#but his bottom ambrosia can do no wrong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smokeypeaches-and-honeyplums · 2 months

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First i just wanna say your headcanons are seriously top notch, excellent work 👌. Ok now onto the actual request, could you do the NSFW alphaber for Macaque like you did for Redson? Don't forget to have a lovely day. 💙

What a way for me to return lmao. Thank you for the compliment, I tend to get self conscious about my writing.

You've heard it all before. Sorry for being inactive, I'm coming back, especially with the new specials coming out. I have more time on my hands. Gonna go through the box until I can start accepting again.

Edit post-s5: all is hell and I just need to cope atp what the FUCK was that season/pos

Reader is Gender-Neutral by default!

// NSFW!! MINORS DNI //

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I like to imagine Macaque is very cuddly for aftercare. Tapping into his primal side, he's more possessive and protective. So, he holds onto you, petting you as he whispers in your ear, helping you down from subspace if he has to (or domspace if you topped).

Given he has portals, shadow travel and clones, he can get all your needs met without leaving you. So, you get cuddles AND resources provided. The perfect aftercare.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Macaque honestly doesn't like much about himself. He can talk the talk, looking as if he has a healthy or overbearing ego, but get him alone for long enough? He'll be second guessing how he even blinks

Exaggerating, of course

Point is, there's not much. A lot of it has been marred as well, so it makes it worse. Though, he's come to love his face. With or without the glamour, you've gotten this far with him and loved him through his roughest time. And it's one of the things you seemed to fall for

Besides, he's gotta admit, he does look a bit on the good side.

On you though, if you're Masc leaning, he loves your arms. Shows your strength and capabilities, and their nice to look at. It feels nice to be vulnerable in them

If you're Fem leaning, he'll admit, he's a bit of an ass guy. Ass and thighs, specifically. Their nice to lay on. And they also feel so nice between his fingers, against his hips...

Ahem.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Leaning into that more primal side, Macaque likes to mark you now and then. He isn't very fond of making messes, borderline germaphobe if you asked me, but there's a part of him that likes to make a mess out of you specifically, in such a way no one else could, in such an intimate setting

It gives him a sense of control and possession of something intimate he's honestly been lacking for... however long its been honestly

However, if you make big messes/are a squirter, he's eating that shit up, figuratively and literally

It's like ambrosia on his tongue

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not? Macaque doesn't really have a dirty secret. None he would consider one, anyways.

But, a secret at ALL would be how Macaque really wants to be cherished. He DOES want to give up control to a degree, he's just scared of getting hurt again. You can only do so much to heal his soul, so when he DOES bottom, CHERISH it. He doesn't do it easy

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Can I say no? Not really?

Okay, well, not completely, but he's a quick learner

Macaque has been dead for however long it's been. And in that time, he definitely kept to himself A LOT. Hard to make connections when you're supposed to be, ya know, DEAD. So he didn't pick up much. But he did pick up SOMETHING

But, he's a quick learner. So don't worry too much. He does ask that you tell him if he's doing something wrong though, he doesn't wanna hurt you

That's the last thing he wants to do

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, in contrast to Redson, Macaque hates any position where you can see his face in turn. Sure, he loves to see yours, but contrary to popular belief, he HATES how he looks.

He knows how to fake it til he makes it, so that confidence is very exaggerated

But hey, at least he still gets to have a good show as he has his way with you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He'll pop a joke now and again, don't get me wrong. Macaque isn't AS much of a hardass about it in comparison to how Redson would be about the moment. Though he doesn't want it completely ruined

He won't hesitate to make you laugh though. Especially if it helps ease tension

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's a monkey. Hair goes crazy

Macaque never thought to really groom down there. I mean, why would he? He never expected to get to this point with anyone again.

So no, he's not really "well groomed," so I hope you don't mind fur in your mouth if you go to town on him in either regard on either side

He does develop a habit to get better groomed though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Macaque is very intimate. He cherishes this, cherishes YOU. You mean so, so much. You've gotten this far with him, so he treasures you and whenever you guys get down and dirty, he does it with the intention of love making.

No primal urges

No biting (unless you want to, that is)

Just pure and utter devotion.

Maybe it's because it's all he's known, but it's how he shows his love to you. Praise and devotion.

uh- where were we again?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Macaque only really starts to masturbate proper when he gets in a relationship with you and start to get intimate (or just, getting intimate in general if you're just fwb)

Don't get me wrong! It's not like he HASN'T touched himself before. He's a demon at the end of the day, urges happen

It just increased in frequency when he got tangled up with you

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly? BDSM. Especially Bondage. Bondage specifically on you, though. For... obvious and not so obvious reasons

Roleplay! He's an actor, he's dramatic, he's a theater kid. He's gotta put it somewhere, right?

He's very partial to oral and might even have an Asphyxiation kink, in regard to both of you. Especially you though. And, in moderation so neither of you get hurt

Likes to use his clones on you now and again. It's fun to see

Would you believe me if I said he has a slight Exhibition kink? Listen to my vision-

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As far away from FFM as possible /hj

Macaque prefers it to be somewhere he can have you to himself. In the future, or some point in time, he could entertain the idea of sharing. Maybe. But until then, no one gets to see the faces you make.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Macaque is a simple man/demon. Anything on average to get ANYONE going would get him going

Show a bit of skin in the right places, curve a certain way, bend over in front of him

He's a simple man/demon. He's allowed to give in to his vices when he's tempted by the likes of you

If you're Masc leaning, he'll start to get going just from seeing your arms and muscles flex, even if you're doing something simple. He folds easy

If you're Fem leaning, anything that shows off your ass and/or thighs has him weak in the knees and absolutely unable to keep his hands to himself. He folds easy²

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Macaque absolutely REFUSES to be bound. He'll entertain the idea of holding himself back, but he REFUSES to have his legs and arms bound. For, again, obvious and not-so obvious reasons

Macaque REFUSES to hurt you in any way beyond the asphyxiation. He regards you in such a high light, that he refuses to purposefully hurt you. It'd destroy him, no matter how much you would tell him its okay, no matter the context. So no knifeplay, bloodplay, or anything of that sort.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Macaque's asphyxiation kink purely stems from oral, I am gonna be honest

He'dchokeonthestrap

He prefers to give than to receive, but if offered, he'll DEFINITELY take the chance. You didn't hear that from me though

He also likes the praise he gets from it too, but again, didn't hear that from me

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you couldn't tell from how much I say it, Macaque revels in you as a whole, so he likes to take it slow.

He tends to take things slow, no matter what it is, so you better best believe that he is taking his time with you. He'll squeeze in some teasing too to make you feel good

He wants to savour you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Just because Macaque wants to savour you, doesn't mean he can't also have appetizers now and again

He'll have a quickie now and again, but don't be surprised if he asks for more. But it's also not impossible for it to be enough for him, so if he needs to get off, he'll settle

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you can't tell, the answer is No. For most things

Macaque is still willing to experiment, don't get me wrong, but he has very set boundaries for what area he'll be willing to experiment with and what he won't.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Look at him. Look at him and tell me you don't think he wouldn't be able to LAST.

Macaque's capable of a lot of things in and out of combat, so he definitely has the Stamina to last. Honestly, I have a general headcanon that demons, especially more powerful ones, have tons of stamina.

Have fun walking if you teased him :D

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are a possibility. Macaque doesn't own em, so you'd have to bring them into the fray first.

Tease him though, and watch him melt in your hands when you get him to bottom. He makes the sweetest sounds

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Macaque's only unfair if you're unfair. And he'll always return the favor tenfold, no matter how badly you teased him. It's only fair, right? And besides, it's not like he's the only one that makes such sweet sounds

But trust, if Macaque starts teasing, you're in for a LONG night

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Macaque has sensitive hearing, if you couldn't tell, but that makes it all the better to him

He loves to growl in your ear if he tops, hear his pants and moans as he makes both of you feel good, hitting that spot you told him felt so good that one time, feeling you cling to him

And when he bottoms? He goes the full fucking MILE

Macaque is LOUD when he bottoms. If he's being this vulnerable, he might as well go all out. So he WHINES, he CRIES and by the great sage, does he MOAN.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Macaque's a dom-leaning switch, if you couldn't tell by now from what I've been implying, only bottoming once he's comfortable enough to and with his initiation the first go around

Also, whenever he teases, I like to imagine he likes to use his shadow abilities for various ideas (with your approval, of course). This includes Bondage, his clones, transformation. I mean, shit, sky's the limit

I also like to think he's not very good with the usual things at first. Things like dirty talk, foreplay, stuff like that. He will ask for guidance. He doesn't wanna fuck it up with you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I can FINALLY talk about it

Macaque's not some "well-endowed" sex master, so he's not gonna be packing some star-seeing dick either. Well, he could, when he knows how to use it

The guy's above average, at 7.1 inches and 5 in. in width lacking in curvature. He's never thought anything of it, since he never needed to use it often

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Demons have a naturally high libido, and Macaque is no different.

Same as I said with Redson, Macaque isn't some raging, horny demon just because of the type of demon he is. He can be primal, but he has control over it

Entertain it though...

Have mercy on your legs

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once Macaque finishes for the night (or, however long,) he can be seen almost passing out. He'll make sure you're fine, hence why he kinda leans on his clones to care for you while he cuddles into you, but he kinda crashes out once he's officially spent. A bad habit of his

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk reader insert #lmk headcanons #lmk x reader headcanons #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk imagines #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #lmk x reader #monkie kid #lego monkie kid six eared macaque #lego monkie kid imagines #lego monkie kid x reader headcanons #lego monkie kid x gen neutral reader #lego monkie kid x six eared macaque #lgbt nsft #nsft #minors dni

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happyk44 · 1 year

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hermes is on vacation so nico gets some mortal substitute familiar with demigods and the greek pantheon as his doctor and when he calls him up for a visit, dude's like "well hermes didn't really tell me what was up with you because. you know. doctor/patient confidentiality. but he did tell me that if my gut instinct is "you're too young to have that" i should remember that you are apparently over a hundred years old, and if i don't believe that, i should remember he looks like a 25 year old twink but is old enough that he can describe my great grandfather's penis to me in detail. so! what's up with you"

and nico just pulls out this binder from his backpack, slaps it onto the desk and opens it up. the first page is a print out from a powerpoint presentation, the title reading "What Is Wrong With Nico", a subtitle of "aka the old man bones are old man boning", with a smaller subtitle several spaces below reading "current as of: right the fuck now"

the next page is four tables under the title "Ways He Is Broken". the tables depict:

his current diagnosis and the date of diagnosis

his current medications, the amount, and to what problem they correspond

things he's already been tested for that didn't pan out and why he was tested for them

previous medications he was on, the amount and why he was taking them (also includes current meds where the amount was changed)

the next page is titled "How The Fuck Is He Not Dead" and then a bullet pointed list summarizing all his traumas and other minor shit he's been through that has been attached as the cause(s) behind his issues, so like sandwiched between "nearly suffocated to death while trapped in a jar" and "had to shadowtravel across the atlantic ocean with a giant statue and two other people (prior limit was myself going from new york to illinois)" there's a point stating "fell over on the crows nest of a flying boat and dislocated my wrist". next to each bullet point there are coloured dots going to the left. some bullet points only have one, some have two - they are all colour coded to correspond to the ailment(s) in which they apply.

the next page is called "What Is He Up To These Days" and it's just a long list detailing all his diagnosed symptoms - again little circles beside each point to colour code to the corresponding ailment. the column next to it is labelled "new symptoms" and consists of three bullet points: getting dizzy when i stand up, started two months ago once a week, now every time i stand; migraines are back, made me cry in the shower last night, need new meds probably; and, got hit in the rib by a hydra's tail last month, reset my rib myself and eating ambrosia squares, but still hurts really bad, don't think it's healing right

the next page is "What Could Kill Him So Don't Use It*" and it's just a few columns labelled "pet allergies" "food allergies" "drug allergies" "magic allergies" "other allergies" and the only one that has something included is food allergies and it's just the bullet point "garlic intolerant but he's fucking italian so he doesn't care". in the footnotes at the bottom of that page is the asterix relating back to the title saying "Don't fucking give him cigarettes. he is an idiot and he will ask but they do not work and they never worked and he refuses to listen to me when i tell him this. DO NOT LET HIM HAVE CIGARETTES"

it is very clear this page was filled out by Hermes himself

his interim mortal doctor reads carefully each page, glancing once at nico when he gets to Hermes' footnote, before closing the binder. "you're how old?"

"technically 17, chronologically one hundred and something, i dunno i can't do math and i don't remember what my dad put on my cake this year"

"Right. okay." the mortal doctor presses his hands together and to his lips watching nico carefully then lowering his hands to smooth across the desk "have you ever thought about maybe just sitting on a couch and never leaving your house again"

"yeah, i tried that but i get restless, and also i like helping people if they need it and they ask. hermes tells me i should be more selfish then locks me to a chair, but he's also the one who taught me how to pick locks so i can get out pretty easily. honestly don't know why he keeps trying. even if i didn't know how to pick the lock, i'm pretty good at dislocating my joints on purpose too so i can always just get out that way."

the increasingly stressed out doctor just hums quietly. then, "okay! first i'm going to check your rib, and then we're gonna talk about you getting a 24 hour caregiver because you clearly do not understand limits and need someone who does"

#apparenrtly garlic intolerance is a very real thing lmao #it's caused by not having the right enzymes to break the garlic down - like lactose intolerance i think?#i was thinking about making it a garlic allergy but then i was like nah i can't be that mean to him #initially tho i was gonna go with a drug allergy and make it some common 1940s drug but then i remembered smoking was a thing lolll #based on a thought i had about making this exact powerpoint #nico di angelo #happy talks pjo

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twoidiotwriters1 · 7 months

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: I'm looking forward to read what you guys think of this one -Danny Words: 1,533 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Haunted' -by Taylor Swift

XXIV: I Use the Power of Love (Goes Wrong Too)

When they reach the bottom, Annabeth is staring down a ridge in the middle of the cave. Percy pulls her away from it and hugs her. Annabeth sobs against his chest.

"It's okay, we're together," he eases her.

"Annie," Ara reaches for her T-Rex. "Your leg..."

Ara gets to work quickly while Leo follows her instructions and takes the Athena Parthenos. Hazel and Piper come down with Nico as well, and Ara wants to yell at them to go back, but she keeps it quiet, they're trying to help them get out of there faster.

"Your leg," Piper crouches next to Ara. "Oh, Annabeth, what happened?"

Annabeth starts telling them about her quest, and Ara half-listens, her heartbeat so loud she can barely focus on fixing up Annabeth's ankle. Jason joins them while Leo lifts the statue into the ship.

"Gods of Olympus," he says, listening to the final parts of Annabeth's story. "You did all that alone. With a broken ankle."

"Well... some of it with a broken ankle."

"You made Arachne weave her own trap?" Percy smirks. "I knew you were good, but Holy Hera—Annabeth, you did it. Generations of Athena kids tried and failed. You found the Athena Parthenos!"

"Yeah, good job—now eat," Ara places a piece of ambrosia in Annabeth's mouth. "How're you feeling?"

"My ankle isn't throbbing anymore," she gives Ara a teary but grateful look. "Mike would be proud."

"You have no idea..." Ara strokes Annabeth's cheek, pulling most of the anguish out with her empath touch. "Percy, help me get her out of here."

"On it."

"We have to take her with us to Greece," Annabeth points at the Athena. "The statue is powerful. Something about it will help us stop the giants."

"The giants' bane stands gold and pale," Hazel hums. "Won with pain from a woven jail... It was Arachne's jail. You tricked her into weaving it."

"What about you guys?" Annabeth looks around, still covered in cobwebs that she doesn't seem to mind at the moment. "What happened with the giants?"

"You can talk about that on the ship," Ara urges them. "Get up!"

Percy pulls Annabeth to her feet. "Maybe you can talk some sense into Ara, she's been—"

The floor cracks, reminding the group they're not in a safe place. Jason takes Piper back to the ship, and Hazel holds Nico. "This floor won't last! The rest of us should get to the ladder."

"Great idea," Ara replies. "Nico and you first. Percy—take Annabeth."

"What about you?" He frowns.

"I'll be right behind you," she lies.

"Do you promise?" Her brother presses.

Ara can't, of course, and she doesn't get the chance to, because Annabeth gets yanked away from them screaming.

"Annabeth!"

The cobwebs are dragging her down, probably stuck to some debris that's fallen into the pit. Ara pulls Almighty out of her pocket and runs to her friend.

"You catch her!" She yells at Percy.

The boy throws himself and grabs Annabeth's hand, Ara slashes across the floor and cuts the cobwebs, but her sword cuts through the ground as well, making it more unstable. The girls lock eyes, and Annabeth sees right through her just like Lily would. Her expression shifts into one of pure panic.

"Ara—"

"Leave." Ara sprints towards the pit and Annabeth, charged with adrenaline, gets up and runs, seemingly not in pain as she quickly catches up to Ara. Both girls hear Percy scream at them to come back.

It happens extremely fast. Annabeth seizes Ara's backpack and yanks her back, the girl falls sideways and her elbow explodes in pain, leaving her unable to move for a second... and a second is all it takes for things to go south, quite literally. Annabeth screams, and Ara rolls over just in time to see her and Percy slip out of sight.

"NO!" She rashly crawls to the edge.

Percy and Annabeth had always been there to protect her, and she'd always been thankful for that... but she should've never let them get used to it, cause it has led to this: her brother holding onto a ledge, where Ara cannot save him.

The boy is holding Annabeth with his other hand, and Ara realizes the girl is hugging the T-Rex, the strap must've broken when Annabeth pulled her out of danger.

"You should've left!" Ara desperately tries to reach her brother even though Percy is more than ten feet below. "You never listen to me!"

Percy screams back, sounding as scared as her. "Why didn't you listen?"

Deep down, she believed Annabeth and Percy's love had limits, she convinced herself that even if they cared about her, their resolve would break and they would back off just like Lily did. This is not how she wanted to find out she was wrong.

Nico speaks next to her, sounding shaken. "What did you do?"

Ara whimpers with frustration, none of them should've been there.

"Percy, let me go," Annabeth speaks hoarsely. "You can't pull me up."

"Never," Percy growls. His eyes go back to Ara and Nico. "The other side! We'll see you there. Understand?"

Nico's face gets even paler than it already was. "But—"

"Lead them there!" Percy urges him. "Promise me!"

"I—I will," Nico gulps.

Ara's knuckles are white from holding onto the edge. This is not how it was supposed to go. It was her sacrifice to make... "No." Nemesis speaks in her head. "You don't value yourself, which makes you a poor sacrifice. These two, they are your offerings."

Ara's commitment to the cause runs deep, she's willing to give up her life with Leo, but only because it's her the one stepping out. She doesn't want others to be taken so she can remain. Percy and Annabeth should have never been hers to give away like this. It's unfair, as all her life has been.

Percy starts to slip, and the chamber crumbles down faster, none of them is going to survive if they stay there. "The T-Rex!" Ara shouts. "It's got supplies and my blessing! Love will keep you safe!"

Those words saved Percy's life once, they can do it again. Her brother's eyes burn with anger and something else she doesn't recognize, he realizes Ara had prepared for the fall and it doesn't make him feel better.

That look being the last one he will ever give her is not an option, it would haunt her more than Mike's words.

Her brother's hand loses its grip, and Ara lets out something like a scream and a sob, but so broken it doesn't even sound human.

"GET UP!" Nico yells, pulling her to her feet and dragging her away with the last bit of strength he's got in him.

I always thought having a real family was better than having half-siblings. I imagined it'd be an unbreakable bond, affection with no limits. I feel that way about Percy most times, but right now, I want to trip him down the amphitheater steps.

"Ara!"

I give a start. Mike's sweating profusely, and he does not appreciate it when I ignore training. I look at him, then back at my brother.

"What is it?" He follows my line of vision.

I speak without tearing my eyes away from Percy, currently taking a break from climbing the lava wall. "Five minutes."

"What?"

"Takes him five minutes to climb the whole thing."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Well, it's Percy."

That's the response I get whenever I say my brother can do something better. "It's Percy". I know he's strong and skilled, but I've been in this camp for longer than him, I train more, so why are my efforts still not enough to compare to him?

"Age, gender, godly parent," I pout. "Why do those things set us apart? We have similar experiences, and he might have control over water, but—"

"It's more than that," Mike interrupts me. "There are things that big-three kids get since birth because they get targeted more than us. He heals faster, he moves faster—"

"I don't heal slowly," I argue.

"Percy could get stabbed and keep going for an entire hour before he even starts to feel dizzy. You'd be out of the fight in five minutes. Lily and I know you can be sneaky, but Percy doesn't even need to."

That last sentence irritates me. I don't want to hide and run, I've been hiding and running from every monster for the last three years.

Beckendorf joins Percy while I think of this, both look like all demigods should: Athletic, handsome, and powerful. I'll be fourteen in a week, and I'm bruised, calloused, sweaty, and tired. I'm not like them at all, nowhere near their level.

"Whatever," I mutter, picking up my sword.

Mike sighs. "Don't dwell on it, bug. One day you'll be the daughter of Olympus and you'll be stronger than all of us. It won't matter if you were born with power or not, you'll have it either way."

"I know," I reply, adopting a fighting stance.

