#where the branches intertwine

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲❞

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐕: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬!𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟��� x 𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐞!𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — she was my sun, my moon, the flesh i never shed; families grow and blend together more often than not

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 7.3K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, heavy petting, honorifics (sweet girl, love), more Declarations of Love™, very Guess Who's Coming To Dinner-esque

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — are y'all ready to wear pearls and meet the family? also can we get a little commotion for me updating? i haven't written in god knows how long and i'm happy i finally got this out of the noggin!

“Will they like me?”

Summer time in the temple were hectic at best and, in order to prepare for the solstice ceremony, several of the other scholars volunteered their time to Lady Agatha. Which left you to carry brunt of their work and yours. You were happy to do it, of course, but that left no time to meet with Pietro. So, like the warm breeze, he surprised you with dinner long after everyone else had gone. 

“I haven’t seen you in three days! That’s closer to eternity than I’d like to be, Y/N.”

After a back and forth that lasted almost a full minute, you relented and he’d been watching you work ever since. The remnants of dinner sat in a basket at his feet and he was watching you from his seat beside you. Every so often, he’d skim his fingertips along the length of your arm or absently brush the top of your knee, earning a breathy chide from you. But in the last hour, he’d gone quiet.

You looked up from your tome, Pietro’s blue eyes on you. “Who?”

“Your sisters. What have you told them of me?”

You lifted a shoulder. “I’ve told them enough. Who your family is, your time at war, our time spent together.” The left side of your mouth lifted. “Are you nervous, Your Highness?”

“Terrified.”

It always struck you how easy vulnerability came to Pietro. Everything he’d ever felt plain on his face for the world to see without any reservations, no qualms of being misconstrued. 

You turned towards him and put a hand over his knee. “They like you. They just want to get to know you outside of my praises of you.”

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “You praise me?”

You snorted, turning back to your pages. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“You’ve not given me any complaints yet.”

“There’s no time like the present,” you teased. 

Pietro put a hand to his chest, his features faux-wounded. “And you say that I’m impossible.”

“Tell me, demigod, what apprehends you about meeting my family? Surely you’ve courted someone before.” After a few moments of silence, you looked to him. “You have courted someone before, yes?”

“Courted wouldn’t be the word I’d use.”

Your brows raised. “Pietro Maximoff, you rake!”

He chuckled, his palms face up. “I was a different man back then — a boy, really. I’d be remiss if I claimed to be virtuous in that respect.”

You hummed. “I suppose.” 

“Have you ever been courted before?”

“No, but Alma has.” You closed the tome. “His name was Logan and he was a soldier from Athens. I can’t recall him well, but he was a kind man, if not intense.”

“Intense?”

“Logan seemed the kind of man that only spoke when he had something to say. Like his words were better spent on things that mattered rather than wasted on idle things.” You sighed, mindlessly tugging at one of your curls. “I remember coming home and finding Alma crying in the garden. Later that evening, I overhead her and Daphne talking: she’d turned down Logan’s marriage proposal. She didn’t feel it was fair that she leave Daphne and I and that she shouldn’t have pursued Logan to begin with.”

Pietro put a hand over one of yours. “That must’ve been hard.” 

“I remember vowing to myself that I’d do everything in my power to never be a burden on my sisters. If their reasons for staying in Thrace and running the apothecary was to take care of me, then I’d be self-sufficient. I’d work hard and earn my keep.” You smiled at him. “And then your damned sandal hit me on the head and I’ve become selfish, wanting to be with you and you alone.”

His brows canted. “If I’m keeping you from your family, Y/N, I don’t — ”

You giggled. “Pietro, you have nothing to fear. Daphne, Alma, and I have spoken extensively about our courtship and they’re excited to meet the man that’s given me other purpose besides being a scholar.” You brought the back of his hand to your lips. “They will love you just as much as I will. I guarantee it.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they will have to deal with me,” you said firmly. “We’re orphans, so I don’t need their approval. But even if they won’t like you — which I don’t believe — it won’t change my feelings.” You put a hand to his cheek, a smile lifting in the corners of your mouth. “Unfortunately for you, Your Highness, you are stuck with me.”

Pietro slotted his mouth over yours, his moan echoing in your ears. You’d have thought by now you’d get used to kissing the demigod, memorized the feel of his plush mouth moving against yours and where his hands imprinted on your skin. But every time it takes you by surprise. Some days, he’s sweet — the kisses slow and all-consuming, your breathy sighs he swallowed down. Times like today, when you’d go days without seeing each other, he’d take your face in his hands and devour you. He eased you into his lap, pulling back to gaze dreamily into your eyes. 

“Having you is a sentence I would gladly serve, sweet girl.”

You were orphaned.

The realization kept rearing its head as you and your sisters prepared for Pietro’s arrival. Its customary for the father of the bride to meet with the soon-to-be groom and discuss the marriage contract, but both of your parents had been gone long enough for their memories to barely leave a stain on your mind. 

Which meant that this dinner was more of a courtesy than an obligation. Why that twisted your stomach and shook your hands, you hadn’t figured out yet. 

“There’s only so many ways you can arrange those flowers, Y/N,” Alma said, laughing beside you. 

Your eyes focused, a distracted noise leaving your mouth. 

“Hey.” She put a hand on your shoulder, motioning for you to face her. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to have Pietro over.”

You shook your head.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” She took your hands in hers. “What is ailing you?” 

“I…” You blew out a breath. “What was Logan like?”

Alma brows raised and she let out a surprised chuckle. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” She leaned up against one of the chairs, a wistful smile coming onto her lips. “Logan was…kinder than he seemed. He treated it like a secret, something shared only between us.” Her brown eyes held yours. “Why do you ask?”

“When you were with him, did you feel as though your breaths were no longer yours? Like…like, when he left, the edges of your world began losing luster until he returned?”

“Like you’d disappear if you weren’t near him?” You nodded. “The day that I told Logan to leave, a pain that I’d never wish upon my worst enemy bloomed in my chest, clawed itself between my ribcage and squeezed my heart so viciously it could have felled me.”

“Did you end the proposal because of me?”

Alma put a hand to your cheek, a sad sigh leaving her nostrils. “I ended things because I was afraid. You and Daphne were all I’d ever known. Logan wanted to travel the world, settle in some far off lands, and have a brood of children. I was afraid because I could see it. Little girls with his proud countenance and gentle smile and little boys with my eyes and our shared dark skin. They would hang from our limbs, begging us for kisses and hugs. And it shook me to my core.

“I’d never thought of myself being a bride, let alone a mother. Convinced myself that roles like those were reserved for women like Daphne — kind, naturally maternal. What if I did not love my children after they were born? What if the did not love me?”

“You and Daphne have been wonderful mothers to me,” you countered. “I wouldn’t be who I am if not for you both.”

“Then promise me something,” she said, smiling now. “Promise me that you will not let fear into your relationship with Pietro. He clearly knows how much we mean to you for him to ask for a formal meeting, despite us being orphaned. That tells me he knows you.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? That we’re rushing into things?”

Alma’s thumb brushed along the top of your cheek. “Love isn’t linear; there are no timelines or reasons. It just…is. It’s up to you whether you accept or reject it, I’m afraid.”

You heard Daphne calling for you both, only glancing towards the doorway of the kitchen as her tall frame came into view. 

“There you both are! What are you — Y/N? Are you okay?” She hurried to the other side of you, gathering your face in her hands and her brown eyes surveying your features. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling well?” 

“She’s fine, Daphne,” Alma said, chuckling. “We were just talking.”

Daphne pouted. “You both look like you’ve been crying.”

“We have, but we’re fine,” you answered, “thank you both for doing this for me.”

Your eldest sister looked between the two of you, her brown eyes going from suspicious to concerned before she closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I swear, I will age fifty years because of you both.”

“We love you, too, sister.” Alma brought her hands together, a bright smile on her face. “Enough dawdling! We have a prince to entertain.”

Ale loosened Pietro, you found.

When he arrived, he’d given your sisters polite nods and practiced answers, but you noticed fixed his stance was, the tightness of his knuckles that were half-hidden against the flesh of your hip. You took hold of his wrist and gave it a squeeze; I am here.

Your sisters noticed as well, Alma hooking an arm around his neck and leading him into your home, a conspiratorial inflection to her words. Daphne chuckled and led you behind them. By dinner, he’d started to return to the charming bard you fell for, regaling your sisters with stories of his childhood and the parts of his travels that bore no bloodshed. 

When Daphne passed him a goblet of ale, he took a hearty swig of it, smacking his lips at the tartness between the sweet. 

“This is divine! You make this yourself?”

Daphne nodded. “Our father taught me. Alma and I will make different varieties and sell them in the marketplace.” Her eyes moved between the two of you. “We could supply some for your wedding, if you’d like?”

Blood pooled in your cheeks.  

A grin split across the expanse of Pietro’s face. “Have we been that transparent this evening?”

Alma snickered. “It would explain why she’s been so excited this evening.” She looked to you. “Have you accepted?”

You nodded, your fingers circling the mouth of your goblet. “I wanted you both to meet Pietro before we moved any further.”

“You’ve told us much about him already, Y/N. We would’ve given our blessing even without the formalities.” Daphne took one of Pietro’s hands in hers. “Can we speak? Alone?”

Pietro blinked. “Me?”

Alma nudged your shoulder, her head tilting lightly to Pietro. 

You nodded and turned to smile at him. “It’s okay, Piet. She wants to talk. You’ll only be in the back garden if you need me to rescue you.”

Another smile that stopped your breath pulled at his lips. “You’ve never called me Piet before.”

“W-well, I know that Wanda does and it just slipped out,” you stuttered, your eyes on the ceiling now. “Do you…not want me to?”

“You can call me whatever you want, sweet girl.” He turned back to your sister. “Lead the way.”

The moon was high tonight.

Daphne hummed as she led Pietro towards the stream near their home. He hadn’t expected your sisters to be so…welcoming towards him, a virtual stranger save for your praises of him. And he knew that Daphne, being the eldest, would have profound impact on your decisions. 

“Don’t be so tense, Your Highness,” he heard the smile in her tone, “we’re almost there.” When she stopped a few feet before the water, she lifted a hand, her index finger fixed ahead. “Our parents are those great trees across the way there. When they died, their arms were around each other as they started to transform. Their branches are intertwined forever.”

“That’s beautiful,” Pietro said, “they’re always together that way.”

Daphne nodded. “I was twelve and Alma was ten when they passed. Y/N was barely three years old and didn’t have many memories of them, but she still couldn’t understand where they’d gone. All she knew was that Alma and I weren’t smiling anymore in the days that followed.” She let out a watery chuckle. “A child no older than a babe would take our faces in her hands to wipe our tears away. She’d kiss out cheeks and tell us that we’d be fine.” She cleared her throat and looked to Pietro. “Has Y/N told you that she wanted to study as a sorceress?”

Pietro shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“She’s very adept at it, almost as well-versed as your sister. When she was younger, she’d sneak off to the marketplace in the city and tell fortunes to make money for us. Once Alma and I found out, she stopped, of course, but we encouraged her to hone her craft.” Daphne smiled. “Our mother was a fine practitioner and Alma and I did our best to teach Y/N what little we were taught to get by. If she’d have gone on with it, she’d be a wonderful priestess.”

“If she’s used to wielding magic, how did she come to want to become a scholar for Lady Agatha?”

“She tends to abandon things if she cannot immediately conquer them,” Daphne said, chuckling. “When she couldn’t perform spells of higher skill, she decided to find texts to practice with. Instead, she fell in love with history. When Lady Agatha sent word that she was looking for scholars, she applied.” She tipped her chin to Pietro. “Have you never noticed her using magic before? She uses it read faster, write for longer periods of time.”

He shook his head. “She hides it well.”

“Perhaps she just needs a safe space to express that part of herself.” Daphne took his hands in hers. “Pietro, you love my sister. I felt it the second you entered our home. You light up inside and out when you’re around her and I have no doubt that you’d love until your last breath. But before I give you our blessing, I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to promise me that you will encourage her to spread her wings. Yes, love her, respect her, be allies to each other. But give Y/N the space to explore and chase the dreams she has. Make sure that she travels, meets new people, experiences everything that excites her.” Her brown eyes shimmered with tears in the moonlight. “I want her to get everything she’s ever wanted and to never be afraid to want them. Promise me.”

Pietro understood now what inspired you about Daphne; her warmth was tangible and, within it, her love for you and Alma is the root. All night, she made sure that he felt like part of your family and extended some of her warmth to him. His heart swelled. This is what loving you meant, loving and being loved by your little family. As he stood before the woman that raised you, he put his hands on her shoulders, his blue eyes on her brown ones, and smiled.

“I promise.”

You should’ve known that something was amiss when Wanda met you outside of the library, concerned etched into her features. 

You blinked slow, confused. “Yes?”

“Did he ask you?”

Your brows knitted together. “Did who ask me what?”

“Did my brother ask for your hand?” You froze. “He’s my twin, Y/N. By now, you’d think he’d get better at lying, but I know when he’s trying to hide something from me.” 

You swallowed thickly. This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go; you’d planned the whole exchange. You’d ask her to accompany you on a walk and you’d tell her the truth, that you and Pietro were to be married and you wanted her blessing. 

“Oh, Gods be praised!”

Your jaw slackened. “What?”

She took hold of your hands, a warm smile on her lips. “It’s about time! I thought he’d drag his feet until I’d have to force him.”

You shook your head. “So, we have your blessing?”

Wanda snorted. “Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you?”

“I know how close you and Pietro are and I know that you’re both still navigating how to be since he’s come back.” You blinked back tears. “And you’re my best friend. I don’t want my loving your brother to create a rift between any of us.”

“Y/N, Y/N, listen to me.” She cupped your face in her hands. “I love my brother. Yes, we’re very close and, yes, we are learning each other all over again since his return. But he loves you. He’s always talking about you, even when I remind him that I’ve known you longer. I have never known my brother to be so enamored with a maiden before and if I had to choose anyone, I’d gladly choose you as his bride.” Tears fell down Wanda’s cheeks in soft streaks. “And once you’re both married, we’d be sisters!”

You laughed, sniffling. “We practically are, Wan. I don’t need to marry Pietro to know that.”

“Exactly,” her thumb swiped along the top your cheeks, catching your tears. “You don’t need my blessing, but I will give it to you. I would be honored to have you join my family and be at my brother’s side.”

“Ladies? Is everything all right?”

You both turned; Lady Agatha stood before you, concern in her blue eyes.

“We’re fine, mistress,” Wanda answered, smiling. “Y/N was just sharing some good news.”

“Oh?”

“She and my brother and getting married!” You turned to her with wide eyes, hissing at her to stop talking.

“Y/N! That’s amazing news!” Lady Agatha clapped her hands together. “We’ll have to host the ceremony here!”

Your heart dropped. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, mistress, truly.”

She waved you off. “Nonsense! You just let me know when the wedding is and we’ll get the temple prepared.” She pulled you into her arms. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N. You deserve this happiness.”

“I — thank you, mistress.” You pulled back, a small smile on your lips. 

“It would be my honor.” She winked at Wanda before walking towards one of the other sorceresses. 

Wanda turned back to you and squealed. “Have you thought about what color you want your dress to be?”

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that I’m engaged,” you admitted. “Besides, we haven’t talked about a date and he just met my family — ”

“You still have to meet our parents!” She gripped your forearms. “You and your sisters should come to dinner soon! Don’t worry, I’ll tell Pietro and we’ll talk to our parents.”

You giggled. “Don’t overexcite yourself, Wan. We have all the time in the world to plan.”

She pouted, her brows canted and her lower lip jutted out. “You don’t want me to help plan your wedding?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying that, for right now, let Pietro and I enjoy being engaged for a few weeks. Then, I will get you, my sisters, and your mother together to help plan. Deal?” You held up your pinky finger. 

Wanda smiled and hooked her finger around yours.

“Deal.”

“Are you sure your sisters are fine with us being along without them present?”

You looked at Pietro from over your shoulder. “Do you intend on ravaging me while they’re at market, Pietro Maximoff?”

He stood up from the table and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin in the crook of your neck.  “Don’t tempt me.”

You let out a breathy chuckle. “Behave.” 

He nipped at the base of your neck, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I’m always behaved.”

You kept your eyes on the vegetables you were cutting before you spoke again. “Wanda wants to help plan the wedding, by the way.”

Pietro hummed against your skin. “Is that okay with you? If you’d rather leave the planning between you and your sisters, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I told her to let us enjoy being engaged before we start any planning,” you set the knife down, “she wants us to have dinner with your parents soon.”

“I know. I’ve been trying to wait until my father’s done hosting the other noble families to suggest a day with him,” he said. “Are you nervous about telling them?”

You lifted your free shoulder. “I’m more nervous about meeting them than I am telling them we’re getting married.” You turned around and put your face against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Will they think I’m too common for you?”

Pietro scoffed. “There is nothing common about you, sweet girl.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Despite what the populace like to believe, my family and I do not judge anyone based upon class. If anything, they’ll not even bring up your status.”

“I’m not ashamed of my status,” you argued, glaring up at him. “Is that what you think? That I’m ashamed?”

“What? No.”

“My sisters and I may not be as affluent as you and your family, but I love our life, Pietro. I just don’t want them to judge our union because I’m not noble or have a title. I don’t need them acting differently when we meet.”

“Hey,” he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip, “I promise you that they don’t care what your status is and neither do I. You’ve led a beautiful life and your sisters raised you well. I wouldn’t try to change anything about you for the sake of my parents. Okay?”

You nodded, shaking your head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten cross.”

“I’m sorry for not being clearer in my intention.” He pulled back, smiling down at you. “If they make you uncomfortable, we’ll leave. Right then and there.”

“Thank you.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering on your skin before he looked down at you again. “Daphne told me that you can use magic.”

“I can.” Your eyes looked over his shoulder. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?”

“No. Shocked, at first, but once Daphne explained why you didn’t, I understood. You’ve told me before and I didn’t hear you.” He lifted your chin to fix your gaze to his. “I want you to be able to share every part of yourself with me. I don’t want to you to ever think that I won’t ever listen or that I will reject, okay? And if I ever make you feel the opposite, tell me. We’re partners in this.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his knuckles. “I will.”

Pietro smirked. “So, what can you do?”

“I can scry and use very small levitation spells. But it’s been years since I’ve done either.”

“Have you ever scried your future?”

You shook your head. “I want to be surprised. But I can try to read your palm, if you’d like.” He shoved his hand into yours and you turned it palm side up, your eyes and fingertips surveying the lines in his skin. You hummed. “Your lifeline is interesting. It’s long but there’s an intersection that breaks it in half before continuing.”

His dark brows canted. “What’s that mean?”

“I couldn’t say. I haven’t scried in years.” You moved to the middle of his palm to love line. “Your love line is long and doesn’t intersect or run alongside any other lines.”

Pietro leaned forward. “Is that good?”

“It means you’ll have one long, great love.” Your cheeks heated up. “This love will be the most profound and impactful to you.”

