was this possible? you died in his arms. In Ancient Greece.

reading the shock on his face, you dared to give him the smile he loved most as you stood behind the enemy. with a tilt of your head and a wave, you greeted him, “hello apollo, long time no see.”

#ꨄ𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝ꨄ #pjo x reader #pjo x male reader #trials of Apollo X reader #pjo hoo toa #hoo x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo #trials of Apollo #apollo x reader #apollo x male reader #Percy Jackson X reader #nico di angelo x reader #nico diAngelo X male reader #heroes of olympus x reader #male reader

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anonymousbardd · 6 months ago

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𑄽𑄺 T E A S E R :

⸝⸝ ౨ৎ :: New BoZ — Hermes x FemReader fic teaser:

A/n: I have recently watched Blood Of Zeus, and it really needs more appreciation lol, it's a pretty nice series :3

#blood of zeus #blood of zeus hermes #hermes blood of zeus #boz hermes #x reader #fanfic #one shots teaser #one shot #teaser #fanfic teaser

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couchlovers · 8 days ago

Note

Hii! I was wondering if you could do Clarisse la rue x reader. Like readers the daughter of Zeus and he gifted her the power that her emotions control the weather?

sorry if this doesn’t make any sense lol. Changing it up however you’d like

Storm’s embrace

masterlist pjo masterlist

YN -> your name YLN -> your last name

6,9k words! hope that you’ll like it!

Camp Half-Blood buzzed with tension after the news broke: Zeus’s master bolt had been stolen. The gods were furious, and the campers whispered of war brewing on Olympus. Y/N YLN, daughter of Zeus, felt every pair of eyes on her. The unspoken suspicion was heavy, lingering in every corner of camp. As the only child of Zeus currently at Camp Half-Blood, she was an obvious suspect.

Clarisse LaRue made no effort to hide her opinion. “You know, it’d be convenient if the thief were the one who can summon lightning at will,” she said, crossing her arms during a heated conversation in the training arena.

Y/N glared at her, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. “You think I’d steal my own father’s bolt? Get a grip, Clarisse. I don’t need his powers to deal with you.”

The campers around them murmured, sensing a confrontation brewing. Clarisse stepped closer, her tone sharp. “Maybe you’re just tired of living in his shadow. Or maybe you don’t have as much control as you pretend to.”

The sky darkened, and Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. “Say that again, LaRue. I dare you.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Chiron’s voice boomed from across the field. “Enough!” The centaur strode toward them, his expression stern. “Both of you, my office. Now.”

In Chiron’s office, the atmosphere was tense. Y/N stood by the window, arms crossed, while Clarisse leaned against the wall, still fuming.

“You two are among the strongest demigods at camp,” Chiron began, his voice calm but firm. “Which is why I’m assigning you to the quest to retrieve Zeus’s bolt. The Oracle has spoken, and it’s clear you’ll need to work together.”

“What?!” both girls exclaimed in unison.

“This isn’t negotiable,” Chiron said, his gaze steady. “The fate of Olympus depends on this quest. You’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “Great. Babysitting Ares’s favorite brute while trying to save the world. Can’t wait.”

Clarisse shot her a glare. “As if I want to be stuck with a walking thunderstorm. Try not to fry me when you lose your temper, princess.”

Chiron sighed, clearly unamused. “If you two don’t learn to work together, this quest will fail. And if that happens, war between the gods is inevitable.”

That sobered them both. Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her jaw tightening. “Fine. I’ll do it—for Olympus. Not for her.”

Clarisse smirked. “Likewise.”

The next morning, the quest began. Alongside Grover and Annabeth, Y/N and Clarisse set off into the mortal world, tensions high and patience low. Their first stop was a seemingly harmless roadside diner, where their bickering resumed almost immediately.

“You can’t just charge into every situation swinging your spear,” Y/N said, her tone exasperated.

“And you can’t just summon a storm every time you get moody,” Clarisse shot back, leaning over the table.

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can you two save this for later? We’re supposed to be tracking down leads, not arguing over breakfast.”

Grover nodded, nervously glancing at the sky. “Yeah, uh, maybe keep the thunderclouds to a minimum? People are starting to notice.”

Y/N glared at Clarisse but relented, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The sky lightened slightly, and the air felt less charged.

For the rest of the day, they managed to keep their bickering to a minimum, but the tension between them remained. Every glance, every word, felt like a challenge waiting to be met.

That night, as they set up camp by the side of a quiet road, Y/N found herself staring at the stars, lost in thought. She hadn’t asked for this quest, or for the pressure of being Zeus’s daughter. She just wanted to prove she was more than the god she came from.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clarisse’s voice broke through her reverie.

Y/N glanced at her, surprised. “Didn’t think you cared.”

Clarisse shrugged, sitting down beside her. “I don’t. But if we’re going to survive this, we can’t spend the whole time at each other’s throats.”

Y/N hesitated before nodding. “Fair enough.” She glanced at Clarisse. “You’re not as terrible as I thought.”

Clarisse smirked. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

For the first time, they shared a small, tentative smile. It wasn’t peace, but it was a start.

______________________________________________________________________

The morning after their reluctant truce, the group prepared to leave their makeshift campsite. Percy Jackson, who had joined their team at Chiron’s insistence, was already up and pacing. The son of Poseidon had his own reasons for being on this quest: proving himself, protecting his friends, and figuring out his connection to the stolen bolt.

“Ready to save the world, or are you two gonna keep bickering the whole way?” Percy teased as he adjusted Riptide at his side, glancing between Y/N and Clarisse.