I don't know if my friend can tell, but I mimic Percy's movements when I fight. I try not to because they don't work for me, but I can't help it.

I keep saying that. "I try not to", whenever I think about Percy. I try, but I can't stop. Being close to someone like him, and knowing what a great hero he is, it's easy to flick the switch and resent him for the reasons I liked him at the start.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #doo #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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spice-chan · 4 years

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Yandere incubus bakugou please? But the reader is a bad a** nun exorcist?

Heavenly

Incubus!Bakugou x nun!reader

Warnings: yandere themes, religious imagery, dub/noncon, somnophilia, praise kink, incubus bakugo, nsfw.

Wordcount: 2 K

You were new in the field, but nevertheless, the best. You approached your work with certain fierceness that bordered on unprofessional, unethical, given your field.

You were a nun, an exorcist meant to banish creatures like Bakugo Katsuki, unholy, sinful creatures like him.

Ones who bathed in wrong doings, encouraged misbehaviours, got off and energised at the feel of being the cause of someone sinning.

Bakugo watched you, clad in white attire and bright eyes that seemed so honest, so pure, that they seemed almost translucent. Katsuki doesn’t belong in heaven, but he thinks it must look something like your eyes.

A creature like him shouldn’t hover in a place like this. A creature so devilish isn’t welcomed in God’s abode, isn’t worthy of staring at crucifixes, nor worthy of salvation. But most importantly, what right does a wretched being like him have to stare reverently at a blessed being like you.

Though, the both of you have some things in common, he mused. You were so fiery, that some of your elders seemed stiff at the sight of you, though what sort of stiff is ambiguous. You were so ambitious, rising up the ranks so quickly, his good girl.

Fuck, how did he grow so enamored with you? The only reason he can even enter the premises of your church is because he hasn’t come of age yet, hasn’t reached his full potential as an incubus, but a few days from now, he will take his first victim.

He will lay with someone, take them and become the creature of lust that he was meant to be, become the tainted person you preach against. He wishes it could be you, wishes he can take you and break your vows, give you a taste of the sweetness of the apple, get you addicted to the taste of debauchery, wishes he can taste your sweetness.

You had so much restraint, on lonely nights where you rubbed your thighs in need, slick starting to dampen your panties, Katsuki watching in anticipation, wondering whether today will be the day you please yourself painfully unaware of your audience. Leaving him with raging hopes that today will be the day you will be pliant enough to be taken by him but no, no, you just took a deep breath and opted for a cold shower, leaving him with a raging hard on that he had no choice but to stroke to your sleeping form.

You were so fragile too, like glass that he felt protective over, despite how foreign that feeling is to him, yet wanting to shatter you all the same, wanting to cage you with his wings, get you addicted to the delightful feeling he can induce between your thighs while your throat goes raw from moans and screams of his name.

He stalked you religiously, memorised you like the pope memorised the bible, his form which is invisible to you hovered around you like a lost puppy, drinking in all your expressions like ambrosia, his mouth overflowing with saliva at the sweet nectar you kept offering and offering to the point where he’s gotten too addicted to stop.

He glowered at every male that interacts with you, and if the wrong scent emanates from them, something to slightly suggest attraction, you can bet they greet death too early, the cause being a mystery. He enjoys mangling them all night long, only to put them back together and repeat the process. No one stares at his human like she’s theirs, when she's so woefully his. Although she doesn’t know it yet.

But his coming of age ceremony grows closer and closer, and Katsuki won’t be able to enter your premises anymore, his awakening means he also won’t be able to take you for that very ceremony, and perhaps never.

So, Bakugo started thinking smart. Using his influence, he gathered the most intense, the most powerful demons and made them inhibit people from a nearby village. A case severe enough that you’d have to leave in aid of those people. And stay for a few days.

Painfully predictable, you did just that. Donning your outfit and leaving swiftly. Not knowing what dark fate awaits you.

…………

Bakugou stood at the corner of the inn room you are staying in. You were so exhausted, you passed out as soon as you hit the mattress. Now, without the protective walls shielding you from him, your soft body will be all pliant for him. His body shook, the changes to it happening too rapidly. His wings are growing larger, bolder, and aside of the external changes, his scent was becoming more soft, relaxing, his body emitting pheromones that could easily induce lust. His saliva and touch will have a multiplied effect now that he’s reached his peak form. All that’s left now is to make love to a human, to make love to you.

He stepped closer to you, the room looking darker with each step he took, and your form appearing more and more defenceless to the enamored incubus before you.

He slowly took the blanket off you, admiring the slopes of your body in the form fitting night dress that you only adorned in the comfort of your room. He covered your body with his large one, covering you and his heat acting as a blanket, shielding you from the nipping cold. He took your sprawled arms, slowly putting them over your head and holding them in place with one hand while his other lowered the strap on your dress, freeing one breast to caress while his mouth pressed a feather light kiss over your own, so tender it was akin to a lover's touch.

You stirred in your sleep, his touch having the desired effect as you remained in slumber… his sleeping beauty. He kept kissing his way down, like a mad deprived of water for weeks finally getting to quench his thirst.

His wings lowered, shielding you from the moon light as he laved you up in his saliva, exposing your tits only to lay kisses on them before sucking harshly, pulling, tugging until they pebbled up. He squeezed the warm flesh, marvelling at the baby soft skin and its texture in his calloused palm.

Heh, if you were awake, you’d freak out so bad. Katsuki didn’t stop, he continued his journey downwards, kissing over every inch until he reached the heaven between your thighs.

He can smell it, God, he can smell the arousal coating your plain white panties. He moved his apart, movements stilling in the face of your womanhood, suddenly blushing and feeling nervousness enter his stream. He swallowed, pink tongue poking out of his tongue slowly and drawing a path from your slit to your clit. Feeling satisfied at your muscles spasming. He got cocky real quick after that, not even attempting to conceal the raunchy sounds of his mouth wrapping around your clit and eating it as if drinking from a straw.

You were the sweetest delicacy he’d ever tasted, and he’d be damned if he ever lets go of you.

His finger slipped inside you, feeling your walls sucking it in, tightness befitting of a nun. A second finger joined, your walls happily sucking it in and coating his fingers in slick. They moved in and out, thick fingers hitting sensitive spots and stretching you out in preparation for something bigger.

His hips were rutting into the bed, trying to alleviate the ache while his tongue goes for a final taste, the slickened muscle burying itself inside you and moaning. The room was filled with slurping sounds, tiny moans from your sleeping figure and his hips rutting into your mattress; anyone who stood outside your door for a second longer than necessary can tell what’s happening in the nun's room.

He can’t take this anymore. You were here now, pliant for the taking and he was going to take you. He’s going to take you in many many ways.

He freed his manhood, but before he can bury himself in you, he had to do something. He pulled out a shiny object, pulling your hand and slipping it into your finger. Now, the fun can begin.

He lined himself with your begging hole, desperate for something to fill it up after it was so delightfully full, after having its owner deprive it for so long.

With a moan, he quickly bottomed out, eyes watering at the pleasure, having to hold himself back from cumming on the spot as he groaned. Your greedy walls drank him in, welcoming him warmly as if he’s a soldier returning from war, as if hellfire wasn’t hot enough.

He put one of your legs above his shoulder, silently questioning whether he should go at the pace he’s going to, whether he should take you gently the way your body should be taken after years of abstinence. But one clench of your walls and the decision was made for him.

He started pistoning into you mercilessly, his gifted length not sparing you in the slightest. He was so loud too, moaning at the feeling of being one with you, slobbering like a dog as he pounded you, his tip reaching and massaging places you probably didn’t even know existed. Really, with how loud he was, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you woke up.

You squealed, in pleasure or repulsion, trying to push him away, however the pleasurable sheen in your eyes was unmissable to the avatar of lust.

“Ah—who are y-you?! You devil!” You kept stuttering, words breaking as he forcefully pounded the pleasure into you.

“Don’t ask if you already know, princess.” He pumped more pheromones in the air, successfully making you more docile as you gripped his humongous biceps, hands not even close to wrapping around the circumference of it, moaning and clenching around his member.

“Good girl.” He smirked as his statement made you clench even more, so his princess likes being praised.

Your moans were raw and throaty, as if unused to letting out such sinful and suggestive sounds, as if unwilling but painfully desperate to.

“But, if you’re so desperate to know, look at your hand.”

Your eyes glanced up, hazily making out a golden band resting on your ring finger. It had a red amber on it, its colour so red it was darker and bolder then the liquid spilled in a blood oath, it signified something that your foggy brain just couldn’t make out.

“Hmm, already fucked you silly?”

You grumbled something out, a protest too low to be considered a threat. His hand reached out and started rubbing circles on your button, causing an adorable mewl to leave your lips. His thumb kept up the movement until he felt your overly sensitive walls choking his length, gripping him so hard that his fucking falters. You really hadn’t touched yourself in a long time huh.

Some of the spit gathered in his mouth escaped, coating you as his tongue left his mouth lewdly, cheeks flushed an apple red while his eyes watered at the weight of doings. He pounded you so hard after that he reached ecstasy in a minute, not holding the handles on his pleasure any longer, only relishing in the intimate moment as he reached heaven with you. His movements were so passionate, it was as if he was seeking salvation for his very existence in your body.

He pulled out with a grunt, heart panging at the look in your eyes. You stared in horror at the white gushing out of you, so far from pure or holy, it was thick like the sin you allowed yourself to indulge in.

Tears soaked up your face, unable to believe that you of all people got taken by this god forsaken creature, by this tempting creature that symbolizes sin itself. His fingers had the audacity to reach for your face, trying to wipe away the tears he caused. Your hand went to harahly swat his before a red glint caught your eye, your gut sinking at the implication. You swiftly went to remove it, but the harder you tried the more it seemed to cling to your finger.

“What’s this?!” He rolled his eyes at you, before pointing at the ring in your ring finger.

“This-“ his intense, bloody gaze shifted to you”-this will make sure that wherever you go, I will be able to follow you, that we will belong to each other for eternity, because I, the incubus prince Katsuki Bakugou chose you as my mate, and there’s no way out if that.”

#incubus #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou fanfiction #bakugou katsuki fanfics #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha bakugou #yandere bakugou #bnha imagines #tw: noncon #tw dubcon #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bnha #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou

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hopecountyisforlovers · 3 years

Text

tangled up in arms;

/You are Project Ambrosia, a genetically altered human test subject with abilities that could revolutionize the medical field- kept captive for a lifetime in a high tower. He is Otto Octavius, former scientist turned supervillain after a fusion accident, itching to continue his research. When your paths cross, will it simply mean your freedom? Or perhaps... something more? || Takes place in a modified offshoot of the Raimiverse. Rating may change later if I decide to write spicy scenes. Currently a soft M for themes and Violence. Heavily inspired by Disney's Tangled.

Read It On Archive

Chapter One: Routine

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The ticking of the clock on the wall rang in your head, the only sound in the silent white room whose walls consisted of most of what you'd ever known. It was both easy and hard to lose track of time- sometimes, minutes zipped by so fast you could swear the tick-tock of the clock was moving in fast forward. Other times, it seemed like it was on pause, like the same day had been going on for your whole life.

Today was the latter. You sighed vocally from where you laid on your back in your bed, even though there was no one to hear it. Even if someone was there to hear it, you knew nobody would listen. The people who worked here saw you as more of an experiment than a human being- something to be locked up and used to make them all rich. You were sure nobody knew that you were up here, that you had been born here, that you had spent 24 years here, a captive of Oscorp Labs code-named Project Ambrosia. Surely, if people knew... they would be outraged, right? You were a human being... weren't you? Did you still count?

You looked at your hand, turning it over and back under the bright fluorescent lights. It looked like a human hand to you, at least. You were sure all of you still looked human, despite the modifications that had been made to your DNA. At least, you were pretty sure. It had been a while since they had let you see yourself in a mirror.

And yet... you had given up on anyone being outraged on your behalf. That hope had lived in you, light in the way that only hope can be, years ago, as a defiant child- but hope is a much harder thing to hold onto the older you get. You had dreamed of grass between your toes, of fresh air, of friends. Night after night of begging the universe for someone to rescue you had given way to night after night of being angry that no one had, and that had given way to a quiet resignation of sorts.

How could you dream about something you didn't know anything about?

Either no one knew you were up here, and they never would, as tightly guarded a secret you were, or they did, and it was obvious that no one cared. And regardless, there was no reason to think you would be going anywhere anytime soon- no matter how badly you still secretly wanted to, in the very deepest and most shielded part of your heart.

To your right, the thin slot on the bottom of the door- just big enough for the plate of food that fit through it- opened up, producing your lunch from the other side- pasty looking chicken strips . It didn't look particularly appetizing, and you knew from experience it wouldn't be- but if you chose to starve yourself again, you also knew from experience they would just knock you out and feed you intravenously. It was more trouble than it was worth.

You rose from your firm bed, looking around at the four pristine walls of your windowless cage, breathing in the stale, chemical-scented air that even the scent of food did nothing to liven up. The only good thing about lunch being served was that it generally meant that your time being poked and prodded for the day was over, although it was a double-edged sword- it also generally meant you wouldn't be leaving your little room again for the rest of the day.

As you retrieved your lunch, returned to your bed, and ate, you looked at your arm, your wrist. The evidence of this mornings tests were nowhere to be found on them, as always, but they lingered in your mind- it wasn't as if you had never had blood drawn, but today they seemed intent on testing how quick your regeneration of it was. Bag after bag, labeled and handed off to people who watched you, some with a disgusted fascination, others with dollar signs in their eyes.....

You shivered, and yet it somehow had nothing to do with the blood loss- you had hardly felt it then, and it had no effect on you now. They had been looking at you like you were a freak. The feeling sat heavy in your stomach, making the bland food you were slowly working your way through seem even more unappetizing.

Could you really blame them, though? You certainly weren't normal. You thought of the bags of blood again, bright red- the only splash of color in this sterile, pale place. Did other people bleed that same red? Could they tell just by looking at it that you weren't like them? Would they all know, even if you managed to get out of here? You were so lost in thought that you didn't realize your plate was empty until you shoved a plastic forkful of nothing into your mouth. You tried to clear your thoughts, mostly unsuccessfully; it didn't matter that it didn't do you any good to think about things like that. What did you have to do besides think, after all?

You put the plate back down in front of its little door- someone would get it later, they always did- and lay back down in your bed for a nap, just like you had yesterday and the day before that. It's not even that you were tired- it had just become a habit, and in this place, habit and ritual were the most powerful forces there were.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound was almost comforting, in a way.

It wasn't long before it began to lull you to sleep- your last conscious thought that, for better or for worse, the routine of this place, and your life, would stay unbroken.

If only you knew how wrong you were.

#my writing #yes this isnt the kind of thing i usually write #the links will be updated to the other two chapters when ive posted them to tumblr #LISTEN should i have used a gif of him when hes not in this chapter #maybe not but also dont bully me #otto octavius #doc ock #doctor octopus #otto octavius x reader

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #I live for their tension #that flick scene undid me #when they kiss I might lose my shit #they'll hear me scream in Korea #and Italy #I love teasing #Chazenzo #that's what I've been calling them #joo sung is their deer #🥴🥴

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dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

[ kinktober day 4 — devotion. ]

yandere! dio x f! reader x the world. oneshot.

summary. day by day, he’d fuck you like a man fucks his most expensive whore. a demon masquerading as a God, and you’ve come to realize that there is no true God who will punish him.

— word count: 2313. — prompts: mindbreak + size difference + degradation. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, threesome, biting), blood, religious themes, depersonalization. — art credit: @tyonoraora.

“How does it feel, little one?”

Little one—his voice is untouched silk, reserved only for when you’ve been good. Your heart pounds against its cage as if trying to reach him—it shows on your face. He lowly hums and buries his lips against the nape of your neck, easily enticing moans from your throat. The effect he has on you was disgusting at first, hearing remnants of praise for letting him violate you, seeing his body dwarf yours against the bed, feeling his powerful touch trap you against the sheets. You have no control, no freedom here—no one would come save you even if you screamed.

Sharp teeth graze the hollow of your neck, dangerously close to puncturing your jugular. Air’s trapped alongside your throat—you can’t breathe under the full weight of his body and the threat of death on your skin. Fingers hungrily knead and pull at your nipples, twisting when you don’t moan quite to his liking. “Answer me.” He hisses and nips at the skin beneath your ear.

Your throat dries up—his commanding tone enough to knock you down to Earth. “G-good—feels so good My Lord!” You bite back another moan, mind empty and gaze locked onto the snap of his hips against yours. You whimper, half wanting to look away from the way his cock disappears between your folds, the other compelling your hips to meet each thrust. Hips shamelessly and sloppily cant into his, the thrill of knowing that one wrong thrust and he could split you in two. Looking at it now, seeing his dick disappear between your thighs—it’s rapturous, addicting like ambrosia. Deep in the recesses of your mind, the thoughts strike you as foreign—that the image of dying by his hands is exhilarating. You want him to tear you to pieces, to use you as a cock sleeve until he has no more use for you.

Dying at his hands is all you’re good for now.

He says you should consider this an honor, a privilege to be personally fucked by your own God. You’re his favorite toy, he says—the other girls don’t come close, but you can’t help but question why you’re so special. Is it your defiance, your cunning? Is it how easy it is to strip it away, down to your fragile and wary bones? Or is because he gets off on how rewarding it was to break you, to hear your screams blossom from terrified to eager? Because he knows how to get under your skin, knows how to make you feel special, knows how to make you feel wanted as if you finally have a purpose in life, a purpose rewarded to you by the hands of a God himself.

Your purpose is to used.

A comfort, more than anything else. When did it happen exactly? The drugs had grown less potent, weren’t as needed when he was in the mood to take you without complaint. When was it? When did you become addicted to doing this act with him? When did you stop resisting and refusing refusing, stop kicking and biting and clawing at his thick skin? Resist has always been useless, when something so inhuman and inhumane heals before your eyes, when your hard works is all for naught. How do you fight a man who calls himself God? How do you fight a man who may as well be a God?

...You don’t.

“M-more, My Lord.” You shamelessly plead—anything to win his favor—and wrap your legs around his waist.

He stills, briefly, and watches you fall apart. “Oh?” Your whimpers of complaint are a serenade he finds himself indulging in. “How indecent. I taught you better than to beg, didn’t I?”

Your hearts hammers.

He sees the way your eyes widen and he smirks, content with the fear he’s struck into you. He’s made it clear he never liked needy women; you’re an exception only in that he enjoys fucking you most.

“Beg for me more, little dove.” He orders and begins gently rocking his hips.

Desperate for the friction, you throw your head back and eagerly hum out countless, wordless prayers. This isn’t you anymore, not in the slightest; this is better in his eyes. And that is so much worse. But he is content, and so are you when his pace descends into harsh thrusts that leave your pussy throbbing. You take it like a bitch in heat, like a good girl, like a good concubine.

“Little dove...” You drink his praise up like water. His gaze travels downward, enraptured by how small you are beneath him. You could break in an instant. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” He asks—you waste no time anxiously nodding. “So full of my cock, it almost looks like it belongs there.”

Tucked under his large body, pressed flush against the chest of a man who’d sooner leave you for dead — tears spill, but you’re overjoyed for once. He’s always loved making you cry, who are you to rob him of that? Even though your legs hurt from being pressed flat against your torso and your cunt is bruised bloody and raw, you weep and moan like you mean it. His arms are curled under your pretty legs like vipers, large hands pinning each of yours against the mattress as he buries his cock in your womb.

You can’t help but focus on the way his body presses against yours. His cock feels heavy between your folds, and he’s careful to keep his pace slow enough to drive you wild. Each harsh thrust is few and far in between, a perfect cacophony of impatience and frustration building a coil in your stomach. Dio runs his tongue over unused fangs, studying the way your features twist and contort with pleasure when his thick cock would press against your insides. He’s waiting, and you both know it; he wants to see you unfold, wants you see you whine and beg and claw at his arms for more. It’s a feeling unlike any other — his other women can’t compare, can’t beg like you can. You used to hate him, but he doesn’t see that hateful glint in your eyes anymore. You like this, you like being fucked — he’s finally broken you. This once prideful woman is his to do as he pleases with.

There’s no greater feeling in this world.

“Lean into me.” He orders like a king and you comply like a whore. Dainty arms weakly coil around his shoulders, not nearly long enough to touch each other; his body is too big, too monstrous, and the thrill of being torn apart by it only makes you want him more. He praises in hushed tones, allowing you a small, rare moment of bliss. Your face is always particularly cute when he utters such meaningless words to you, like a dog desperate for praise. It’s tempting to defile that innocence even further.

“Look how needy you’ve gotten, gripping my cock so tight I can hardly pull out,” he teases, lies right to your face. Unsheathing himself is as easy as you are, but he keeps that to himself—prefers to get your hopes up. You’re already whimpering at the sheer mention of how needy you’ve become; Gods, you’d feel so empty without him, but it isn’t your place to complain. He doesn’t have to please you, you only exist to pleasure him. And still, you can’t hide the disappointment on your features. Dio smirks condescendingly and utters assurances. “Stop making that face, little dove.” He jests and realigns himself to your cunt, not even so much as a warning when he slams into you once again. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And you did — your eyes roll back into your head when his hips slam into yours. Fangs part your flesh as easily as meat, and droplets of blood quickly well from the incision, but he doesn’t care to lap them up; you always did look better coated in blood. You hadn’t even noticed his stand, The World hovers over the mattress by your head, its cock free from pants you didn’t know could be removed. His dick, thick and grey, is as large as your Lord’s; you already knew it was to go in your mouth, you just weren’t sure if it’d fit. The image alone made you want to come apart, it was already taking all your willpower to not scream with each thrust into your little cunt.