“I can agree with that.” He closed his hand over yours. “I can only hope that my one, great love will accept me.”

“She’s accepted you since that first night she held you in her arms,” you answered, running your free hand up and down his forearm. “She hopes that you don’t change your mind about her once you both get closer.”

Pietro chuckled. “You love me and my scars. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

“Having you is a sentence I would gladly serve,” you said, mirroring his words to you those weeks ago.

“You’re fidgeting.”

You looked up from your hands; Pietro was smiling at you, his chin resting against hand. 

“I feel underdressed,” you said, frowning.

“You look beautiful,” he tapped his foot against yours, “I love what you’ve done with your hair tonight.”

You smiled, tugging at an errant curl that escaped the braid Daphne and Alma had done for you. You suggested plaiting buttercups and daisies from the garden into your hair as a way to keep them with you. Alma tied the hair off with a silk ribbon that beaded resemblance to the color of Pietro’s eyes in the sun. “Thank you.”

His eyes raked over your body. “Did Daphne make your dress as well?”

You smoothed out the garment. Daphne had spent four days sewing and dyeing the periwinkle dress you wore. There was gold ribbon that you cinched your waist with and gold trim on the skirt of the dress that caught the light beautifully. When you’d tried it on this afternoon, you felt like a princess. 

“She did.”

“She’s a fine seamstress,” he said, smiling. 

You giggled. “I’ll let her know you’re a fan of her work.” Your eyes caught the trees blurring from the carriage window. “I’ve never been in a carriage before.”

“It’s quicker than walking,” Pietro said, lifting a shoulder.

“It’s easy to forget that you’re a prince,” your hands wrung together, “not that you act haughty, but I only see you as Pietro, if that makes sense.”

“I’m not much different with my family than I am with you.”

“Would it be silly to ask if they’ll like me?” Your voice sounded so small, foreign to your own ears. Suddenly, you were all too aware of you and Pietro’s differences. You’ve never convened with nobility and, despite how well-versed you were, you knew that you carried an accent native to denizens of the countryside. What was love when tradition loomed over you both?

Pietro tapped his finger against his thigh. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. 

He kissed his teeth, a deep grin curving along his lips. “Come here, sweet girl. I won’t repeat myself.”

The sensuous threat beneath his words made you clench your thighs. Your tongue wetted your bottom lip as you watched your fiancé spread his legs wide. Before you could retort, he lunged forward and gathered you in his arms. 

“Pietro!” you hissed. “We’re on out way to meet your parents!” Your eyes went to the other side of the carriage. “The coachman could hear.”

He gave you a toothy, wolfish grin. “Then I suppose you’ll have to keep quiet, then, won’t you?” His lips latched onto the column of your throat, sucking and laving at the skin. A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the squeak you barely caught with the palm of your hand. 

“Pietro!”

His large hands took hold of your hips. “Could you blame me? My bride-to-be is so beautiful that I cannot help but imbibe in her.”

Heat warmed your face and neck. “Your bride-to-be would like to salvage what little dignity you’ve left her to meet your parents. I can’t risk my current state to your lust.”

“And she will.” One of his hands dipped under your skirt, the knuckle of his middle finger ghosting along your folds. You sucked in a breath. “They will love you, Y/N. My mother has been excited to meet you since Wanda told her of your first meeting,” his teeth played at your collarbone, “my father is curious to meet the maid that has so rapt my attention these past months.” His free hand swept tendrils of curls from the back of your neck, his fingertips lingering on the warm skin. “Wanda already loves you. You’ve nothing to fear, my love, I promise you.”

“Curiosity does not equate to like,” you breathed out. Your hips bucked against his hand, desperate for friction. When he stopped his ministrations, your eyes narrowed in frustration. “Stop teasing me, Pietro. It’s unfair.”

“I would never,” he cooed, moving a hand to cup the back of your neck. Gooseflesh covered your body and, suddenly, the air in the carriage was hot and thick. Pietro continued sucking bruises into your soft skin, using his hand splayed against the base of your skull to expose more of your neck to him. A hiccup bubbled out of your throat, soft mewls that bordered sobs not enough for him to give you what you want. “Does my little nymph want relief?”

You blubbered out a “yes”, your head lolling from side to side. Pleasure tightened your belly and all you lust-fogged brain could focus on was, touch me, touch me, touch me. 

“Gods, you look divine, Y/N,” Pietro murmured against your ear. His hands cupped your breasts, fingers adeptly working your pebbled nipples. You whispered his name, your nails digging into the flesh of his thighs. “How sensitive you are, my love.” His lips dragged along the juncture of your neck and your ear, his canines gliding along your pulse point. You started to let out a moan when he eased three of his thick fingers into your mouth. “Shh, shh. Remember our coachman up front. You wouldn’t want him to know what we’re getting up to, would you?”

You moaned his name around his fingers.

Pietro groaned out your name, rutting his hips against your backside. You could feel his cock through his chiton, your mouth watering even more. He moved you further up his lap, your slick soaking through the fabric of his tunic. 

Two knocks from the coachman made you both pause. From his side of the carriage, you saw his ancestral home in the distance. You felt laughter against your back and turned to give your fiancé a simpering look. 

“Was that your way of distracting me?”

His left cheek dimpled. “Did it work?”

Pietro favored his father more than his mother. 

Seeing him, Wanda, and their parents standing with each other, they shared the same coloring: tan skin, dark, curly hair, and sharp, devastating features. But where Wanda and their mother were carbon copies of each other, Pietro and his father shared the same mannerisms and expressions. 

Wanda called your name, her hand held out to you. “This is our mother, Natalya, and our father, Erik.” A proud smile crossed her plush lips. “Mother, Father, this is Y/N Y/L/N, my very best friend and our Pietro’s bride-to-be.”

You went to curtsy when you were pulled forward, rose and marjoram filling your senses. Natalya’s hug was warm and comforting, easing your qualms almost instantly. Like Wanda, gold bands and thick, clay bangles hung from her wrists and thin, gold rings sat on every finger. Her deep, brown eyes sparkled as she regarded you. 

“My children underestimated your beauty.”

Heat pooled in your cheeks. “Uh — thank you, Your Grace.”

She chuckled lightly. “Please, call me Natalya. I’ve heard so much about you, it feels as though you’ve already been a part of the family.”

You’d have to remember to reprimand the twins at a later date. 

“So glad to finally make your acquaintance,” Erik said, giving you a warm smile. “You’ve caused quite a commotion for my children.” 

“You as well, Your Majesty.” Your eyes widened. “Not that you cause commotion — ”

A thunderous laugh rumbled from his chest. “Don’t be so nervous, Y/N. We’re happy to welcome you this evening.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly, Wanda and Natalya hooked their arms on either side of yours and hurried you up the stairs into their home. 

“You look gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda started, “but Pietro should’ve been more…methodical about displaying his…excitement.”

A few seconds passed before your eyes widened and you went cold. “No.”

“There’s a very prominent love bruise just here.” Natalya pointed to the space along your collarbone. “It’s wonderful to see my son so smitten with someone.”

“I can assure you that I’m not so cavalier to parade my private affairs on such an important night,” you pressed. 

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Wanda smiled, “Just wait until you two are married. You’ll probably never leave your bed.”

Natalya shushed her daughter. “Leave them be.” Her fingers quickly undid your braid. “It’s perfectly normal for betrothed to display affection.”

Wanda wrinkled her nose. “Mother, please, spare me. I don’t need the image of my brother bedding my best friend.”

“I’d prefer we not speak about this at all,” you said morosely. “We should get back.”

“Almost done,” Natalya sang, “just need to…there!” She brushed a few curls from your forehead. “Perfect.”

“You can’t even see the bruises anymore!” Wanda teased. 

Natalya brought her hands to your face, smiling. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“You’re too kind, Your Majesty.”

“Natalya,” a warm smile stretched across her lips, “we are to be family soon and should refer to each other as such, yes?” You nodded, an apology falling from your tongue. “And no apologies! We’re happy to welcome you into our home, Y/N.”

“They must be waiting for us,” Wanda said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You furrowed your brows. “For?”

She smiled broadly, a wicked glint to her green eyes. 

You thought your little family was boisterous, but the Maximoffs were a different beast entirely.

Wanda was regaling the table with a story of Pietro during their childhood, more relaxed than she was at temple. Your laughs intermingled with their parents’ as she spoke of a lover of Pietro’s past. Every now and again, Erik would mirror her mannerisms: wide, expressive eyes, big gesticulations. On either side of you, Natalya and Pietro were the same side of each others’ coins. They laughed along, more reserved than Erik and Wanda, their hands either clasped together or resting against their crossed forearms as they leaned forward. Their interjections were just as passionate as their family members’ but quieter. 

A memory — or a memory of a memory — played in your mind: Daphne and Alma’s boisterous laughter, your arms outstretched to a woman whose eyes you could not place. Warm hands cupping your face. Though your throat was clogged and your eyes started to water, your smile stayed. You had this once, a family like theirs. Perhaps you could have it again. 

“Y/N?”

You blinked. “Yes?”

“Wanda isn’t deterring you from this union, is she?” Erik’s blue eyes regarded you with concern, a small smiled eased in the corner of his mouth. 

You shook your head, turning a bemused grin to Pietro. “I knew that you were a flirt, but not quite to this extent, bard.”

Your lover groaned. “Can we please move on?”

You took his hand. “It’s all in good fun, Pietro. Despite your previous courting, I will still allow for you to have my hand.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dimpling. “Allow me?”

“I jest, my love,” you fluttered your lashes, “You have all of me.”

“Such a charmer,” he teased. “How could I say no to those beautiful, brown eyes?”

Natalya put a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve found quite the equal, Pietro.”

Pietro brought the back of your hand to his lips. “And I thank the Gods for her each day.”

Erik stood from his seat, everyone’s eyes shifting to his form. “Y/N, would you care to accompany me for a walk?”

“A walk?”

“Pietro’s told me of you and your sisters’ beautiful garden.” His pale blue eyes went from his wife’s back to yours. “Perhaps you could lend me your keen eye in crafting a bouquet for the Queen.”

You were nodding before you spoke. “Of course.”

He beamed at you. “Lovely.”

The Royal Gardens were far more impressive than the one off of the back of your home. Tall pomegranate and fig trees stood before the moon and created a looming shadow as you and the King walked. 

You turned to him. “What are some of the Queen’s favorite flowers? I saw some beautiful hyacinths and irises that would make for a lovely bouquet.”

Erik smiled. “I must confess that I asked you out here under false pretenses.”

You cocked your head to the side. “May I ask?”

“When Pietro came back from the war, we weren’t sure what to expect. Though he put on a brave face, he wasn’t the same.” He let out a deep sigh. “When he said he’d met someone, Natalya and I thought he was rushing into something because he felt that’s what was expected. Like he needed to fall back into the boy he used to be rather than stand as the man he now is.”

You hummed. “I can understand that.”

He turned to you, a dark brow raised. “Oh?”

“He came to me one night.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I thought he’d stood me up, at first. I can handle a lot of things but the thought of him standing me up, leaving me alone like that, made me feel an embarrassment that I’d never experienced. I get it: I’m no one special. I’ve no status, no title. I’m no descendant of any dignitaries. Perhaps I was the distraction from himself he sought after.

“But then he kept coming around. Showed up at temple to walk me home, got me a journal to write in. One would not make such efforts if they did not spend time with another, no?”

“Correct.”

“He’s told me from the moment we met that I would be the woman he wanted to spend his days with.” You let out a small chuckle. “You can imagine how…unnerving that was for me, at first. Though I came to it slowly, I love your son, Your Highness. I just fear that I’m not equipped for all that it entails to love him.”

“You’re just as thoughtful as Wanda said.” Erik ushered you to a table sitting in the middle of the garden . Once sat, he smiled warmly at you. “It’s normal for some trepidation when considering sharing one’s life with another. When I proposed to Natalya, I spent too many months wondering if that was something if I was moving too fast. I wanted Natalya, I knew that, but I never thought about what being husband and wife meant for either of us. I was young and impulsive and in love with an incredible woman, unsure of what marriage looked like outside of my own family growing up.”

The Old Gods; the six original beings that birthed the world as you knew it to be. Erik’s father, known as Zeus, was the God of Gods. For as many miracles and marvels he performed, there were just as many tragedies belied in his wake. From your short time with him, Erik seemed like a wonderful man, someone aspirational. You could only imagine what he and his siblings saw on Olympus. 

“I have no reference for marriage,” you said, looking to the sky, “outside the tree in our garden.”

Erik’s features twisted. “A tree?”

You smiled fondly. “My parents’ bodies went back to nature. They never stopped embracing so the trunk of the tree and some of its limbs are twined.”

“That’s very beautiful.” He paused. “How did they die? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“My mother was dying of illness and my father died shortly after of a broken heart.” You wrung your hands together. “I wasn’t more than four and didn’t understand why they’d gone. How does one explain to a child their parents’ deaths?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be, Your Highness. My parents loved each other and, hopefully, are together in the afterlife and the next. My sisters and I remember them with love and reverence and that’s enough.”

“My son says that you were worried about your role as the prince consort.” You nodded slowly. “I can affirm that your studies will not cease because of your union. You will not be bound by duty to the throne.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Your Highness…”

“Erik, please,” he smiled warmly again. “I cannot very well bless this union without considering both of your wishes.”

“Pietro told you of our disagreement?” she asked, her voice small.

“He did.” He put a hand on your knee. “You’re just like my wife and daughter; determined and independent. You shouldn’t have to be defined by whom you love.”

You wiped at your face, soft chuckles spilling from your lips. “Thank you, Erik. I am forever indebted to you.”

He smiled at you again and you were struck with how much he looked like Pietro, a devastating, boyish expression that could compel you to commit any crime he’d asked. 

“We are indebted to you.” He stood from the table and kneeled in front of you, his blue eyes, holding your gaze. “Y/N Y/L/N, the kingdom of Thrace is forever indebted to you for your love and acceptance of my children. For your steadfastness and willingness to share your life with us. We are honored to welcome you into our family.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You circled the tip of your finger along the lines of his sternum, moonlight painting his skin. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

You looked up at him, your breath catching at how intense his gaze was on you. “When are we to marry?”

“We could marry tomorrow, if you’d like.” You swatted at his chest. “My parents said something about a summer wedding but ultimately it’s your choice.”

“Don’t you mean our choice?”

Pietro gathered you in his arms and ran the back if his hand along the curve of your arm. “This wedding is for you. You could decide this very second that you want us to go to the temple and marry in front of a cauldron. I would follow you, no questions asked.”

Your face warmed and you cuddled more into his chest. “I like the spring.”

“Then the spring it is.” He kissed your forehead. “What else ails you, my love?”

You waited a few beats before you spoke. “Your parents are lovely. I wondered most of the night if my parents were like that when they were still alive.” Your lower lip quivered some. “I’ve refrained from thinking about my parents for so long because I have no memories of them. I’ve always felt that I couldn’t ask Daphne or Alma because I don’t want them to feel bad, but I want to know about them.”

“Would you like me with you when you ask about them?” He looked down at you. “I won’t speak but I’ll be there for support.”

Gods, I love this man.

You kissed the underside of his jaw. “When I’m brave enough to ask them, I would love that.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i told myself that i wasn't going to go above eight parts and then i realized that most of my blockage with chapter five came from trying to shove over 10K words and a wide expanse of details into that one chapter so here we are lol

[feketeribizli]

say no to #gridfam except when its the mercedes incestuous house of horrors

[tonycries]

Knight of Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, knight! Gojo, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, arranged marriages, Naoya is awful, Gojo YEARNS, flower language, politics, slight víolence, slight angst, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, oraI (fem rec), he goes FÉRAL, cúmming in his pants, manhandIing, spítting, biiig stretches, dúmbifícation, cúmflation, p talking, p sIapping, overstím, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.7k

A/N. What happens when ya let a girl listen to Golden Brown by The StrangIers.

“You are not to speak, you are not to look.” The king intertwines his decadently ringed fingers on his lap, the royal signet glinting pointedly amongst them. “You are not to so much as breathe in the princess’s way from tomorrow onwards.”

And it’s only with his hard-earned years as your knight that Gojo stops himself from shuddering where he knelt, head bowing to hide the clench in his jaw.

Though, surely something must have flashed across his features - because the next few words have a familiar warmth that twisted Gojo’s heart much more than his royal timbre, “Satoru, my boy, you understand that this is your duty? Yes?”

“I understand.” The answer is instant, as is the raise of the other man’s brows. 

“And do you understand that this marriage is my daughter’s duty?” Your father barks out a disbelieving laugh into the barren throne room. “We wouldn’t want Prince Naoya getting the wrong idea between the princess and a- a knight.” 

The words make his eyes prick wetly, and Gojo can’t help but bend even lower as he whispers. “I…I understand, sir.”

After all, it was the second thing that Gojo Satoru had drilled into his mind from the very moment he first met you.

The first being that he’s loved you ever since. 

Which - retrospectively speaking - might’ve been an incredibly bold declaration coming from the scrawny, fidgeting six-year-old you happened to catch sneaking in and stealing lilac blooms from the royal garden all those years ago.

He remembers how you’d giggled, looking positively like a little blossom in all those gauzy layers of gown. Piping up from under the lilac tree he was latched onto, “My father says that’s not allowed.”

Gojo had fallen then - literally, startling about six feet from the branch he’d been straddling and straight into a scratchy pile of leaves with a dull thud! Back hurting, head spinning, it was a wonder that he hadn’t sprained anything, but right then and there he remembers thinking he was in heaven.

Because here was a pretty lil’ angel his age ogling down at him, speaking in a regal accent so different from his. “My father says that’s not allowed either.”

Your grin beamed down on him and warmed his skin even more scorchingly than the balmy rays of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. And for the first time ever in his life, Gojo Satoru had stuttered. 

“Yer- yer father sounds stupid.” He had spit out, chubby cheeks puffing out the more you stared at him. What? He was sure he looked ridiculous with all those stray sticks and leaves stuck in his cloudy locks, but did you really have to look at him like…that? 

“My father…” Your lips curled even further, as if you knew something he didn’t. “-the king.”

Oh.

Oh. 

And it’s only then that Gojo notices the thin, silver tiara on your head, a delicate wreath of jeweled flowers that twinkled almost as bright as your eyes. It reflected specks of light into his gaze almost mockingly.

Idiot- it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him that chilled him to the very bone. 

Even at the tender- well, wise and sensible age of six, Gojo had heard from the adults in town all about the torture chambers and p-prisons that the royal palace was home to. 

Just why did he feel the need to escape from his mother at the market to bring her a batch of those wispy, amethyst flowers anyway? 

Sure, they were her favorite but- the royal family would have his head before even she did. And he didn’t even get to butter her up with the lilacs!