“Save it, Seaweed Brain,” Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes. “Unlike you, some of us actually know how to work under pressure.”

“Right,” Percy quipped with a grin. “Because yelling at each other is totally productive.”

Clarisse snorted, shouldering her spear. “At least I don’t need a magical pen to fight.”

Annabeth groaned, pulling her Yankees cap lower over her eyes. “Can we all focus? We’ve got a long way to go and not a lot of time.”

The group’s next stop was an abandoned warehouse where, according to Grover’s tracking, a minor god associated with Hermes might have information on the bolt. The warehouse was quiet—too quiet.

Inside, the air was thick with tension as they searched for clues. Y/N’s nerves hummed, her emotions sparking faint static electricity in the air.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her hand hovering near the dagger she carried at her hip.

“Relax, Princess,” Clarisse said, scanning the room. “Not every empty building is a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide as shadows moved in the corners.

The attack was sudden. A group of empousai—vampire-like creatures—emerged from the darkness, their glowing eyes fixed on the demigods.

“Great,” Y/N grumbled, summoning a small bolt of lightning into her hand. “Just what we needed.”

The group fought hard, their teamwork shaky but effective. Y/N and Clarisse found themselves back-to-back at one point, their weapons slicing through the air in perfect sync.

“Not bad,” Clarisse admitted begrudgingly as she slammed the butt of her spear into an empousa’s chest, sending it flying.

“Right back at you,” Y/N replied, the faintest smile on her lips as she hurled a bolt of lightning into another creature.

Percy, not far away, raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Are you two… getting along? Should I be concerned?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” they said in unison, making Grover laugh despite the chaos.

Once the fight ended, the group regrouped outside the warehouse. Everyone was exhausted, but the tension between Y/N and Clarisse seemed to have eased—if only slightly.

“You’re a decent fighter,” Y/N said to Clarisse as they walked side by side toward the road.

Clarisse smirked, twirling her spear. “Don’t sound so surprised. Maybe you’re finally realizing I’m not as bad as you thought.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Percy watched the exchange with a knowing look, leaning toward Annabeth. “Is it just me, or are those two actually flirting now?”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Percy, not everything is about romance. Focus.”

As night fell, the group set up camp again, this time in a quiet forest clearing. The stars were bright, and the crackling of the campfire filled the silence.

Y/N sat slightly apart from the group, staring up at the sky. Her emotions had been running high all day, and she needed a moment to clear her mind.

Clarisse, after some hesitation, walked over and plopped down beside her. “You good?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the question. “Yeah. Why?”

Clarisse shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. “You’ve been quiet. It’s weird. Usually, you’re all lightning and sass.”

Y/N smirked. “Lightning and sass? That’s a new one.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Whatever. Just… don’t lose your head, okay? We need you to keep it together.”

There was an unexpected softness in her voice that caught Y/N off guard. For a moment, she saw past the tough exterior to the person underneath.

“I’ll try,” Y/N said quietly. “Thanks, Clarisse.”

Clarisse glanced at her, her smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Y/N laughed, and the sound was warm and genuine, making Clarisse’s chest tighten just a little.

From across the fire, Percy and Annabeth exchanged looks. Percy leaned closer to Grover, whispering, “I’m calling it now. Those two are totally into each other.”

Grover nodded sagely. “Oh, 100%. The tension is electric.”

Annabeth groaned again. “Focus, boys. We’ve got bigger problems.”

______________________________________________________________________

The group’s journey led them into the heart of the desert, chasing the latest lead on Zeus’s stolen bolt. The Oracle’s prophecy was vague, but Annabeth’s sharp mind and Grover’s tracking skills had pointed them toward a small, seemingly abandoned roadside gas station.

The heat was unbearable, the sun blazing overhead, and tensions ran high as the group bickered over their next move.

“I’m telling you, this place screams trap,” Percy said, squinting at the gas station.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Everything screams trap to you.”

“That’s because it usually is!” Percy shot back.

While the two argued, Y/N stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The oppressive heat made her emotions sluggish, but she could feel a storm brewing in the back of her mind. Something about this place felt off.

Clarisse walked over, breaking the silence. “You zoning out again, Thunder Girl? We don’t have time for you to daydream.”

Y/N sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not zoning out. I’m trying to figure out why this place feels so… wrong.��

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, her grip tightening on her spear. “Your gut telling you something?”

“Something like that,” Y/N admitted, glancing at her. “You trust me on this?”

Clarisse hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. You’ve been right so far.”

The unexpected admission caught Y/N off guard, and for a moment, she forgot the heat, the quest, and the danger.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Clarisse shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

The group cautiously entered the gas station, weapons at the ready. Inside, the air was stale, and the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. It didn’t take long for the trap to spring—two monstrous automatons emerged from hidden panels, their glowing eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Of course,” Percy muttered, drawing Riptide.

The battle was chaotic. Annabeth and Grover worked to disable the machines’ weak points while Percy engaged one head-on. Y/N and Clarisse, naturally, ended up back-to-back again, their movements almost instinctively in sync.

“Left!” Clarisse shouted as one of the automatons lunged. Y/N reacted instantly, sending a bolt of lightning crackling through its metal body.

“Nice call,” Y/N said, a grin tugging at her lips as the machine collapsed in a smoking heap.

“Keep your head in the game, YLN,” Clarisse replied, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

The second automaton charged at them, forcing Clarisse to parry with her spear while Y/N summoned a gust of wind to throw it off balance. Together, they overwhelmed it, Clarisse delivering the final blow with a triumphant yell.