“Suck.” Dio pulls away from your neck long enough to bark out an order. That simple command is all it took to strip you of dignity. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind another cock to please, would you?” He caresses your hips, his thumb sweeping over the raw flesh he’d gripped onto in his earlier reverie. You wince, but maintain eye contact—he prefers it like that. “Look how needy you are, little dove. Sometimes you just need the extra attention, don’t you?” He coos. “Need another set of hands on you, more skin to get your hands on.” Breathily, you nod and lean into his touch. There’s no use hesitating or complaining; you’ve turned a new leaf, after all. You’re a good girl now, and good girls don’t talk back.

Fangs return to your neck, digging deeper, harsher this time. You whimper, the new sensation of pain overwhelming when your thighs were already so chaffed and your cunt already so bruised, skin still raw from this morning’s session. But your mouth fell open anyways, the underside of your tongue pressed taut against your lower lip, ready to accommodate The World’s shaft. The creature grunted lowly, more akin to the growl of a wolf in heat, and slid himself into your tiny mouth. The feeling of being filled from top to bottom was so intense, so overpowering you feared your jaw would come apart. The World was markedly more gentle than his user, but it was hard to miss the excitement rolling off his body like waves; he’s not being gentle for your sake, he’s trying to hold himself back lest his length rip through the back of your throat. He’s excited, even if you can hardly hear his moans.

Dio chuckles but makes no further comment, too busy suckling on your sore flesh. The World stares down at you, locking eyes for only a moment before bucking into your throat. Your tongue instinctively swirls around the tip, drool soon pooling beneath your nose. Deep growls escape the Stand’s lips, and Dio feels every second of it. His cock is buried deep in your cunt and he can feel every lick and suckle of your lips.

Dio licks his lips, already feeling the bulge of The World’s cock inflate the throat he’s mercilessly sucked on. The chuckle that rumbles from his chest and into yours would be enough to send your body shaking if he hadn’t pinned it to the bed with his own. “What a well-trained whore.”

“Mm—”, you struggle to breathe out a raspy response, hardly able to formulate words when your thoughts are filled with cum and his thrusts refuse to relent. His stand’s dick press against your insides, blocking air from entering your jugular or from leaving your throat. The soft, rubbery skin of the stand’s balls stuff your nostrils — you nearly lose yourself in the bliss of being treated like a lifeless fuck toy. You could die right now and they might keep fucking you, and that alone fills you with joy. To be used until the very end... you could think of no better use for the new life Dio has given you. But, he doesn’t plan on letting you die just yet; you still have many more uses left in you.

“Oh? Are you going to cum again? So soon?” His tone is mocking near the end, and he squeezes your hips. Fingernails rake closer to your inner thighs, coaxing you to tell him what he wants to hear. The World leans back slightly to relieve some pressure from your nostrils and throat, and you shamelessly fill your lungs.

“I’ll, aah—” A moan catches in your throat, and his Stand gives you enough space to speak. “I’ll cum as many times as you like!” There’s a spark of boredom in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly you wonder if you’d imagined it. You...you hope you imagined it, and a feeling of realization and disgust washes over you like a cold wave. You want to cover yourself, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and die, anything to escape the way he looked at you just now. Like you’re trash on the street. A charity case he picked up out of pity. A pet he’ll discard at the drop of a hat.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, and before you can ask, your mouth is stuffed again. He watches your shoulders squeeze together and your throat bulge from the sheer size of his Stand. The tip of The World’s cock pushes against the back of your throat, pinning your head to the mattress—you would have thrown up if Lord Dio hadn’t train you so well.

“Then cum.” He orders, stuffing your mouth and your cunt full. “Cum as many times as I want. Cum until I’m done with you.”

You obediently nod. You can’t see his face anymore; whether that’s a blessing or a curse escapes you, so you stop thinking and simply oblige. Your past self would be laughing at you. Chastising you, encouraging you bite down on his cock and fight back. What happened to that girl, you wonder? Did Lord Dio tire of her? Did he dispose of her? Will he dispose of you too?

What a terrifying devotion. When did you lose yourself?

When did he become your world?

#yandere dio x reader #yandere dio brando #yandere dio #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #kinktober20 #*oneshot #tw dubcon #tw not sfw

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chironshorseass · 4 years

Note

idk if you’re still taking prompts but 7 angst for percabeth after BoTL but before tlo, thank you so much!!

idk what this is, but hopefully, it’s not too horrible bc I can’t bring myself to read it again lol.

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

tw: blood

read on ao3

Plans don’t always go well. Annabeth should know; she’s a daughter of Athena. But one holds on to hope like it’s the last thing they have, even when accidents happen.

It was a frequent thing nowadays, for demigods to leave on missions as a desperate attempt to thwart off the titan forces. Annabeth understood the risks.

Percy did too, but he’d insisted that it was fine, that he needed to go.

He’d left with some Hephaestus and Hermes kids, intending to raid one of Kronos’ troops that had camped close to New York.

They hadn’t counted on the empousai, though. And because of this, most of the boys—including Percy—had nearly died.

But what else was new?

The thing was that...he didn't have to go. But he and Beckendorf had grown closer over the past year, so nothing could stop him from tagging along with the son of Hephaestus and the rest of the group. Maybe because he also felt bad that he’d missed out on most of the missions; he’d been absent for so long, lost in the streets of New York City.

Whatever the stupid reason was, he’d refused to listen to Annabeth, disappearing into the horizon with Blackjack and the rest of the pegasi.

He’ll survive, she’d told herself. If he really was the child of the prophecy, then…

This mission wouldn’t be the last thing he did. Or his last day on Earth. That title would likely belong to his birthday.

Gods, he’s going to die anyway.

But for now, he wouldn’t, at least not according to what she’d heard.

Thanatos would bide his time, hooded and standing at the doors between life and death, not yet ready to welcome Percy with his chilled breath.

Soon, but not today.

Still, it wasn’t like she’d been worried sick and then nearly threw up her lunch once the crew had arrived, a few yards away from the infirmary, bloodstained and battle-torn.

By all the extra load on the pegasi that she could make out from the distance, she supposed that at least they’d been successful.

Percy, however, was leaking blood down his neck, furtively trying to clamp it down with a bandana.

Soon, but not today.

He leaned against Beckendorf, his eyes baring clouds, fogged and lost. The son of Hephaestus helped him off of Blackjack, but still, he would’ve crumpled to the ground had it not been for Annabeth running to him like a madwoman. The grass crunched behind her; the others were right on her heels.

“What happened?” she cried, grabbing hold of Percy’s shoulders as his head slumped against her chest. She staggered back from his sudden weight, then righted herself.

“Hey, ‘Beth,” Percy said weakly, the words jumbling together against his lips and her shirt.

She looked at Beckendorf helplessly.

“Empousai,” he gasped, then made a hissing sound, pressing a hand to his back. It came back crimson red.

“You’re hurt!” she said as if it weren’t obvious.

Other demigods, Apollo kids mostly, rushed past her with medical supplies. But Will stopped next to them, breathing hard. He handed out ambrosia to Beckendorf and Annabeth’s waiting hands.

His eyes blazed, focused on something past her head. He waved frantically at someone, signaling them to come, and quickly. She whirled around and caught sight of Chiron trotting toward them.

“I’ll be back,” he breathed, giving them a nod as though they’d argued with him against it. He retreated a few steps, legs reacting to sudden howls of pain that echoed further back. “Just, just wait here. I’ll just…”

He dashed away, lost in the mass of pegasi and bodies that moved in all directions, shouting. In the chaos, Will was their only help at organizing it all—but she’d still tasted bile in her throat, not quite used to the way he ignored Percy and his mortal wound to the neck.

In a swift, mastered movement, Annabeth had made him chew on the Ambrosia. She’d been about to say something else—some words of encouragement—when a blur of curly brown hair nearly tripped her and Percy over. She readjusted him in her arms; Percy mumbled something incomprehensible, making her heart tighten.

“Charlie!” Silena called, flinging herself into Beckendorf’s arms.

He grunted in response but smiled through his obvious pain.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

She kissed him, but only for a second because Beckendorf had already pulled away faster than her sudden arrival.

Silena scrunched up her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

His concerned gaze leached into Percy, whom Annabeth could barely hold now.

Has he always been this heavy?

She followed her boyfriend’s line of vision and saw her friend standing in front of her for the first time. Her face morphed into shock, eyes widening. In a flash, Silena was there, hauling one of Percy’s arms over her shoulder. He was no longer conscious.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words tumbling into the pool that was now Annabeth’s fevered heart. “I didn’t...”

Annabeth could only shake her head. She had to get Percy some actual help. She pressed the cloth harder into his neck. It had to be the fucking neck.

“Will!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Chiron!”

Panting, Beckendorf closed the distance, limping over to Annabeth. “I’m going to help the others. We weren’t so lucky on our mission, and...” He glanced somewhere past them. “Chiron’s coming our way. We have to—”

Silena inhaled sharply. “You’re bleeding, too? Why didn’t—”

“No time, ‘Lena.”

In an instant, Chiron was there, extending his arms out.

“Give him to me.” His voice was firm and urgent.

After all, the neck was a highly vulnerable place. A slit to the throat could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds. Percy was a demigod, and likely the cut hadn’t been too deep, or else he’d be dead by now. But still, she didn't know how much longer he could hold up.

Already she’d felt the tell-tale warmth of blood trickling into her skin, already she’d envisioned the life draining out of him. The sand of an hourglass raining, spilling down to the bottom.

;

They’d told her that he’d lost too much blood, that the claw wound had just barely hit an artery. But above all else, he was lucky. He’d survive.

She’d been there, hands washed clean from the rusted blood, sitting on his bedside in the infirmary and watching him sleep while her mind was wide awake. Will came and went, wrapping bandages and giving him fresh doses of ambrosia; Chiron did, too—as if none of this was his fault and he could pretend to care for injured demigods.

But she stayed. Stayed and watched.

Annabeth had forgotten how long she’d been there, staring at the blank walls, eyes unfocused. Will had poked his head inside for the final time and insisted for her to get some sleep; it was late. She’d shaken her head and refused.

Her eyes closed for a second, though it must’ve been longer than that, because, when she opened them again, golden light had already streamed through the window. It cast delicate shadows across the room. In her daze, she hadn’t realized that someone was calling her name, light as a butterfly.

Percy.

“Annabeth,” he repeated.

She blinked the sleep away to find a pair of green eyes watching her.

Though his hair was twisted and knotted, and his complexion was a worrying shade lighter, Annabeth thought that she’d never seen a more inviting sight.

“You asshole!” she gasped, lunging forwards with desperate fingers, hugging Percy tighter than she’d ever had in her life.

After a while, his head dropped back to the pillow to get a better look at her.

“Hey.” He grinned lazily.

There was a sweet wonder to his face—like he couldn’t believe she was here, waiting for him to wake up.

But her mind flashed to when his heartbeat had weakened, when scarlet red covered her shaking hands and she’d seen him slump into Chiron as their teacher dropped him here, in the infirmary.

“D’you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

His brows knit in confusion. “What do you…” A hand flew to his neck, to his bandages. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Her voice felt like rough sandpaper. “That.”

Percy winced. “Okay, okay. I can explain; that demon came out of nowhere, right? And I slashed and shit, but she still got me, and—”

“You could’ve died, Percy. You get that?”

“I know, I know! But I didn’t!”

She took a rattling breath and looked away. She suddenly felt faint; her lungs didn’t seem to gather enough oxygen. Everything was too overwhelming, too big and small all at the same time.

She was dimly aware of Percy saying something. Then, she felt the warmth of her hand in his. It helped bring her back, but barely.

“Hey. Hey, look at me, Annabeth. Look at me.” Reluctantly, she did as he said. “Breathe with me. C'mon—in two three four, out two three four...”

Annabeth didn’t know how long they stayed that way, anchored to the surety of Percy’s grip on her hand and breathing along to his rhythm, until she’d found a way back to her bearings.

“You’re okay. I’m okay,” he said, repeatedly.

She nodded.

“Talk to me.”

Here he was, the boy who had nearly died, consoling the girl who’d watched the whole thing.

She nodded again, and this time, she closed her eyes, taking in some of this new peace of mind Percy had offered.

He was safe, and they were alright.

Finally, she exhaled.

“How’re you feeling?” She bit her lip, remembering something, and then muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t really ask you that first.”

“S’okay.” Now that she noticed him, truly noticed him, she could tell how tired he was. “I’m fine. Just feel like mush.”

“Your neck doesn’t hurt? Will gave you some morphine.”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s kinda numb, I guess. Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“You lost a lot of blood.”

“Hmm. Probably why I feel like mush.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat. Not for the first time that day.

“It wasn’t—Gods, Perce,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. “If you’d only seen it…”

“I know. I should’ve listened to you.”

“You should’ve said that yesterday.”

Annabeth didn’t realize that she was crying until Percy softly flicked his thumb across her cheek. He reluctantly moved it down to her lips, swiping at the tears that had already pooled there.

It wasn’t really something she planned to do, and in any other case would’ve embarrassed her, but she found herself resting her forehead against his. Maybe to steady herself. Maybe to feel his presence more, a spare hand combing through his locks.

She wasn’t so sure.

But still, she let herself close her eyes, enjoying this moment of quiet. Percy did too, sighing softly, rubbing her back idly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, when they separated. “M’here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, just by how tender his touch had been, taking care of her when he was the injured one. How close they were at that moment. How her tears tasted like that time she’d kissed him, all salt and sweat and fervor.

Now, she was able to see the little flecks of blue in his irises, drink in all of his details like she was dying of thirst. They were so close that she was able to feel exactly when his breath hitched like hers had done just milliseconds before, how it smelled like medicine and chocolate cookies all in one.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, not taking his gaze from her. “I didn’t listen to you.”

At least he acknowledged it. Again.

“No. You didn’t.”

His thumb still lingered on her face, a ray of sunlight that she greedily took only for herself, leaning into him. It ghosted around her skin, that trailing touch of his. And despite its warmth, it sent shivers down her spine.

His eyes never left hers. Roving, feeling down to her very soul.

He’d always been the one to break her walls, destroy the dam she’d carefully built for as long as she could remember. Poseidon wasn’t his father for nothing.

And as he grasped a stray curl that fell across her left eye, tucking it ever so gently behind her ear, she felt that water roaring all over her mind. The flood happened too fast, consuming every last restraint and denial that crossed its path.

Annabeth didn’t catch it until she risked a glance to his lips.

Gods, he’s so close. Too close.

In the blink of an eye, she was leaning in, intoxicated by everything about him. Percy caught the back of her jaw with his hand, guiding her closer.

Their breaths mingled together.

Her lips parted. Closer…

“Hey, how’s—oh shit, sorry!”

She repelled from him, electrified, and whipped her head to the screeching of the curtain rod.

Cheeks flushed, Will yanked at the curtains, closing them once again.

“Wait!” Annabeth glanced at Percy, whose eyes were wide. “Will, this isn’t—”

The latter hollered from the other side, “I can come later! To, um, change bandages! Be good!”

So close.

She wanted to slap herself.

No.

This wasn’t right. For a second, she’d forgotten what was at stake. Let herself be swept away.

Have you ever considered that he’s going to die?

He’ll leave you just like everyone else.

This was dangerous, letting herself taste what wasn’t meant to be.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped, standing up, an unknown force pushing her back.

Percy blinked, slower than usual. Probably from all the ambrosia and nectar and mortal medicine.

“Annabeth—”

He reached for her, but she was already backing away into the wall, stumbling over her wooden chair.

“No, I shouldn’t have…” She felt herself blush. “I don’t know, I...I should go.”

She scrambled towards the curtains, ignoring Percy’s expression awashed in hurt and shock.

Brushing past his bedside, he grabbed her arm.

“Please,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper. “Please stay.”

Blinking away her tears, Annabeth forced herself to look at him.

If I stay, you’ll leave me first.

But she didn’t say that, only shook her head and watched as those beautiful eyes of his creased around the corners with anguish. A part of her died a little at witnessing this. His was a heart worn on a sleeve that would soon fade away. She pulled her arm away, burned from his grip.

“‘Beth—”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, already tugging the curtain aside. “I’ll call Will.”

And she left him there in his injury, allowing it to be.

He didn’t deserve this, she knew. Not when she could enjoy the last moments with him, admitting what was in the open air between them. But they’d be one step into their ruined fate if that ever happened. If she didn’t stop.

Because she was like Tantalus, that lone fruit forever out of her reach.

He didn’t deserve this, but she didn’t deserve to have him, either.

#percabeth #percabeth fic #pjo fic #pjo #anon #pjo fanfiction #tw blood #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #ahhh idk do I like it #or do i not #angst #look mom i can write

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kookie-doughs · 4 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 7: FIRST DAY OF CAMP

Word of the bathroom incident spread immediately. Wherever we went, campers pointed at us and murmured something about toilet water. Or maybe they were just staring at Annabeth, who was still pretty much dripping wet. She showed me a few more places: the metal shop (where kids were forging their own swords), the arts-and-crafts room (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of a goat-man), and the climbing wall, which actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough. Finally we returned to the canoeing lake, where the trail led back to the cabins. "I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall." "Annabeth, I'm sorry about the toilets." "Whatever." "It wasn't my fault." She looked at us skeptically, and I realized it might've been my fault. I may have made water shoot out of the bathroom fixtures and made the ground shake. I didn't understand how. "You need to talk to the Oracle, both of you." Annabeth said. "Who?" "Not who. What. The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron." Percy stared into the lake, I rested my head on his shoulder wishing somebody would give me a straight answer for once. I wasn't expecting anybody to be looking back at me from the bottom, so my heart skipped a beat when I noticed two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about twenty feet below. They wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved as if I were a long-lost friend. I didn't know what else to do. I waved back. "Don't encourage them," Annabeth warned. "Naiads are terrible flirts." "Naiads," Percy repeated, feeling completely overwhelmed. "That's it. I want to go home now." Annabeth frowned. "Don't you get it, Percy? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us." "You mean, mentally disturbed kids?" "I mean not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human." "Half-human and half-what?" "I think you know." "God," I said. "Half-god." Annabeth nodded. "Your father isn't dead, Percy. And one of your parent isn't your parent, Y/N. You are both a child of one of the Olympians. " "That's... crazy." "Is it? What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they've changed their habits in the last few millennia?" "But those are just— But if all the kids here are half-gods—" "Demigods," Annabeth said. "That's the official term. Or half-bloods." "Then who's your dad?" Her hands tightened around the pier railing. I got the feeling we'd just trespassed on a sensitive subject. "My dad is a professor at West Point," she said. "I haven't seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history." "He's human." "What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?" "Who's your mom, then?" "Cabin six." "Meaning?" Annabeth straightened. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle." Okay, I thought. Why not? "And who's mine?" "You grew up with both a mother and a father. So only your Olympian parent knows." "And my dad?" "Undetermined," Annabeth said, "like I told you before. Nobody knows." "Except my mother. She knew." "Maybe not, Percy. Gods don't always reveal their identities." "My dad would have. He loved her." Annabeth gave me a cautious look. She didn't want to burst my bubble. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure: your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens." "You mean sometimes it doesn't?" Annabeth ran her palm along the rail. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Percy. They ignore us." I thought about some of the kids I'd seen in the Hermes cabin, teenagers who looked sullen and depressed, as if they were waiting for a call that would never come. But gods should behave better. Whoever my Olympian parent better suck up and claim me or I will show him. "So I'm stuck here," Percy said. "That's it? For the rest of my life?" "It depends," Annabeth said. "Some campers only stay the summer. If you're a child of Aphrodite or Demeter, you're probably not a real powerful force. The monsters might ignore you, so you can get by with a few months of summer training and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble—about ten or eleven years old, but after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that." "So monsters can't get in here?" Annabeth shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside." "Why would anybody want to summon a monster?" "Practice fights. Practical jokes." "Practical jokes?" "The point is, the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual, just a strawberry farm." "So... you're a year-rounder?" Annabeth nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring. "I've been here since I was seven," she said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college." "Why did you come so young?" She twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business." "Oh." I stood there for a minute in uncomfortable silence. "So... I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?" "It would be suicide, but you could, with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission." "I've never had anything weird going on. I had a perfectly normal life." "It's because you don't give much of a half-blood scent. Even Grover didn't knew you were one of us until you came here. Even now they still don't smell you." "I just... want to go somewhere... else." I could see that Percy was guilty. "They wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless..." "Unless?" "You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time..."