“Forgive me!” Gojo had squeaked out in a cry so shrill that you hurriedly took a step back, eyes widening once the interesting boy in front of you dropped to his hands and knees. “Ah- I mean uh- forgive me, your highness- your princessness.” Drooping into a bow so low that his soft tufts of hair brushed the warm ground. Words tumbling out a mile a minute, “It was an accident- I must’ve been um sleepwalking and I pinky-promise won’t do it again-”

“Those lilacs haven’t bloomed yet, y’know?” You’re cutting him off smoothly, and Gojo remembers feeling a pang of irritation- let him recite his apologies before you throw him in a cell, dammit! Right before flooding with confusion, eyes snapping up to meet yours hesitantly. 

Pointing at a pretty white gazebo, overlooking the lake only a few meters away, you’d shrugged your shoulders. “The garden staff puts the best ones in a bouquet over there.”

At which, he’d replied with an exceptionally eloquent, “Huh?”

“Well, what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

It’s only after hours upon hours of picking every lilac flower in sight and chatting about all the worldly topics a pair of six-year-olds knew that you were dragged away by one of your worried attendants. 

And he almost felt…sad about it. Weird. 

The yolky setting sun that day cast shadows for Gojo to hide himself in behind one of the gazebo pillars as he peeked at your retreating back. In-step with an older woman muttering about “losing her job oh- the king will banish her.” 

And if there was one thing that he would never forget - well, amongst everything else - it was the way his heart banged selfishly against his ribcage with a repeated turn around turn around turn around-

You did. And you’d smiled, and Gojo hasn’t been able to step away from your side since.

Well, he had to - to go home that evening and proudly proclaim to his thoroughly cross mother how he’ll become a knight, that is. 

Honestly, even the colossal lilac bouquet did little to deter her scoldings about running off. But despite how bad it was - and the fact that he was sentenced to be confined to his room for a whole month - it didn’t matter.

Gojo visited you the next day, too. 

And the day after that, and the day after that- and again and again no matter how many times you’d teased him about coming so often to see you. Because you were right there no matter what royal duties or lessons dictated, waiting in the lilac garden for him. 

Every day.

When Gojo was eighteen he’d applied for a position in the royal guard, breezing through the demonstrations of physical strength because of course, he did. He’d been training for his very day for years.

And it showed - oh, how it showed. 

It showed in the way he stood almost a head above every other man lined up there, veering numerous inches above six feet. All sculptured, Herculean muscles and arms toned from years spent climbing the palace orchards with you. The strongest. 

He considered himself exceedingly humble, too, of course. 

Humble enough to not brag outright in your face once Gojo had climbed the treacherous way into being your personal knight before the age of twenty. 

“Hah, I can tell your father- erm, his majesty all about where you sneak off to now.” Gojo snickered, flicking your forehead in a way that a princess simply shouldn’t be treated. “Perhaps I’ll bargain titles with him- tell the courts about the way you climb trees, and ride horses and-”

“Snitch”

“Harlot.”

“Knave.”

“Hobgoblin.”

“Satoru.” You’d deadpanned up at as six foot four inches of white-haired nuisance clinging onto whimpers out a dramatic ouch, that one hurt. Desperately trying to keep the smile off of your face, “You’re with me each and every single time.”

Well, was. 

It seemed like the king was to be putting a stop to that very, very soon. With your looming- he gulps to keep the leaden ball of tears away from his throat, your engagement. 

“Toru—” Your voice snaps him out of his hazy little reverie, and he finds himself straightening his back into a respectful posture outside of the throne room. Warily eyeing the way you bound up to him, “What did my father want to talk to you about so suddenly?”

“Ah…” Gojo’s throat feels hoarse. Parched. The smile plastering onto his face wobbly, “Just- just security measures for the visitor we’re going to have, your royal highness.”

Your brows quirk upwards, pretty lips falling open just enough for him to realize you were about to comment on his use of that. That title. 

“Now if you pardon this knight, ma’am-” Gojo pipes up before you can bludgeon him with questions, striding down the luxurious hallway to his newly-assigned post at the royal treasury. Far, far away from your chambers. “-I have been called by Knight Commander Yaga to my-”

“Satoru- wait.”

He should’ve known better than to have thought he could escape you - not when even his own heart didn’t want to.

Lurching up in an almost-nauseating swoop the moment your voice echoes from behind, hitting his glinting armor. “You…are you okay—? You haven’t called me any of those silly formal titles since we first met.” Words practically dripping with concern, fuck- he was sure your face was furrowing. And if it was up to him he would kiss away every tense crevice. 

But no, that was not his place. 

His place was to stand rooted to the spot, face turning only a half-degree to grace you with a soft bow. Gojo knew it wasn’t the epitome of respect, but a singular look in your face right now and he would break.

“I am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, ma’am.” He’s nodding, voice oh-so-brittle in his throat for how hardened it thundered.

“That’s not what I mean.” Stubborn.

Gojo turns back to the winding corridor in front of him, “Then if that is all, I shall be on my way. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”

“Satoru.”

And if his cheeks were cold and encrusted with a few streaks of salty tears when he reached the treasury, Gojo was only grateful that his fellow knight Ijichi was too afraid of him to say anything.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru was avoiding you - marching the other way if he glimpsed you, running around the palace for menial tasks, he wasn’t even your personal guard anymore, for goodness’ sake! Your best friend was ignoring you and you weren’t sure why. 

Was it because you had to skip out on your daily walks in the lilac garden to greet the visiting Zenin royals? 

No, he was always so understanding of the royal responsibilities that you couldn’t skive off. Besides, his strange attitude had sparked up even before Prince Naoya and his family arrived at your kingdom - ever since that meeting with your father.

You were dying to ask the king what exactly was talked about that day, a meeting so confidential that he didn’t even have the royal advisor transcripting it. But your father was always so busy with the older Zenin couple these days, cooped up in office rooms surrounded to the brim with official documents. 

And that left you with…him.

Naoya Zenin. A prince if there was ever any, who couldn’t talk about anything but that. 

“So…um.” Your eyes dart around the palace gardens, you always did love it here - that comforting smell of flowers wafting in clouds around you. But right now you felt anything but comforted. “How are you liking the garden, Prince Naoya?”

He shakes his brown-tipped locks, eyes narrowing. “Rather plebian for a royal palace, if I do say so myself.”

“R-right…” You’re sputtering in an unlady-like fashion, “We do have orchards too if you wanted to-”

“Of course, the gardens in my palace are much bigger-” He’s waving a gloved hand loftily, nose crinkling into a sneer at the bustling gardeners planting beautiful white blossoms everywhere. Honestly, you were informed there was a grand ball soon - but wasn’t this a bit much? “And we teach the help to stay out of sight.”

“Well, I think they’re really nice.” You’re huffing, brows marrying together. 

He scoffs, “Nice- or useful?”

“Both.”You fight the urge to just storm off then and there - it wouldn’t do good to start a war between the two most powerful kingdoms right now. 

“Ah yes yes- nice.” Naoya repeats airily, words warbling as if he was biting back a laugh. “Suppose the low-borns are tolerable if they’re nice.”

A vision of Gojo - tiny and trembling into a bow in front of you - flashed through your mind, and you find your pretty heels digging hard into the dark soil. That was it.

“Perhaps.” Your voice comes out dangerously even, dangerously. Naoya only raises his brows in faint interest, “Yet, even the least tolerable tch- ‘low-born’ would be more tolerable than a pompous, arrogant-”

“There you are, your highnesses!” 

Satoru. 

You would recognize that low, lilting baritone amongst a thousand others. And before you can turn around to face your best friend that had been missing for days, he plows on, “A little gift- from this lowborn.”

Thud!

Before you can even blink, pale hands reach out to unceremoniously dump a radiant yellow flower crown on Naoya’s blond bangs. And you swear Gojo pushed down on his head harder than necessary.

The first thing you register is the warm wall of muscles pushing up against your back, lecherously counting every ladder of washboard abs and Gojo’s plush pecs in your mind. Mindlessly, you’re leaning back even closer, savoring the way his breath hitches. Harlot. 

The second thing you’re realizing is that Naoya Zenin - for the first time in twenty-something years - had gone quiet. Very, very quiet. Suspiciously so. 

You force your words into some semblance of levelness, “Are you…are you alright, Prince Naoya?”

But Naoya didn’t speak - you didn’t know if he was even breathing. Long face growing greyer and greyer by the second, he doesn’t answer you.

No, instead he’s pointing a trembling finger behind you. “You there…you- what shrub have you placed upon my royal head?”

“Laburnum.” Comes the answer - and just as soon comes a drawling, strangled squawk.

Your first instinct is to look towards the shimmering lake not too far away from you, eyes searching for any trace of those familiar ducks- before gasping in surprise and looking back to the prince. Mouth ajar, still making those undignified noises. 

Him? 

“You- you will-” He hisses, so furious that you have to take a step back - right into Gojo’s waiting arms - to avoid his flecks of spit. “-you will pay for this.”

In only a split-second, Naoya had thrown the flower crown onto the ground and wheezed his way up the flowery pathway back to the castle. What a sight it was.

But nothing compared to the way that Gojo comes into your line of sight and preens. One hand tapping at his cheek in thought, the other held behind his back. “Whoops- I forgot that the king specifically informed me that our honored guest was allergic to laburnum flowers. Guess, low-borns aren’t of good memory. Right, my princess?”

“Satoru- you- you ass.” You’re yelping through fits of laughter, not caring for the way the rest of the gardening staff smiles knowingly. “What if that bastard gets deathly sick? The blame would be on you.”

He rolls his summer blue eyes, “Proudly.”

“I should send you to the gallows for this.”

Gasping in faux shock, “Most salacious indeed!”

And for the first time in so long, it feels normal. 

The breezing heat of Gojo’s body against yours feels normal, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deeply about it. Too enchanted by the sheer lack of armor - all billowy white poet shirt and flattering cotton pants. 

“Y-yeah well-” Shit- why was your skin burning this way? The sun wasn’t even at peak temperature for today. Absentmindedly, you’re playing with one of his silk lapels, “Thank goodness we’re losing him in a few days, I asked mother and she said the Zenin’s are only visiting until the fast-approaching ball.” 

“Princess-” It all comes out in a rush, “-that ball. The reason for it is actually-”

“Your highness! The queen is asking for a conference with you!” The curious voices of your maidservants drag you away from Gojo’s arms, into a much less scandalous position.

And yet, with only a nod behind - you still stay standing in front of him. You stay.

“Right…” Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep gulp. Shadowy gaze darting away, “I should get back to my duties, ma’am. Suguru has been abusing his position as head gardener to work me like a mule.”

The way your face crumples with disappointment makes Gojo’s heart feel sliced open. And raw. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”

Gojo. Gojo. 

And of course he couldn’t let you walk away - of course he couldn’t let you leave his life just yet. 

So without thinking, without even realizing, he’s clasping a slender hand around your wrist to pull you back. To reel you in. To him. 

Velvety strands of snow-white curtain Gojo’s eyes, and the doughy fingerpads on your skin shiver. Mumbling, “Before- Before you go, my prin- ma’am. I just wanted to give you-” And you don’t know what makes your heart race more - the cherry-red blush painting all over Gojo’s cheeks and up to the very tips of his ears, or the sunny flower crown clasped in a hand pulled from behind his back. “-this.”

Your mouth drops into an awe-struck oh! It was beautiful - trickling blossoms of every shade of yellow entwined gently together. Embedded with celestially dainty buds of an amber so pale it looked almost white, diamonds on a tiara fit for a princess. 

You had a feeling it would be your favorite one.  

All you could think of was Gojo with his staggering hands, and his battle-worn fingers, making something so delicate for you. 

“Is…is this one just as allergy-inducing as the other, Satoru?” You’re breathing, rustled by a breeze so gentle that it almost hurts.  

“No.” Gojo whispers, just as quiet. As if the slightest sign of a raised voice would break whatever saccharinely thick moment this was, “Yellow acacia and yellow carnation. For you, my princess.”

For the way he’d be losing you just as soon as he loses that asshat. 

And even once you’d adorned his crown and been hurried off by a few palace staff, Gojo stared. Even once you were nothing but a speck of royal satin and yellow crowns, he stared. Even once you were gone, and he was left so very alone, he stared. 

Only thanking the heavens above that you always slept through your flower language lessons. 

.

.

.

Over the next few days; wherever you were, Naoya Zenin was to follow. 

And Gojo was sure that it was pushing the young royal closer and closer to a spectacular aneurysm any time that you called specifically for him to accompany you. Blatantly refusing any other knight that came your way.

The pointed third during “romantic” boat rides on the lake, always the guard overseeing dinners, the one to step in with a blunder if your future fiancé got too…opinionated. Gojo was always there. 

It was more like you spent your time trying to make his dutiful façade crack than supposedly entertaining your guest.

Sneaky princess. 

After all - Gojo found himself pacing and arguing out loud with himself any time you did - he was simply doing his job, right? Even if the aforementioned job went against just a few direct orders from the king himself. 

But these were a direct order from the princess. His princess. And Gojo had stopped his procedural traversing and ranting since realizing this. 

Although- the head chef, Nanami’s, veiled threat about turning him into pig feed the next time he heard stomping may have played a slight part in this, as well. 

And it was on such a day that Gojo found himself stationed to guard the inside of the royal drawing room. Spine ramrod straight, eyes flooded with steel while he took in the sight of you and that bastard- Naoya sketching the other in silence. 

It was a dainty, sunlit room, and the hours might have almost been peaceful - if it wasn’t for the split-haired bastard, that is. 

After that flower fiasco and a thorough telling off for misremembering the prince’s allergies, this was meant to make up for a “bonding activity” according to the king; which to him read more like a desperate attempt to push the two of you together before the grand ball tomorrow night. 

Gojo’s chest caves in with a sudden spike of pain, tomorrow night. Your engagement ball, where you will surely be handed off to a man who wouldn’t be worthy of you in a thousand different lives. 

Fuck, had it really been days since already?

It hurt too much, and so he looks towards the prince’s parchment- how insulting. Hundreds of royal art lessons, yet Naoya still couldn’t capture the exact curve of your smile. And those pretty crinkles by your eyes- they were entirely the wrong number! And Gojo’s sure that any fool could see the way your lips-

He was getting ahead of himself. And reminded embarrassingly of the hundreds of sketches of you over the years stowed away underneath his bed alongside a stubby piece of charcoal. 

And he was leaning over the prince in a way that he was sure would get him strung and quartered in the Zenin palace. Or, at least, that’s what Naoya’s daggered glare was telling him. 

With a sheepish smirk, Gojo snatches a glimpse at your artwork. Stifling a laugh at the way you’ve given up on drawing the other man and started engaging in idle scribblings of weasels and hollies. 

“That one looks like him, don’t you think?” He can’t help but whisper from the corner of his mouth, stomach swooping in delight as soon as your eyes light up. 

Tacking on a familiar hairstyle and sneer onto a particularly shoddy caricature of one of the weasels, giggling. “He does.”

Gojo points at another drawing - this time of a bullfrog- honestly, what interests for a princess. “And that’s-”

“That Jinichi.” You’re finishing off for him, carelessly drawing away a few more - quite frankly, Gojo finds everything you do beautiful, but these were appallingly ugly - scribbles of foxes and goats. “That one’s Oji Zenin, and that’s Gakuganji and that’s-”

“Ahem.”

There was only one person who could make the clearing of a throat sound so snobbish. And that was Naoya Zenin. 

Brows raised, feet tapping impatiently on polished marble as he snatches the parchment from your grip. 

Schwing–!

“Toru- no.” 

Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out his famed, silver sword until you’re stopping him with a hand to his tense bicep. Shit.

Growling through clenched teeth once more at Naoya while he nestles it back into its scabbard with unsteady fingers - only because you asked. 

But the other man doesn’t even flinch - wearing that perfect mask of regal stoicity, though Gojo manages to catch the way his eyes flicker nervously down at the hilt of his sword. Doesn’t show anything other than the tightening of his thin lips as he gazes upon your humorous drawings. 

The impatient tap! tap! tap! of his feet slowing down, stopping - before Naoya throws your paper down onto the floor and stomps. Gojo would’ve almost found it comedic if it hadn’t been for your startled demeanour.

“Excuse me-” He’s hissing, angling his broad body between you and this unseemly sight. Gojo looks dead-on into Naoya’s spit-fire red face, “-but I would have to hope not to remind a young prince of royal etiquette.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“No need to call me ‘sir’, your highness.”

Naoya looks up, death in his eyes.

Gojo thought this might be the end. The missed trip to the dungeons all those years ago was finally catching up to him, and he would be thrown in today for drawing his weapon on a royal but goddammit- if he wasn’t going to keep you safe from his ire for as long as he breathes and then some.

But - to both you and Gojo’s surprise, and perhaps even Naoya himself - he simply turns swiftly on his heels and walks out of the room. Letting the heavy double-doors SLAM! deafeningly behind him. 

It takes a beat. One. Two. 

He counts every raging ba-dump–! of his heart against this ribcage- before the terse silence shatters with laughter. 

“Toru- To- Satoru—!” You’re wiping away genuine tears, “‘No need to call me sir-’ where did you even come up with that-”

“Fuck! You can laugh but I thought I was headed to the gallows.” He’s exclaiming, and it was quite difficult to act as if your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d heard in his entire life. “Although- it would have been a killer last line. Wouldn’t it, my princess?”

The two of you stare at each other for one singular ba-dump–! Before bursting into peels of undignified cackles that could make an entire court shiver in scandal. 

“Killer- killer alright-” You’re rolling your watery eyes, “This is just as bad as the time you caught Yaga in his interpretive rain dance routine- I thought you were surely dead then.”

Please, Gojo’s stomach and his heart were hurting - though, for very different reasons. “Not as bad as when you wanted to play dress-up with the sacred royal crown and lost it.”

“Don’t remind me, my father was-” That’s when your tear-lathered lashes flutter, a hand coming up to swat softly against your cheek as if to jolt back your senses. You’re groaning over Gojo’s whine, “-my father. Oh no! What will he say about this?” You almost knock your cushy stool over with how fast you’re teetering into a stand, “I must go apologize to weasel- Naoya right away lest relations with the Zenins-”

“Let me.”

Your brows raise, “What?”

“Let me.” Gojo’s repeating, more firmly this time. Thumb grazing briefly down your knuckles as he pulls you back into your seat. 

Just for a split-second - like he couldn’t even think of letting himself touch such a precious treasure. 

He knows you will argue this, he knows your stupidly selfless self will fight to apologize; which is why before you can say a word, he’s marching hastily out of those same doors and towards the luxurious guest chambers. 

Truthfully, Gojo Satoru didn’t give a fuck about Naoya Zenin - but he’ll be damned if you, his beloved, was cast in a hameful light because of his childish actions. 

He has to do something for you, while he still can. While he still has you. While he can still love you.

The corridors are winding, decadent. He takes a deep breath when nearing the slightly-open gilded door of the Zenin suite, that distinctly nasally tone of Naoya drifting in conversation from within. Shuddering in a deep breath, “Pardon m-”

“-drew me as a weasel!” The prince bursts, fury seeping into every hard syllable of his. Gojo stills where he stands outside, hand on the cool metallic doorknob. “I have never met such a vulgar, unrefined-”

“Oh, do bear it until the engagement Naoya.” The gruff voice of a man responds - and he recognizes it from all the recent chiding at palace staff to be the prince’s cousin, Jinichi Zenin. “After that ya can take your time breaking ‘er in.”