When the dust settled, Percy clapped his hands together. “Well, that was fun. Can we not do that again?”

Annabeth ignored him, crouching to examine the remains of the automatons. “These were definitely sent by someone. They weren’t random.”

“Great,” Clarisse muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “More people trying to kill us. Just what we needed.”

“Welcome to the club,” Y/N said with a smirk.

Clarisse glanced at her, and for a moment, the tension between them softened.

Later that evening, the group set up camp in a nearby canyon. The desert sky was breathtaking, stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet backdrop. Y/N sat by the campfire, absently tracing patterns in the dirt while the others talked quietly nearby.

Clarisse approached, dropping down beside her without a word.

“You keep sneaking up on me,” Y/N said, glancing at her with a small smile.

Clarisse smirked, leaning her spear against her shoulder. “Not my fault you’re easy to sneak up on.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the crackling fire filling the space between them.

“You were good back there,” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What?”

Clarisse looked away, fidgeting with the edge of her armor. “I said you were good. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a grin. “Is this your way of being nice?”

“Don’t push it,” Clarisse muttered, though her cheeks reddened faintly.

Y/N chuckled, her heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Clarisse. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Clarisse smirked, her confidence returning. “Of course not. I’m always amazing.”

Their laughter drew curious glances from the others, but neither of them seemed to care. For the first time, the storm between them felt less like a battle and more like the calm before something new.

______________________________________________________________________

The group continued their journey, now following a lead from Annabeth that pointed them toward a forest on the outskirts of a small town. The air was thick with tension as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Despite their shared victories, the group’s patience was wearing thin after days of close quarters and constant danger.

For Y/N and Clarisse, the fragile truce they had formed was starting to feel less like a reluctant necessity and more like a natural rhythm. But neither of them dared to voice it—especially not with Percy’s constant teasing.

“Let me guess,” Percy quipped as they stopped for a break. “Y/N and Clarisse were totally in sync during the last fight again? Should we just start calling you the Storm and Spear Duo?”

Y/N groaned, tossing a small pebble at him. “Don’t you have better things to do, Percy?”

Clarisse snorted, crossing her arms. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous we’re better fighters.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Percy replied, feigning offense.

Annabeth stepped between them, exasperated. “Can we focus? There’s something weird about this forest.”

As if on cue, a deep growl echoed through the trees, sending a chill down Y/N’s spine. The group immediately drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle.

“What now?” Grover whimpered, clutching his reed pipes.

Out of the shadows emerged a massive drakon, its scales shimmering ominously in the dappled light. The creature roared, its golden eyes locking onto the demigods.

“Okay, this one’s mine,” Clarisse said, stepping forward with her spear raised.

“Not alone, it’s not,” Y/N replied, summoning a crackling orb of lightning in her hand.

“Great,” Percy muttered. “More teamwork.”

The battle was intense, the drakon’s sheer size and strength making it a formidable opponent. Clarisse fought fearlessly, her spear striking true, while Y/N’s lightning crackled through the air, disorienting the creature.

At one point, the drakon lunged toward Clarisse, its jaws snapping dangerously close. Without thinking, Y/N threw herself in front of her, summoning a massive bolt of lightning that sent the creature reeling.

Clarisse stared at her, wide-eyed. “What the Hades was that?”

“Saving your life, obviously” Y/N shot back, though her voice was breathless from exertion.

Clarisse smirked, regaining her composure. “Don’t get used to being my hero, Thunder Girl.”

“Noted,” Y/N replied with a grin, their gazes locking for a split second longer than necessary.

With Percy and Annabeth’s help, they managed to bring the drakon down. As it dissolved into golden dust, the group slumped against nearby trees, exhausted but triumphant.

That evening, as the group rested in a small clearing, the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in days. Percy and Grover played a clumsy game of hacky sack with a pinecone, while Annabeth sketched battle strategies in the dirt.

Y/N sat apart from the others, her back against a tree, gazing up at the stars. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed faintly in her veins, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Clarisse.

“Deep in thought again?” Clarisse’s voice broke through the quiet.

Y/N turned to see her approaching, spear resting casually against her shoulder.

“Starting to think you’re stalking me,” Y/N teased, earning a smirk from the daughter of Ares.

“Not my style,” Clarisse replied, sitting down beside her. “But you’ve got a habit of wandering off into your own head.”

“Just thinking,” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “About the fight. About… everything.”

Clarisse tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not bad in a fight. For a daughter of Zeus, I mean.”

Y/N snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a beat of silence before Clarisse added, almost hesitantly, “And… thanks for earlier. For stepping in like that.”

Y/N smiled softly. “You’d do the same for me.”

Clarisse hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

For a moment, the air between them felt charged, not with tension but with something deeper. Before either of them could say anything more, Percy’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey, lovebirds!” he called, grinning. “Are you gonna help with dinner, or should we assume you’re too busy having a moment?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

Clarisse laughed, standing up and offering her hand. “Come on, Thunder Girl. Let’s get back before he decides to make it worse.”

Y/N took her hand, and as their fingers briefly touched, a small spark passed between them—whether from her powers or something else, neither of them could say.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey grew more perilous as the group approached their next destination—an ancient temple hidden deep in a swamp. According to Annabeth, it housed an artifact that could point them closer to the lightning bolt’s location. The air was thick with humidity, and the murky waters seemed to ripple with unseen dangers.