Her voice trailed off. I could tell from her tone that the last time hadn't gone well. "Back in the sick room," Percy said, "when you were feeding me that stuff—" "Ambrosia." "Yeah. You asked me something about the summer solstice." Annabeth's shoulders tensed. "So you do know something?" "Well... no. Back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the summer solstice. He said something like we didn't have much time, because of the deadline. What did that mean?" She clenched her fists. "I wish I knew. Chiron and the satyrs, they know, but they won't tell me. Something is wrong in Olympus, something pretty major. Last time I was there, everything seemed so normal." "You've been to Olympus?" "Some of us year-rounders—Luke and Clarisse and I and a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council." "But... how did you get there?" "The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor." She looked at us like she was sure I must know this already. "You are a New Yorker, right?" "Oh, sure." As far as I knew, there were only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but I decided not to point that out. "Right after we visited," Annabeth continued, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping... I mean— Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something." I shook my head. I wished I could help her, but I felt too hungry and tired and mentally overloaded to ask any more questions. "I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem..." I could smell barbecue smoke coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must've heard my stomach growl. She told me to go on, she'd catch me later. I left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan. Back at cabin eleven, everybody was talking and horsing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers. Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to us as we walked in. Percy left me to settle at his spot while I sat at mine. Luke, came over. He had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact. "I hope you settle in just fine," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store." He had a very friendly and welcoming aura around him, I couldn't help but giggle, "Thanks." "No prob." Luke sat next to me. "Tough first day?" "I don't belong here," I said. "From what I've heard about other campers. I had a perfectly normal life. Nothing weird... I-I don't even believe in Gods..." "Yeah," he said. "That's how we all started. Once you start believing in them? It doesn't get any easier." The bitterness in his voice surprised me, because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. He looked like he could handle just about anything. "So your dad is Hermes?" I asked. He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, but he just scraped the mud off the sole of his sandal. "Yeah. Hermes." "The wing-footed messenger guy." "That's him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers, merchants, thieves. Anybody who uses the roads. That's why you're here, enjoying cabin eleven's hospitality. Hermes isn't picky about who he sponsors." I figured Luke didn't mean to call me a nobody. He just had a lot on his mind. "You ever meet your dad?" I asked. "Once." I waited, thinking that if he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me. Apparently, he didn't. I wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar. Luke looked up and managed a smile. "Don't worry about it, Y/N. The campers here, they're mostly good people. After all, we're extended family, right? We take care of each other." He seemed to understand how lost I felt, and I was grateful for that, because an older guy like him—even if he was a counselor—should've steered clear of an uncool middle-schooler like me. But Luke had welcomed me into the cabin. He'd even stolen me some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for me all day keeping Percy's works. I decided to ask him my last big question, the one that had been bothering me all afternoon. "Clarisse, from Ares, was joking about me and Percy being 'Big Three' material. Then Annabeth... twice, she said I might be 'the one.' She said I should talk to the Oracle. What was that all about?" Luke folded his knife. "I hate prophecies." "What do you mean?" His face twitched around the scar. "Let's just say I messed things up for everybody else. The last two years, ever since my trip to the Garden of the Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quests. Annabeth's been dying to get out into the world. She pestered Chiron so much he finally told her he already knew her fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn't tell her the whole thing, but he said Annabeth wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. She had to wait until... somebody special came to the camp." "Somebody special?" "Don't worry about it, kid," Luke said. "Annabeth wants to think every new camper who comes through here is the omen she's been waiting for." I didn't know why... but I grabbed his hand, he turned to me surprised. "I-I... Uhm, I want to get to know you better... I... I'm here if you want to talk. A-As a thank you for helping me since I got here! I-I..." He gave a warm smile and ruffled my hair. "Thank you. Now, come on, it's dinnertime." The moment he said it, a horn blew in the distance. Luke yelled, "Eleven, fall in!" The whole cabin, about twenty of us, filed into the commons yard. We lined up in order of seniority, so of course I was dead last with Percy. Campers came from the other cabins, too, except for the three empty cabins at the end, and cabin eight, which had looked normal in the daytime, but was now starting to glow silver as the sun went down. "Percy," "Hmm?" "Are you okay?" I was about to grip his sleeve when he moved away. "I'm sorry... I'll tell you after dinner." I looked at him sadly while he thought to himself. We marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joined us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. A few other girls came out of the woods— and when I say out of the woods, I mean straight out of the woods. I saw one girl, about nine or ten years old, melt from the side of a maple tree and come skipping up the hill. In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads. At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven's was way overcrowded. I had to squeeze on to the edge of a bench with half my butt hanging off. I saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and a couple of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being way too small for a centaur. Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with her gray eyes and honey-blond hair. Clarisse sat behind me at Ares's table. She'd apparently gotten over being hosed down, because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends. Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!" Everybody else raised their glasses. "To the gods!" Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! Percy sat beside other kids of the Hermes cabin. My glass was empty, but Luke said, "Speak to it. Whatever you want—nonalcoholic, of course." I said, "(Favorite Drink; F/D)." The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid. Then I had an idea. "F/C F/D." The drink turned a violent shade of F/C. I took a cautious sip. Perfect.. . . . . I drank a toast to my loved ones. They're not gone, I told myself. I felt like I was forgetting something. Like I know I will get too them all soon. "Here you go," Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket. I loaded my plate and was about to take a big bite when I noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. I wondered if they were going for dessert or something. "Come on," Luke told me. As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire, the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll. Luke murmured in my ear, "Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell." "You're kidding." His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn't help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food. Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. "Hermes." I was next. I wished I knew what god's name to say. Finally, I made a silent plea. Whoever you better claim me, or I will come for you and you won't like what I'll do. I scraped a big slice of brisket into the flames. When I caught a whiff of the smoke, I didn't gag. It smelled nothing like burning food. It smelled of hot chocolate and fresh-baked brownies, hamburgers on the grill and wildflowers, and a hundred other good things that shouldn't have gone well together, but did. I could almost believe the gods could live off that smoke. When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for our attention. Mr. D got up with a huge sigh. "Yes, I suppose I'd better say hello to all you brats. Well, hello. Our activities director, Chiron, says the next capture the flag is Friday. Cabin five presently holds the laurels." A bunch of ugly cheering rose from the Ares table. "Personally," Mr. D continued, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also, I should tell you that we have a new campers today. Peter Johnson and (Wrong Name)." Chiron murmured something. "Er, Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N," Mr. D corrected. "That's right. Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on." Everybody cheered. We all headed down toward the amphitheater, where Apollo's cabin led a sing-along. We sang camp songs about the gods and ate s'mores and joked around, and the funny thing was, I didn't feel that anyone was staring at me anymore. I went up to Percy. "What's wrong?" He sighed. "I... I feel like everything... All of this," He signaled at everything, "happened because you met me. When you told Annabeth about your life and how nothing had been going wrong, while I had trouble following me every step... I couldn't help but feel guilty." I knew it... He felt at fault. Taking his hand I looked at him, "I chose to be with you at the beach. I wanted to follow you. I wanted to stay with you. Yeah, troubles came and I lost everything... I would rather have you with me through that. Please?" He rested his head on my shoulder, "Yeah..." Later in the evening, when the sparks from the campfire were curling into a starry sky, the conch horn blew again, and we all filed back to our cabins. It was late at night some were asleep, while some were screaming around. I stayed up looking out the window since Luke had warned me about going out. "Long day, how was it?" Luke greeted taking the spot beside me. "Almost had my face flushed down on smelly toilets, so real fun I guess." Luke rested his back against the window and looked at the two boys wrestling each other few feet away. "You know how you told me you wanted to get to know me more?" "Yeah... I mean it. You're the first person I met here. From what I heard you helped me after getting here." "So you feel obligated to get closer to me?" He raised a brow at me with a smirk. "No, I think you're interesting. I want us to be friends. I want to be a person you can trust." "Why?" "I... don't know. I guess I just want to. I mean yeah I also low-key kinda have a crush on you but oh well." I joked. Hearing his laugh I was relieved he was a cool guy. "I'll keep you in mind." "Really now? Okay dream of me I guess." "For a 12 year old you're a flirt." He shook his head with a smile. "It's my mom, she told me the best way to make friends is by flirting. If they're cool with you flirting they're perfect candidate for a friend, if they aren't, you'll have an awkward friendship." "I don't know about that." "I know right? Imagine teaching a 5 year old how to flirt." We laughed. We continued to chat about little things until it got quiet in the cabin. Most of them were now asleep. Percy slept as soon as he lied down, after all. "Good night." Luke smiled. "Yeah, good night." I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I collapsed on the bed. When I closed my eyes, I fell asleep instantly. That was my first day at Camp Half-Blood. I already felt like I belong. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all...

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I am in love with Luke I'm sorry Here's another chapter Another horirble caphetr UwU -kookie-doughs

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #X reader #Book 1 #Chapter 7 #Lightning thief #Fanfiction #fanfictions

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lovelikedestiny · 3 years

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6. Nicky: I've run out of time

I want to take care of you.

Will you be mine?

Watching Joe sleep has always been one of Nicky's favorite things to do. In sleep, everyone has an extraordinary vulnerability that covers them like a second skin. Nicky loves to watch Joe when he is slumbering peacefully next to him, far from everything the world has in store for them. Freed from worry and fear, anger and sadness, safe from the dangers of life in his dreams.

Those precious moments when Nicky watches the sunlight pour gold over Joe, forming a halo over his soft curls and throwing shades from his long eyelashes on his cheeks are like a little bubble of peace just for both of them.

Nicky knows exactly how many seconds pass before Joe wakes up to the delicate touch of Nicky's fingers on his face. Just as he knows that Joe gives a cute, low grumble when he reaches the brink of awakening and that he always stretches his left arm first and then his right arm.

Kozak took this treasure from them.

For that, Nicky detests her almost more than the serum, which destroys his body from the inside out. Almost. Most of all, Nicky hates the immoral doctor for hurting his family so much with her test. Every day he experiences how badly the people who mean so much to him suffer from being unable to help him. Knowing that he is responsible for it is the worst for him.

As they are doomed to watch the serum hurt him, he is doomed to endure as their postures become more and more tense and their eyes more and more haunted.

His greatest fear after Jerusalem and the horrors there, was to become a destructive sword again and to cease to be a protective shield.

Please don't let me be the sword that hits my family.

Due to his worsening condition Nicky couldn’t watch his soulmate sleep for a long time and he cannot remember the last time he had the chance to enjoy cozy, peaceful togetherness in bed with Joe. Either exhaustion pulls Nicky into the dark depths or the icy cold inside him spreads and transforms him into an ice sculpture, unable to move but feel for any heat sources nearby.

He is all the more surprised when he slowly comes to, rises to the surface through the fog of pain, which takes his sight from time to time and suffocates him with fire and ice, and discovers Joe sleeping next to him. He is facing Nicky, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other resting possessively on Nicky's upper arm.

They are not in their usual sleeping position, which shows Nicky that they didn't have time to position themselves or something else prevented that. To be honest, Nicky doesn't remember much from last night, just the white hot flames that burned his throat and breathed ash particles into his lungs. He thinks he can remember Joe's blurry face hovering over him and words in their language that were drowned out in the rustling of his own ears. Even the dull, throbbing pain in his limbs, which is even more violent than usual, says Nicky, that he must have had a violent episode yesterday.

Damn it...

Still, he can't stop his heart from skipping a beat, considering the fact that he has woken up in front of Joe for the first time in what feels like an eternity and can soak up the sight of Joe like divine ambrosia. Joe's face is so beautiful that Nicky could not possibly describe it with all the compliments in the world and he enjoys the touch of familiarity as if this were a piece of bread and he was starving.

However, Joe's dark circles and worry lines destroy the peaceful image and it stings Nicky in the chest because he is responsible for it. I am your armor in battle and your blanket in peace, Nicky promised him centuries ago and it was never his intention to break this promise. How much one can be wrong.

Now he is the weight that pulls the corners of Joe's mouth down and his shoulders arches in a way that shows Nicky how much the situation is gnawing at Joe and that he still fights with all his might. For both of them. For Nicky. His great love is stronger than Nicky himself would have been in Joe's position and he feels nothing but deep regret for burdening Joe with all of this.

Raising his hand feels like the greatest Herculean task and his fingers are visibly trembling, but the urge to touch this soft Joe and indulge in old familiarity is insurmountable for Nicky. Unlike usual, the first contact of his fingertips on Joe's cheekbones jerks Joe out of his sleep and he opens his eyes in alarm, his muscles hard under his shirt from tension.

This Joe, who is frantically scanning Nicky's face and body with one glance, is in such stark contrast to the sleepy, grumpy Joe, who needs several cups of coffee to know his name, that Nicky wants to cry.

He doesn't.

Because even if he has no more control over anything else in his life, his feelings still belong to himself. He is aware that Joe knows exactly what he is doing, but none of them name it.

“Nicolo? Do you need the bucket? Are you sick? Can you breathe?” The wild bedhead - Joe's lovely tousled curls - when he half sits up, facing Nicky, used to be a heartwarming picture, which Nicky would have gifted with a kiss and more. Now they only represent the tension that electrifies all members of the team and the unrestrained concern of his partner.

"Good morning," Nicky croaks instead of answering Joe's questions and the tone of his voice hurts even his own ears. Each letter feels like a shard of glass in his throat, pointy and sharp, cutting without mercy, but damn Nicky if something like that would prevent him from trying to calm Joe down.

The tormented expression on his face, which can be seen for a split second over the sound of his voice, almost bursts Nicky's decision like a soap bubble. But then Joe smiles tenderly and Nicky can breathe again despite the cement blocks on his chest.

"Morning," Joe says, gently cupping Nicky's cheek. Nicky lifts his head slightly and meets Joe as far as possible until Joe's lips lie on his and everything else disappears in the background. The body pain and the cold that has not let go of him for a few weeks, despite the heat that burns his insides, have been extinguished. The stabbing headache and the paralyzing tiredness have disappeared. Joe's warm lips, which Nicky could blindly feel and taste, give him a momentary break from the exhausting effect of the serum.

Nicky can't say exactly what sound he's making, but it ensures that Joe deepens the kiss and closes his arms around Nicky like a protective cage. And Nicky, with everything he has, clings to the intimate touch that they have exchanged so often, but which is like an enlightenment, a resurrection every time. Joe's lips and arms are so warm that the heat gradually sinks into Nicky's body, distorted by the serum, like a small stone in deep water - at first slowly but steadily until it hits the bottom.

Joe catches his quiet, liberated sigh as Nicky basks in the warmth of Joe's body, and drinks it in so desperately as if it were the only thing that would keep Joe alive. And Nicky kisses him back, putting all the words in it he told Joe a long time ago. I am your shelter against storm and rain and the breath that fills your lungs when you are drowning.

Now Nicky is drowning and all he wants is not to let Joe drown with him.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

#the old guard #fanfiction #tears on marble face #chapter six #Nicky #Joe #Andy

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plumblueflower · 3 years

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Can I have a story too, bro? Any mythology? 🥺

Yes of course! Let me think of a nice one that you'll enjoy.............*please imagine the music you hear when you're on hold for a company phone number, but in kazoo*................DING!

Today we'll be learning about the 2nd incarnation of Lord Vishnu from my own religion/mythology! Disclaimer to any who practice Hinduism, don't come after me for being irreverent. I believe that these stories were meant to be told with love and affection, not fear.

Onward to a cautionary tale about how being arrogant is one of the worst things you can do when met with a temperamental sage and how tortoises and snakes are apparently valid materials in engineering. Due to divinity of said creatures, it can be safely said that no reptiles were harmed in the making of this production!

Once upon a time, while the King of the Heavens, God of Lightning and Thunder (think Zeus but less swol??), Indra was simply king-ing around, a sage came into his court. Now, these sages were very powerful and well-respected members of society. They'd essentially take to the forest and pray for a very, very long time and gain something akin to XP points in a game, along with rather unsavory looking beards (but don't ever said that to them aloud, you'll see what happens when you offend them!). Generally, a force to be respected and tread carefully around.

The sage that came on that Wednesday afternoon (this is an estimate based on my stellar intuition), was named Durvasa. And he was known to be a very, very, very, very grumpy old coot. Perhaps it was because he meditated with the wrong posture, it can't be explained for sure. Anyways, if you ever come across him, keep your manners poised!

He came with good intent, wanting to bestow a flower garland on Indra as a gesture of blessing and kindness. However, Indra, presumably addled by the royal haze, simply took it and gave it to Airavat, his elephant. Now, being an elephant, Airavat did not necessarily have a great regard for decorum and simply stomped on it after realizing that it wasn't a snack.

Durvasa was livid to say the least, and can you blame him? Imagine you spent all your time writing a love letter for someone and they simply through it to their pet shredder, sounds horrid, doesn't it? (Now you'll have more incentive to reblog this!)

Well in his rage, the old geezer cursed everyone in the heavens, gods and demigods alike, to lose all fortune, happiness, and victory! Soon after, Indra's armies began to lose all of their battles, and generally seemed to be going through a time about as fun as ours. The gods were entirely at their wits' end! How would they finagle their way out of this?

Forgive the quick business analogy, but imagine this power structure a bit like a corporate one. Indra would be the CEO of the company, but there is a founding board of directors that he answers to. The Big Three: Vishnu, Shiva, and Bramha.

Anyways, Indra and the rest of the heavenly squad trekked up to Vishnu's realm and sheepishly asked for an assist. Vishnu told them that all their fortune and the immortal nectar, Amrit (for the graecophiles, Ambrosia) was at the bottom of the ocean (Pacific? Atlantic? I think quite possibly could have been an extremely large puddle). To regain their prosperity and health, they would have to churn it out of the ocean!

At that point, Vishnu, in RPG game fashion, gave them a helpful hint: You need the help of the demons to hold the other side of whatever rope you use to churn, but you cannot let them take the Immortal Juice. This would require some hijinks and shenanigans, but they figured out a plan.

The gods convinced the demons to come and help them churn, promising that they would share the Amrit. They assembled a humongous, gargantuan, massive churning mechanism. Vishnu's "snake familiar", Vasuki, King of the Serpents, was the churning rope and huge mountain was the churning rod. As they pulled the snakey-rope back and forth, demons on one side, gods on the other, the mountain started sinking! Oh no! So, Vishnu took the form of a tortoise and went under the mountain to keep it stabilized! By some engineering miracle, the wealth and fortune came right out from the seabed, along with a few unfortunate fishes. When the Amrit came out, the Demons quickly snatched it for security. But the gods had a plan, because as we know, if there's one thing that dissolves all reason from the brain, it is a very hot woman. (unless you're an aspec or a gay in this case, but at this point, I'm willing to bet that the illusion would simply change to be garlic bread or a hot stud to seduce you anyways)

Now who exactly was this hot woman? Well, her name was Mohini, but she was actually Vishnu in disguise! She seduced the demons into letting her distribute the Amrit to everyone and with her charming maneuvers, she managed to distract the demons so that they wouldn't notice that she was only actually giving nectar to the gods! Victory for our side!

But wait! It turns out the demons had a counterstrike of their own! One demon, Rahuketu, realized the trick and disguised himself to be a god so he would get the nectar. But just as the nectar was about to go down his throat, Vishnu caught him and beheaded him with his ultra-scary, spiky frisbee, the Sudarshan Chakra. Because the demon had already ingested it partially, the two half of his body became sentient beings aptly named Rahu and Ketu. We now see them in the sky as Uranus and Neptune! With that deception foiled, the story ends with the victory of the gods!

Fun fact about Mohini: This female avatar of Vishnu, was very much the temptous femme fatale of the millennia! She killed many demons with her cunning and looks, the illusion being able to tempt anyone! Including....one of the other members of the Triumvirate, Shiva himself! According to the stories of Kerela, India, Shiva saw Mohini, they did "lovers-in-the-nighttime" and had a child, Ayyappa! As a trans, I think this is pretty cool, but thought you all would like to know as well!

#mythology #storytelling #indian culture #hinduism #folktale #religion

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soldrawss · 5 years

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Ares kids giving percy shit and then they just see... luke... standing in the background... staring at them... and they suddenly decide to leave percy alone, because they 'just FEEL LIKE IT, oKAY???' jhgfgdhfdhggfjghg

Despite what everyone else thinks, Luke is always angry. He just also happens to be really good at hiding it. He probably had his dad to thank for that, being able to redirect and reassure others with a flash of a smile and a wave of his hand to disarm anyone who’d think otherwise. He hardly ever lets his temper get the best of him anymore. He’s too old for that. Too tired to let the little things get under his skin and leave bruises that the world could see. He can’t afford to wear his anger out like tattooed sleeves, the same way Silena Beauregard wore compassion on hers.

And it would be too easy. Too easy to just let his anger for the world and for the gods fuel and feed the hurt bleeding into his rationality and blaming all his problems on everything other than himself. It would be way too fucking easy to go about his days in a blinding rage that left nothing but empty holes in the places that should have held love and forgiveness and all the good he tries so desperately to instill in the younger campers. It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t help the hurt and it wouldn’t end the suffering. Luke knew this. Luke knew the world didn’t need one more angry, unwanted kid adding that kind of gasoline into the fire. Kronos was wrong, even if his tempted whispers late at night tried so hard to convince him otherwise.

So he hides his anger. Buries it under daily counselor chores and making sure the Stoll brothers don’t get too rowdy during their free time and just keeps busy enough to ignore the pounding tremor in the back of his chest. It works for the most part. It’s easier to smile nowadays, he barely even has to force it anymore, and when he laughs along to campfire stories and songs, it’s something lighthearted and genuine.

But his anger is always right there, like it’s something second hand and lingering. There without him having to reach for it.