What? 

“A boor telling me to break in a wench.” The younger man scoffs, though he sounds much calmer than just moments before. 

Gojo thinks he could throw up all over the gleaming floors, he thinks he wants to keel over and beg at the king’s feet to keep this from happening to you. He thinks he just might. 

But right now, he can’t bring his feet to move a single inch. Pressing himself up closer against the adjacent patterned wall, sharp ear yearning for more shards of the conversation. 

“They’re all the same anyways.” Says Jinichi, “Just give ‘er something sparkly or flowery and keep her sated. Don’t want another one running off before you can dig your claws into the crown, now, do we?”

And perhaps he’s a hopeless fool for praying that Naoya might say something - anything - else. Wishing for the non-existent good in your soon-to-be fiancé, who only grits out a displeased, “Fine. Only because I want to see her pretty lil’ face when I break her to my will.” There’s the sound of urgent footsteps, “But if father doesn’t give me the throne for my efforts then I’m killing her and you, you brute.”

Stood stock still.

Gojo doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to - and right now, ice-cold spikes of anger were the only thing latching him rooted to the spot, not even flinching once Naoya closes the door behind him and walks- seeing him. 

His jaw clenches, eyes harrowing. “You.” 

And Naoya had very clearly taken the opportunity to arm himself in his family chamber, because his spindly fingers itch towards the hilt of his dangerously glinting sword. Just seconds away from-

“Please.” 

Gojo drops onto one knee, the tendons of his neck aching with how far downwards he had it bent into a pitiful bow. “I ask his highness to please let the princess go- to call off this impending engagement. I- I will bear the brunt of committing an offense, and will gladly take any punishment that is bestowed upon me. I just please beg of you to-”

“The same hand.”

“What?” Gojo forces himself to look up with tear-filled eyes, to face the prince squarely in his chestnut gaze. His delighted chestnut gaze. 

Pointing towards his right hand, “The same hand you were to raise your sword at me, the same hand you used to put that wretched toxic flower crown on me-” And then his blade, “-I order you to repent.”

The other man breathes, “Repent…”

“Repent.” Naoya stands up taller, perhaps the most self-confident that Gojo has ever seen him. A barbarous curl of his lips starting to form, “Repent, and I shall consider ending my engagement with the princ-”

CRUNCH!

Pain. Blinding pain was all that Gojo could feel, and…relief. 

He couldn’t even register the steady trickle of warm crimson on his skin and onto the floor in rose-like splotches - even though he could see it through bleary eyes. Head still spinning to catch up with the nanosecond events of drawing his sword and slicing a wide gash down his forearm. 

Through half-lidded eyes, he puts back his bloodied blade into the scabbard and looks up at the stricken prince. 

Repentance. 

“So you love her.” Is all that Naoya hisses. And Gojo can’t lie, nor can he muddy your name. 

So he simply waits quietly, silence speaking enough for eons. Waiting for you to be set free. And if he tried, he could even manage a smile-

Sniffing insolently - though, it sounded more like a snicker. “How valiant, for a low-born.” All that is said before he spits furiously at Gojo’s feet and breezes past in a swish of capes - as if nothing ever happened. “I might even invite you to the princess and I’s wedding ceremony.”

.

.

.

In a palace of thousands, it was only Gojo Satoru that could manage to stand out. 

None of the royal jesters could make the court laugh quite as loud. None of the other knights - no matter how muscled, or chivalrous - could make the ladies-in-waiting swoon just as much. And none of the other reputable men could make you seek him out in every chamber, state room, or training ground just like this.  

It was strange not to see even the barest glimpse of Gojo for an entire day, and the palace didn’t quite feel like a home without him.

“I’m telling you, Nobara–” You’re wheezing out in condensed puffs as your eager right-hand attendant continues mercilessly tightening away the undergarments of your ballgown. “Something’s probably happened to him or-”

“-or he’s being locked up for offending some uppity duke.” She’s rolling her honeypool eyes, one of the few who wasn’t afraid to express themselves this way in front of you. Flitting about the opulent dressing room you rarely liked to use, “You know how that eugh- Gojo is.”

“Which is precisely why I’m worried.”

Honestly, you didn’t even care for a grand ball when you didn’t know where your best friend was. Whether he was in the dungeons or…worse. 

But Nobara wasn’t here to hear you ramble about Gojo Satoru - you oftentimes got the impression that he irritated her too much for her own liking - she was here to doll you up in costly pale blue silks and muslins that draped off of you prettier than a painting. 

And you felt dizzy by the time she let you be escorted off towards the emanating music of the ballroom - with an excited goodbye and a reluctant promise to keep an eye out for Gojo. 

Hair done more intricately than you could’ve even imagined, your jewelry caught every light in the room, a bejeweled flower tiara weighing heavily on your head. Adorning your face in a crown that reminded you of the one Gojo had made you only a few days ago. 

It was almost a struggle to keep your face held high as you took the first few steps down the winding imperial staircase. To the ball. 

You have to stop yourself from tilting your head down at the thrumming masses of decadently dressed-up nobles and clinking champagne to check whether Gojo was hidden away somewhere down there. 

Manners. Posture. Eye contact. 

It was all painfully practised, and so was the tightening of your features as your own father started reading off your introduction. He never took on this task - what was happening?

“And now, for the most important guest of all-” Booming voice thundering in your ears almost as loud as your heartbeat was. The king addresses the congregation in the middle of the dancefloor, more ruler than father at this point. “-my daughter, princess of our beloved kingdom. And the queen of the next!”

Your hand stills where it had been helping you balance in your heels down the stairway- what?

Thankfully, your father carries on - or rather, not thankfully, considering what his next words are. 

“Yes, my people, this may come as a surprise to you all.” He chuckles above the deafening murmurs, and you slowly find yourself scurrying onto the raised platform your father’s throne was seated on. “But tonight is not only a simple celebration of our nation, it’s a celebration of love. Of two nations.”

There’s a beat of silence as he reaches out a withered hand to you, and you find yourself wordlessly taking it. 

“F-father, what-” you whisper, but there’s no response. Your skin bristles with goosebumps, and you’re not sure whether it’s from the summer breeze wafting from the gardens, or from the speech’s implications.

Letting yourself be pulled right into the middle of the stage,right into the spotlight - where Naoya Zenin was waiting for you. Dressed in his finest suit of white silk, adorned with layers upon layers of military accolades and velvety medals. 

The bright, blazing light of the chandelier was scorching, and your hands clench in unease. What was happening?

“That is right, my people.” The king drags your hand up to mesh in an entwinement with Naoya’s clammy ones, holding it up for the eager public to see. “After much consideration and forethought, our royal families have decided that today my daughter is the beloved princess of our nation. But tomorrow, she will be the future queen of the Zenin kingdom.”

There’s cheering - but you can’t hear any of it. In fact, the entire world could be falling upon you and you don’t think you would have noticed. 

All you can feel is the queasy churning of your stomach, and the stern whisper of Naoya’s voice against your ear. Fingers tightening around your own, bruisingly. “Dance with me before I break this pretty hand, princess.”

You’re like a ragdoll, being puppeteered in a rigid beeline onto the dance floor. 

If it wasn’t for one of Naoya’s hands bracing onto your waist, you wouldn’t even have realized that the royal orchestra had started up a gorgeous waltz. A slow, romantic melody that you might’ve otherwise loved if you weren’t trapped in the arms of a fiancé you never asked for. 

“Looking pretty out of it there, princess.” The prince sneers after a few practised motions of your dance, making your dazed eyes stray from the swooning crowd and onto his pointed features. 

And despite it all, you can’t help but feel betrayed. You thought that the two of you might have rapport at your obligation, if nothing else. “You- you didn’t even tell me. An entire engagement and you didn’t even bother to-”

“As a husband, I don’t owe my tch- wife anything.” His nose crinkles at your wandering eyes, the way your feet itched ever-closer to the surrounding people rather than the dancefloor. “Wishing it was someone else dancing with you?”

“Yes.” You’re spitting out before you can stop, trying oh-so-hard not to let your face twist into even a semblance of the fury steeped inside of you. “Anyone but a husband that I never wanted and never will want.”

“As if you deserve any bett-”

Your nails dig into one set of his fingers enough to engrave deep craters, almost enough to make him bleed. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth.” 

Naoya seems stunned for a few seconds - but, alas, just when you’re hoping that you’ve shut him up for good, you’re faced with the fact that the universe isn’t that kind to you.

“You mean you would marry the tch- low-born.” He pulls you into an incredibly rough twirl when the music crescendos, pulling you even closer. It’s all you can do to not fight his grip- “I’m not below finishing off his other hand if that’s what it takes to break you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Each word jagged. “The knight. You love him, don’t act stupid.” 

Raising your chin in defiance, “So what?” And just as much as confusion filled you, as did panic. Because Naoya’s grip was only getting firmer, his moves much harsher. Opening his mouth to spit out- 

“Pardon me, your highnesses.” A deep bass cuts in, startled- you almost give yourself whiplash peering up into those fathomless mahogany eyes. Yaga’s thin brows furrowing into something heavily-set, “May I cut in for a dance with the princess?”

You don’t wait for an answer from Naoya - and neither does Commander Yaga. Swiftly sweeping you into his engulfing embrace as the orchestra changes into something slightly more upbeat. 

Dressed in a thick suit adorned with even more medals than Naoya - ones you knew for sure were real, unlike his. And you couldn’t help but wonder just how good Gojo would look with his own.

“So…” Yaga starts, once more couples join the floor and his words can’t be heard over the shuffling of feet by anyone other than you. His calloused hands let you lead him through a waltz much more mellow than what Naoya had with you. You always did think that the leader of your knights was a gentle giant. “Begging you to forgive my indiscretion, ma’am but ah- trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in hell, as expected.” You’re shuddering, gaze bouncing off of any flash of sapphire blue around the room. 

The man in front of you nods gravely, “Right right. I might not be a married man, but even I know that times like these often call for a walk in the lilac garden. You know, to- ah, clear your head.”

Quirking a brow, you stare at him. “What?”

And oh, Yaga simply looked like all the gold in the world couldn’t pay him enough for this. 

“Times like these-” He’s emphasizing, boring deeply into your eyes as if to mean every syllable to strike your very core. And it does. You don’t know why, but it does. “-call for a walk in the lilac garden.”

Oh.

“Oh.” 

Yaga’s lips twitch upwards into an almost-smile, and his rumbling voice is soft for the next few words. “Go, your highness.”

So you do.

You’re realizing, with an ache of such gentle appreciation, that the commander had danced you two until you were practically teetering on the massive veranda. Open to the garden; where every prim hedge, bush, and tree was gorgeously decorated until your eyes sparkled. 

Your breath bates…a choice. Head turning back to the luxuries of a royal ball that was none-the-wiser. 

Then, with a brief hug you bully Yaga into, you run - as much as the delicate heels digging into your feet would allow. Faster. 

If this was any other time, you might’ve felt disappointed at how you weren’t even stopping to admire the beauty of the moonlight-bathed garden. But right now, your heart was only pounding to go faster and faster. 

Nothing else mattered. 

Gojo was leaning on one pillar of the same white gazebo - and he was beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was a faerie of the night. 

Just a lone, tall silhouette that you could recognize so well; azure eyes twinkling, ivory strands of his hair shimmering with the silvery blue of the moon swimming amongst a dark sky. One he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of until he jolts his head towards the sharp snap! of a twig underneath your rapid feet.

“My…my princess.” He falls onto one knee. 

It all comes out in a whisper - as if Gojo had dreamed of this moment so many repeated times before and wasn’t sure if this was a dream, too.

“Satoru-!”

It wasn’t.

Gojo stands up to embrace you like it’d be the last time he ever would, like you were the one thing connecting him to this life and he was a dying man desperate to breathe. 

Strong arms winding around your waist, you’re pushed against one of the closed-off walls of the gazebo before you can even realize it. Arching off of the cool wooden surface and into his blistering heat. Into every ravenous, panted-out cloud of breath against your ear, “You came.”

He sounded pained. And you were sure you did just as much when you’re whimpering, “You disappeared.”

Gojo lets off a choked-up noise that could’ve been anything from affirmation to blatant shock. Half-lidded eyes boring deeply into yours, he shrugs off the jacket on his non-dominant arm to you with a low bow. 

“May I have this dance, my princess?”

You’re gasping at the sight of starchy white bandages around his other hand, fingers hesitantly falling into Gojo’s heated flesh. “S-Satoru, what happened ah-”

But he drifts you gently into a soundless dance, the distant crickets and swish! of lilac branches your only tune. 

And you never even understood just how much Gojo was a part of your life until he was moving through the exact same steps of waltzing that you’d learned growing up. The exact same once that you used to force him to sit through.

“I thought you were here because you read my letter.” Gojo mutters, lips so close now that they grazed the sensitive shell of your ear. 

You’re having trouble finding your voice, “What letter?” 

“The- the one that I left-” Just for you. His long lashes flutter open in shock, features contorted into something almost devastated. You wonder what made him feel this way. “-the one that I left in your chambers- about the- the prince, and the engagement and-”

“I got prepared for the ball in the dressing room today, I didn’t go to my room.” You’re continuing, voice small. Scared. “Satoru…you knew about the engagement?”

And Gojo’s voice told you everything you needed to know.

You feel your angry flare up hot and red, fists curling into Gojo’s delicate lapels. But that only proves to inch him even closer and make you sound much more breathless than you intended, “You knew about it and- and you didn’t even think to give me a hint that I was being carted off like a prize for some pompous asshat?”

He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, lips still so pink in the night, wobbling. “I…I couldn’t let you be married, I just couldn’t. I would give my life if it meant you get the freedom to choose who you wanted.” Your dance had stalled, and you almost feel disappointed. “But I’m a coward, and this-” Gojo throws his hands across, voice hitching, “-sneaking around, hiding, running away is the only way I could ever-”

“You should have told me. Not just in the letter.” You’re insisting, running your hands through your hair. Suddenly, something strikes you, “That arm- it’s because of Naoya, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, and that only spurs you on even more. “I-I could have talked to my father- maybe the council and we could have made it so that…”

“So that what?” Gojo’s voice hardens as much as it could with you, which wasn’t very much at all. His fists clench and unclench at his sides like it was taking everything in him to not just…“So that you can be the laughingstock of the kingdom when you marry a low-born knight?”

He was right. They would never accept him, no matter how much you did.

You’re rendered speechless, shivering at the way he rubs his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t want you- I need you.” And he was so beautiful like this, just centimeters away from you in the escape of the night. “I need you. I need you, I need you- I need you more than the sun above my head, and the air that I breathe, my princess. You have bewitched me, and I am yours. But you cannot be mine-”

You breathe out, “Satoru…”

“-and maybe in another life-”

“Maybe in this one.”

Soft hands rover their way onto the sides of your arms, and Gojo shakes you feebly as if to snap you out of this hypnosis and urge you to run. Eyes wide, yearning. “I have always been yours, body and soul.”

You always have wondered whether there was a method to shut Gojo Satoru up. And, right now, you think you may have found the perfect answer. 

Because his entire towering figure just melts into your touch the very second you press your lips onto Gojo’s plump ones. Soft. Velvety. 

His nostrils flare through a breathy sigh when you tilt your head mere sultry degrees to deepen the kiss. You were addicted to the honey-coated taste of him, the flat drag of his scratchy tastebuds rolling over your loosening maw. 

“Ngh- my princess…” He’s puncturing your kisses with kiss after sloppy kiss, heavy hands wrapping around your body to wrangle you flush against his hardened ones. And you could count every glissade of his washboard abs through that thin poet’s blouse, “I love you.”

You’re not sure if it’s a fragment of your imagination, or- it’s not. 

Gojo manhandles you - and himself - to sit on the opulent gazebo bench with you plopped into his manspread lap, without breaking the kiss for a split-second. Because it hurt to part from your pretty, candied lips, to let those slippery strings of saliva break in the clouded air between you two.

Even if it was to purr out—

“I love you I love you I love you-” The straight edges of his pearly white teeth sinking into your lower lip, groaning from the back of his throat. And your jittery legs shift needily on his warm, meaty thighs, “-I love you.”

“Satoru—” Just about the only thing that you can say right about now, your tone resounds in Gojo’s ears and makes him grunt. Your fingers tangle into his cushy locks, “T-touch me.”

He snickers, one hand clawing onto the crown of your sweat-dampened scalp and wrenching your face away until you’re huffing and puffing cutely for more. “Mmm, how about we use those princess-y manners of yours, hm?”

“Please-”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

“Harlot.” Gojo slides in a looong few digits past those impossibly endless skirts of yours, making your thighs dampen with treacly webs of needy slick. Letting those doughy fingerpads fringe over the covered mound of your pussy, just the very edges. “That was my f-first kiss, y’know?”

He had been hopelessly saving it for you, after all. 

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your weighted lids as soon as he teases you, mewling. “Was mine too, so we’re even-” Your hips shift in a lazy back n’ forth on top of his heated core, “-just- just want you to touch me.”

“I dunno…” Gojo drawls - drunken. And you feel the edges of his kiss-bitten lips warp around the very tip of your plummy tongue to suck on like his favorite gummy candy, “Wanna kiss my princess just a lil’ bit more.”

Panting, “K-kiss?”

“Mhm.” 

Your eyes shutter in a heady blink, oh-so-cutely ready to crash back into a filthy, filthy French kiss once more, Gojo pulls away-

A noise of disappointment fresh on your lips and just about to spill out, before he lifts you up easily with only a single beefy hand underneath your body. Splaying you out on the sprawling wooden table right beside you, your back hits the ice-cold surface and makes you gasp into the crisp night air.

The lecherous sound of it almost as loud as the sudden clack! of Gojo’s knees collapsing down onto the floor. Your face contorts into a wince because surely it sent a stinging pain up his legs?

“M’quite used to being on my knees for you, my princess.”

But he didn’t seem to care - didn’t even seem to notice when he was much more enamored with the heavenly sight down there.

“These lips-” He smears away your lacy layers upon layers, budging up to nuzzle the soft skin of your inner thighs. And shit- the filmy glaze over his eyes told you that Gojo doesn’t even realize the way his bubblegum pink tongue lolls out over the splotchy spatters of your juices. “-were tellin’ me they feel a little…left out.”

Your mouth waters with a syrupy lamination of saliva as soon as his murked breath strikes your cunt. And the drag of his rumbling bass is so delicious – you couldn’t help but imagine just how it would feel on you.

“Just- just get it on with it-” you’re hissing, fingers latching onto a few thick locks of ivory to drudge him ever-closer. 

“Impatient.”

As if Gojo himself wasn’t impatient. 