“Great,” Percy muttered, poking at the swampy ground with his sword. “Another creepy location. Why can’t quests ever take us to, like, a beach or something?”

“Stop whining, Jackson,” Clarisse snapped, adjusting her armor. “You’re not the one carrying a spear through a swamp.”

“Yeah, because carrying a magical pen is so much harder,” Y/N quipped, earning a chuckle from Clarisse.

“Nice one, Thunder Girl,” Clarisse said with a smirk, making Percy roll his eyes.

Grover’s ears twitched as he scanned the area nervously. “Uh, guys? Can we not taunt the swamp? I’m pretty sure something’s watching us.”

The group immediately tensed, weapons ready, as ripples spread across the water. A massive swamp serpent emerged, its scales glistening like oil and its fangs bared.

“Because, of course, there’s a monster,” Annabeth muttered, readying her knife.

The fight was brutal. The serpent was fast, its body coiling and striking with terrifying precision. Percy’s water abilities gave him an edge, but the creature was relentless.

Y/N and Clarisse once again found themselves working as a team. Y/N summoned gusts of wind and bolts of lightning, forcing the serpent to rear back, while Clarisse struck at its exposed underbelly with her spear.

“Keep it distracted!” Clarisse shouted, narrowly dodging a strike from the serpent’s tail.

“I’m trying!” Y/N replied, hurling another bolt of lightning. The creature roared, the electricity momentarily stunning it.

Clarisse took the opportunity to lunge forward, driving her spear into the serpent’s throat. It let out a final, ear-splitting screech before collapsing into the swamp, its body dissolving into mist.

Panting, Y/N and Clarisse stood side by side, their weapons lowered.

“Not bad,” Clarisse said, giving Y/N a once-over. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You weren’t too shabby yourself.”

Percy, pulling himself out of the water, groaned. “Can we all agree that swamps are the worst?”

“Agreed” Annabeth said, wringing out her damp clothes.

That evening, the group set up camp on drier ground. The swamp was eerily quiet now, and the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant chirping of insects.

Y/N sat near the fire, tending to a few scratches she’d gotten during the fight. Clarisse approached, carrying a small pouch of ambrosia.

“Here,” she said, tossing it to Y/N. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, catching it and unwrapping a small piece of the godly food. “I’m surprised you’re being so nice.”

“Don’t get used to it” Clarisse replied with a smirk, sitting down beside her.

Y/N chuckled, the tension of the day easing slightly. “You know, we make a pretty good team.”

Clarisse raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Does that mean you’re finally admitting I’m not the worst?”

“Don’t push it” Y/N said, grinning.

Clarisse laughed, her usual tough exterior softening for a moment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Thunder Girl.”

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. The crackling fire reflected in Clarisse’s dark eyes, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat.

Before either of them could say anything, Percy’s voice broke the silence.

“You two getting all cozy again?” he called, his tone teasing.

Clarisse groaned, throwing a small rock in his direction. “Shut up, Jackson!”

Annabeth sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we focus for five minutes without someone starting something?”

As the night deepened, the group took turns keeping watch. During her shift, Y/N found herself staring up at the stars, her mind racing with everything that had happened.

She didn’t hear Clarisse approach until the other girl sat down beside her, her presence grounding Y/N’s scattered thoughts.

“Can’t sleep?” Clarisse asked, her voice unusually soft.

“Something like that,” Y/N replied, glancing at her. “What about you?”

“Couldn’t either,” Clarisse admitted, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Too much going on in my head.”

Y/N hesitated before speaking. “You ever feel like… this whole quest is testing us more than it’s supposed to?”

Clarisse snorted. “Every damn day. But that’s what we do, right? Prove we’re tougher than whatever the gods throw at us.”

Y/N nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “I guess so.”

They sat in silence for a while, the night air cool against their skin. Y/N felt a strange sense of peace, even amidst the chaos of their journey.

“Thanks for having my back today” Clarisse said suddenly, her tone serious.

Y/N looked at her, surprised. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We’re a team.”

Clarisse’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Yeah. We are.”

For a moment, it felt like Clarisse might say more, but the words hung unspoken between them. Instead, she reached out and gave Y/N’s shoulder a quick squeeze before standing up.

“Get some rest,” she said, her usual edge creeping back into her voice. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Y/N watched her walk away, her heart a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to untangle.

______________________________________________________________________

The final leg of their journey was in sight. After days of battling monsters, navigating treacherous lands, and dealing with their own personal struggles, the group had finally arrived at the Underworld’s entrance.

But something was off. Y/N could feel it—the tension in the air, the sense of impending doom that seemed to press against her chest like an invisible weight. Clarisse, too, had grown more quiet over the past few days, her sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, as if waiting for something—or someone—to strike.

As the group made their way deeper into the dark, ominous caves, Annabeth’s voice cut through the silence. “It doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, glancing at Y/N. “If Hades didn’t take the bolt, who would? And why would they want it?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She knew the answer to that question, though she didn’t want to believe it.

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied, voice tight. “But we’re getting closer.”

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows. Y/N’s breath caught as she recognized him immediately—Luke.

“You,” Percy said, his voice low, laced with fury. “You’re the one who took it.”

Luke smirked, his eyes cold. “I didn’t take anything. I’m just… helping the gods fulfill their prophecy. Don’t you see? You’re all just pawns in their game. I’m doing what they couldn’t.”

The tension was palpable, a storm of anger and betrayal swirling in the air. Clarisse stepped forward, her expression dark with suspicion. “Why are you really here, Luke? You were supposed to be one of us. You promised to fight for the gods, not against them.”