And when he notices Percy get dragged behind the armory by the scruff of his neck by some older kids, he lets that all too familiar anger consume him in seconds. He pushes away from the handful of campers he was monitoring by the amphitheater, ‘Activity’s over. You have free break until lunch’, he calls over his shoulder, and doesn’t wait for a response as he marches his way in the direction of the armory with a speed Hermes would probably be proud of if he ever cared enough to check-in.

Luke doesn’t have special skills or powers like other Demigods. He can’t build things like Beckendorf and he can’t charm speak like Silena and he certainly can’t summon lightning from the heavens like Thalia could. But he was respected and feared in equal measure all the same, and no one could deny that he worked hard to earn the title of the best swordsman in camp.

His was still a presence that demanded attention and authority. Even if he lets the seven-year-old from the Haphestus cabin ride on his shoulders after breakfast most mornings, or moves over on his already tiny bunk in the dead of night so that little unclaimed Lily Anderson can sleep with him after a bad nightmare.

He was a self-designated older brother to pretty much anyone who needed one, and Luke took a quiet sort of pride to that so many people liked and needed him.

But he was still a threat when he wanted to be.So when he saw Percy on the ground, with a nose bleed that stained the front of his shirt an awful rusty color, all Luke had to do was growl a low, ‘walk away. Now’, and the three boys took off at a sprint. He only vaguely recognized two of them from the Ares cabin and one from Aphrodite, but he didn’t care enough to do more with the information at the moment because Percy was staring up at him with green eyes electric and burning.

And Luke recognizes those kinds of eyes. They’re the same as his. There's a light like dying stars in them. Angry and terrified and burning with something terrible and so full of single-minded devotion that it has to hurt. And it leaves something aching and red hot in Luke’s stomach when he takes a step forward only for Percy to flinch away out of reflex.

“I’m fine,” Percy said like a knee jerk reaction before Luke could even ask, barking it in a mean and biting way that Luke didn’t take any offense to because he remembers what if felt like to be twelve and have your pride hurt. So Luke doesn’t question it, because Percy is scrappier and stronger than anyone probably ever gave him credit for, and offers a silent hand and the gentlest smile he can muster. Luke does his best to ignore the thumping jolt of anger that vibrates through him when Percy takes it almost immediately and so desperately, like it’s his only lifeline in the world, and wonders what kind of people were in Percy’s life before camp that made him so hungry for a positive human connection.

Percy apologizes a second later with a horrified expression, jumping out of reach when he notices he got blood on Luke’s hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Let's just get you to the Apollo cabin. Lee keeps a first aid kit and a jar of ambrosia superglued to him at all times after Cecil Markowitz’s third greek fire burn.” The comment was supposed to lighten the mood somewhat, but Percy’s face darkens as he takes a step back from Luke.

“Um, no thanks,” Percy says in almost a pained whisper, hugging his middle and trying to wipe the continuous flow of blood from running down his chin by holding his head back. “It smells too much like the infirmary in there. And I hate the way ambrosia burns down my throat. I’m good, Luke, really.”

And that should have tipped Luke off to some bigger problem, but he can’t concentrate on it because he’s already closing the distance between them faster than Percy could object, and softly pushing the back of Percy’s head down towards the ground. “Pinch here, just above your nostrils, and lean forward unless you want the blood to go down your throat.” He instructs, guiding Percy’s bloodied hand to his nose.

Luke can’t rightly blame Percy for his hesitance. The kid’s first moments of conscious grief since his new life as a half-blood began was spent in the camp infirmary, nursing the pain of losing his mom while also nursing actual physical wounds with acidic nectar and ambrosia that even Luke can attest to growing disgust for after the first few battle wounds of his own. Anyone would have some kind of underlying trauma from that, and Percy didn’t have to outwardly admit how uncomfortable he was at the idea for Luke to understand.

Being a 12-year-old without a mom was hard enough. The problems of a half-blood added on top of that was almost a cruel joke that Luke bitterly couldn’t believe was a reality for most the kids at camp.

“Annabeth used to get into a lot of fights too, I’ve gotten pretty used to fixing noses the old fashioned way. Come on, I have a spare medkit in the combat arena,” Luke says, pressing a hand to Percy’s back, not giving him a chance to escape because dammit, someone had to care for this kid. And Percy doesn’t smile, but something in those sharp green eyes turn leaf like and muted as he lets himself get led from out from behind the armory.

No one really bats an eye towards Percy as they walked, and Luke could only assume it’s because he looks like he’s about to kill anyone that tried with a stone-cold glare that could rival Medusa’s.

No one was is in the arena when they get there, and Luke instructs Percy to keep the cold washcloth Luke had snagged for him on his nose for about ten minutes, keeping upright to help stop the bleeding. They don’t say anything after that, they just sit on the arena steps and watch the campers from the Demeter cabin try to flip the canoes of some Aphrodite kids with little success, while they wait.

Luke doesn’t ask any questions on what happened or why, he feels like the answer wouldn’t matter anyway, but Percy eventually softens in the silence between them. Luke pretends he doesn’t notice Percy’s eyes get red and wet as he rubs at them angrily with the palm of his hand.

After about fifteen minutes, and a fresh camp shirt that Luke had given him to replace Percy’s stained one, Percy looked no worse for wear, at least.

“Thanks,” he says softly, like he was thanking Luke for a million things at once, and Luke was all too aware of the crack in his voice and the angry hunch of his shoulders that made him look whole years to young to be angry at the world.

“Don’t thank me just yet, I need your help with something,” Luke decides as he stands up and walks back into arena, not looking back to see if Percy is following him because he knows he is.

“Alright,” he says once they make it to the middle of the dusty pit, holding his hands out in front of his chest and adjusting his stance as Percy looks at him with a doe-eyed curiosity and confusion. “Come at me with all you got.”

Percy frowns, and sniffs once before rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “What? Dude I already got my butt handed to me, I don’t need another nose bleed on top of a few broken bones.”

Luke can’t help but smile at that. “Come on, humor me. I have a few unchecked microaggressions I need to work out and you owe me. I promise I won’t aim for your nose.”

Percy frown deepens, but he sighs like the whole world is weighted on in and gets into a fighting stance of his own, keeping his fists close to his chest.

Now it was Luke’s turn to frown. “Aww dude, you’re breaking my heart here.”

He relaxes his stance and walks over to where Percy stood, dodging the lame attempt of a punch and catching Percy’s fist in the palm of his hand, readjusting Percy’s fingers. “Thumb goes here unless you want to break it. And you wanna keep your fists closer to bottom of your chin.”

Luke uses his own foot to shift Percy’s into a more stable stance. “Feet this far apart and bend your knees, or you’re gonna get knocked down no matter what happens. Try to punch me again.”

Frowning more out of concentration then confusion, Percy took another swing that Luke caught easily and without letting go, pulled it back towards Percy’s shoulder and used his other hand to straighten Percy’s back. “Use these muscles here and punch straight out. You keep swinging too wide and putting all your force behind it, leaving you open.”

He guided Percy’s hand with his own, twisting it slowly in the form of a punch. “You’re gonna feel the bones in your arm want to move this way. Let them and you’ll get more force out of it.”

Percy hummed something like acknowledgment, so Luke let go and retook his stance in front of Percy, mimicking his same posture from before. “Try it again.”

Luke still caught Percy’s fist in his own, but a smile broke his face in two when he, not unkindly, pushed Percy back aways. “A couple more hits like that, and my hand may actually start to hurt, Jackson.”

And the grin that crept upon the twelve-year-olds face was something bright and delighted and outshining the stars as easy as breathing, and Luke soaked in every inch as they continued for the better half of the morning sparing till the lunch horn sounded.

Percy was so much like a younger Luke that is actually scared him, but moments like this, where he knew practical methods of defense would help Percy better than any reassurance that bullies would eventually leave him alone ever could. And Luke knew that Percy wouldn’t be ok with anyone fighting his battles for him, even if it would have been so easy for Luke to channel some of that unchecked rage into beating the ever-living snot out of anyone who looked sideways at Percy again. Just like he knew that Percy wouldn’t ask for help if it wasn’t already freely giving, or that trust was a hard thing to earn when your whole life was built around people burning that bridge before you could ever extend it.

But Luke was prepared for the challenge, and with Percy chatting happily away from underneath where Luke rested his arm across his shoulders as they made their way to the dining Pavillion, Luke could feel the edges of his anger slowly quiet into something barely there. And it’s a feeling that carries him throughout the rest of the day. A feeling that he wants to bottle up and keep on a shelf whenever he wants to forget what hating the world feels like.

Because if it feels like it’s worth it just to keep kids like Percy smiling for the rest of forever, well then, Luke could handle forgiving some of his anger, and letting his heart rest on his sleeves just a little bit more.

#oh no he's 12 au #thats the name of this big brother luke au i'm creating #oh man i didn't mean to go on a big tangent but here we are folks #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan #riordan #i have so many feelings on these two please ask me about them #thanks alex for getting me too hyped up now my home will know no rest

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smoochkooks · 5 years

Text

—if walls could talk (m.)

⇢ pairing: min yoongi/reader

⇢ genre: smut, angst

⇢ word count: 5k+

⇢ warnings: friends with benefits, infidelity, explicit sexual content: unprotected sex, dirty talk, possesivness, slight degradation, very light choking, unhealthy relationships, this is sad im sorry

⇢ summary: for most people, love is an enigma; hard to describe force that brings two hearts together and makes one home. love is happiness and delight. love is goodmorning kisses when sun rises and warm cuddles when it gets dark. love is sharing deepest, most hidden insecurities together and finding solutions for them. love is looking into someone’s eyes and seeking comfort in them.

but for min yoongi, love is the most unfair feeling in the world.

a/n: this is my first ever writing posted here so please give me some love. listen to ‘if walls could talk’ by 5sos.

If someone ever dared to ask Min Yoongi what is love for him, his answer would fall from his lips without a hint of hesitation.

For most people, love is an enigma; hard to describe force that brings two hearts together and makes one home. Love is happiness and delight. Love is goodmorning kisses when sun rises and warm cuddles when it gets dark. Love is sharing deepest, most hidden insecurities together and finding solutions for them. Love is looking into someone’s eyes and seeking comfort in them.

But for Min Yoongi, love is the most unfair feeling in the world.

It’s sadness and pain, making him want to scream out hopelessly into dead hours of the night his frustrations. For Yoongi, love is nothing but heartache and longing for the person who can’t reciprocate his feelings the way he wishes to.

But for you, the girl he loves, Yoongi would suffer for the rest of the eternity, for the sake of your own happiness, and his downfall.

Intertwined bodies, limbs tangled together underneath the messy sheets, moonlight slipping through the curtains of the bedroom and illuminating silver gleams on the surface of the ceiling. Laboured breaths and swollen lips, drinking poisonous taste from mouths caught mid open in sheer ecstasy that only carnal lust can provide. The sounds of sweat-covered skin slapping on skin, sinful noises with a cacophony of moans.

Yoongi kisses you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to put into it all the unspoken, broken sentences he’s to afraid to let out.

“I missed you,” kiss on the corner of your mouth, just a brief prelude to the symphony of lovestruck boy that he hides behind his rough touches.

“You are the best thing that have ever happened to me,” kiss on the crook of your neck, supressed in depths of your sweetly scented hair, where he inhales the soul shaking intoxication.

And the last one, the scariest of them all.

“I love you,” kiss on your pillowy lips, stealing the breath from his lungs away and leaving him dizzy.

Yet, Yoongi knows, even in his lustful state of numbness, that he cannot say them. He chooses another words, he thinks it’s better like this; when he’s not giving into it too much because it will bring him down. Even though it hurts so bad, stabbing his heart with invisible dagger and spilling blood all over the white sheets.

“Can he fuck you this good?” It’s nothing but a growl against the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

It’s selfish, truly egoistic, asking things like that, with your nude, pliable body beneath him, submited to his mercy and his touches only, with his cock drilling into you deeply. Yoongi can’t find the strenght to stop. He’s feeding on your strangled proclamations like they are the most delicious course, sweet on his tongue, yet bitter on the edges.

“N-no,” you stutter breathlessly, more of a moan than a real word. “Only you.”

It’s addicting, the way those words slip from your mouth, the way your body arches to him when he thrusts harder, when he plays with you the most dangerous game in the world, the one mixing pain with pleasure. His name rolling of your tongue over and over is a sin, pure ambrosia to his ears but he devoted himself to this temptation a long time ago.

“Yeah? You like when I’m fucking you open like this?” Yoongi asks.

He slows down his pace, dragging his cock through your silky walls agonizingly gentle, watching how it disappears into the wetness of your cunt. You writhe beneath him, eyelids fluttered shut from the immense pleasure he is bringing to you, always giving you the part of himself between each roll of his hips.

When no response comes out of your mouth, he lands a harsh smack to the back of your thigh, making you gasp. Deft fingers find their way to your chin, thumb pressing into the swollen flesh of your bottom lip. “Fucking answer me, slut,” he snarls.

“I–God, I love it,” you blurt out, reaching for his forearms like they are your lifeline. “You’re always making me feel so–fuck, so good, Yoongi.”

Your words push the dagger deeper into his heart, the blood runs thicker. Yoongi starts fucking you harder then, and you rake your nails through his back, until a hiss escapes his mouth because the pain always feels oh, so good.

And you love it too, love the pain your rough fucking brings to your body. You relish in the way he holds you down, pinning your hips to the mattress with enough force to leave purplish bruises. You succumb to him every time, no matter how wrong it is, no matter how loud the screaming to stop this before it will get out of your hand is in your head.

You’re addicted to him just like he’s to you.

His bony fingers slowly caressing your throat make your breath hitch. He doesn’t apply pressure, not yet, he just holds his hand there until you beg him to push, grasping his wrist between your fingers.

“Yoongi, please–”

He lifts his head up and you have no choice but stare right into his eyes, right into his dark orbs that always hide so much love for you, everlastingly for you. You could hurt him all over again, yet he will never falter.

Something snaps in him. Maybe it’s his name on your lips, a breathless plea in his ears. Maybe it’s the deliciously good way your walls hug his dick snuggly inside. Or maybe it’s you in general, cascades of hair strewn around the pillow and face flushed in pleasure.

You, stabbing him right into his heart.

“You are mine,” Yoongi groans before he could stop himself; ugly possessiveness dripping from his tone. Veiny hand around your throat gradually tightens with practiced ease, and your senses blurr. “Mine to kiss, mine to fuck. Mine, fucking mine.” he repeats like a mantra, like he foolishly thinks it will become true after so many times he wished to ink them on your skin, mark you as his and only his. But they are all just words, sentences thrown hastily in the middle of carnal desire.

He feels your walls clenching around him, approaching your high. He slows his pace to bare minimum, fucking himself into you deeper, like he’s trying to reach the very core of your soul. He wants you to come like this, with your eyes glued to his ones. Maybe you would find in them the truth he would never tell.

He captures your lips in a kiss too sensual and too sweet to be mistaken with crimson lust. You sigh into his mouth and his tongue laces with yours, tasting cheap strawberry wine you drank earlier that night. He hadn’t come to you with a plan to have sex. You called him because you needed someone to talk.

You needed your best friend.

However, after few glasses and several lustful glances, before he could even tell you to stop, you were sitting on his lap, lips hovering over his, your center grinding against his crotch, leaving him no choice but indulge. A sigh of “I want you,” spoken directly to his ear was enough to sprung him into action and kiss the fuck out of you, ripping your blouse from your body and have his way with you on the couch, with his face burried between your legs. And then on your bed, where you sleep in the embrace of your boyfriend every night.

“Fuck, baby,” Yoongi grunts, releasing your throat from his grip. “You’re gonna take it, yeah?” he breathes out, and you could only moan in approval, too fucked out by the feeling of his cock reaching depths of your pussy. “Take it like a good girl–” he continues, practically slurring his words. “–and let me fill up your tight cunt with my cum.”

There’s only a whimper in response from you but it’s enough for him. His face falls to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the skin.

One mark, Yoongi thinks, one bite on her neck and he will find out. He will finally know what his girlfriend has been up to these past months. He will know who’s face flashes behind her closed eyelids when they make love, bringing her closer to the edge. But Yoongi would never do that, no matter how tempting the thought is. He has seen you broken so many times before, crying on his shoulder. He has wiped bitter tears from your cheeks, assuring you it’s going to be okay. He won’t stand seeing you hurt again for the sake of his selfish desires.

But is it trully so cruel that he doesn’t want to share? He can cherish you so much more. Make love to you like he wouldn’t. Love you like you deserve to be loved.

Your mouth falls open in ecstasy, sweat covers your brow and forehead. You’re beautiful like this, so vulnerable, caught in the most intimate of ways possible, underneath his body. Your thighs tremble but you circle his bare waist with your legs anyway, bringing him even closer to you.

Your hands find the sides of his face, shaky palms cupping his cheeks, urging him to lean into your direction more. “I’m so close–” you mumble into the seam of his lips, followed by a messy kiss. “Yoongi, please, baby.” A broken sob falls from your mouth as his dick rock into you without any sign of mercy, hitting the one spot inside you that blinds your vision with hot white pleasure.

“Say that again.” Yoongi growls, his hand travelling down your body and reaching the apex of your thighs, when your body ends and his begins. His pace has become sloppier, a sign he is close too. He thrusts so hard it makes you see the stars, chasing both yours and his high. Pleasure sprouts through your whole body, coil in your stomach gradually tightening with the way he strokes your clit.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Make me come. I want that so bad–” You start moving your hips in tandem with his, meeting him halfway. “–please, baby.”

He doesn’t need anything more than that, at least for now. His thumb traces messy circles on your sensitive numb, bringing you to the climax. You shout his name and he curses, feeling his cock twitching inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans one last time before he comes, coating your walls with his seed. Few lazy thrusts later he pulls out from you, his cum dripping down your thighs as a dirty reminder of what you have done.

He lays on top of you, supporting his weight on his arms not to crush your smaller frame. Staring into your eyes, into your soul, like he’s trying to memorize every feature of your face, every small detail he knows so well, like he’s afraid he will forget it once he opens his eyes the other day.

You stay like that for a while, basking in the post-sex afterglow, heavy pants falling from your lips being the only sounds audible in the confines of your bedroom. Bu then, you cup his cheeks with your palms, kissing him deeply and so lovingly, he could delight in this moment forever. He could stay in your arms until his death.

You did to his heart what Spring does to cherry trees.

You met all those Springs ago, at the age of seven, on a gloomy day when you were both just in primary school. It was your first day there after moving out to another part of the city. Yoongi remembers it so vividly, you standing among other kids, watching everyone with curious eyes. Then, some older kid came up to you, pointing at your pink polka-dot wellies and started making fun of them. You immadietly bursted into tears in the middle of the playground.

And that was when seven-years old Yoongi decided he didn’t like seeing you in tears for the first time. He left the swing he was sitting at and approached you and the boy, standing proudly in front of him in his blue wellies.

“Don’t laugh at her boots you idiot! Your trainers aren’t cool, they are stupid! At least her socks aren’t wet like yours.” Yoongi said, pointing at the kid’s shoes that were, in fact, completely drenched and dirty with mud. He stucked his tongue out as a final warning and farewell, dissmising the other boy.

You looked at him hesitantly with wide, doe eyes, unsure of what to do. Fortunately, Yoongi knew.

“I’m Yoongi. Do you want to play with me?” he asked out of the blue and sent you a cute, gummy grin. You nodded shyly, going after him. You ended up testing your wellies that day, jumping to every puddle you could find.

You became inseparable since that day. There wasn’t any power that might possibly disconnect you. It was always Yoongi and Y/N, Y/N and Yoongi. Your bond was unbrakeable.

In the age of fourteen, you shared your first kiss under the blackboard sky one summer night, too young and too stupid to know things like love. But it felt so right to stand on your toes and reach for Yoongi’s mouth, placing a chaste kiss on his lips that made his cheeks red. Next day however, you claimed it was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened, that best friends don’t kiss each other, Yoongs. Yoongi swallowed the lump in his throat, agreeing with you even though in his fourteen-years old heart he felt different. Even though he didn’t know what it was like to be in love back then, he was sure his heart beating rapidly faster when you were around meant something more.

Years passed and the bitter-sweet time of the high school came faster than anyone had expected. Yoongi started being some sort of a popular boy back then. He wore black leather jackets and ripped jeans, smoked cigarettes at the back of school and fuck girls in shady bars’ bathrooms more often than do homework. He found a new group of male friends, hanging out with them sometimes even more frequently than with you, distancing himself.

He thought it was better like this, when he wasn’t looking at how you even got prettier, smarter, drifting away from his reach. When he wasn’t listening to your rambling about another asshole you had a crush on.

It hurt less like this.

You started going to the parties because of him. They were the constance in your teenage lifes, alcohol swimming in your veins your best company on Friday evening’s at clubs when you were showing fake ID’s just to get wasted and dance for dear life. He liked those moments the most, when there wasn’t any guy around you were interested in, when it was only you and him and a bottle of tequila bought with your first earned money.

Yoongi had never told you how bad he wanted to kiss you every time you swayed your bodies to the loud bass of the music. He had never said aloud how he dreamed about licking your throat with his tongue, how he wished your cunt was the one he runs his fingers through, digging his digits into the wetness and hearing your moans. How much he wanted your pink colored lips wrapped around his cock, instead of some nameless girl’s.