As if he wasn’t just leaking out thick wads of drool from the parted sides of his twisted grin at just the thought of tasting you. Sliding the pointed tip of his button nose languidly up the crevice of your puffed-up slit, he breathes you in and feels his cock twitch-

“Oh, princess.” Gojo can’t move, he can’t breathe if it wasn’t around your needy cunt right now. He’s ignoring those shooting bites of pain up the sides of his arm to tug on your useless garments.

Pulling- shit, he always did fucking hate how many layers you royalty had to wear. 

Pulling and pulling until the slow trawl of your undergarments by his nimble fingers wasn’t enough, and he just had to lunge his cottony head over to plummet his pearly whites into your panties and rip—!

A proper, gaping hole where your teary pussy was- and you looked even more gorgeous down there than he could’ve imagined.

Gojo’s face was blank, eyes wide and locked right at your geysering orifice like a man starved. For eons it felt like, until you were bucking up with pure need.

You’re humming in concern, struggling up onto your elbows to stare down at him. “Sa…Toru?”

And at your pretty voice, Gojo twitches. He gasps - full-bodied, like you’d just sent a zillion volts of shock down his sloped spine just by speaking to him. And he was well and fully intent on acting on it-

“Princess…princess princess princess—” Leaking from between his lips like he couldn’t stop, he hits the cute target of your cunt instantaneously with a fat thud of spittle, one. Two. Three, until your entrance was overflooding. He’s drawling the plummy end of his spit-glossed maw across your folds, “Oh, my princess. Just look at you.”

You feel his mess drool off the side of your plumpened pussylips and smear all across your peaked clit with only a simple touch of Gojo’s round-ended thumb. 

Just down-right filthy when he crashes forward to slot the curvaceous nub of his sweltering hot tongue over the brim of your hole. Drawing all over that snug orifice with slow patterns round n’ round-

“Toru–!” It’s the only thing you know at this point. “Toru.”

“Whaaat? Jealous, my princess?” The words clang in your head- and the realization hits you at the same moment Gojo’s thickly viscous swab of spit does on your own tongue. A soft nudge at your slackened chin urging you to swallow-

And he can’t waste a second, can’t spend even a mere moment away from his favorite spot between your legs. Because now that Gojo got a taste, he wants alllll of it.

Stumbling back down in haste to plant so many uncountable smooches on your bawling pussy folds. Skimming his tastebuds just along your quivering hole.

“Shit- shiiiit–” When you’d heard court ladies giggling about this, you didn’t think it would feel this good. Or maybe that’s just because it was Gojo stuffing himself impossibly deeper between your legs. “M-more, Toru–”

Your voice was cracking just as much as his fucking sanity was. 

Trilling out into frenzied shrills when Gojo swerves his eager thumb to pry open your gluey folds even further and give your fattened clit a flick!

You swear you feel Gojo depart his jaw with a giggle when your hips are bucking up pliably off the splintered table and into the bustling hot cavern of his mouth. More. “Easy there, your royal highness-”

“D-don’t call me that–” You’re whimpering, fingers tugging on Gojo’s bangs in some form of retaliation. But, of course it backfires on you just as soon as the force makes your knight moan.

“Wasn’t calling you that.” Gojo rolls his eyes, and your heart races in anticipation when the pointed edge of his chin strikes the drowned ends of your cunt. Lathering his pretty features in all the collective beads of slick raining fountaining out of you. His summer blue eyes flick downwards - and you can’t help but follow. “Was talking to her. Isn’t that right?”

Fuck.

You were fucked. 

And you were losing your mind when Gojo drags you roughly towards the edge of the table with only an ounce of his strength. Mouth making out greedily, heels digging into the fleshy mounds of his back, you can only sob and beg for more more more-

“S’fuckin’ chattier than my girl.” He’s nodding along with every saturated squelch after squelch! resonating in his eardrums - as if it was a full-on conversation with your noisy pussy. “Let’s hope that fiancé of yours doesn’t hah- f-fucking hear.”

But Gojo was acting like he wanted him to.

“Hope the- the king doesn’t find his princess bein’ eaten out by- ngh- a knight.” Barrelling long, slender inches of his index and pointer past your tight ring of mushy muscle. 

Your head throws back when he digs into the velvety depths of your pussy with just a single quirk-

“O-oh my god, Satoru–” You’re gasping in the flowery night air, tummy aching with every pump deeper because he was just so close to where you wanted him. “More- j-just a bit more.”

And yet, he acts like he doesn’t even hear you right now. 

Cupping over one massive palm over his ear and drifting ever-closer, “Wha’s that? C-can’t hear ya, girl- ngh ya gotta be- louder.”

Louder and louder he was getting with the vulgarly fast thrust graced upon your gummy walls. The sound only makes him giggle all drunk on you, “What’s that? Here? That turn you on? Hmmm…”

And just when you’re letting your vision blur with stars- just when you think it couldn’t get any better-

“Mmmm– wan’ another taste-” 

It’s the last thing your ringing ears hear before Gojo’s lurching forwards and burying his nose into your sensitive clit to give your overstuffed entrance a leeengthy lick. Right at the very split-second the globular edges of his digits scratch at that magical spot. 

“W-woah.” Your head snaps up blearily to steal a glimpse at what had Gojo Satoru’s voice so airy n’ cracking in awe. 

Only to see him fluttering his lathered lashes, the slick-gleaming apples of his cheeks blushing. Like some maiden in love. “Got even wetter f’me, your highness.” He’s breathing out, spitting out another voluminous cobweb of drivel and watching the way it sliiides across with the ribbons of slick pouring out of you. “Ohhhh, even b-better than any candy- better than a-any dessert.”  

You yelp when one rugged and grabs a rough handful of your ass and latches his lips even sloppier against your hole. “T-Toru your arm!”

“Oh? This?” He’s glancing down at the bandages as if he’d forgotten they were ever there. “S’nothing for your- hah- personal knight. Doesn’t even hurt, I’d- I’d rather die than let a stupid injury get in the way of what I’ve been dreaming of for aaaages.”

The dual points of pleasure make your toes curl, every part of your body shaking-

Gojo was out of control now. Crazed.

High-pitched bouts of giggles escaping him, muffling around where his candy-glazed cerise lips were latched around your clit and sucking. He makes sure to hold fatal eye contact while he hollows out his scorching cheeks and drags the fleshy nub. 

 “M-making out with your pussy- your pretty, pretty pussy, my princess.” Your heartbeat echoes in rapid staccato with the vicious thud! thud! thud! of his neatly crowned fingertips pecking your g-spot. Each of his puffed-out gruffs making your tongue loosen in a please, “Making you s-so loud, making you feel so good.”

And without even realizing it, he’s rovering the papping brims of his fingers to give your clit a spank. Letting the syrupy beads slide allll the way down his tongue - letting you watch. 

“S’all me.” Gojo slurs out. “Me- me me me me–” Steady rivulets of slick bubbling from the edges of his tongue when his sinful motions get faster. Harder. “Gonna ask who m-made you feel this way n’ it’s me. Your Satoru.”

More ravenous. 

Swirling around slow probes of his sensory tips, it glazes his skin all the way down to his knobbly wrist in a thick coat of sap. Memorizing every gooey ridge and crevice inside your tight channel - shit, Gojo feels his ruddied tip spurt out a jetstream of buttery pre in his pants. 

He thinks he might just burst in his pants if you don’t finish right this second. 

But luckily - or unluckily - for him, you do. Right this very second, after being wrung dry underneath only a few more lapping slashes of his ferocious tongue, tweaking your buttony clit until you cum.

And oh, you’re so pretty when you do.

Your head throwing back with a broken moan of Toru–! It takes every ounce of trained will in his drunken body to not break off from your gooey pussy and watch the way your beautiful face twists. 

Fucked out.

“O-oh, shit–” You’re practically sobbing at this point, wrist aching with just how hard you were pushing Gojo’s readily used face into your fluttering core. Your vision blurs with sparks n’ stars, “-H-how are you so good. Unfair, unfair—”

Babbling away such nonsense with that smart mouth of yours, Gojo thinks he sees utter heaven when your hot juices flood inside his mouth in generous heaps.

Lugging down an open palm underneath his chin to greedily collect the leaking beads that sprinkly in a shiny sheen off of his chin, he finds himself moaning. “Shhh, your knight’s here. Give it t’me– use me, my princess.”

And use him you were. 

Riding out each white-hot peak of your high with slobbering grinds all across Gojo’s beautiful features. Your clit catches on the poking ridges of his mouth and nose and you squeal- “Ngh- b-better when you’re shut up like th-this, Satoru–”

Just for that, he’s spanking your goopy pussy thoroughly. 

All the way until those shots of electricity down your bowed spine are nothing more but prickly tingles, all the way until your thundering ears calm down and you can hear each damp thwack!

All the way until your high has bated and yet, Gojo is still snogging each swollen fold of your pussy like a feast. “M’sensitive–” You sniffle, and he doesn’t even seem to hear you. “Fuh-fuck, Toru, keep doing that n’ m’not gonna let you ngh fuck me.” 

That’s what finally gets his attention. 

You can feel your lips burst with a slight giggle when all it takes is a quick nanosecond for Gojo’s plumpened mouth to jerk away from your cunt with the snap! of wiry slick.

Scrambling onto unsteady feet, he’s teetering over the edge of the wood ever-so-slightly. Muscular body casting a shadow on yours, and you think he’s never looked sexier.

Fawny strands of frosty white curtaining Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, thick thighs pressing against yours shivering; and even from your position homed towards the end of the table, your eyes catch sight of such a massively outlined bulge. 

Staggering. 

One that made your hands ghost down Gojo’s tensed abs, and he’s throwing his perspiration-dampened head with a whine. 

“Need you, Satoru–” You’re managing out, strangled and messy. You’re sure you sound just as yearning as you feel. Fingers tug-tug-tugging impatiently on his gauzy clothes, “Want- you- out of these-” 

And whatever the princess wants, the princess gets. 

It’s as if on command - Gojo’s shedding his billowy shirt like it burned him. And very, very soon were his snug pants to follow, your layers, his sanity-

“Hngh- please.” He’s gruffing out, flinching just as soon as you cup his cheeks to smear away the remaining traces of slick glimmering on top of his blushing skin. Your touch was electric. Tonality painfully hoarse, “Let me fuck you- wanted it for so long. Let me fuck you please.”

Your drenched pussylips stream out a damp spot right across where you could feel his inflated vein poke between your folds. And he felt so…long. “Yes- yes, please.”

Getting the princess to say please?

He’s nodding his head shakily - Gojo could pass out, he could cu- 

Oh, just a few taps of his mushroom tip on the outer edges of your pussy and he spots something creamy topping over your mound like icing. Sweat-slicked brows furrowing, Gojo nudges in even closer to where pooling splotches of cum pours from the strawberry pink divot right in the middle of his head.

He’s cumming and he couldn’t stop. 

Couldn’t do anything but whine at the tender bolts of bliss aching all the way from his toes to his fuzzy head.

“S-Satoru did you just-”

“Shut up.” Oh, you would have his head later for this. “Shut up- shut up and just…”

N’ so he curls a hand at his bulky base and draws out a thick swab at the torrents of seed decorating your cute cunt. Making sure the milky sap formulated a glossy cap on his crownhead, before pushing rigorously in-

“F-f-fuuuuck–” he keens out, a thin line of sweat trekking down the side of his temples. And if he pushed just an inch further, Gojo could feel his hooded eyes well up with fucking tears- “Tight so tight s-sooo hot- so…”

You’re mewling, “Deeper- c-c’mon.”

He was fucking you like he didn’t even realize it - like he was enchanted by each mindless rut pulled from the carnal depths of his hips. 

Two warm hands latch on in a vice-like grip on the delicious curve of your hips, and he’s holding your body still and pushing and pushing and pushing-

“Sh-shit!” Gojo’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end of his slew of swears, buttering up your insides in a muggy few ribbons of pre in response. “But s-so tight- dunno if it’ll even…even fit.”

He sounded hypnotized. 

“Are you- ngh! are you alright, Satoru?” You’re musing out, eyes glassy with a solid combination of lust and utter concern. Before you know it, your hand is reaching out to stroke the ba-dump–! thudding against his pecs.

“No.”

And it takes only the slightest graze of your doughy fingerpads against his flaming hot skin, the slightest touch from you before Gojo rudely swats your hand away and bottoms out-

You don’t even know what you were mad at- were you mad?

You really can’t even remember. Not when the crowned tip of Gojo’s incredible length was planting a sweet peck right into the sponged ends of your cervix, the entirety of his shaft spearheading you so deep that you think he might just be fucking into your lungs. 

So big that he didn’t even have to try to rub the puffy zig-zag of his veins along your sweetest spots, even the most minute gyrations made your toes curl. 

Splitting you apart. Stroking the weepy base of your slit with the hot, rounded sack of his breeder balls so right that it made you putty in his hands.

“Don’t t-touch me, my princess.” Gojo’s nuzzling his tear-stuck cheek against your own, you could feel the warble of his unsteady confessions. “Don’t touch me or I’ll…I’ll cum.”

And when has Gojo Satoru ever lied to you? Well, the upturned jolt of his split-ended tip right into the target of your mushy cervix told you that he wasn’t.

Gojo’s sinking down the edges of his teeth into his wobbly lower lip, he’s forcing his eyes to narrow down n’ obscure his crystal clear image of you to stop himself from cumming. 

“So beautiful, can’t help it–” His breath hitches once he’s pushing apart your trembly thighs and stretching them over the two ends of his broad shoulders. Your ankles pitching down onto the rippling plush of his toned deltoids. “So perfect.”

“S-sweet-talker.” You whisper, mouth as dry as the Sahara with how his thick circumference was stretching out your rubbery walls until they were seering. 

But if Gojo heard then he didn’t snap back - he was too pussydrunken to.

Moving on instinct, on that carnal twinge inside his brain that forced his powerful limbs to lock your ankles with one hand behind his head. To brace an engulfing palm right beside your head and lower himself down, down, down into a-

A mating press. 

Gojo Satoru had you in a fucking mating press.

“So mine.”

And he was pounding all his aching inches into you like it would be the last time. Like he was mazing through your adhesive-like walls and plummeting the leaky end of his cock to knock against your very womb. 

Gojo’s nose crinkles at the sheer warmth you were coating him in, dripping fresh slathers of slick in rings ‘round his hilt. He shivers as it drools down his tight balls, “I’m…I’m really fucking you- ngh! I’m fucking you, my princess.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Your mouth parts ajar, and you don’t know what it floods more with - your pathetic whines, or saliva. Coating a treacly river from each curl of your lips, “More. More, Toru.”

Oh.

You might have just broken him with that. 

Even through your fucked-out stupor, you’re gaping at the way that the hand beside your head curls into an unyielding fist. It has to.

Otherwise, Gojo’s plump cockhead would be sugarcoating your sloppy hole in much more than just copious amounts of sticky precum. He would’ve cum.

“M-more?” You hear from above you, your knight’s bulging pecs vibrating with the plea. Oh, was it a plea - strained, shaking. Gojo sounded as if he was two seconds away from simply bursting into crazed laughter, “More…more. My princess wants- fuck! More?”

Fat ends of his fingers lock around the sides of your cheeks and force you into such an unladylike pout. “Say it- say it, little royal.”

“Shit!” Your core arches up into his hardened one, just as Gojo knew it would when angling his hips juuust right to give your bulging g-spot a long, hard swipe. Your throbbing clit scratching against his pale happy trail. “Yes- ngh yes I want more. Want more, Satoru!”

More. 

And more was exactly what you were going to get. More than you could handle.

Your thighs ache with the struggle to stay open when Gojo tightens his lock around your ankles. Gruffing out a tight, “Take it then.”

He was so sexy, the swelling flex of his biceps enough to make your pussy drool and him slip n’ slide pliantly. Jackhammering away rugged pumps that you feel all the way in your leaden throat.

Your most favorite spots are so bruised that they’re almost tender, curling the base of your spine with tendrils of bliss that make you yelp.

“O-ohhh my god—” The side of his neck dampens as you’re leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the man pinning you down shiver. His sculpted abs twinging with every massage down your front, “Just like that, a-always wanted to fuck you, Toru–”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Gojo hiccups, the expression upon his features plain pained. Voice dipping into a whine, “Don’t know what y-you’re doing t’me.”

But now that you were babbling away, you couldn’t stop. Not even when he’s speeding up his vigorous cadence until the globes of your ass are left stinging, “M’serious– I always wanted-”

“Shut up shut up- shut up- my princess.” You don’t think that either of you were even lucid at this point, and every pap! of skin-on-skin is followed by the screeching creak of the table below you. Gojo rolls his eyes down at you fondly, “Gotta m-make you cum so you can shut up.”

Otherwise you were going to drive him wild until there’s no turning back.

Before you can let off a moan - or fervently agree - he thumbs over the perked hood of your clit. Drawing- circles? Hearts? No, his own name. 

A tedious little S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your gushing walls clench oh-so-tightly around his sweltering length. Tummy tightening into something so close to shattering. 

And Gojo was rough. Snickering at the way you whine, spilling out wadded volumes of spittle between your parted lips. He breathes, “Gonna make you cum- g-gonna make my princess cum.” You swear he nods down at your pussy and grins, “G-gotta be a good girl f’me, m’kay? Gonna be a good- girl- and…”

His hips slap sloppily against yours, overworked thumb stuttering on a swooping U over your sensitive nub. And the tension in the air pulls tight, tight, tight like the most delicate of strings, before crashing- “-cum.”

You don’t know who cums first - you or Gojo. 

All you know is that as soon as your mind explodes with bursts of bliss - his poor cock does, as well. 

Head toppling backwards, overfilled pussy slopping out waterfalls of sweet, sweet juices, it’s all you can do not to sob. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Your nails rake red, red lines all down his expansive back. Pulling him in even closer until all he can manage are dirty lil’ half-thrusts to pound you through your high. “M’cumming, Toru-”

“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s stuttering wetly, sloppily. Pushing the fat battering of his fountaining orifice into the groove of your g-spot over n’ over n’ over. You didn’t know how anything could feel so good. “N’ who made you cum, hm? Who’s f-fucking this pretty pussy, hm?”

“You-” You’re prattling, “You, Satoru.”

“Fuck.” Gojo gapes in wide-eyed craze, breath hitching when you lean over to drag your tongue over the sappy trickle of drool escaping his rose-red lips. “G-gonna make me cum again, swear-”

And he does.

“Can- can we hold hands while I hck! fuck you through your high, my princess?” He bats his lashes, a delicate blush taking over the tips of Gojo’s ears when you lace your fingers together. 

You can feel the splat! of even more heavy seed hitting the bottom of your pussy, swashing a warm second coating to your elastic walls every time Gojo thrusts. He was so solidly inside. Pinpointing specks of pure white with each swab. 

So full. So much of his voluminous ounces that it’s taken to tipping over from between your pussylips and forming a creamy puddle below you. You’re slipping all over it with every slither of Gojo’s cock.