Luke’s eyes flickered with something almost like regret, but it was quickly masked by a cynical grin. “I realized the truth a long time ago. The gods don’t care about us. They use us until we’re no longer useful.”

Y/N’s heart sank, but she stood tall, her emotions churning. “So you’re willing to risk everything—everyone—just to make a point?”

Luke’s eyes met hers, and in that moment, the storm that raged inside of Y/N erupted. She summoned the power of the skies, a crackling bolt of lightning striking from her fingertips.

But Luke was faster. With a quick, almost mocking motion, he deflected the bolt with a wave of his hand, sending it spiraling off into the cavern.

“You think you can beat me?” Luke sneered. “You’re nothing but a weak little demigod.”

Before Y/N could react, Luke lunged at her, his hands crackling with dark energy. He struck out, slamming her into the cave wall with a force that sent a shockwave through her body. She gasped as pain shot through her chest, her ribs screaming in protest.

Clarisse’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. “Get away from her!”

But Luke wasn’t done. He sent a blast of energy toward Clarisse, knocking her back. Y/N’s vision blurred as she struggled to stand, but the pain in her ribs and arm was unbearable. Her arm hung limply at her side, and she could feel the bone grinding against itself.

Luke turned back to Y/N, a cruel smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Thunder Girl? Can’t handle the heat?”

With a force that surprised even her, Y/N summoned the last of her strength, calling on a surge of lightning that cracked the air around her. The bolt shot toward Luke, but before it could hit him, he deflected it with a dark shield of energy.

“Is that the best you can do?” Luke mocked. “You’re pathetic.”

But before he could make another move, a sudden, enraged shout cut through the chaos.

“No!” Clarisse cried, charging at Luke with all the fury of a storm. Her spear gleamed in the dim light as she swung it at Luke, narrowly missing his chest. But Luke dodged, and with a swift motion, he sent a blast of dark energy straight at Clarisse.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

With every ounce of strength she had left, Y/N reached out, using the power of the storm to summon a massive bolt of lightning that struck Luke square in the chest. The force of it sent him flying back, his body crashing against the cavern walls with a sickening thud.

Y/N collapsed to the ground, the world spinning around her. Her arm was broken, and she could feel the sharp, agonizing pain of her ribs. Blood dripped down her face from a deep gash on her forehead. She was barely conscious, her vision fading in and out.

Clarisse rushed to her side, her face pale with panic. “Y/N? Y/N, stay with me. Come on, talk to me!”

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m… fine.”

Clarisse’s hands shook as she examined her wounds, her expression torn with fear and helplessness. “You’re not fine. You’re hurt… so badly.”

Y/N managed a weak smile, her breath ragged. “It’s just a scratch.”

Clarisse’s eyes filled with emotion. “Don’t joke, Y/N. You could’ve… could’ve died!”

“I’m… still here,” Y/N whispered, reaching out with her good arm to grip Clarisse’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But Clarisse wasn’t listening. Her jaw clenched, her hands shaking with barely controlled rage. “I’m going to make him pay. I swear to the gods, Luke will regret this.”

Y/N barely had the energy to protest, her body shutting down as the pain began to overwhelm her. “Clarisse… I just… need to rest… please…”

Clarisse’s expression softened for a moment, her hand gently brushing Y/N’s hair away from her face. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Despite her best efforts, Y/N couldn’t hold on any longer. As the darkness crept in, she could feel Clarisse’s hand still tightly gripping hers, a lifeline that kept her tethered to the world.

When Y/N awoke, the first thing she saw was Clarisse, sitting by her side, her face a mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Hey,” Clarisse whispered, her voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N smiled weakly. “I’m… sorry.”

Clarisse shook her head, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face. “No. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

The group had managed to escape the Underworld with the lightning bolt, and Luke was gone—vanished for now. But the cost had been high, and Y/N’s wounds were far from healed.

Clarisse stayed by her side as the group made their way back, and the storm that had once raged inside them both seemed to have calmed, replaced by a quiet understanding—a bond that had been forged in the fires of battle.

They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were stronger, together.

______________________________________________________________________

The journey back to Camp Half-Blood had been tense. Y/N was still recovering from her injuries—her broken arm in a sling, ribs wrapped tightly, and a few stitches from the gash across her forehead. Yet, the mission wasn’t over. She had one final task to complete: to return the stolen lightning bolt to her father, Zeus.

The moment they arrived at the camp, Clarisse was by her side, her fierce protectiveness evident in her every movement. Even though the rest of the group was exhausted and covered in dirt and blood from their encounter with Luke, Clarisse’s gaze never wavered from Y/N.

“Y/N, you’re not going to the gods like this,” Clarisse said, her voice low but firm. She was standing beside Y/N as they prepared for the trip to Olympus. “You’re still hurt.”

Y/N, who had been sitting quietly by the campfire, glanced up at her with a tired but determined expression. “Clarisse, I have to do this. I can handle it.”

“You’re injured!” Clarisse’s voice rose slightly, her frustration clear. “What if something happens to you? You can barely stand up without wincing, and you want to go face your father—alone?”

Y/N stood up, wincing from the pain in her ribs but not letting it show. “I’m not some fragile little thing that needs constant babysitting, Clarisse.” Her voice was sharp, though there was no malice behind it. “I’m a big girl, okay? I’ll be fine.”

Clarisse’s eyes flashed with hurt, and for a moment, she said nothing. Y/N turned away, her heart pounding in her chest. She understood why Clarisse was so worried. After all, Clarisse had been by her side through every battle, every near-death experience. But this? This was something she had to do on her own.