But your were best friends and best friends don’t hook up with each other, as Yoongi overheard you saying it one day to your other friend Jihyo, when she asked you about him. You eventually forgot about this rule though, year or so after, letting him fuck you dirty at the backseat of his dad’s car.

His name was Jaehyun and when you met him, you believed he was your first and last love. He was one of those guys Yoongi hated the most. Obnoxiously rich, too confident and arrogant for his own good, but you fell for his poor charms and sweet words anyway. Until Jaehyun eventually got bored and broke up with you in the middle of a party, leaving you with no choice but stare mouth agape at him, casually flirting with another girl minutes later. However, Yoongi was there to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, letting you drown your misery in alcohol along with him.

When your glassy eyes lingered on his lips for a moment too long, he was sure it was his first warning.

When your lips brushed his and he let you kiss him, he knew it was his first mistake.

When you took his hand and led him to the parking lot with clear intentions in your head, he was sure there was no going back from it.

Not when you were lying at the backseat of his dad’s car half naked underneath him, with your skirt hiked up and revealing yourself to his hungry eyes; shy, with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, begging him to ruin you.

You didn’t ask him to be gentle with you, he promised you roughness and fulfilled it, pulling your hair and rasping filthly exclamations to your ears that made your head spin and wetness running down your thighs. He could taste alcohol and sweetness of something only akin to you on your tongue that night. It was addicting and he was ready to overdose.

Yoongi remembers the day you shattered his heart into pieces clearly, like it was barely yesterday. It was Saturday and Saturday meant college parties at Jung Hoseok’s place. He remembers how you took his hand and led him through the crowd of drunk people, just like back in high school days but something was definitely odd with your behavior that night. He knew you too well not to feel that. You were tense, avoiding his eyes at all costs.

You ended up on the balcony, starring at the sky and smoking. You still looked so innocent with a cigarette between your fingers, even after all those years he taught you how to do that during one of the lunch breaks at your high school.

“I moved to Jinyoung last week,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I think I love him.”

Jinyoung wasn’t another Jaehyun or an upgraded version of him. He was studying law and had a bright future ahead of him, which Yoongi couldn’t say about himself. Yoongi hated him as much as he did your every previous boyfriend but something was different with Jinyoung. He actually cared about you and that was what scared Yoongi the most; the lack of flaws in your current boyfriend that could put him in lost position. That could make you chose Yoongi over him.

Yet, Yoongi just chuckled at your words bitterly. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad if he knew they were true. But you were always a terrible liar.

“Funny,” he muttered, blowing out the fumes of his cigarette. “You didn’t seem like head over heels for him when you sucked my dick last Tuesday.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. He knew he hit your sensitive spot, that he had you right there cornered into situation you hated confronting. Because there was no rational explanation of what you were doing, beside how wrong it all was.

You threw away you half-burnt cigarette, looking at him for the first time since you dragged him here. “You are not inside my head, Yoongi. You don’t know what I really feel.” Your tone was laced with anger even if your voice quivered slightly at the end. Because you lied again. He was the one who knew you the most, inside and out.

Yoongi hated how beautiful you looked under the moonlight, how your skin glowed and eyes sparkled, even when you were mad. You were a picture of perfection, a blurry mirage remembering of what he might yet he couldn’t have.

“You’re right. I don’t know how you feel. But neither do you,” he said. “Call me when you will change your mind. You know where to find me.” He shoot you one last final gaze before he left you alone on the balcony, staring into the city covered in darkness.

You didn’t speak a word to him for the next few weeks. No texts, no calls. Until one day you showed up at his door unannounced, crashing your mouth onto his. He didn’t ask any questions when you mumbled, “Make me forget,” between kisses desperately, twisting his shirt in your palms. It shouldn’t have happened. Not like this.

But his selfishness let that occure again and again. Next morning he woke up to cold sheets, a sight of your naked body gone but the smell of you still lingering on the pillow next to his head. You probably came back to him, made some shitty excuse he easily believed in and kissed him as an apology.

If only he knew what sins those lips had committed the previous night.

Yoongi tried to convince himself it’s better like that so many times. He tried to move on, find someone new but in every girl’s face he saw you.

Fairness it’s truly not love’s attribute.

A few days ago you and Jinyoung got engaged. He bought you an expensive ring with a diamond too big for Yoongi’s liking. He proposed on some family dinner, too cheesy for Yoongi’s liking. And again, it was all too soon for Yoongi’s liking, but Jinyoung said it didn’t matter if you were still young, because you love each other unconditionally.

What Jinyoung doesn’t know however, is under what conditions you claim you love him.

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss, throwing his sweaty body next to yours. He turns his head to the side, catching a glimpse of your face, looking directly at him with emotions written on your face he cannot read. You were always like that, a beautiful enigma, an equation he couldn’t solve.

And then you smile, the same way that would put even sun into the shame. He could swear he’s never seen anything more mesmerizing. You’re ethereal, you feel so dreamlike he has to swipe his thumb on your cheek to be sure he hasn’t imagined all of this. But you’re still here.

He pulls you closer, flush to his body. He looks at you carefully, like he’s trying to remember your every feature, every ridge and dip, because it might be your last time together like this. Your hair you hate so bad and always complain about when it rains. Your forehead and brows that furrow every time you wonder about something. Your sparkling, doe eyes he has fallen for so many years before. Your cute nose, rosy cheeks. The curve of your full lips he had kissed countless times.

“What are you thinking about?” you whisper, your voice quiet in a small space of your bedroom.

“Just admiring your beauty.” Yoongi answers simply, flashing you a lopsided smile.

“When did you become so cheesy?” you tease, poking him in the ribs.

For you, I could be like that all the time. I could buy you flowers, take you out to fancy restaurants, kiss you goodbye before you leave for college or work. If only that meant you will be with me, I would try to be the best boyfriend on the Earth. If you just let me.

He chooses no to respond to that, instead asking another question, the one that makes his insides churn. “When’s the wedding?”

You gulp, the guilt taking over your features. That’s when the reality kicks in, waking you up from the dream that last only during sleepless nights. You choose not to look at him, you’re not gonna break down in front of him again today. “In July. Jinyoung thinks it’s the best month to get marry. It brings luck, or something.” you say and he hums, nodding. For the person claiming to be so deeply in love, you look pathetically sad.

“I hope I’m invited.” Yoongi chuckles, but you know it’s a bitter laugh. He kisses your crown lovingly, smiling down at you.

You missed his gummy grin, missed the days when it was just the two of you, and the cruel world. “Yoongi, I'm–” you begin, tears starting to build in your eyes, but he shooshes you, cuddling your body closer to him.

“Shh, I know, baby. You don’t have to say anything. We will talk about it another day.”

You let out a shaky sigh, burring your face in his chest. He holds you like this, flushed to his chest where his heart beats with the love he has for you, lulling you to sleep. In his arms you’re again a little girl in pink polka-dot wellies. You’re again a teenager that argued with her parents about getting caught smoking on a school yard. You’re again the girl who cried because her first boyfriend appeared to be an asshole. You’re the woman he loves and would never be his, no matter how much he wishes.

And to love is to let go. So does he, no matter how much it hurts him to do so.

For the one last time, Yoongi brings his lips to your forehead, kissing you goodnight. When your breath slows down and when he’s sure you’re asleep, he whispers, “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride. I love you.”

What Yoongi doesn’t know, is that you are wide awake the whole time.

“I love you too,” you answer him back in your head. The single tear rolls down your cheek and falls to the pillow.

If walls could talk, there wouldn’t be any silence. Confessions would be spoken out loud, emotions would be revealed. But love, indeed, is truly an unfair power.

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indiavolojones · 4 years

Note

are you in the mood for some angsty writing? you're being bullied/shunned by demon classmates bc youre a weak human who gets to spend time with their revered nobility. it's now escalated to the point where satan has noticed. he is LIVID

OH THIS ONE WAS FUN!! this got a little longer than intended oops hahah

“What will you do when they leave you?” The demon asks, sick satisfaction derived from the way your parted lips tremble, you take a step back as they step forward. They are desperate to get their claws into you, to lap at your doubt and misery like the sweetest ambrosia.

1.2kish words!!

You’ve faced down Lucifer before.

You are not afraid of these lesser demons. They can jeer and mock you all they want, but they’re powerless to lay a finger on you. Even the boldest ones know that you could summon one of the brothers here with a snap of your fingers, in your heated anger, you tell them this much--and then one of them says:

“You’d burden them like that?”

Initially, you brush it off, brush them off like all the others. Your time in the Devildom has been challenging in an infinite number of ways, but the brothers caring for you has never been in question. But still, they latch one feeble hook into you, and as demons do, they aim for any perceived weakness.

“You don’t want to bother them.” They snicker, snaggled fangs peeking over their bottom lip, “Which is why you haven’t done it yet, and it means we’re right.”

You open your mouth to deny it, but the devil’s smile is carnivorous in a way that makes you still your tongue as they purr, “You know you’re nothing. Unworthy of the attention they give you. Or their praise. Their love. It’s all going to end because you’re not worth it, and you know it.”

Their delight only seems to grow as they realize their words have struck a nerve with you--the first, after months of this harrassment. Breathing is a little bit harder, but you’ve faced down Lucifer before. You are not afraid of these lesser demon--

“What will you do when they leave you?” The demon asks, sick satisfaction derived from the way your parted lips tremble, you step back as they step forward. They are desperate to get their claws into you, to lap at your doubt and misery like the sweetest ambrosia.

“When they tire of you, an insignificant little human pest.”

“Hey!” A voice calls out your name, and both you and the devil’s heads whip to face it. Satan has turned the corner into the hall, his arm outstretched for your attention. Your heart skips to see him, and you try to not let too much open relief bleed into your expression. The devil clicks their tongue in disappointment, causing you to look back at them.

The devil gives you an almost sultry look, tongue flicking out to lap at the air as if they can taste your turbulent emotions, “Till we meet again, human.”

It turns, bowing and offering a cheerful greeting to Satan as they cross briefly. Satan only addresses them with mild interest, attention caught on the stiff expression on your face. You’re still standing in the same space as he stands next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder in an affectionate gesture mainly shown to rile up some of his brothers.

Satan’s close proximity is usually a welcome warmth--but in this instance, you feel almost too raw to be touched.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” Satan asks, his sharp eyes watching the hall for any remaining sign of any of the demon. The smile on your face is too big to be real, and Satan, damn his quick mind, realizes this at the same time as you.

“Nothing,” Shit, you’re a terrible liar, how are you going to get out of this? “Just some questions about the coursework.” Satan is too close to keep this up, you want to lean out of his space, take a couple steps back; but then he’d be even more aware that something is wrong.

Just when you’re about to try and spit up some other lie in the face of Satan’s relentless stare, he exhales sharply through his nose and steps back. You’re both relieved and saddened by the loss, watching as he places a hand on his hip. He tilts his head to the side, giving you his trademark wry smirk.

“Are you struggling? You know all you need to do is ask me for help,” he says, and you stifle the sigh of relief.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” you laugh, and Satan’s gaze sharpens once more, if only for a moment, but it’s enough to make your breath catch in your chest.

“You could never.”

“I told you,” you bite, nails digging into your palms, “I am not afraid of you. You can’t lay a finger on me.”

“I don’t have to lay a finger on you to ruin you, pest,” the demon hums, black nails tapping against their cheek, “I only have to make you realize your true worth, and you’ll do the rest. Humans are tragic like that.” The demon sighs, as if that takes away some of their fun.

“I’ve heard enough.” The voice that comes out of nowhere is so sudden, firm and startling that you and the demon both jump to face the voice, your eyes widening as Satan steps into view. Has he been there the entire time? Did he hear everything? But Satan’s not stalking down the devil, he’s stalking towards you--you close your eyes, bracing yourself. When nothing happens, you crack your eyes open.

Satan’s bright green eyes are in your face, and he’s furious, “Coursework? You’re an awful liar. How long has this been going on?”

Hands waving in front of yourself, you try to calm him down, “Not that long, please, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” You glance at the devil who doesn’t look half as intimidating as they did before Satan’s overwhelming aura arrived. Satan tilts your chin back at his face, before his hands rest on your upper arms.

“Look at me, not them,” He says your name, and you fully allow yourself to look at him. You’re awed to see that there’s genuine concern there, behind the blatant fury steadily building--you’re amazed he hasn’t lost control. “Why didn’t you tell us? They’re not something you should have to handle,” he insists, “You are so much better than them.”

The devil looks like they have half a mind to protest this, but they think better of it. You blink at Satan’s impassioned words, before a small smile somehow breaks on your face.

“...Yeah. You’re right. I should have said something,” you laugh, and the relief that blossoms in your chest at Satan’s open support is overwhelming. Your knees feel a little weak, and Satan spares a moment to cup your cheek, and you lean into it. Now that he knows you’re alright, his expression hardens again. Turning to face the devil, who steps back, he tilts his head.

“As for you,” Satan snarls, stepping towards the devil and leaving you behind him as he speaks.

“My brother, despite his preferences, is a stickler for the rules. He would have me see you back to the council, where you would stand before Diavolo for your treason against his cultural program,” the devil blanches at the thought. “Then perhaps you will be dealt a swift and peaceful execution, as is our Lord Diavolo’s current fanciful attempt at being ‘humane’.”

“But I…” Satan murmurs, an eerie chill entering the empty hallway as he shifts into his demon form; the only indication of the type of expression on Satan’s face is the sheer terror on the face of the devil.

“I am not that kind.”

#ch: satan #pr: satan/mc #writing #cv chats #obey me satan

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themockingcrows · 4 years

Text

Dream Eater

This fic is rated M! John/Dirk, John/Hal, Dirk<3<Hal AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464264 cw: nuditty, kidnapping, fae and faeries, spirits, vomiting, soul theft, dreams and nightmares, mentions of dream sex, Hal is a trashbag.

When John starts having dreams about his boyfriend, he assumes nothing is out of the ordinary. When the dreams turn to nightmares, he's concerned. When dreams become reality and he's faced with a creature hellbent on keeping him in his world, will he be able to find a way home again?

It was summer when the dreams first started, but autumn when they really came to a head for John. Near nightly he’d see his boyfriend in his sleep, and while he assumed it was just fondness that drove the visitations, or the fact they were together so often to begin with during the daytime hours now that it had been four years together, it was seeming more and more like something else was going on inside his mind.

The Dirk in his dreams was oddly affectionate, showering him in kisses and touches that usually only came after a prolonged period of relaxing in one another’s presence. The Dirk in his dreams was also ethereally attractive, almost as if a halo were burnishing his pale hair, obscuring parts of his face and eyes with the reflective light. Butterflies tended to dance around, sunset colors on their wings, some with bright electric blue eye spots. Whenever John was with this Dirk in his dreams, everything felt better. The kisses, the attention, even the sexual escapades felt realer than real, leaving him aching in the morning for more when he woke. More than once he’d had to feverishly jack off just to be able to clear his head and function the following day.

Dirk in reality didn’t seem to want to pay the dreams any heed. He found them amusing, or at least said he did, but didn’t want to discuss them further than the bare minimum. It was kind of frustrating, really. It made John not feel heard, but what could he really do? Dirk wasn’t into dream stuff, and that was that. On the recommendation of his friends he wound up searching for dream meanings, and found that the sex, mind blowing as it was, was just a sign that he could have that kind of passion in real life. The butterflies had a meaning too, more positive, dealing with longevity and romance, spirituality and joy, creativity. Great sex, long life, romance and joy sounded like a pretty good omen.

Now if he could just get Dirk to actually listen to him about them, maybe they’d be able to tap into the elements he’d been experiencing and they could recreate them.

Tonight was another dream, the butterflies leading a nude John from a circle of mushrooms where he’d ‘awoken’ to what looked like a grand table set with food and elaborate tea sets, some scene from Alice in Wonderland he was sure. All that was missing was a rabbit and a mouse, for the mad hatter’s position seemed to be filled by a similarly nude Dirk, who sat pouring two cups of tea for them to partake of. The liquid was a rich reddish color, matching the decadent desserts and fruits and jams that speckled the table. Dirk smiled as he approached, and beckoned for him to take a seat. The chairs all looked overstuffed and plumply comfortable, but John settled into one nearest Dirk’s right hand and accepted his cup, drinking some of the liquid.

Even in a dream it tasted like what he assumed ambrosia tasted like, sweet and fulfilling to his very core, warm down his throat and settling in his stomach like a syrup. He was quick to drink a bit more as Dirk spoke to him.

“Do you love me?”

“Well. Yeah, of course I do,” he said with a soft laugh.

Dream logic, he supposed. Calling into question any doubts he might have. At least there weren’t any, at this point.

Dirk smiled softly before taking one of the cakes on the table and slathering it with a bit of jam, then took a careful bite.

“Would you tell me anything?”

“I try already but you’re kind of a dick sometimes,” John said with a smirk, looking over the spread again from where he sat before he reached for a raspberry and ate it, surprised by the perfect balance of sweet and tart. It’s like these things were made just for him, ripened and blended just right.

“Would you give me anything, if I needed it?” Dirk asked with the same smile.

“Uh, yeah. ...Wait, do you need something?” John asked, suddenly a bit concerned. In his dream hunting he’d learned that sometimes dreams were portents of the future or deep insight. Maybe Dirk was needing something that he didn’t want to ask for? It wouldn’t be the first time John had had to drag something out of his boyfriend.

“I do,” Dirk said, looking sad suddenly. “I need all of you...”

“Dirk you’ve uh... You’ve kinda had all of me before,” John laughed slightly, brows coming together as his face reddened. “Multiple times? Even in dreams? What more is there to give?”

“A lot,” Dirk said, finishing his treat before standing up. The table seemed to sink into the ground in front of him, all the treats disappearing beneath the grass as butterflies flocked in ever increasing numbers. When nothing was in his path, Dirk came and leaned on the arms of John’s chair, getting right in his face. This close, John could finally see Dirk’s eyes, a piercing red that reminded him of Dave’s in a way. This might be a dream, but somehow the wrong eyes and the suddenly threatening, shark like grin that his boyfriend was giving him made John cower in his seat. He was far too exposed to be feeling scared, the warm sensations of the tea party giving way to the ice cold of a nightmare.

“U-uhm...”

“Your heart. Your body. Your soul ,” Dirk rasped, his voice too low. His red eyes looked crazed, his teeth too sharp, and his laughter that came sounded like breaking glass to John’s ears.

He woke in a cold sweat, tangled in his sheets, huffing for breath, eyes wide in terror. The alarm was going off on his bedside table, leaving him to wonder if he would have woken up at all when things went sour, or if things would have gotten worse. John rubbed his damp face and yanked his sweat soaked blankets off of him to get up and change clothes, dressing for the day as much as he needed to before grabbing for his phone.

He had to tell Dirk about this one. He absolutely had to.

The phone rang before he finally heard the familiar voice on the other end, tired, as if-

“Did you not sleep again?”

“Did you call me just to antagonize me about my sleep schedule?”

“No, I- Look, I had a dream. Another one.”

“Here we go.”

“Listen! You were in it again! And you were wrong!”

“... I was in your dream and I was incorrect about something? Wow, what a nightmare,” Dirk said sarcastically. John smacked his forehead and groaned in annoyance.

“No, no, I mean you were wrong. Like something was wrong with you. Your eyes were the wrong color and you were talking about my soul and laughing like a maniac.”

“John, you had a nightmare,” Dirk rationalized. “I’m sorry you had a rough night’s sleep, but they happen.”

“I was looking up dream stuff the other day an-”

“And that’s probably why you had a fucking nightmare, do you know how hokey all that dream analysis stuff is?”

“I don’t know, man, some of it was pretty interesting. It explained a lot of things I’ve been thinking about, an-”

“You’re just as likely to get reliable information from horoscopes,” Dirk sighed. “Look. I’m not wanting to piss on your parade, but really John. I was just a nightmare. The dreams are just dreams. We’re near each other all the time, your brain just remembers the things we do and say and parks them in new orders and mishmashes them with everything else you’ve ever seen and done and thought till it’s like new.”

“I know how dreams work!”

“Then you know how nightmares work, too.”

“UGH forget it, forget it... Why’d I even bother, you never want to talk about dreams.”

“If it’s aspirations I’ll talk till your ears fall off and your voice goes creaky, John. But dreams are just made up things your brain creates to keep you pacified at night. They’re hallucinations. Try not to get too hung up on’em, okay? You keep having the same types of dreams because you’re so focused on figuring them out, of course the themes will be similar.”

“But the nightmare…”

“Was a nightmare.”

John was quiet for a moment before he grimaced.

“It really scared me, Dirk. Like, honest to God scared me.”

“...Okay, look, that was probably a dick move on my part.” Dirk sighed quietly, considering his words more carefully. “Do you want me to come over?”

“You haven’t slept yet, have you.”

“No, if you must know, I was busy.”

“Take a nap and then you can come over,” John reasoned. “I don’t want you half dead, I want you to be comfortable to lay on.”

“If you just want to lay on me, wouldn’t a nap be the perfect thing to do at your house?”

“No, I’ve uh. I’ve gotta change the sheets.”