But neither of you can even think to bring yourselves to be disgusted. To care for etiquette. 

Because Gojo drifts his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and his cum- and you find yourself aching for more all over again. 

“This looks…” Gojo starts, syllables scratchy and jagged. He’s practically whimpering - whimpering - at the sight of that lecherous cylindrical bulge being fucked into you. 

You’re dripping with him, and his cock twitches ferally at the thought of you all round and glowing. What a pretty mama you’d make. “...looks like the n-next heir to the throne will be a Gojo, my princess.”

Oh, you liked the thought of that.

And looking at Gojo Satoru now - eyes still not fully focused with how ruined he was, skin blushed the same maidenly shade of red that his slobbering mushroom tip was, pretty smile directed at you and only you in this lilac-scented haze - you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.

But, of course, Gojo would never want it any other way, either. Never. 

He clears his throat, sapphire gaze hardening; the intensity of it sending chills sprinting down your spine. Burning with a fervent I love you I love you I love you.

Massive hands intertwined with yours pull into your line of vision, and Gojo takes his dear time pressing a lingering peck onto each n’ every single one of your knuckles. But particularly on the one above your left ring finger.

This was it. 

“My princess…run away with me?”

.

.

.

“Didya hear ‘bout that Prince Naoya?”

“Oh yes- had his bride stolen away by a knight, I hear. Put a knife to his throat n’ took her away in the dead of night!”

“Hogwash! The boy was a looker, she went quite willingly, see- I always did think that Naoya wasn’t good ‘nough for our princess.”

“Wonder what happened after? That Zenin bunch was quite furious I hear, that bratty prince is still out for blood. But ol’ Naobito and some commander came to the rescue- Somethin’ about corruption and Jinichi…”

“Bah! Who cares about that? S’the biggest royal affair of the century- a handsome knight sweeping away the beloved princess? They’re swoonin’ n’ calling him the Knight of Roses already. All I wanna know is how the young couple is doing!”

Yaga rolls his eyes at other rambunctious customers churning gossip-mill, a pint clutched tightly in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. 

Honestly, he comes to the pub for once to escape from palace duties - and the palace duties seem to want to escape with him! 

And even after so many months since that engagement party fiasco? News really did trickle down slowly when royal scandals were so often covered.

Oh, whatever. He muses, thumb gliding over the glossy parchment- some new innovation from kingdoms beyond the sea, according to what the eagerly-accompanied writing had said. A…a photograph, you had called it.

And Gojo’s surprisingly intricate drawing of you fiddling with the ah- camera gave him an idea of the machinery, though- most of the sketches were of you. All of them, actually.

Yaga gazes on in slight wonderment at the perfect black and white depiction of your smile, rivalling the one of Gojo Satoru’s beside yours. Beaming, sleeves rolled up and fatigued with a day of hard work, so in love. 

It was oh-so-positively sweet.

The cherry on top? Well, Yaga couldn’t quite decide between the matching bands glinting on each of your left ring-fingers, the glimpse of a pretty lil’ cottage behind you two, and the massive bouquet of undoubtedly deep red roses Gojo was presenting you with.

Or perhaps it was the hand you were resting absent-mindedly on the obviously rounded curve of your tummy.

How fortunate, he tucks away the photograph into his coat with a smile and orders another pint. Knight of Roses, indeed. 

A/N. Yearning is my kink mhm. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

[storiesoflilies]

crimson reverie

synopsis: the gods had forbidden him from her, but they could not stop her from following the trail of pomegranate seeds that led her straight to him. w.c: 13k

pairing: hades!ryomen sukuna x persephone!f!reader.

warnings: trueform!sukuna. descriptions of bruising and choking (not the good kind). mentions of smut and greek mythology incest. sfw, but MDNI!

a/n: this piece was requested by the lovely @pinknipszz ! i want to thank my darling @neptuneblue for beta reading, and also to those who donated (@ficsforgaza) towards this fic!! you’re all very loved <3 (ao3)

it was spring, and everything was golden.

from the barley stalks swaying in the gentle breeze, their prickly feather heads tickling her as persephone ran her hands through them, to the light of helios’ sun as it made its way across the sky, to the dripping honeycomb offerings left for her at the edge of the fields from the local villagers.

life was golden, iridescent, and precious, and it was good.

birds chittered in the trees, and the smell of freshly churned soil and evening jasmine wafted through the air. it was the end of a hard day’s work for persephone, and though there was still much more to be done for the mortals that lived in this remote area, that was a task for tomorrow. for now, all she wanted was to do as she pleased.

and that was to wander through her meadows of narcissus flowers, bathe in freshwater pools of starlight, and feast on pomegranates while she rested beneath the trees that bore them. she would sleep underneath those very trees, with moonlight shining through the gaps in the leaves, tenderly kissing her brow. her meadow was her haven, on the edge of a deep, green forest, where only her playful little nymphs kept her company.

even now, persephone could hear the sweet moans of their lovemaking carried along the breeze, and she sighed in exasperation. she knew they would only reach out to her with sticky fingers and sparkling adoration, begging her to join them. they craved her so badly, yearning to offer her a different sort of ecstasy that nature could not, but persephone would not join them. she never would, for her mother demeter had forbidden her from ever corrupting her purity and from doing anything that might throw her virtue into question.

persephone was to remain a beautiful blossom that could only be gazed upon, but never ever touched.

and so, she avoided the shaded part of the meadow that met the outskirts of the forest, where the nymphs loved to congregate, and went to her favorite pomegranate tree where she would not be disturbed. persephone crouched down underneath her tree, stretching out like a feline catching the last warm rays of the day on its belly, saccharine and ostentatiously content. a light doze fell upon her quickly, her breaths coming out in light puffs, with the sounds of the birds twittering her a lullaby.

“dearest daughter, how lazy you are, napping at this hour when it is not even nightfall!”

her eyelids fluttered open as the golden light behind them turned black, the sunlight blocked by the overarching figure of her mother. with her rose-bloom shoulder, hulking figure intertwined with vines and branches, and a voice only audible through the mind, demeter inspired more fear in mortals than she should have. to them, she was a great and terrible protector of nature, and this greatly saddened persephone.

in her eyes, her dearest mother, known only to her as hanami, would always be beautiful and tender.

“i think it’s warranted after a hard days work, mother,” persephone yawned, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

hanami tilted her head in amusement, tiny red rose petals falling as she did so. “your humble work tires you greatly. your power has not grown as i expected it to in the time since i last visited you.”

persephone pursed her lips, avoiding direct eye contact with her mother, and replied with a stiff jaw, “it is has grown, mother. but there are many poor mortals living in these villages. hundreds of their fields need to be nurtured with my touch, otherwise they will not grow.”

she didn’t think her mother understood. demeter only cultivated the holy nature of the gods, the grand gardens of greek royalty, while persephone travelled far and wide across greece to ensure even the most remote places had a bountiful harvest. so that even the poorest of worshippers went about their lives content with full bellies and golden fields of barley. persephone knew that the other gods looked down on her, sometimes even hanami, thinking that all she would ever surmount to was a nymph tending to the flower beds of peasants.

her mother wanted to uphold that lowly picture of her beloved daughter, to avoid the attention of the other gods, and persephone accepted it. but if demeter didn’t understand that there was good, honest work to be done ensuring the welfare of lesser mortals, then persephone would still continue with the duty she had charged herself with regardless.

and so, she avoided her mother’s sharp gaze, lest she would see the spark of defiance in her eyes. a defiance for the confines of the cage that was her mothers love, and it seemed to be growing stronger with each passing day.

persephone felt demeter’s heavy hand on her head, its weight almost too rough as she stroked her affectionately. her mother’s chuckle reverberated through her head. “perhaps one day you will eventually be nearly as strong as i, my blossom, so you may continue to rest. i will not disturb your peace any longer.”

her defiance crumbled, and she felt guilty, because her mother did love her despite everything. “oh mother, you could never disturb my peace.”

a loud cry of ecstasy came from a distance, and hanami looked up, her lip curling in displeasure. “you’re too sweet, persephone. but rest well, and do not let the nymphs come anywhere near you tonight.”

persephone watched on as her mother called upon her nature, her fingers bending and beckoning the vines and narcissus as if they were long-lost lovers. within a moment, demeter was enveloped in a blanket of green and white, with only her face and neck visible.

“your father misses you, you know?” hanami murmured, almost fearfully. “he wishes to see you.”

her father zeus, satoru gojo as he was called by his brothers and sisters, was as unpredictable as the lightning he wielded with his bare hands. they were all at the mercy of his passing whims, something her mother knew well, as persephone was the product of one of his said whims. demeter tried to keep them both apart as much as possible, because she knew she could not keep satoru from having persephone if his attention settled on her for too long.

however, she also could not outright refuse the king of the gods either.

“then i shall see him,” persephone sighed. “i will go to olympus.”

“we shall go, my blossom. i would not let you face him alone. i will come for you in a fortnight, so be ready.”

and with that, demeter disappeared. persephone sighed loudly, slumping back onto the grass. although demeter held no ill will towards her brother, she understood that the gods were not like mortals, especially zeus, and did not bind or limit themselves to their marriage vows – much to hera’s rage for zeus’ many lovers. she had passed this sentiment on to her daughter many times, despite being an olympian herself.

“the gods of olympus are fickle, ever-changing, and that in itself is predictable. never stay in their company for too long.”

persephone never liked to visit olympus anyway. the gods were so very loud, ostentatious, and always bragging about the legendary achievements of themselves and their offspring. moreover, while her mothers love was endearing, it was also suffocating at the best of times. she knew demeter was always watching her every move with eagle eyes, daring any of the gods to try and come near her daughter.

save for artemis, her dearest maki, nobody else was allowed to say more than a few words to persephone.

she sighed dejectedly once more and turned over, plucking a particularly beautiful narcissus flower from beside her. with a long, slender stem, its orange center surrounded by snowy white petals, persephone admired its beauty as she leaned her back against the trunk of her pomegranate tree.

“mother will see sense one day,” she hummed, musingly, as she plucked a petal from the flower. “that i will become a goddess worthy of olympus, and do not need her protection.”

another petal plucked. “she won’t ever, and will hover over me for eternity.”

pluck!

“she will.”

pluck!

“she won’t.”

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

it was close to midnight, and persephone could not sleep.

she spent what seemed like an age staring up at the moon, committing all of its ridges and craters to memory. if she squinted hard enough, she could make out selene’s silver and pearl chariot pulling it across the sky, her pale white horses snorting and charging through the stars of the night. beside her, the nymphs softly sighed and turned in their sleep, their nimble legs and arms entangled with each other, embracing persephone in a comforting hug to try and lull her to sleep. but it hadn’t worked this time; there was too much on her mind.

it had been ten days since she last seen her mother, and persephone’s nerves were becoming more frayed by the minute. in her meager three centuries of living, demeter had never once been hesitant about her meeting zeus. something must have changed, but what exactly, she couldn’t guess.

persephone felt a flush of warmth, the nymphs’ heat suddenly becoming too much for her to bear, and gently unwound herself from their grasp. the fresh night caressed the bare skin of her arms in a cool kiss of relief as she tip-toed through the small gaps between the scattered nymphs.

she broke into a light run across the meadow, her bare feet softly thudding against the grass, and her white toga billowing behind her as she headed to the refuge of her pomegranate tree. the narcissus were squeezed shut, as if the light of the moon bitterly stung them if they looked at it. persephone giggled, and with a tender wave of her slender fingers, the flowers unfurled their delicate petals, and their little golden faces turned towards their goddess.

she had made a meadow of minuscule suns amidst the midnight blackness of the sky. it was a small miracle, something that she could witness and cherish alone. persephone almost wanted to weep with joy, because she couldn’t remember the last time she used her own power to bring herself happiness. a particularly beautiful flower called to something deep inside her soul, and she couldn’t help but reach over and pluck it from the ground. she tenderly cradled it in her palm, cooing and whispering sweet nothings to it as she spied another gorgeous bloom, and plucked it too.

and another.

and another two beside it.

she picked and picked until a whole armful was practically overflowing from her arms, somehow weaving themselves into a delicate long dress that trailed behind her as she walked back to her tree. persephone laughed, carefree and as light as birds feathers, wrapping her indulgence around her like silk. tonight, she would sleep on a bed of flowers, and nobody could say anything to stop her.

the flowers dropped to the ground at the foot of the tree, as if a magic gust of wind had told them to arrange themselves into the perfect blanket for persephone to lay on. she dropped to her knees and laid out, rubbing the apples of her cheeks against the petals.

that was when she saw him.

he stood there, his looming figure visible from this distance, and his eyes.

oh, his eyes.

four of them there were. she didn’t need to strain to see them; they glowed iridescently, shimmering like blood-red rubies that reminded her of a deep bowl of pomegranate seeds. a promise of a messy feast, dripping messily from her chin onto her hands, coating them in red, red, red.

persephone instinctively sat up, her body going rigid, as if the very essence of her life had left her. the stranger stalked towards her, and in the light of selene, his form became clearly visible. he was a god, that much was clear, for his large body was adorned with the black markings of death, seeming to swirl and move by a trick of the moonlight. he had two pairs of arms, one of which carried an obsidian bident that whispered of violence and horror.

this was undeniably hades, the god of the underworld himself.

persephone knew who he was because hermes had told her stories of his frequent descents to the underworld, whenever her mother wasn’t around, of course. of how hades sat atop a throne of black diamonds, with the viscous cerberus at his feet, unfeeling and unforgiving as hermes guided both the lucky and unlucky souls to wherever hades had judged them to go.

why was he here? hades was known to reside in his halls of blood and bones, and never left it. the last time he had even been to olympus was sometime before she was born. he stood before her now, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. his lower pair of eyes were flicking back and forth between different parts of her, as if sizing her up. she stared up into his eyes, her heart hammering against her ribcage like a trapped bird.

“do not look at me that way,” the god rumbled, his voice carrying something ancient, as old as the depths of the earth. he was carved from war, a god who had struck down titans, and it was obvious.

persephone’s heart skipped a beat, and she clenched her fist, accidentally crushing a poor narcissus. “in what way?”

“as if i was about to strike you down this instant,” hades replied, his tone resonating with chilling authority.

her eyes flicked pointedly to his bident. “why else are you here then, lord hades?”

hades glowered at her, seemingly displeased, and tightly gripped his bident before throwing it a distance away, never taking his eyes off of her. “better?” he asked sneeringly, a slither of fire, and squatted down right in front of her.

she could only nod her head, his proximity alarming and unnerving her. despite him lowering himself, hades still looked down on her, looming over persephone with the promise of death.

“so,” he started, his tongue swiping over his lips. “you’re my brother’s elusive daughter.” persephone gaped, shocked he even knew of her existence, and hades chuckled darkly. “hermes likes to talk, especially to me.”

he grinned, a hint, no promise of madness, like knowing the grass would be kissed by water droplets overnight. she knew she had to tread carefully as she stared into his eyes, and accepting that she may not survive this night completely unscathed. hades adjusted himself into a sitting position, his powerful legs crossed over each other, his movements causing persephone to flinch. he rolled his eyes, displeasure flashing in them again.

“i must say, you look nothing like satoru,” he continued, his bottom eyes still observing her so very closely. “definitely not like my sister either.”

persephone asked, perhaps foolishly, naively, “does that please you?”

with a flash of crimson and jasmine-scented air, heat rose to her cheeks. she placed her hands delicately on her lap, as if behaving more placidly and curling in on herself would save her from him. hades tilted his head amusingly at her, pink-peach curls rolling to the side.

he knew she was inexperienced, clearly reveled in it, soaking himself in it, dipping his fingers in and licking them clean.

persephone hated it.

and unexpectedly, she hated her mother for making her so inexperienced, for sheltering her, and pruning her so that she was always prim and proper.

his crimson eyes flashed mirthfully, lips curling upwards. “you care what pleases me, little flower?”

hades’ words only added to her inner turmoil of embarrassment, and she refused to allow him even a glimpse of her vulnerability. so, persephone maintained a somewhat composed exterior, refusing to answer, and a fragile silence enveloped them, save for the hum of crickets in the bushes. hades turned his attention elsewhere, supporting his chin with one of his hands, seemingly gracing her the dignity of not responding to his taunt.

“a goddess should not be fraternizing so closely with mortals,” he said suddenly, a sour look on his features. “especially a daughter of zeus.”

“i do not mix with them,” persephone corrected gently. “it is my duty to help their grains grow.”

hades scoffed, white fangs flashing in the silver moonlight, and one of his smaller eyes fixed solely on her. “your duty, or the one placed upon you by demeter? you should know, mortals do not deserve the power of a goddess.”

persephone didn’t know what to make of the god of the dead. here he was, never having met her before, yet referred to her as a goddess, as if she belonged on olympus drinking ambrosia with the rest of her family. she felt somewhat honored, acknowledged, that hades seemed to be able to see her meager power for what it was worth.

“why do you think they are so undeserving?” persephone asked rather curiously. “they worship the very ground we walk on, pray to us, and turn to us in times of need. have they not earned our help?”

"sweet little flower, they would defile and hurt you the very first chance they got. mortals are ugly, infesting creatures that care for nothing except themselves. they serve only as a means to an end for my kingdom."

the grass underneath hades suddenly wilted, as if he had let his power run free for just a moment. something seemed to have snapped in him, something dark. for whatever reason, he seemed to loathe the very souls that inhabited his kingdom. perhaps he had judged them for far too long, had heard and seen all they had done in their short little lives, and deemed the lot of them unworthy of anything good at all.

and still, hades would carry out his duty and pass judgment, allowing the very same mortals who shirked and shunned his name to avoid his attention to pass onto a happier afterlife if they so deserved it. she couldn’t imagine how spiteful she would grow to be if the villagers trampled on the barley she grew for them.

despite her initial apprehension, it made her heart ache for him.

it was pure instinct, but persephone reach out and placed a narcissus right next to one of his hands.

all of his four crimson eyes were fixed on her, and she felt another flush of heat wash over her body. how strange, she imagined being close to death would be like ice, cold and empty, instead of fire and the rushing of her godly blood through her veins and arteries.

“you are a strange one,” hades murmured, pinching the stem between his fingers, sniffing the bloom almost suspiciously with his nose upturned. “tell me your name.”

“hermes did not tell you?”

“he is a trickster, and speaks in riddles. he would not give your name to me willingly.”

“then it is persephone, but my mother calls me kore.”

“and what do you prefer to be known as, little flower?”

she hesitated for a moment. “persephone.”

hades repeated her name, tasting it on his tongue and between his teeth, in the same way she savored a gem of pomegranate seed.

was it sweet to him?

something told her that it was.

the ghost of a smile played on his lips, something old and perhaps long since forgotten until this moment. hades stood up, brushing the dead blades of grass from his toga. “well, persephone, i must leave you. i cannot be away from my kingdom for too long.”

she understood that. the underworld was his home the way the fields of golden barley was hers. but why hades had even come to the surface, persephone didn't understand, and perhaps never would. "farewell, hades."