“I don’t care how strong you are, Y/N,” Clarisse finally said, her voice quieter but no less intense. “I can’t just sit here and let you go alone. I… I care about you. More than you probably even realize.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the admission. She turned back to face Clarisse, her eyes searching her face for any sign of insincerity, but there was none.

“Clarisse…”

Before she could say anything else, Clarisse closed the distance between them, her movements swift and sure. In one fluid motion, she cupped Y/N’s face in her hands and kissed her—soft, urgent, and all-consuming.

Y/N’s world tilted as the kiss deepened, her body pressing instinctively closer to Clarisse’s. It was everything Y/N hadn’t realized she wanted—a surge of heat and tenderness all at once. It was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

When they pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Clarisse rested her forehead against Y/N’s, their noses almost touching.

“You think you can do this alone?” Clarisse whispered, her voice hushed, but full of an emotion Y/N couldn’t ignore. “You think I can just stand by and watch you risk your life?”

Y/N smiled softly, her heart fluttering. “Clarisse, I don’t need saving. I’m strong. But I don’t mind if you want to be by my side.”

Clarisse chuckled, the tension easing between them. “I’ll be by your side,” she said quietly. “But you’re not doing this alone, Y/N. I care about you too much.”

Y/N reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Clarisse’s face, her heart swelling with affection. “I care about you, too. But I’m going. Whether you like it or not.”

Clarisse sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Fine. But I’m going with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/N shook her head in mock exasperation, though the warmth in her chest was undeniable. “You’re impossible.”

“Only when I’m fighting for what’s mine,” Clarisse retorted, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

As they made their way to the entrance of Camp Half-Blood, preparing to head to Olympus, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude. Despite everything that had happened—despite the dangers, the pain, and the uncertainty—she wasn’t facing it alone. Clarisse was with her, and in that moment, it felt like nothing could tear them apart.

The journey to Olympus was a blur, the sounds of the mortal world fading as they ascended to the realm of the gods. Y/N stood before the throne of Zeus, Clarisse at her side, and she could feel the weight of her father’s gaze upon her.

“Daughter,” Zeus said, his voice booming, “you have done well to retrieve my bolt.”

Y/N stood tall, despite her injuries, and offered her father the stolen bolt. “It was a team effort,” she said, glancing at Clarisse with a small, knowing smile.

Zeus nodded, though his gaze flickered briefly to Clarisse. “It seems you have gained not just the power of the storm, but the strength of loyalty and trust.” He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face. “And perhaps a little more.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away from her father’s piercing eyes. “I’ll always stand by my friends and my family. No matter what.”

Clarisse stepped forward, her posture proud. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what happens next.”

Zeus’s expression softened, though he didn’t offer much more than a knowing nod. “Very well. You’ve proven yourself worthy. You may go.”

As they turned to leave, Y/N glanced at Clarisse, her heart swelling with affection. She didn’t need Zeus’s approval to know what she had found in Clarisse was real.

They walked side by side as they descended from Olympus, Y/N’s arm around Clarisse’s shoulders as they made their way back to the mortal world. There was still much to do, many dangers yet to face. But for now, with the storm of their emotions finally settled, they walked together—strong, and ready for whatever came next.

______________________________________________________________________

The days that followed their return from Olympus were filled with a quiet sense of relief and rest. Y/N was still healing from her injuries, her broken arm in a cast and her ribs slowly mending with the help of the camp’s healer, but there was something more significant happening as well—her relationship with Clarisse was growing, shifting from quiet moments of tension to an open, loving bond.

Clarisse, ever the fierce warrior, had softened in ways that Y/N had never expected. She stayed by Y/N’s side constantly, her presence a comforting constant. Whether they were in the infirmary or walking around the camp, Clarisse was always there, her hand always finding its way to Y/N’s—protective, possessive, and gentle all at once.

One afternoon, after another long session with the healer, Y/N was sitting by the fire, the warmth of the flames kissing her skin as she leaned against the stone wall. Clarisse sat beside her, watching over her like a hawk, always making sure Y/N was comfortable, always offering a hand to help when needed.

“You know,” Y/N said softly, her gaze fixed on the fire, “I never thought I’d end up like this—injured, resting, relying on others to help me.”

Clarisse nudged her gently with her shoulder, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’ve always been a bit too independent for your own good. Maybe this is a lesson in letting others take care of you for once.”

Y/N grinned, glancing at her. “I suppose I can get used to it, as long as you’re the one taking care of me.”

Clarisse’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “Of course. I’ll always be here, Y/N. Always.”

The words were simple, but they carried a depth that made Y/N’s heart swell. She reached up, gently pulling Clarisse into a kiss, slow and tender, savoring the closeness between them. It wasn’t a kiss filled with urgency or desire—it was the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing words. It was about the trust they had built, the understanding that they were in this together, no matter what came next.

As they pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against Clarisse’s, both of them breathing softly in the quiet of the night. “You really don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know.”

Clarisse chuckled, her thumb brushing across Y/N’s knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, you’ll have to chase me away.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering in her chest. “I think I’m okay with that.”

Clarisse’s grin grew wider, a playful glint in her eyes. “You better be. Because I’m not leaving your side.”

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N’s healing progressed. She was no longer confined to bedrest, though she still moved cautiously, her body not quite back to its usual strength. But each step she took, Clarisse was there—offering her a hand when needed, walking beside her through the camp as they shared quiet moments, stolen kisses, and laughter.