“...John, you didn’t-”

“I DIDN’T PISS THE BED, GOD, I just sweat a lot from the nightmare!” John cried, leaning down with one hand to yank the bottom sheet off the mattress in one hard tug. It came free and dragged the entire contents of the bed down to the floor with it on his feet, leaving John grumbling in annoyance.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding. I know you would never admit to it even if you did.”

“DIRK.”

John could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “I’ll call you after I’ve slept, then. Catch you later, John.”

Annoyed, John hung up when Dirk did and dropped his phone on his desk before turning and crouching down to gather the sheets and pillowcases up off the floor. What a mess, he didn’t feel like doing laundry, but apparently that’s what he was going to do first thing in the morning. The bedding joined the other laundry in his hamper and he headed downstairs with it, wandering the short trip to the utility room before freezing, hand ready to reach into the darkness to flick the light switch on. For a split second he swore he saw eyes in the darkness, red eyes and sharp teeth that made his heart clench in panic, before he shoved his hand in and turned the light on. Illuminated, there was no obvious threat in the room aside from an early morning chill for his bare feet.

He did his laundry. He ate breakfast. He spent the afternoon laying on Dirk playing videogames together and shooting the shit to make up for Dirk’s attitude earlier in the day and because they had planned to do so anyway. The nightmare was all but forgotten as the days turned to weeks and new dreams filled the void left from the nightmare, proving Dirk’s theory correct about the dreams increasing frequency because he was focusing on it. Sometimes he still saw red eyes in the dark, or right as he was about to wake up, but it was easier to forget them.

...At least till the night the dream returned, larger than life.

John could feel his head sagging, his body going all but limp on the soft mattress, but knew he was still awake. He could feel his surroundings, the strange half sleep of a nightmare where he could just picture his sleep paralysis demon forming at the foot of his bed to loom over him, a shriveled hag there to suck the breath from his lungs. Yet, the hag never came. Instead, Dirk came, surrounded by ethereal butterflies.

“Time to get up, John Egbert. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us,” he said softly.

How had he gotten in here? Dirk didn’t have a key to the house, and it was so late he didn’t think his father would have let him inside. He’d never heard a knock, though he’d also been kind of concerned about the paralysis and potential demon coming to eat his face before he could fully wake up.

“Up, up, up, we’re going to be late,” Dirk cooed.

As if he were a puppet on a string, John pushed back his blankets and stood up, glassy eyed and silent, trapped inside his body like a sleepwalker who was aware of where his body was going. Dirk watched him silently as he pulled on his glasses and a hoodie, one of the ones Dirk himself had left during one of his many visits that John had started living in because it was comfortable. He didn’t recall giving his body the order to put on clothes on top of his pajamas. Was he going to put on shoes, too? Where were they going?

To the window, apparently. That’s how he’d gotten in. John could have sworn he’d locked it, but he’d also be lying if he said it was the first time Dirk had ever snuck into his room late at night. Dirk exited first, and extended a pale, ungloved hand John’s direction to urge him to follow. John came right along, though on the inside he was getting more and more frantic. He wasn’t in control of his body, could Dirk tell that? He didn’t want to go outside, the roof was slick from rain recently, and it’d be cold. He didn’t want to go outside barefoot at all, but the roof would just be dangerous.

He tried to pull the plug on his waking nightmare.

He failed.

He took Dirk’s hand and followed him steadily out to the roof, perfectly balanced despite his fear, the night sky overhead cloudy and speckled with stars whenever the rain laden puffs would move out of the way enough. A crescent moon illuminated the grass below shimmering like diamonds with dew, far enough below that John would definitely break his neck if he slipped.

Dirk jumped backwards and landed with catlike grace on the ground below, barely bending his knees… and opened his arms upwards with a grin that showed too many teeth beneath the sharp bottom edges of his dark shades. He reminded John of a shark, unappealing and dangerous, even more dangerous because apparently he knew how to make John’s body listen to him. Following an unheard command once more, John approached the edge of the rooftop, bare toes peeking over the edge of the slick eaves to the gutter that definitely couldn’t hold his weight.

He extended a leg, and screamed inwardly, panicked, not wanting to land in the hospital.

John fell, weightless and full of panic, only for Dirk to catch him as if he weighed nothing, setting him down on his feet on the wet grass once again. He lifted a hand and gestured as if he were calling a pet to heel, and John continued his sleepwalkers shamble after him, first through the grass of his yard and then onto the cold asphalt of the road.

John lost track of how long they walked, toes long numb from the cold and the repeated contact with dirt and stones and sticks, mind in a frazzle over what to do as he followed his pied piper boyfriend into the woods. The chilled scent of pine needles and wet, spongy earth flooded John’s senses, normally so soothing, but now terrifying. What was happening? What was going to happen? Why the fuck was he being taken out to the middle of nowhere like this by his boyfriend?

Had he snapped?

Was this some weird surprise? Some… some experiment he was keeping secret?

Was he in danger? He’d caught him after jumping off the rooftop, but this was crossing some serious boundaries that John couldn’t quite put together in order right now due to how scared he really was.

They continued walking until Dirk suddenly stopped and turned around, opening his arms once more with the same shark like grin that had chilled John to his core earlier, the least Dirk-like thing that he’d seen in his life. Dirk never smiled like that. Dirk’s smiles were subtle, fleeting flashes and soft shying away before finally warmly rolling out beyond his control.

This smile was threatening, all danger.

“Come here, John… That’s right,” he said as John took more sleepwalker steps forwards into what looked like a circle of mushrooms. Once in range, Dirk grasped him into a tight hug and crooned, grasping his chin with his hand to make him lift it, planting a kiss onto his lips. “Perfect, sweet John Egbert... and now you’re mine…”

The lips were cold as ice, sending a chill down his spine even as the night sky seemed to sickly shift its cast from a deep blue and starlight to something more akin to dawn in the blink of a swirling eye. Where were they? This wasn’t the same forest they’d been in minutes before that John could tell, this was… this was different. Different, but he could recognize it from his dreams. The mushroom circle, the pathway the butterflies had led him along before, and in the distance a table sat empty of tea and pastries.

As if on cue, the butterflies appeared, some massive and bigger than his head, others small as his fingertip, all the colors of the rainbow. Things seemed too vivid suddenly, too bright, and nausea ate at him. John’s eyes rolled back into his head as his knees went slack, losing the vision of the world and the strange Dirk to darkness.

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

When John woke, it was to a butterfly perched on his nose, its delicate feet tickling his skin and its large eyespots visible as it fluttered its wings slowly in front of his eyes. He reached a hand up to swat it away before he looked around in alarm, trying to figure out where he was. This was definitely a space he’d never seen before, not even in his dreams. He had been resting on a massive cushion the size of a small bed on the floor, legs curled up to make himself as small as possible in his sleep. His hoodie was gone, as were his clothes he’d been sleeping in, replaced with what at first looked like a sheet of its own. On closer inspection though, it seemed to be a sheet of some kind of fine fabric with butterfly patterns of varying sizes on it, blue silk with white and silver details, pearls emblazoning some of the more detailed portions, the style loose and held with clasps and pins. It was honestly the prettiest thing John had ever seen, let alone the softest on his skin, but it didn’t change how strange it was that it was suddenly on his body. Where the fuck were his clothes?

“Ah, you’re awake. Excellent. I know the transfer between worlds can be kind of a lot even for beings like myself, I suppose a human constitution just isn’t up for it.”

The voice was familiar, causing John to jerk his head around towards the source, but he only frowned upon seeing it. There Dirk was, though not his Dirk, dressed in a similarly styled silk garment, though in red with black and gold accents, butterflies big and small with the same small pearls. Around his neck rested a silver cage necklace, with a small electric blue marble resting inside. The not-Dirk Dirk approached with what looked like a breakfast tray laden with sweet berries and tea, pastries and crockery identical to that of his dream. His throat ached just from the memory of how sweet it would be, how perfectly ripe the berries, before he felt a cold chill as another memory came to the forefront. Dirk seemed to recognize his fear, because he smiled at the same time.

“I mean you no harm, I promise. After all, I have all the time in the world to get to know you now,” he said, setting the tray down near John’s cushion before going to take a seat on another cushion near a table. “Please, eat. It should settle your stomach somewhat.”

“I’m not hungry, I want to know what the fuck happened!” John insisted, ignoring the tray. “Who are you?”

“My name is Hal,” said the not-Dirk. When John continued to look confused, he only smiled again. “I take it my form isn’t pleasing to you?”

“It’s too similar to someone I care about a lot.”

“Ah, that’s his problem, not mine. I’ve had this form for a lot longer than he’s had his. The resemblance is uncanny though, I admit. His family is likely displeased. Or they would be, if they were still keeping tabs on me.”

“Tabs? What about his family?” John asked, shifting his weight and the fabric to face this person more head on, not trusting him to be out of sight for a spare second.

“His family has known about me for generations, though the newer groups don’t know all the details,” he chuckled.

“...What are you.”

“Ah, that’s difficult to answer,” Hal said. “I don’t think your kind has a word for precisely what I am. For now, let’s just say I’m a spirit of sorts.”

“A spirit? Am- Wait, am I dead? Did I die when we went off the roof?” John asked, panicked suddenly. His dad would find his body and- “Fuck, how do I go home?”

“You don’t. You’re not dead, you just live here now,” Hal said simply. “I’ve brought you to my home to enjoy you for the foreseeable future.”

John gaped at him. “Wh-?”

“Humans are such fragile creatures, John. Wouldn’t you say so?” he asked. “Small things can cause their ends so quickly. Accidents, illnesses, acts of God, each other. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to worry about that? To be able to live forever by my side?”

“I don’t even fucking know you,” John said bluntly, reaching up to adjust the fabric on his shoulder so it fell differently, feeling more and more exposed in the line of those eerily red eyes. The more he looked, the less like Dirk this person appeared in some key ways. His hair wasn’t blonde so much as almost silvery platinum, and his skin was pale as porcelain instead of sun kissed. He looked like some kind of doll, too smooth, too perfect. Too inhuman.

“Ah, formalities,” Hal said with a shake of his head, looking cockily amused that John was paying so much attention to him. “We have the world at our fingertips and you’re concerned about not knowing me immediately. I doubt you knew Dirk when you first met him, yet you came to love him, to be his beloved did you not?”

“I need to go home,” John said, rising unsteadily to his feet on the cushion. The swaths of fabric hung down to his feet almost like a dress, elegant and fitting around the right portions of his body.

“You are home, John. My home is your home now,” Hal said. “You’ll come to love it in time.”

“Where’s that fucking mushroom circle, I’m going home ,” John insisted, looking at Hal once more before glancing to the doorway and back, as if afraid he’d get attacked. Instead of looking upset, Hal gestured towards the door.

“The circle is outside in the woods near the courtyard. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. By all means, go enjoy it, it’s lovely this time of the day.”

John paled somewhat and felt his stomach flip as he backed up a few paces, then grabbed the silk cloth around his legs and lifted it in front of his feet so he could run, dashing out of the room and down a set of stairs. He was panicked, blind and deaf save for the sound of his heart hammering in his ears, a deer caught in the sight of a predator as he fled, turning left and right into different rooms and hallways of the maze-like complex. It took a while, but John made it out of the sumptuously decorated building and outside into the courtyard, manicured grass and flowers so stunning that his steps actually slowed to look at them, mesmerized. Butterflies lazily danced through the air around him, flitting from one flower to the next, lighting on an outdoor set of chairs and topiaries before taking flight again. He swatted the air in front of his face before picking up the silk and running towards a gap in the trees soon as he spotted it, following the path till he came across something familiar.

The table sat prepared for tea, same as in his dreams, packed with the same treats and drinks as before, the same that Hal had brought him. Again his stomach sang for something to eat, his parched throat for something to drink, but he needed to reach the mushrooms first. Needed to look and see for himself, needed to understand how to get home.

The circle was simple, large white mushrooms decorating a perfect circle, their tops looking almost glassy and opalescent to match with what looked like mermaid tear stones and polished glass in the grass around it. The area shimmered and shone in the light, and he could understand now why he’d gotten so overwhelmed when he first stood in it. Even standing there now with nothing happening to him it was too bright, too vivid in color, too hyper-realistic. 4D in the 3D realm.

Notably, though, he wasn’t going home. The mushrooms were mushrooms, there was no button to push, no magic circle lighting up at his presence. He tried saying “HOME” loudly and clearly as if the command would do something. He recited his address. He said his name. He begged. He pleaded.

He kicked a mushroom so hard it went flying and smashed against the trunk of a tree, and stomped to sit at the tea table. Agitated, he poured a cup of the hot liquid and drank it straight, not even caring that it somewhat burnt his throat, that it needed a bit of sugar. John rubbed his chest when it felt not only warm but uncomfortably hot for a moment, muttering to himself in annoyance. Of course he’d burn himself, it was just his fucking luck, but at least the discomfort was quickly over. He helped himself to a few raspberries and was angry at how perfect they were, how sweet, exactly ripe enough on his tongue.

The magic and mystery of these surroundings in his dreams had been interesting before when he thought he was talking with a dream Dirk, imaginary places with his lover of a world that didn’t quite make enough sense, somewhere that they could just be themselves and indulge in their fantasies. Somewhere that, till fairly recently, had felt like a welcoming space.

Groaning miserably, John sank his head into his palms and leaned on the tabletop, wracking his brain to try thinking of a way home.

“Ah, realized it doesn’t work yet?” came Hal’s voice from nearby. John lifted his head with a frown as the… whatever he was came closer, hand near the small cage necklace with its glowing blue stone, putting pressure over whatever heart he had.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me find out on my own,” he muttered. “...Why is this place so creepy?” asked John. “Where’s everyone else? The animals, even? All I’ve seen here is butterflies and you!”

“Oh, you’ll start to see them around soon enough. I thought for the first while it would be better for us to get to know each other better without much outside interference. For you to adjust to your new home.”

“This isn’t my home,” John growled aggressively, hand planting on the tabletop so he could stand more upright. “I’ll figure out how to make you understand that. I’m going home, this isn’t my home, I’m a human and you’re a… whatever you are. That thing in your head isn’t what’s happening.”

Hal gestured to the necklace he wore with a sharp smile.

“Oh. But it is, John. It is…”

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

Dirk’s phone rang early in the morning, early enough that even his meager sleep wasn’t enough to make him less groggy on the phone. He slapped at his phone a few times before rubbing his eyes and pulling it to his face. ...Hm. Okay, nine AM wasn’t that early, all things considered. But it was still pretty early for him. The number that was calling him was familiar, but rarely used.

“John? Dude, why not just call me from your phone, I’ve got a ringtone set up any everything,” he yawned.

“Dirk?”

“Oh. Sorry, Sir, I thought you were John.”

“No, no, there’s no need to be sorry,” James promised. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “By any chance is John there with you?”

“No, he hasn’t come around today yet. Why?”

“I went to get him for breakfast and he was gone. Bed unmade, window open, windowsill damp. I’ve been up a few hours and never saw him leave anywhere, and there’s no way he’d be foolish enough to go out the window. I was wondering if he’d left late last night for some reason.”

Dirk sat up a little straighter. “No, but I’ll keep an eye out for him and call you if he turns up, okay?”

“Please, do. I’ve called his phone and it was left in his room, it’s very not like him... Dirk, he didn’t even take his shoes, they’re still on the floor.”

Dirk frowned, brows furrowing in concern. That definitely wasn’t like John. He wasn’t a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, nor was he the type to worry his dad if he could help it. He racked his brain trying to think of different places John might have gone, apparently phoneless and barefoot. “Is his wallet there?”

“Yes, it’s on his desk too. I can’t imagine where he’s disappeared to, it’s like he just vanished,” James said, voice sounding more concerned.

“Maybe he went for a walk, or sleepwalked or something,” Dirk said. “Look. Call the police and see what they say, maybe he’s at a hospital or something.”

“The hospital, oh, God, I didn’t even think-”

“Hey, it’s just a possibility, right?” Dirk said, wetting his lips. “I’ll go canvas the area near my place while you make your calls. Keep me posted?”

“Of course. Could you call some of his other friends for me while I’m talking to the police? I don’t know if I have all of their information on hand, I’m a bit frazzled.”

“Sure. You got it, Sir.”

James hanging up to get on to his calls left Dirk holding his phone, staring at it, stunned. Where would John have gone that early, barefoot and without his phone or wallet? Why would he leave his window open in this weather? None of this was making sense, and it was just making Dirk more and more anxious. He crawled out of his nest of blankets and pillows to stuff himself into a pair of jeans, already starting to call down the list of people they both knew.

An hour later and there were more questions than answers. A followup with James promised a bit of hope as police took the case as a suspicious disappearance, given the wallet and phone and shoes being left behind. Yet, even that didn’t help quell Dirk’ upset stomach. Nobody knew anything. Nobody had heard from John since he’d been online the night before, and even then it had been brief. He’d been tired apparently, wanting to go to bed at a decent-ish time for John. There’d been no suspicious activities, no strange questions or out of character discussions.

John was regular, normal, everyday John, and it had just been another night as far as anyone was concerned.

Dirk spent the day checking his neighborhood, different haunts they had. Different places they’d gone on dates, or to hang out outdoors. He even went to the woods to check around where they’d found salamanders before, to no luck. By evening, with still no leads, he made his way home and started searching online.

On so little sleep, it was limited in what he’d be able to do beyond what he’d already done, the information he’d already given the police being more than they’d expected from a single person. He yawned as he typed, debating coffee to get a few more hours of awake time with a clear head, but soon decided against it. What use would he be strung out on caffeine and exhausted? What more could he do tonight? Very little.

Regretfully, almost against his will, Dirk made himself sleep that night by sheer force of will. He took his shades off and flung himself back into his bed, tossing and turning for hours till, at last, sleep took him.

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

John stared uneasily at Hal’s necklace, sensing something… off from it. Menacing in the way it glowed. But. Had it been glowing earlier? He couldn’t recall, but some part of him was sure that if he saw a glowing thing in a little silver cage he’d remember it. It felt threatening, but John wasn’t certain how much was coming from Hal himself and how much was coming from that soft blue glow at his neck.

“Look familiar?” Hal asked, rattling the cage gently. Something in John’s chest stirred and he swallowed hard. “Or are you going to be left in the dark, little hummingbird of mine?”

Hummingbird? John opened his mouth to complain, to question the nickname suddenly bestowed on him, when Hal clasped the cage in his fist and squeezed. The strange feeling in his chest amplified, and with it, nausea. Panic. He put his hands on his throat and wheezed, suddenly terrified. Asthma attack? He hadn’t had one of those since he was a kid! Why now? Why couldn’t he seem to get enough air in every pull?

“Humans are really so fragile,” Hal said, either ignoring or ignorant of John’s predicament entirely. “So simple, as well… Then again, that’s what happens when knowledge of the beyond isn’t taught like it used to be. Simple things. Don’t go in mushroom circles. Don’t name the darkness. Don’t give your true name to some creatures… don’t eat the food,” he hummed, lifting a brow as John began to cough and wheeze harder. He released his fist, and just as quickly as it had begun, John’s discomfort ended.

John gulped fresh air in heavy gasps, not wanting to be without it anymore in case anything else happened to come up and disrupt his airways.

Wait.

Don’t eat the food?

“You’d think that Dirk would at least have had the interests in protecting his own lover from creatures like myself, but no, even he’s negligent,” Hal said, gently rattling the glowing marble in its cage. John felt like his heart was shuddering, and suddenly he realized he couldn’t look away from the light within that silvery cage.

“...What are you doing to me,” John asked, voice shaking. “I know it’s you causing this, what are you doing to me!”

“Doing? Doing. What am I doing,” he asked, curling his fingers gently around the cage again. Instead of squeezing though, he stroked gently at the cage. “I’m playing with my new favorite trinket, John. I think you’ve had it just about long enough, it’s my turn to play with it for the next while. You’ve no need for it here in the world beyond the mortal plane anyway,” he sniffed.

John wet his lips. “What’s your new trinket, Hal.”

“Something that belongs to me, now that you’ve bonded with this world,” he said with a grin. “I thought I’d have to trick you into eating my food here, but no, you did it all on your own.”

John’s stomach plummeted. “Is. ...Is that my-”

“Soul? Oh yes. Funny how small it is, isn’t it? When you condense a soul it becomes perfectly portable like this,” he chuckled. “I’ve collected others over the years, of course, but yours is the prettiest color yet once it finished transferring over... I was worried it would change colors once you gave it up, but no. It’s the same enchanting blue as your eyes.”

Without thinking, John lunged forwards to try snatching the necklace from Hal, scrabbling to catch it till his wrists were caught and squeezed so hard he could feel the bones creaking from the compression. His fingertips went numb, and his joints screamed for release till even he was crying out and trying to retract his hands.

“Let go!”

Hal got close to his face, turned his head and went to his neck instead to take a deep inhaled sniff of his scent before laying a chilly kiss on the skin. “You’ll come to love me soon, hummingbird. Just accept your new little cage, and we can live in peace and harmony… The sooner you give up your humanity, the sooner I can give you the world itself. An entire kingdom at your feet, a new home, a new form. You could shed your human skin and become what your truly are capable of becoming. Isn’t that amazing?”

“G-get off of me,” John insisted, continuing to struggle despite the chill of fear down his back. Hal was too close to his throat, too close to too many vital points for him to relax in the slightest. “Give me that back and get off of me! I want to go home!”