"ryomen," he correct, almost insistently, one pair of his arms folded over his broad chest in a display of strength. or was it vulnerability? perhaps protecting his heart from that which would seek to harm it? “you may call me ryomen."

with that, the earth beneath his feet cracked and split open, and a deafening rumbling reverberated through her eardrums as she clapped her hands to cover her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. when she opened them again, the god of the dead had all but disappeared.

persephone could not help but feel a touch of disappointment.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

demeter was enraged.

it had only taken a single whiff for her to mother to know. she could sense the unmistakable aura of her brother, the essence of death clinging to persephone like a shroud. it was a like a smell that permeated every crevice of her body, one that no amount of scrubbing or soaking could wash away.

"how dare he approach you?" demeter seethed, gripping persephone's face so tightly she thought her bones would crack. "did you encourage him? have the nymphs corrupted you? did you lay with him?”

"n-no, mother," persephone sputtered, struggling against demeter’s hold, her feet wriggling as they dangled uselessly in the air. "i would never do so."

demeter's wrath was rare but quick to build, like dried kindling catching fire, "you lie," she sneered, teeth bared in a snarl as she shook her. "you must have done something to entice him to approach you."

“ah! no, hanami!” she cried, milky-white tears falling like shining pearls from her eyes. “i never encouraged him once!”

her mother scoffed cruelly and dropped her to the ground in an ungraceful heap, pacing erratically back and forth as she muttered to herself, “zeus will hear of this! oh yes, he must be told at once.”

persephone painfully rubbed her cheekbones, feeling a dull ache spreading throughout her face. the trees of the forest were screaming bloody murder whirled madly in a chaotic dance, the very essence of nature responding to her mother’s rage. vine tendrils lashed angrily like whips of fire, and persephone flinched to avoid being struck. she had seen this sort of anger before, always directed at foolish mortals who dared to lay a finger against nature.

but never her. never once had it been against her.

it shifted something within her, and persephone knew it would never go back to where it belonged. she had done everything her mother asked her whole life, been obedient, never complaining as she followed her rules and carried out her duties. as the tendrils of resentment tightened around her like poison, persephone was beginning to understand one thing.

nothing would ever be enough to please demeter.

(somewhere in her meadow, a narcissus petal fell, and the god of the dead stirred in his throne.)

eventually, demeter’s rage calmed, like a hurricane settling into a somewhat pleasant sea breeze. she looked at persephone, who hoped to sense some semblance of remorse or even sheepishness for what her mother had just done. yet, there was nothing – only the remnants of simmering anger, now settled enough for demeter to think clearly.

“forgive me,” demeter murmured, placing a stiff hand upon her head. “you are still young, and i must protect you from the gods. they would only seek to corrupt you, especially hades.”

and what about you? what about zeus?

but persephone said nothing except, “there is nothing to forgive,” the sting of a lie thickening her voice. “i understand.”

even though she most certainly did not understand, for hanami should know better than anyone that persephone was good and pure, and would never actively encourage any of the gods of olympus – or underworld , for that matter – from pursuing her.

she should have known.

and so her apology meant nothing, for it was obviously false.

the fire in persephone’s godly blood was igniting into something foreign, something full of fury, something maybe even ugly, but she didn’t care. not anymore.

demeter knelt down in front of her daughter, pinching her chin and placing a kiss on her brow. “fret not, kore. i will speak with zeus tomorrow when we visit him. let us deal with hades.”

a flash of fear made persephone’s bones tremble at the thought. she very much doubted the power of nature would stand a chance against the underworld and all the death in it, against hades himself.

against ryomen.

with a gust of wind and falling rose petals, demeter vanished into the forest in a purposeful flurry of energy, leaving the shattered pieces of herself for persephone to pick up and put back together. the nymphs peeked out their frightened faces from behind the bushes they had hidden in, taking in persephone’s crumpled figure with a mixture of apprehension and pity. they had been the initial target of demeter’s wrath, for they had failed to keep an eye on their goddess and call for demeter when she was needed.

a mistake they would not be repeating again.

she felt the dark vines of her cage tighten, closing in on her more, and persephone knew it would be rare for her to get any sort of alone time from this moment onwards.

“come,” persephone whimpered, barely above a whisper. “i must tend to the fields.”

she collected herself from the ground, dusting the dirt from herself, and began her familiar walk to the barley fields, with the nymphs trailing not too far behind. the birds were whistling stories of things that had happened in the night, and the bees were flitting about in between the honeysuckle flowers. persephone wished she was one of them; drinking in nothing but sugary sweetness all day, and still being known for her sting.

the mortals kept away from persephone as she worked. they were grateful people, gifting her with more honeycomb and burning incense in her name. she could smell it in the air, a smoky mystery; powerful and deep. her thoughts trailed back to ryomen, and what he had said about the mortals. persephone didn't believe these men would hurt her, but what if they did?

what sort of punishment would defiling a goddess warrant in death? what sort of things would hades do to them if they even so much as touched her?

would he mercilessly set his vicious cerberus on to them, or would he do it himself? relentlessly rip them apart until they were only ribbons of flesh, and suck their blood from his fingers with a grin on his face, only to put them back together and do it all over again.

persephone almost didn’t want to know.

and yet, she did. with a sick and twisted fascination that was a small seedling sprouting inside her.

when the sun almost touched the horizon, persephone wiped her brow and halted the flow of her power into the fields. she was done for the day, bone-weary both emotionally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to be cleansed and taken care of by her nymphs. they were waiting for her at the edge of the fields, still sheltered by the border of the forest. their faces brightened every so slightly at the sight of her, then dipped upon seeing her weariness and sadness. persephone could only manage a half-hearted smile before silently making the trek to the bathing pool.

upon seeing the pool, the nymphs rushed to it, unable to contain their glee. some remained by persephone’s side, gently helping to remove her clothes, and slowly setting her down into the pool. they cupped water between their palms and let it trickle down her hair and ridges of her spine, and cooed and praised her beauty as they washed her.

persephone was only half-listening to them, completely ignoring their gentle kisses to her hair and hands, as white noise gradually became all she could hear. she wanted to drown in white, she thought, as she felt more of her milky tears slip from her eyes. would they fill the pool until it was a deep lake? she imagined she would fall back into it, her vision filled with white as she sank to the bottom lined with blood-red poppies, and demeter would scream and wail as she tried to find her.

an acute silence suddenly snapped persephone out of her escapism.

the birds had stopped twittering, and the nymphs were as still as deer in the face of a hunter. the only movement was the water ripples moving to the edge of the pool as they slowly settled and the water stilled. persephone felt a tingle, her hair raising at the back of her neck. she turned her head over her shoulder, sensing an intruder amongst them.

and there stood hades, doning the same dark toga as before, his dark pupils dilated and blown as he locked eyes with her.

the nymphs squealed and hissed at him, flocking around persephone, gripping and covering her protectively, their nails almost scratching her skin. hades looked down at them, his nose turned up as he ordered darkly, “leave us.”

“no, you are the one who must leave,” one of the nymphs snapped bravely, yet foolishly. “we will call for our goddess, and she will drive you away.”

the earth rumbled loudly, ominously angry, and the nymphs cried out in fear, clinging to persephone. “is that so?” hades smirked before it fell abruptly, and he snarled. “out of respect for persephone, i will not kill you for your insolence. leave us, now.”

his last words were like molten fire, an echo of an ancient power rolling over hills and mountains, the grass and flowers wilting and dying as death touched and halted right before persephone. she gasped as she felt its warmth tenderly caress her face, sliding along her jawline and down to her neck, brushing over her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

the nymphs did not receive such gentle touches of hades’ power, it seemed, as they scrambled away from her, splashing and screaming bloody murder. persephone simply observed their fear, feeling a sort of detachment and almost indifference wash over her.

she knew it was only a matter of time before her mother arrived.

“you’re hurt,” hades remarked, but not unkindly, stepping over fallen tree logs as he made his way closer to her.

she said nothing, remaining perfectly still, hoping the water was deep enough to protect her modesty below, and tightening her arms around herself. he kneeled in front of her, his breath wafting over her damp face. some part of her was still dissociated, her soul drifting above them, looking down, and persephone wasn’t sure if it was because she was frightened or simply not afraid at all.

hades seemed to hesitate for just a moment, and then his fingers were cupping her jaw, gently moving her to each side as he observed the blooming shadows of bruises on her cheeks.

“demeter,” he stated lowly, and it was most certainly not a question, but persephone nodded nonetheless, a snowdrop tear running down her cheek and onto his hand.

crimson anger flashed in all of his eyes, and his jaw tightened and clicked, a sliver of his teeth visible between his lips. her stomach lurched as hades licked her tear from the back of his hand, and he closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste of her on his tongue.

“i must go to olympus tomorrow,” she blurted out suddenly.

hades cracked a single eye open, and it narrowed suspiciously. “what for?”

“zeus wishes to see me. my mother says he misses me,” she replied, moving away from his touch on her jaw and looking down to the side. “and i do not know what it is, but something is… different.”

he sighed deeply, and she gazed back into his eyes as he gripped her chin. “zeus has waited patiently for all this time, but demeter can no longer keep him at bay. he will have his way with you, and soon. he most likely wishes to see you to try and seduce you into his bed.”

persephone felt her heart drop as hades all but confirmed her worst fears. she had some sort of inkling that this would happen eventually, and guessed that her mother had been shielding her from zeus and his urges. however, some naive and childish part of her had hoped that he would remain as her father and cherish her as his daughter forever. her breathing becoming erratic, and her body started to shake as the trees around her started to rustle loudly, heralding the imminent arrival of demeter. hades hushed her softly, cradling both sides of her face now.

“what if i could stop this? ryomen whispered, with a tenderness she didn’t think the god of the dead could ever have possessed, as the tip of his nose touched hers.

persephone blinked rapidly as the wind stung her eyes, utterly perplexed. “you cannot stand against zeus.”

he laughed at this, throwing his head back as if it were the funniest thing in the world. “oh, how you doubt me so, little flower.”

“i don’t understand. what can you do or say against the word of satoru? he is our – your – king?”

“only understand that i am owed, little flower. for fighting with against the titans many centuries ago and faithfully serving my duty in the underworld for all this time. i am owed, and zeus knows this well.”

his thumb stroked her left cheek, and persephone instinctively leaned into his touch. the wind howled louder, and the trees seemed to be screaming at them to tear themselves from each other and run, run, run.

“you are stronger than you know, persephone,” hades murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, as if they were already lovers who had been together for many years. she heard a great thudding noise, like the footsteps of a giant running, and he gripped her a touch tighter. “light that spark again in your eyes, and say you will fight.”

“hades.”

demeter was very close. their time was running out, and persephone instinctively grabbed his hands holding her face. her soul seemed to snap back into place, and her eyes widened as fear seized her. “ryomen,” she gasped, urgency lacing her words. “you must go.”

“not until you say you will fight,” he repeated, steady as a boulder against her trying to push him away, not even budging an inch. “i will save you, but you must give me your word that you will fight until i can reach you.”

“sukuna! how dare you lay your hands upon my daughter?!”

her mother’s voice was like a thousand thundering horses, their hooves smashing into the earth with all the force they could muster. persephone screamed as the trees rocked back and forth, their roots ripping free from the ground and poised to strike hades. as fast as a snake, hades grabbed a root that was a second away from slashing them both, wrenching it in two and hurling it far away. he snarled defiantly as he turned his back to her, glaring into the forest.

“i promise!” persephone exclaimed as her demeter’s figure came into view from the forest, barreling towards them. “ryomen, i promise! please, you must leave.”

hades turned to look at her, with a mad grin and gleaming teeth, as his crimson eyes flashed brightly. with a great swing of his arms, his power came crashing into demeter, sending her flying back deep into the forest. there was an explosion of shadow, only inky blackness seeping into persephone’s eyes and bones, flooding her head with dark whispers and promises.

promises of the dead.

and the dead were known to keep them.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

persephone felt as if she were approaching her death sentence.

the grand halls of olympus were no less than resplendent, with tall white marble columns and lavish golden decorations. the very air was alive with the energy of the gods that dwelled there, and their laughter and music always echoed throughout the pantheon. this place had once felt like home, its splendor familiar and warm, but now it only felt oppressive, like a cage who’s cold bars she had only just registered.

persephone could finally see it for all of its faults and how deep its rotten ugliness actually ran beneath the surface.

she felt her soul detach once again, keeping her numb to everything around her. perhaps it was a defense mechanism, to perhaps keep her fear at bay, or to shield her from feeling too much all at once.

either way, it was a blessing.

demeter was in an uncharacteristically somber mood. persephone had found her mother completely unconscious after hades had used his power against her. when she woke, all her anger had been replaced by a slumped and defeated sort of exhaustion. demeter had spent the night with her, placed beautiful blooms in her hair that morning, and helped her dress to travel to olympus, all the while not saying more than a handful of words.

it seemed as if the goddess of nature had been drained of all life, her petals falling faster, leaving a trail of red behind her, like blood.

it unnerved persephone, who was no longer sure how to act around her mother.

as they entered the dining hall, persephone was first greeted by the sight of a long table draped in white silk and laden with a feast of various meats and salads. the golden goblets of the gods sparkled in the warm, soft afternoon light, no doubt filled with ambrosia and sweet nectar.

and there was zeus, seated at the head of the table, his legs and arms spread comfortably, exuding both carefreeness and power. so assured was he in his authority, absolute as the king of the gods.

“welcome, my daughter!” zeus announced, his booming voice echoing like thunder, his cerulean eyes twinkling with mirth and lightning. “come and join us; we have missed you greatly.”

there was once a time, not so long ago really, that she would have been moved by her father’s words, believing that he truly missed her and loved to spend time with her. but now it was tainted, and all she could think of were hades’ words from last night, and her perfect image of zeus was forevermore ruined.

the olympians were in full attendance, their gazes resting on persephone and demeter, before they all raised their goblets in acknowledgment, then resuming their conversations and merriment. she spied a seat next to artemis and tried to rush over to it as inconspicuously as she could, leaving her mother to take her seat elsewhere.

“persephone!” artemis exclaimed happily, her fierce eyes glinting like the shiny, rich wood of her hunting bow. “it has been too long.”

persephone smiled, feeling a slight weight lift off her shoulders, and embraced her earnestly. “it has, my beautiful huntress.”

maki pulled back, tenderly stroking her cheek before frowning. “you were hurt,” she noted, gently prodding over the places where her bruises had been. “right here, and here.”

she sighed, hoping that artemis would not have noticed at all, for her bruising was all but gone overnight. “fret not, it is healed now.”

“was it a man? a god? tell me who did this, and i shall hunt them down,” artemis vowed, her untamed ferocity blazing forth.

“be at peace, sister,” urged the light voice of apollo, his golden hair rich and radiating with the energy of the sun. “it was neither a god nor a man.”

maki turned to glower at her brother beside her. “then who was it, nanami? do not keep it from me.”

apollo leaned forward in his seat, peering at persephone expectantly with honey-brown eyes. “do you wish me to say? helios has already told me all he has seen.”

persephone hesitated. would it really be wise to expose her mother’s abuse to maki? she shook her head, deciding that it would only escalate the tension with demeter. artemis growled and said no more. she abruptly stood up and stalked off somewhere, her hunting bow in tow, and apollo slid into his sister’s unoccupied seat.

“pay no attention to my sister, kore,” he hummed, strumming his lyre absentmindedly, his voice a beautiful sing-song melody. “would you like me to play you a song? i have thought of something especially for you.”

“since when did you need to ask for permission to play your music, apollo?” persephone asked, reaching out and sipping on a goblet of ambrosia, hyper-aware that demeter had not interrupted them already.

“since i am in the presence of a beautiful blossom such as yourself, i cannot help but seek your approval,” apollo purred, an easy, saccharine grin on his face, and heat rose to the back of her neck.

there was a loud thumping noise across the table, and they both turned to look at hermes, still appearing as an adolescent boy, banging his fists against the table as he gulped down the contents of his goblet.

“now, now, apollo! you are not to pursue persephone. she is promised to another,” he chided, childishly indulging in his own proclaimed self-importance.

apollo raised a brow. “is that so, ui ui? tell me more of this suitor, for helios has seen nothing. he must be possess a certain prowess to avoid the all-seeing sun.”

hermes giggled, his quicksilver tongue mischievously sharp as his gaze knowingly pierced her. “oh, that he does, and he may be among us already, or perhaps not. what say you, persephone?”

she glowered at the young god, saying nothing as he taunted her, and drank more ambrosia. apollo grumbled, plucking the strings of his lyre to play a somewhat fast-paced tune. “ever evasive, hermes. one day, the sun will burn you as you fly.”

hermes cackled, red wine messily dripping down his chin. “i would like to see you try.”

persephone’s mind strayed as the two gods engaged in playful banter, and she further dissociated from her body, merely a spectator in the midst of her family. she could still feel the linger touches of hades’ shadows, promising her that he would come for her. a knot formed in her stomach, both from apprehension and anticipation, as she wondered how the god of the dead intended to keep his word.

she looked up at all the olympians sat at the table, observing them indulging in their feast and flowing ambrosia and wine. apollo and hermes were now playing their music together, their voices harmonizing as they sang about the stars and sun. zeus was heartily clapping along to them, his wife hera watching him with eagle eyes, wearing a bemused smile at her husband’s antics. poseidon sat at zeus’ left, his long silky black hair flowing like a river down his back, his gold trident leaning ominously against his chair.

ares was there, his emerald orbs shining as he gnawed on a meaty rib, his handsome face and raven hair speckled with blood, no doubt having just returned from the heat of battle. all the while, aphrodite was a vision of grace, her long golden hair tumbling perfectly over her exposed back, swaying sensually to the music. persephone dared to steal a glance at demeter, who sat beside hera, wearing a slightly sour expression as she watched the performance.

all these gods have gathered here, feasting and drinking without any care, without any consequences. what is the point of it all?

“are you well, kore?” athena asked softly, pulling persephone from her thoughts. her lavender eyes gazed at her with gentle concern behind a veil of her white hair.

she managed a faint smile. “of course, than-”

“loveliest kore,” an all-consuming voice interjected, and persephone felt two large hands covering her ears as zeus placed a great big kiss on her head. “it has been too long since we have spoken. come, walk with me.”

persephone’s heart pounded, her body instinctively reacting fearfully, but she nodded and rose from her seat. she glanced at her mother, and could sense her concern and growing despair emanating. hera’s gaze bore into her with mixture of suspicion and barely concealed jealousy, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

hera’s punishment for laying with zeus would be almost as horrifying as the actual deed itself.

“excuse us, shoko, my love,” zeus mumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of his wife’s hand, and then urging persephone on with a hand to her lower back.

he led her to a secluded balcony, the music and laughter of the dining hall fading into a faint noise. night had fallen, and it was pleasantly cool. the view of the mortal cities below seemed like a dream, for they appeared so small and far away that they couldn’t be real. persephone shivered as zeus’ broad arm brushed hers, lingering for a moment too long, as he leaned over the balcony.