One afternoon, after Y/N had finished a light training session with Percy and Annabeth, she found herself sitting in a secluded part of the camp, watching the sunset. Clarisse joined her soon after, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I can’t believe we made it through all of that,” Y/N said, her voice soft but full of gratitude. “We actually survived.”

Clarisse kissed the top of her head, her lips lingering there. “We did more than survive, Y/N. We made it through together. That’s what matters.”

Y/N leaned into her, resting her head on Clarisse’s shoulder as they watched the sky turn shades of orange and pink. It was peaceful here—far away from the chaos of the quest, the battles, and the dangers they had faced.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” Y/N murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Clarisse’s hand.

Clarisse chuckled softly. “You’d have probably gotten yourself into even more trouble.”

Y/N looked up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re probably right. But I think I’d always want you by my side, no matter what.”

Clarisse’s expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss Y/N again—this time a little more passionately. As they pulled apart, Clarisse’s eyes held a quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me, Y/N. No matter what happens next, I’m here. For good.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling in her chest. “Then let’s face everything together, Clarisse.”

They sat there for a long time, watching the sunset, wrapped in each other’s arms. The journey had been difficult—there had been pain, loss, and betrayal. But now, with Clarisse by her side, Y/N knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

Their love, like the storm within Y/N, had been tested—but now it was calm, steady, and unwavering. And for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt truly at peace.

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #disney+#percy jackson and the Olympians x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue

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thelargefrye · 11 months ago

Text

February Filth Fest : DAY EIGHTEEN : SIZE KINK … mature one - shot

pairing : norse god!seonghwa x greek goddess!f!reader

genre : smut, viking au, god of war inspired – so a mix of norse and greek mythology in this

word count : 2k

warnings : language, mentions of blood / fighting / weapons (swords, axe, bow and arrows, etc.), hunting for food, feeling grief over a loved ones death, long haired seonghwa in a half-up ponytail, seonghwa is mentioned to be bigger than yn

smut warnings : unprotected sex, size kink, seonghwa's got a breeding kink

honorary tag : @sanjoongie

after having traveled all over midgard with seonghwa and fighting for your lives, the two of you can finally settle down and have a moment together.

DAY SEVENTEEN ↤ SPREAD THE ASHES ↦ DAY NINETEEN

a grunt left your mouth as you were flung into a large tree. you stumbled to your feet, seonghwa swung his axe at the trolls that were around him. blood flown through the sky, some landing on his face as he kicked one troll away before rushing over to you.

his hand wrapping around your forearm and hoisting you to steady feet before swinging at another troll. a smirk decorating his lips as he gave you a side glance.

"come on now, y/n, surely someone who killed all of olympus isn't getting beat by some trolls," he says, the cockiness thick in his voice and you roll your eyes before slashing and stabbing at the nearest troll – the one who sent you flying.

"shut your mouth and focus on fighting before i kill you next," you said and seonghwa lets out a loud laugh before he jumping and hacking at two trolls and effortlessly cutting them down.

when the trolls were all dead, you and seonghwa stood in the middle of the clearly covered in blood before sheathing your weapons.

"well that was a little more excitement than what i was anticipating," he says, turning to you with a smile on his face. but seonghwa always had a smile on his face. "i remember seeing a river along the north trail, lets go wash up before setting up camp."

you nod your head and allow seonghwa to lead the way, following closely behind him as you walked down one of the many dirt paths in the forest. you notice that every once in a while, seonghwa will look over his shoulder to make sure you are still following behind. silently noting your quietness as normally the two of you are going back and forth with each other in a playful bicker.

"what's the matter?" seonghwa finally asks once you are at the river. the both of you stripped down from your bloody armor and carefully washing the blood out. there was nothing you truly hated more than bloody armor, such a disgrace.

you turn towards him, clenching your clothes tightly, "i was thinking about my family," you say trailing off and at your words seonghwa also stops his scrubbing.

his now doe eyes looking at you softly and you hate how he makes your heart flutter and stomach do flips. seonghwa only knows a little bit about your family from greece and olympus, how went on this journey of revenge for your family after zeus took everything from you. you guess his comment from earlier was making you think.

but think about what exactly you aren't sure.

perhaps settling down with seonghwa after this and finally living a peaceful life. but was that something you even deserved?

"y/n," seonghwa is close to you, his bare skin touching your own and it brings you out of your thoughts. you look at him with wide eyes, surprised by how he moved this close to you without you noticing and he easily towers over you. perhaps that's a benefit from him being a frost giant? "what are you thinking? tell me," he sounds like he's pleading almost.

"i want to live a peaceful life, but i don't think i deserve it," you tell him, a chill running over you as you feel seonghwa's hand travel around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"why don't you deserve it?"

"i've done a lot of bad things seonghwa, killed a lot of people, gods, monsters."

"but you've paid your debt, stop living in the past and focus on now. you aren't in olympus anymore, darling. you're here with me now. i don't think hongjoong would want you to live like this, feeling guilty."

your eyebrows furrow at the mention of your dead lover. husband. you felt angry that seonghwa would mention him as if he knew him. without thinking you shove seonghwa away and the water around you two splashes up against you both. seonghwa looks at you in shock.

"don't you dare talk about hongjoong like you know him!" you feel the tears beginning to build up in your waterline, but not from sadness but anger.