Hal let go of John suddenly, shoving him backwards hard enough he collided with his chair and toppled over backwards onto the ground, silks flying awkwardly to expose him till he scrambled to cover up again and right himself upright. There were marks on his wrists, and for all the world it felt like irons rested on his skin, weighing him down. Never in his life had he felt more trapped than now. When Hal stood, it looked as if the sky darkened, but John realized it was just the butterflies coming to roost around their master’s form in a storm from all sides, thick enough to nearly blot out the sun.

“I’ll give you some time to yourself, John. Give you some more time to come to terms with what’s happening. Let you appreciate the gravity of the situation… When you’ve come to your senses, if you wish for me sooner than I return, call for me and I’ll be there.”

“I’ll never call for you, stay gone forever for all I care!” John yelled, fury boiling in his chest. He rose to his knees and picked up a glass of tea, throwing it where Hal had stood. The most he did was catch some of the butterflies, several falling to the ground with damp wings, unable to join the swirling wall that whisked away their master.

“John… Hummingbird… You’ll learn… You’ll learn just how much you should appreciate me, how much you should enjoy your new role as my bride. I’ll give you time. Even humans learn things with enough time…”

“SCREW YOU AND SCREW YOUR TIME!!”

But Hal was already gone, and now John was stuck, out of breath and enraged, at a fantasy filled tea table that had, if he understood correctly, sealed his fate. Gritting his teeth he jumped at the table, flinging things this way and that, breaking dishes and spilling liquids on the ground, throwing treats into the forest. Eventually, he summoned the same strength his father possessed and upended the tea table entirely, flipping it onto its side with the remaining settings and food. The effort left him drained physically as he was emotionally, but fuck it had felt good at the time.

He explored for a bit after this, back to the building he’d run from earlier, poking around. Hal could apparently come and go as he pleased, but he’d be away for a while. Maybe there was some clue to getting home hidden inside the walls.

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

Dirk’s eyes opened, but he wasn’t certain if he was awake or not. He couldn’t tell where things were in relation to each other, be it items in his room or the open space of some vast new world in the darkness. Form held no meaning. He could feel his stomach roil from the weightless feeling, dizzy, unsteady as if his inner ear were malfunctioning. He reached a hand out to grab his sheets, but found nothing. Instead, he reached behind himself to grasp at the headboard, knowing something solid would help with the dizzy feeling by orienting him upright. If that failed, he’d just need to roll to the floor and hug it for a second to stop feeling the sick sensation in the back of his head.

Something moved in the corner of his vision, catching Dirk’s attention instantly. A butterfly, small and blue, fluttered around in wobbly circles. It seemed to be made of energy instead of something solid, no sign of its legs or antennae, the fluttering mechanical and fake the closer he looked at it. He tried to walk towards it, but his feet wouldn’t connect with the floor, so instead, assuming it was a dream, he made swimming motions till he propelled forwards. Up close the butterfly flickered and flashed before turning to tongues of blue flame, flapping for all they were worth.

The flame, suddenly, was caught up in a cage and pulled backwards from Dirk’s face. The cage was massive, but shrank and shrank until there was hardly anything left of it to be seen aside from the unmistakable silvery shape.

A flame in a cage. Heh. Sounds like something John would come up with in one of his dreams. Dirk wondered what meaning such a dream could have, then remembered that John was actually missing, chest giving an uncomfortable ache in response.

“Dirk!”

“...John?”

Dirk perked up immediately, looking around in the darkness for any sign of new visible objects, but failed to see anything further than the strange silver cage and the blue flame.

“Dirk!” came John’s voice once more, sounding more desperate. “Please, I want to go home. I just want to go home!”

“John! John, where are you?!”

It was pointless to scream, if this was a dream. ...But maybe, just maybe, there was something to dreams after all. What if John was right? What if this was the once in a lifetime chance where a dream really was prophetic? What if John was hurt somewhere, scared and alone, and this was a clue? It made no logical sense, it was so illogical it made Dirk’s head pound, but he shouted all the same.

Any chance was better than no chance.

“I’m scared! I’m scared, what are you?!”

Dirk stopped breathing. ‘What are you?’ Was that what he’d said? Not where are you but what are you. He was scared. He was scared of something, of something an-

“Dirk, help!” shouted a voice overlapped with Johns, which once more gave Dirk pause. It was… his own voice?

“John? I-. ...John, what’s going on?”

“Heeeeelp~” said Dirk’s doppelganger voice in the darkness, before it broke down into a laugh like breaking glass. A face appeared above the silvery cage, then shoulders, a full body, pale and terrifying wrapped in red silks, face accented with red marks on the outside edges of piercingly cold eyes. The figure was smoking from a long pipe, trails of rich red smoke swirling around its body and up into the air. On its back were butterfly wings, massive and decorated with large, striking eye spots that seemed to shimmer when they flapped slowly.

“Who in the fuck- ” started Dirk, before he was interrupted once more.

“Really, Dirk, you finally see me for yourself and that’s all you can say…? Your family’s more pathetic than I thought, if their youngest doesn’t know what I look like,” he said. “My handsome face should haunt all of your dreams from the first to the last so I can eat all your delicious nightmares like candy. And all you can say is ‘Who in the fuck are you’,” he added mockingly.

It took a moment for Dirk to catch on, but when he did his blood ran ice cold. Hal. This was Hal. This was the dream eater he’d been warned about, the spirit who could ensnare wayward sleepers, the soul drainer. The creature that looked unnervingly like the face he saw in the mirror every morning.

“Hal,” he breathed. Then, an instant later, “JOHN-”

“Is safe and sound with someone who’ll take good good care of him,” Hal said with a wicked grin, taking a leisurely step into the darkness as if he were walking on pitch black water instead of being stuck floating and swimming like Dirk was, a swimmer without surface tension to work against.

“Let him go, Hal.”

“Mmm… You make such a good argument, but...” Another drag on the pipe and Hal exhaled another puff of the thick red smoke, perfumed and enchanting. “No.”

Dirk tried to mimic him to take a step, but was stuck floundering and flailing in the darkness as Hal walked around him in slow, lazy circles. “Hal, I swear to fuck, let him go. Don’t you have business with my family? Why not target me? Why target John?”

“My hummingbird is inconsequential to the eventual extinction of your family line,” Hal said. “A lovely trinket all my own to savor and enjoy. Tell me, Dirk. Once a human stops being human, do you think they become less or more beautiful?”

Dirk tried to grasp Hal’s leg, but was disappointed when his hand went right through him. He may as well be talking to a mirage, this was his natural realm of dreams after all, the rules weren’t the same.

“I’ll tell you. They become something spectacular, something humans fear naturally, subdued creatures that you are. I can’t wait to pick him apart and put him back together again for eternity.” Hal smiled and crouched down in front of Dirk, grinning, showing too many teeth. “...Would you like to see that? Have sweet dreams of my hummingbird each night? I could show you everything I plan to do to him starting tonight, if you wish.”

“Don’t you fucking dare , don’t touch him, don’t do anything to him!” growled Dirk, swiping at Hal’s body again and again. “Come on, if you want a fight, I’ll bring a fight to you! That’s what you want, right? My family line, something about my family line, it-”

“Something!” crowed Hal. “Oh that’s rich , you’re wanting to play Prince Charming and rescue your beau but you don’t even know what it is your family means to me! You’ve a deathwish, Dirk, mind that pretty head of yours.”

“I don’t care if I have a deathwish, better me than John being your… Your plaything,” hissed Dirk, continuing to swat in vain at the mirage figure in front of him.

Hal reached out and grasped Dirk’s hair then, suddenly very solid and very much a threat.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, boy, your goal is worthless. Pointless. John is mine, and will remain mine. He’s broken a golden rule, and not even you can fix that,” he said in a soft hiss. He took another drag from his pipe before suddenly turning it, shoving the heated end against the flesh of Dirk’s neck with a crisp sizzle sound.

Dirk screamed in pain… and sat bolt upright in bed, wild eyed and drenched in chilled sweat. His heart was hammering in his ears, and he could still feel the burning on his neck. He reached up to slap the site of the pain and winced, retracting his hand a half second after impact. A burn. A real, honest to God burn lay on his nape, melding the dream world and reality in ways that, on any other given day, Dirk would have assumed was an impossible way.

He’d heard the family stories, but they were just that, he assumed: stories. Fairytales. Folktales passed down through the family and altered through the generations, not this… this thing. Dirk had assumed Hal was his family’s boogeyman, meant to keep children afraid to step out of line.

The real thing was much, much more terrifying than some monster in the closet.

Dirk scrambled out of bed to get dressed in fresh clothes, trying to wrack his brain for whatever else he could remember his family telling him. Stories. Rhymes. Fairytales. Fuck, what else was real? Ghosts? Vampires? Fucking Bigfoot and Mothman? Maybe Little Red Riding Hood was gonna turn up and beat the shit out of a wolf or something the second he turned his back.

No, no, that was stupid. Focus.

Hal. What did he know about Hal. Dream eater. Dropping your guard could invite him. Things to avoid ran through his mind, the things drilled into his mind by his brother, ranging from giving up true names in the past, something about salt, or milk and bread, to not standing in mushroom circles and-

… Mushroom circles.

Mushroom circles were portals between worlds. There was no way John was taken through dreams alone, his body would have been left behind. If he went somewhere, it had to be physically. There had to be a mushroom circle somewhere nearby. Shoving his feet into his shoes, Dirk ran as fast as his feet could carry him to the woods near John’s home, looking high and low for any signs of circles in the dirt.

When he finally spotted the white mushrooms gaily arranged in their near perfect circle a hop skip and a jump away from a stand of trees, he wanted to shout with relief as he jumped inside to stand, prepared for what came. He’d get there and get John and…

And…

Fuck, what was he going to do? How was he going to defeat Hal? He could remember some of the things faeries were apparently weak against, or that they hated, but would they really work against a spirit like Hal that ate dreams and drained souls? It would be like trying to use mosquito spray against an angry polar bear. He was essentially going to be turning up bare handed to try getting John back, and yet even when he thought about it he was hard struck to think of anything he really could have brought that would prepare him better. A normal weapon wasn’t much use in a world where the rules weren’t the same.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he could take a note from the fairytales and use his wits to his advantage.

Dirk was still weighing his options when the surroundings suddenly went blurry, colors running together like wet on wet watercolor gone berserk. He felt nauseated once again, same as he had in his earlier dream, as butterflies began to emerge from the swatches of color and swarm him. Things went dark for a moment in the cloud, Dirk with his arms up to guard his face from the thousands of wings, worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe safely with all the insects flapping about. When they brightened, Dirk dropped down to his knees and promptly threw up outside of the circle.

He shook for a moment before slowly getting back to his feet, wiping his mouth with his forearm. Ugh. Not the best way to make a dramatic appearance, that was for sure.

The forest air was warm, inviting, comfortable enough to sleep in. Leaving behind the mess and the oddly damaged looking mushroom circle, Dirk advanced till he found the ruins of the tea party nearby, then hurried his steps even further beyond when buildings appeared in the distance. No, not buildings, a single splendid compound of topiaries and butterfly gardens, high arching architecture and brightly colored stained glass windows. A castle in its own right, it lay unguarded, an open invitation for Dirk.

“JOHN?” he shouted. There was no point for secrecy. He’d essentially been invited, Hal no doubt knew his home had been invaded. The only reason Dirk was here to begin with was John, and somehow, something in his heart told him he was nearby.

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

John had searched every single room he could manage to open the door of from top to bottom. He’d discovered a large kitchen, a library, tons of living quarters ranging from servants rooms to grand suites, and even a music room. He’d found treasures that were no doubt either real or imaginary made real like everything else in this creepy ass fantasyland, and yet he had no interest in touching them or looking them over. Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders struck in his memory, touching the treasure and becoming trapped forever, but it would be overkill even if it were true.

Best not to fuck with the powers that be and get Double Screwed, John decided.

He was about to give up and find somewhere to curl up and wait out a growing headache when he heard his name being called. He grimaced, wrinkling his nose automatically. It sounded like Hal. ...But, wait. If it was Hal, wouldn’t he just appear and do his usual creepy advances and actions? He couldn’t imagine that… that thing doing anything normal like calling for him from a distance instead of just appearing behind him like something out of a B grade movie or teleportation meme. That meant-

“DIRK?” John called, freezing, waiting. Listening. Hoping. Prayi-

“JOHN. DON’T MOVE, I’M COMING!”

Holy fuck.

Holy fucking shit, it was Dirk. It was Dirk, and he was here and he was going to get to go home, and-

“FUCK YOUR NOT MOVING, I’M COMING TOO!” John shouted, already grabbing hold of his silks so he could lift them and run in the direction of Dirk’s voice, taking stairs two at a time as he tried to guesstimate where the shouting was coming from.

“NO, STAY STILL GOD DAMN IT, I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND.”

Yep. That was definitely Dirk.

“SCREW YOU,” John shouted back, happy enough he could cry.

They reconnected at the foot of a set of stairs, John jumping the last four steps to all but tackle Dirk head first to the ground. Winded but satisfied, Dirk didn’t have a word of complaint. He just grabbed John tight around the middle and squeezed him, head bowed to his shoulder.

“Jesus fuck, don’t ever scare me like that again,” he insisted. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you home, your Dad’s losing his goddamn mind worrying about you and the cops are already-”

“The police??” John said, startled. He figured his dad was upset, but the cops? Holy shit, this was another order of extreme. “I don’t.. I don’t know how to get back,” admitted John. “I tried the mushroom circle I got here through and it didn’t work.”

“We’ll figure it out, maybe it’ll work now that I’m here,” Dirk said. “I managed to come through on my own, without assistance. So. Maybe it-”

“That’s not all,” John admitted, worrying his lip with his large teeth. “It’s. ..Dirk, I fucked up,” he croaked.

“Fucked up?”

“I. I ate something. And drank something,” he said. “I was frustrated and thirsty and crammed something in my mouth after drinking tea like in my dream and. ...Dirk, I fucked up bad, I don’t know how I’m going to leave. He’s got my-”

“Shhhhhh. We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise,” Dirk soothed, squeezing John again. “For now, get off me. We’ll go back to the mushroom circle and see if we can get anything to happen, then we can look for-”

“For me?” Hal asked, strolling in from outdoors. “Lovely weather we’re having. Though it does seem to have brought the pests in from outside,” he sniffed, taking a drag on the same pipe that had marked Dirk’s neck earlier. Dirk flinched instinctively when he saw it as if it would burn him once more, remembering the sizzle of flesh, the heat.

John glowered and pointed to him. “He’s got… Dirk I think he’s got my soul.”

“You think?” Hal said, gesturing to his necklace after blowing a smoke ring. “I squeeze the air from your lungs, and you think I have your soul? You’re lucky you’re attractive, John.”

Dirk shuffled to get up from the ground, standing between John and Hal pointedly, looking for all intents and purposes ready to fist fight. “Let him go.”

“No, but nice form with the asking. Nicely enunciated and everything,” Hal chuckled.

“ Let him go, Hal, ” Dirk said pointedly again. “What do you want? A trade?”

“I don’t do trades, human. Rarely do things I want end up on trades, which means I’d be doing you a favor. We don’t do favors unless there’s something spectacular in it for us,” Hal explained. “I have his soul fair and square in this case, even if he got here originally under different means. Nobody forced him to eat my food, and yet he ate and drank. He’s bonded here now, Dirk. ...Look at him closely. Don’t you already see some changes?” Hal asked, holding one elbow so he could smoke while Dirk panicked and looked towards John as he sat up and slowly stood.

From the outside, John looked normal. Scared and stressed out, but normal. It took real hunting to notice the new tips to his ears, to notice the faint glow to the eyes. Dirk held John’s face in his hands, tracing the edges of his jaw with his thumbs to try soothing the growing terror he saw on John’s face once recognition set in that there were changes he couldn’t detect on his own but that Dirk himself saw.

“He’ll stay here now,” Hal said simply. “I’ll take good care of him, my precious little hummingbird. I had plans to keep him here anyway, but once he broke a golden rule it was more of a self fulfilling prophecy in itself. I don’t make the golden rules, I merely abide by them when they align with what I’m after.”

“...What about a bargain,” Dirk said. “Me for him.”

“I can’t accept a trade, once he’s broken a golden rule. Bargains, mayhaps. But not a trade unless the boon suits me.”

Dirk wet his lips, and racked his brain. Think. Think, think, think, think, what did spirits like? Winning, gambling, bargains, rule-

“...How much did he eat and drink.”

“Enough.”

“I remember Persephone was kept in the Underworld for a translated amount of how many pomegranate seeds she’d eaten. A set number of months,” Dirk said, uncertainly at first then with more confidence when Hal fixed him with a poisonous glare. “ How many months worth did John eat and drink.”

Hal gripped his pipe hard enough that the metal bent before dropping it to the side. Slowly but surely, he allowed his appearance to change, his wings emerging and the red markings reappearing on his face. He fluttered softly off the ground in order to get into Dirk’s face, all but growling at him.

“Are you proud of yourself, boy? Proud for remembering stories? For picking apart minute details to find the needle in the hay stack?”

“How many months, Hal,” Dirk said, unflinching.

“Six, at least,” insisted Hal. “Perhaps more.”

“Six months a year,” Dirk said, wetting his lips. “No less?”

“He drank and ate, you’re lucky I don’t just keep him forever for eating anything at all. Those changes won’t disappear,” Hal said, continuing to stare Dirk down intently, waiting for him to flinch. “Your neck. How much does it ache? I bet it burns something awful. Pity, I fear such a thing would be permanent.”

“Six months. ...John. This is a very serious question. Can you handle six months in and out, if it means getting out at all?” Dirk asked, unwavering.

John could only stare. Was he serious? He laughed a few times before it quieted down in his throat, John realizing that nobody else was laughing. This wasn’t funny. This wasn’t a joke. This was dead serious.

“...If it’s the only way, I can,” John said.

“Let him go, Hal. Collect him in six months,” Dirk said.

“Why should I?” he snapped, fluttering away to round on John, curling around his back and grasping his chin with one hand, his free hand picking up his necklace with the softly glowing marble inside. “He’s mine right now, why should I give him up a day sooner than six months? Why should I go second when he’s already here ?”

“...Because it would make me like you more,” John piped up, going rigid in Hal’s grasp. “That’s what you want, right? For me to like you? I’d like you more if you gave me this chance to get my affairs in order instead of just letting people think I’m dead for half a year. I can’t do that to my father. If you actually care about me at all, you’ll do that for me. And in six months I’ll come back to you.”

Hal frowned. John had a point, and he hated it. As wonderful as it would be to greedily keep him here the six months before returning him, gaining favor with his new human would be a boon.

“Tempting. But I’m already at my limits from allowing you to leave at all. Make the pot a bit sweeter. Your liking me is good, but it’s not enough of a gain to take the bargain out of hand.”

“He’ll be away from me for six months at a time, isn’t that a good enough bargain for you?” Dirk spat. “What better revenge than to hurt me at the same time as making him happy?”

The pot was sweetened just enough to interest Hal in opening the other side of the portal.

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

John’s reappearance had been a cause for celebration as much as it was then a cause for tears. Though still a bit confused, James was accepting of John’s explanation of why he’d be all but disappearing in a few months once more, on the grounds that he’d be okay upon returning. That he could handle what was happening. They had promises from Hal about visitations in dreams between father and son that would, hopefully, quell some of the heartache. Any dreams Dirk could have about John would be merely that: dreams of his own making. It was a heavy price, but it had gained John a bit of freedom in a position where he might have had none.

On the day John was set to leave, butterflies awaited them at the mushroom circle, as well as their master dressed in casual human clothes that looked eerily like the outfit Dirk was wearing that day down to the pointy shades. John’s father hugged him so hard he was sure his ribs would pop, not wanting to let his baby boy go till the last possible moment. When he did, it was Dirk’s turn, holding John gently. They’d already said their goodbyes, had made the most of the six months while they could, but it was still a bittersweet parting.

“I’ll be right here in six months, waiting for you,” Dirk said softly. “I’ll dream about you every night.”

“I know,” John said quietly, nudging his chin onto Dirk’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry this happened, John… If I’d just listened to the stupid stories, then-”

“Don’t. We’ve already been over this, you can’t kick yourself for things that aren’t your fault. I’ll kick your ass before I leave and kick it again in six months because I know you’ll have moped over it again,” he chuckled.

“While we’re young?” Hal said. “Are you quite done? I’ve a castle worth of beings to introduce you to and we’re burning dreamlight.”

John squeezed Dirk once more before leaning up to kiss him, pulling back with a grin. “Six months.”

“Six months,” repeated Dirk. “And not a fucking day longer or I’ll come and drag you back myself.”

Slowly they parted, and with his bag on his back, John headed towards Hal and the circle. Hal reached for John’s hand and clasped it tightly for no other reason than to piss off Dirk, pettily delighting in the frown it earned him. They entered the circle and waited… and then were gone.

James breathed out softly and stared.

“You know, you boys explained everything to me and I still half believed it was a prank til the last second. ...He’ll really be back in six months, right?”

“Of course he will. And if not, I’ll get him myself, like I said.”

The two stood there looking at the circle, already feeling their loss.

It was going to be a long six months, and an even longer lifetime afterwards of adjusting to what lay in store for John.

#johndirk #dirkjohn #johnhal #homestuck #my fic

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