"i lost him and our daughter because i was stupid! their deaths haunt me and i see their bodies every time i close my eyes. no matter how hard i try to move on i will always be haunted by their deaths and my mistakes, so don't tell me to not live in the past when that's all i can see!"

seonghwa said nothing as the two of you looked at each other. he was calm and collected while you were the definition of rage. heavy breathing, clenched fists, and tear-stricken face. his silence only made you more upset.

"i'm not asking for you to forget hongjoong and your daughter," he says after what felt like an eternity of silence. "but..." he trails off taking a cautious step towards you, "i want you to realize that you don't have to let their death weigh on you forever."

"seonghwa..."

"you said you wanted a peaceful life, well we can have one. we'll settle down at the small cabin and have our own children. you paid your debt, but you have to give yourself this second chance," he says as he stops back in front of you. his cold hand feels safe when he touches your own.

"i... i don't know," you pull away from him once more, turning away and walking out of the river, clothes and armor in hand as you walk back to the camp you two had set up at the clearing, leaving seonghwa by himself.

the two of you spent the rest of the evening and early night in silence. the two of you having traveled and been doing this long enough that you could do things around camp without actually talking to one another. seonghwa had went and brought back deer he hunted for the two of you two eat.

and so you sat at the campfire in silence, the smell of meat feeling your nose and cracking of the fire filling your ears. your mind still reeling from what was said earlier. seonghwa was right because he was always right. you didn't need to forget hongjoong and your daughter, but you needed to let their deaths not haunt you anymore.

your eyes flicker to seonghwa from across the fire, his own eyes already looking at you. he had finished eating a while ago while you were still picking at yours. he rolled his shoulders before standing up, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. silently bidding you goodnight before he enters your shared tent.

you don't know how much longer you sit by the fire, long enough for it to die out on its own. you stomp out the remaining glowing embers before crawling into the tent and laying down next to seonghwa.

you think you made up your mind.

"seonghwa," you know he's awake, he always waits for you to join him as you do for him. "can we talk?"

he turns over on his back while you lay on your side to face him. your hand reaches out to take his, linking your fingers together.

"i want to live a peaceful life with you. i want that small cabin, i want our children – your children, i want to take in the wolves, i want to love you everyday that i am able to wake up next to you and after that. i want to try and let go of my guilt enough for this to happen, please help me seonghwa."

seonghwa gives your hand a firm squeeze before he's rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. you let him pin your hands above your head and you can't help the arousal that runs through you when he does it with only one hand. his black locks framing his beautiful face that his clean of blood and war and his eyes are filled with something. lust? love? something else perhaps?

his large frame bends down to kiss you, his hands groping your body as he removes your undergarments so you are now bare and fully naked before his eyes. you watch as he lowers his head and trails his lips down your body; licking, biting, and sucking different marks over your tattered and worn body.

"s-seonghwa," you moan out when he finds home between your legs and licks your pussy slowly and lazily. his eyes never once looking away from yours. he makes out with your pussy, kissing it and letting his tongue drag in and out of your pussy and licking up any juices that you leak. like he's a man dying from thirst and your pussy is his oasis.

seonghwa effortlessly brings you to your first orgasm before he's finally pulling away, but not before pressing one last kiss to your pussy. he once again towers over you, a layer of sweat covering your entire body but you happily wrap your arms around seonghwa to bring into another kiss. your taste yourself on his lips, but you honestly don't mind.

the both of you are breathless when you finally break away, "seonghwa, i love you."

"my y/n, darling, i love you more than you can imagine," he says spreading your legs easily and you can't help but clench at knowing is coming.

"seonghwa, seonghwa, please!" you beg, hands combing through his long locks and brushing them out of his face.

"you know... if we start now, i could have you full and breed by the time we get back to the cabin," he says as you feel the tip of his cockhead running between your folds. "i can just imagine it," he says, slowly pushing himself inside of you, "fuck– you would look so beautiful with my child."

you clench around him the more he pushes inside of you, back arching as his lips latch onto your breast and begin licking and sucking on your nipple.

this isn't the first time you and seonghwa have fucked, but for some reason this felt different. as he thrusted into you, your name leaving his lips and his name leaving yours, you felt full. you felt a warmth spread through you as his taller stature curled into yours and you wrap yourself around him to bring even closer – if it was even possible.

"fuck– seonghwa, i-i'm close!" you could feel your second orgasm coming and it only seemed to drive seonghwa to move his hips faster.

he gave you his smirk, his eyes glazed over with lust, "i'm going to fill you with full of my cum over and over again, darling, until your stuffed and pregnant with my child," he says and you clench at his words. seonghwa does only a few more harsh thrust before you are both cumming. you fill his cum slowly filling you up and and some of it even leaking out around his cock from how much it is.

seonghwa is breathless as he pulls out and quickly folds your legs up and stuffing any cum back into you. you can't help but feel a little flustered at how he that, eyes staring hard at your cum-filled pussy. you then begin to feel a wave of exhaustion rush over you and you are lazily pulling at seonghwa to have him lay next to you.

he lays down next to you with a small 'ugh' sound leaving his lips as he does. you cuddle up next to seonghwa, and you realize that before meeting him, you never would have done this. you rest your head on chest as seonghwa draws his fur cape over the two of you. you can't help but let out a laugh at how it doesn't even fully cover the two of you.

"i want a daughter first," seonghwa says quietly and more to himself than you. "i want to name him dal-nim. it was my mother's name."

"its beautiful."

"what would you name her?"

"idonia," you whisper back, reaching up to kiss his collarbone.

"loving one," is the last thing you hear before you close your eyes and let sleep consume you.

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