“you have grown into a remarkable goddess, kore,” he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically low and husky. “i have missed you here on olympus, and i told demeter that you must spend more time here.”

persephone’s discomfort was growing, but she steeled herself, and remained composed. “i’m sorry, father. i should have visited more, but my duties are rather demanding.”

zeus’ eyes darkened just a touch, his snowy hair reflecting starlight, as he moved just a touch closer to her. “your place is here, with your family. with me.”

she felt the full weight of his words and implications bore down on her, causing a sickening sensation in her core. the torches lining the balcony flickered, casting dancing shadows with a nervous energy. she remembered her promise to ryomen, to stand her ground, and so persephone gritted her teeth, steeling herself for what might come next.

zeus reached out and gripped her hand, his thumb rubbing circles. “look at me, kore,” he ordered lowly, squeezing her hand in an attempt to force her attention. “it’s only me, your satoru.”

“i don’t want to,” she whispered, her lip quivering as her body betrayed her, behaving fearful despite feeling almost nothing inside.

“no?” he tilted his head, his expression predatory.

the torches suddenly dimmed, casting the balcony into near inky blackness, save for the light of the moon and stars. the shadows loomed large, a dark mist collecting just a foot away from zeus, who moved into a more protective stance in front of persephone.

a flash of four crimson eyes gleamed between the shadows.

teeth bared in a display of madness and the sort of bravery that only the dead could possess.

“hades,” zeus greeted, his expression morphing into a forced veneer of pleasantness. “how unexpected! what brings you to olympus?”

“brother, i believe we need to have a word,” hades returned, his voice deep and resonating with the power of the earth, cutting straight through the night like an assassins blade.

a blood-red eye locked on persephone, slowly blinking at her as if trying to communicate without speaking. she tried not to show any emotion, even though her very soul was shaking with relief, gradually sinking back into her body as if the god of the dead had decreed that it must return to her.

ryomen is here. he’s here.

zeus’ hand fully slipped from hers as he crossed his arms over his chest. the tension between the two gods crackled, and persephone felt the familiar hum of her father’s power radiating through the air. and still, hades showed not an ounce of fear. his dark essence emanated in rhythmic waves, pushing back against the electric sparks.

“demeter has already asked me to keep you away from kore. are you really ready to challenge me for her, sukuna?” zeus dared, his jaw clenched.

hades’ lips curled into a sly smile. “no, but i do propose a conversation to settle this little… issue.”

the universe seemed to hold its breath for a fleeting moment. then, with a begrudging nod, zeus conceded, motioning for hades to approach. persephone bit her lip, feeling that familiar rush of blood through her veins as the god of the dead stood beside her, as if staking his claim, one of his hands dangerously close to hers. her father pursed his lips disapprovingly.

“well, what do you wish to discuss?” zeus all but growled, his tempestuous nature rapidly wearing down his patience.

hades breathed out, slow and steady. “persephone belongs with me, and i her. long ago, you asked me what i wanted for fighting with you against our father, and i wanted for nothing. and now, brother, still i am owed, and i have come to claim what i want, and it is her.”

persephone’s heart stuttered, and a swarm of butterflies flew in circles in her belly. his words had awakened something deep, something she dared not name just yet. ryomen’s eyes flicked over to her, his features softening just a touch, as if sensing her inner turmoil.

“you dare try to claim her when our sister has forbidden her from you? while she is still under my protection as my daughter?”

“i did not come here as your supplicant, zeus, but as your brother. i will only ask you once for this favor.”

“kore is a goddess of life and growth, and you would only subject her to death and decay. why should i allow you to have her?”

“because i refuse to let her be trapped any longer between you and demeter. she deserves more than that, and far more than either of you could ever give her.”

suddenly, demeter burst through to the balcony, her breathing frantic. “zeus! do not let him take her, brother! please!” she cried, her knees buckling. whirling to face hades, her expression twisted with anger, and she snarled, “you will not take my daughter! she belongs with me.”

lightning bolts lashed through the clouds, and crashing thunder reverberated in the air, ringing through persephone’s ears. “enough of this,” zeus boomed, his rage transforming the sky into a fully fledged storm. “you will not have her, hades. you are never to come near her again, or you shall face the full extent of my wrath.”

hades’ expression turned grave, and he rumbled, “keep her from me, and there shall be consequences.”

“you dare to threaten me, brother?” zeus exclaimed, his brows raised incredulously. “you dare and threaten me here, in my home?”

persephone looked fearfully at hades, who set his dark gaze upon her, the whispers of the dead breathing into her ears as he smirked. with a great clap of his hands, persephone found herself thrown backwards, her senses dulled by a blinding flash of light as a mighty lightning bolt bore down on hades. when she reopened her eyes, her savior had vanished, leaving only a scorched imprint on the marble balcony where he had stood just moments before.

“demeter, take kore and leave here,” zeus ordered, his tone dangerous and leaving no room for argument. “find artemis and order her to keep watch over our daughter. she is never to leave her sight, is that understood?”

persephone stumbled dumbly, her breath catching in her throat as she stared transfixed at the spot where hades had been, the echoes of thunder still reverberating through the air. demeter huffed impatiently as she swept persehone into her arms, whisking her away from zeus and his almighty anger. the dining room was deathly quiet, all the chairs empty and abandoned, as the other olympians had scattered, knowing all to well that the jovial feast was over.

she rolled her head back, the ground passing swiftly beneath her, her mother’s feet thudding against the ground in a swift, determined rhythm. artemis’ loyal dogs had materialized, their fur glinting in the moonlight as they ran ahead and behind them, the pack forming a coordinated and protective circle around them as they descended back to the mortal realm.

was this it?

was this ryomen’s mighty stand against zeus?

it seemed that whatever his grand plan had been, it had failed.

persephone’s heart cracked in two.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

from then on, the days were dull and dreadfully monotonous.

persephone moved through her days like a ghost, her soul roaming the skies high above her, and it had not landed since she had been to olympus. every morning, she awoke to the feeling of metaphorical vines tightening around her throat, binding her tighter to the life demeter wanted her to live.

she never smiled, not anymore. not even to artemis, who looked at her with such palpable pity that it was almost unbearable. the huntress never left her side, watching over her as she tended to the barley fields, her hounds sniffing and growling at the onlooking mortals. even during the night, maki dutifully kept her vigil, silently keeping watch against the encroaching shadows. and still, despite her dearest friend’s constant, heavy presence, persephone’s despair was ever-growing.

demeter visited almost every day, always arriving during the night. sometimes, she would sleep with her amongst the nymphs, one hand reaching out to persephone as if zeus himself might descend from olympus to steal her away, or as if she might run away and disappear into her dreams.

and oh, how persephone wanted to do just that.

she would dream of ryomen and his deep crimson eyes, a reverie of passion. he had shown her just a little taste of what it was to live as she pleased, and although persephone was shy to admit it even to herself, she missed him – fiercely. she missed that comforting rumble in his voice, and the way all of his eyes looked at her as if she were the most precious thing to him. persephone’s heart ached with longing every time she woke, the sort of pain that carved out a hollow space inside her, one she felt that only ryomen could ever fill.

but she was an empty vessel for all the flowers and seeds she had ever grown, always giving and giving, never able to take anything for herself to fill that hole.

miraculously, there had been no word from zeus, but persephone knew it was only a matter of time. sometimes, in the dead of the night, with only the sounds of the nymphs soft snores and crickets chirping under the light of the fireflies, she imagined what it would be like with hades. the thought ignited ignited a low thrum in her core, making her lower stomach flutter with pleasure.

the dreams started soon after that.

dreams of the underworld. of ryomen holding her in his arms, his bare skin flush against hers, tenderly kissing her neck and shoulder. of him telling her that she was the only one for him, that it was always her, and how he had been waiting for her his whole life. how his hand would drift lower and lower, tracing little circles and swirls down her navel, and…

persephone would always wake up at that point.

and she’d be in a crimson hue of deaths essence, thinking about how much he must have loved her to try and bargain with zeus for her, even going so far as to threaten him. persephone’s heart would flutter with warmth, but she kept her sudden happiness hidden, lest artemis would sense her desire and raise a questioning brow at her.

perhaps if i close my eyes and imagine it is ryomen instead of zeus, it won’t be so bad.

until a cold splash of ice-cold water doused over her head, and persephone was painfully reminded that she hadn’t seen him in so long. consumed in a fit of petulant anger, she wondered how could ryomen have forgotten her so easily. had she not meant that much to him after all? perhaps she was just a passing whim to him, in the same way that zeus had many.

surprisingly, but bitterly nonetheless, she thought that maybe demeter was right.

that the gods of olympus – and the underworld, it seemed – were fickle and untrustworthy.

one afternoon, after once again dreaming of hades and the underworld, persephone woke up in a fluster. deciding not be caught up in the rose haze of her fantasies, she maneuvered out from amidst the nymphs, who had gone for a nap to escape the heat of the sun. artemis was nowhere to be seen, but persephone knew she could not be far, for her hounds were resting closely to them and keeping a watchful eye.

one of the nymphs stirred, slowly sitting up and rubbing away the sleep from her eyes. “kore, where are you going?”

persephone angled her face away from the nymph and rolled her eyes. “i want to bathe. it is far too hot.”

the nymph gracefully stood up, rousing a few of the others with her, and together they all went to the bathing pool, with the ghost of artemis’ shadow following through the treeline. they gently lowered persephone into the water, cleansing her body and hair, while she struggled to keep her thoughts from drifting towards hades.

“your ichor runs hot, kore,” one of the nymphs hummed thoughtfully, rubbing the pads of her fingers deep into persephone’s scalp. “why are you so flushed?”

persephone remained silent, her attention firmly fixed on the hounds circling the pool, while the nymphs continued their ministrations.

“you are aroused, kore,” one of the nymphs whispered intimately into her ear, so low so that the others couldn’t hear. “i know these things. who is it you think of? the lightning god, zeus, hmm?”

she made a face of disgust, and the nymph giggled, almost a little too knowingly, her eyelashes fluttering not so innocently. the nymph sensually trailed her fingers down persephone’s arm. “but of course, death has you in his clutches, and you do not want to be let go of, do you?”

“enough,” persephone snapped, whirling to glare at her as her godly blood flushed once again.

the nymph did not taunt her anymore, and after they had finished washing her, persephone took off towards her pomegranate tree, all but growling at them to leave her be. artemis stepped forward from between the trees, the curve of her bow gleaming in the golden light of the hour, her hounds bounding freely through the grass, snapping playfully at each other. she said nothing to the huntress, something her dearest maki had probably come to expect by now, for persephone spoke very little at all these days.

she laid down in the long grass in front of her tree, little daisies tickling the supple skin of her shins, and set about weaving a flower crown made of narcissus. a hound bravely flopped down in front of her, its heavy, wet tongue lolling from between its fangs, rolling into its back and exposing its belly to her.

“that one likes you,” maki commented, a rare softness in her tone. when persephone didn’t reply, she sighed, setting her bow leaning against the tree trunk. “persephone, what is wrong?”

“you already know, maki,” she muttered, piercing the stem of a flower with her fingernail.

artemis shook her head disappointingly. “i only wish to keep you safe from hades. this has all been necessary to ensure that, but that does not mean that i enjoy it.”

persephone ignored her, deftly continuing to weave the stems together, to which maki huffed. it was unwise to antagonize the goddess of the hunt, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. she decided to indulge in the fleeting sense of rebellion that seemingly stemmed from her youth as a young goddess.

she held out the crown, both admiring and critiquing her own handiwork. it needed a crowning jewel, persephone decided – a large and most beautiful blossom to be placed right in the center.

when she looked up, there it was.

the most ethereal narcissus blossom stood proudly in the middle of the meadow, with petals so vibrantly yellow they were almost pure gold. it was complete perfection, the most gorgeous bloom she had ever seen.

persephone clutched her crown tightly, her heart racing as she sprinted towards the blossom. it seemed to sing to something within her, a haunting song she hadn’t heard for an age. the grass beneath her feet seemed to urge her on, whispering words of encouragement. artemis watched her with a furrowed brow, a scowl etched on her face as she ripped clumps of dirt from the earth.

the universe went eerily still as her fingers gripped the stem.

artemis pricked her head up, her hounds suddenly bristling and alert.

the earth let out a mighty groan and trembled, a deep rumble reverberating through the meadow as it trembled beneath her. persephone screamed as the ground split open and rocks cracked and gave way under her weight. the very earth seemed to be opening its jaws, yawning wide to swallow her whole.

this is it, this is my death.

until she found herself ensnared in a scorching embrace, her ear pressed against the warm, bare skin of a chiseled chest. persephone couldn’t move, the steady heartbeat of death soothing her.

“oh, persephone,” ryomen rumbled, his lips pressed into her hairline, his words laced with a desperate sort of affection. “my love, my life. how i have missed you so.”

he pressed quick kisses to her forehead, as if every one could say all the things he wanted to say. “why did you leave me for so long?” persephone couldn’t help but ask, her voice cracking like marble. “i thought you had left me forever.”

a swoosh of an arrow sliced through the air, and with a speed she had never seen before, hades caught it with his bare hand, its wood splintering as he crushed it. persephone heard artemis’ hounds howling, and the huntress’ threatening shouts at the god of the death, unflinching and unwavering. hades’ black stallions snorted and pawed the ground, his menacing obsidian chariot glinting in the sun.

“my love,” he cooed, cradling her face with two hands and forcing her to look deep into his ruby eyes. “i am ashamed of that, but i am here now to break you free from your cage.”

persephone reeled, shock gripping her in its cold clutches. “i– but zeus has forbidden us from each other. there would be war.”

“then let there be war,” he hissed, then quickly softened, tenderly rubbing her cheek with his thumbs. “come with me persephone. let me give you a crown of bones that can never die like your flowers. be my queen, be my wife.”

she paused, sucking in a breath.

could persephone really do such a thing? did she have the strength to not only disobey her mother, but zeus as well?

ryomen bent his neck down closer to her ear and whispered, “are you afraid?”

“no,” she replied as steadily as she could, wetting her lips with her tongue. “i could never be afraid of you.”

another arrow whizzed past dangerously closer to his ear, his curls fluttering as the wind from it rushed through, and still hades did not flinch. he smiled softly, kissing between her brows. “then say you will stay with me, my sweet flower. let me give you the power you were born to wield.”

persephone nodded slowly, the gravity of her decision weighing heavily on her, but there was not an ounce of hesitation that it wasn’t the right one. with a great grin on his face, hades cracked a magnificent whip and his stallions lurched forward deep into the earth, as artemis screamed promises of vengeance.

she didn’t care.

as the earth swallowed them both, the golden sun disappearing entirely and the first glimpse of the underworld came into view, all persephone could feel was an astounding sense of just one emotion.

freedom.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

persephone had finally blossomed into full bloom, unfurling her radiant petals to show the world that she was a goddess after all.

the underworld had not subjected her to death and decay as zeus had once predicted. instead, she flourished into who she was always meant to be. ryomen had always seen persephone for who she was, even before she saw it herself, and he had only helped her flourish. he had declared that she was not bound to a singular fate of a lowly wood nymph, but rather embrace duality as both a goddess of nature and queen of the underworld.

they had married the very same day persephone descended into his domain, their union blessed by hecate, or uraume, as hades often fondly referred to them as. persephone’s days were then spent in a wondrous bubble of discovery, wandering through the underworld with uraume as her guide, learning all its secrets and inner workings. then, when she felt ready, she judged the souls of the dead alongside her husband, sitting atop his lap as if he were her throne. together, they would listen to the pleas of all that stood trial before them, with persephone running her fingers through his curls, and the unyielding god of the underworld would allow it.

their nights together were tender and vulnerable, both of them baring themselves to each other with all their faults and discretions in plain view. and still, it was full of love and acceptance. persephone would never change her husband’s ways, just as ryomen would never try to tell her how to live her life.

the god of the dead was true; his love steadfast and searing with passion, nothing at all like the cold fickleness of the olympians.

persephone didn’t know how long she had been in the underworld, and she didn’t care to count. there were no mealtimes to mark the passing of the day, for there was no need to eat in the underworld, and hades was vehemently against her ever eating a thing. instead, she marked the passage of time whenever they retired to their bed, where she lay in his arms, talking about everything and anything at all.

“ryo, why do you not allow me to eat?” persephone finally asked him, her curiosity getting the better of her, tracing her fingers over the strange black markings on his biceps.

hades sighed, one of his hands gently squeezing her thigh. “because… it would bind you forever to me.”

“but we are already husband and wife,” she rebuked, frowning. “we are bound through our vows to each other.”

“this is different, my love. you would be chained to the underworld as i am, and you could never leave it.”

“would that be so terrible? i never want to be parted from you.”

“it would. i do not wish for you to be in another cage, even if it is with me, and even if i also wish for you to always be at my side.”

hades gently maneuvered her beneath him, his crimson eyes trailing over her body. “let us not speak of such things anymore, persephone,” he murmured, planting kisses along her bare chest.

she was then lost in a haze of pleasure, and they spoke no more of it.

until one fateful day, when the air carried the taste of snow and change, hermes paid a visit to the rulers of the dead.

“your mother has covered all the land in frost and ice in her grief,” the young god solemnly said, staring straight at persephone, his very hair seemingly touched by the very same cold he spoke of. “the people of greece are suffering.”

persephone shifted uncomfortably on ryomen’s lap, and her husband’s grip on her hips tightened. “do not try to guilt my wife as if demeter’s actions are hers,” hades growled at the messenger of the gods.

“the people of greece are suffering,” hermes continued defiantly, his head bowed and all traces of his usual mischief gone. “the very essence of nature is dying. everything you have toiled to ever grow is dying, oh queen of the dead.”

her bottom lip trembled, and her eyes glistened with a milky white sheen of tears that threatened to spill as persephone’s body tensed in an effort to control her whirling emotions. ryomen hushed her softly, his hand gently stroking her back, as if he could sense her anguish.

“it is my fault,” she whispered, more so to ui ui than hades. “it is my fault my mother thinks i have perished, and nature is now doomed to die because of my decision.”

hermes shook his head, his face crumbling with regret. “it pains me to bring you this news, but zeus has instructed me to carry this message to you both.”

“a message from zeus?” hades snapped questioningly, his breath hot against persephone’s ear. “he knows she is here?”

“helios witnessed persephone descend with you into the underworld, but he has kept this knowledge to himself for a time, as he knew you had not kidnapped her. but now, the earth is dying, and the people pray and cry for mercy.”

hermes took a deep breath before continuing. “and so helios has told zeus of what has transpired, for the sake of the mortals. demeter cannot accept that her daughter has chosen death over life. she refuses to cease the endless winter until persephone is returned to her at once.”

the ground rumbled, and persephone could feel her husband’s anger growing as her guilt did. her heart tore as she thought of the golden fields she had so carefully tended, now withering and buckling under the weight of an unnatural winter. she thought of the mortals, who had so kindly offered her honeycomb and incense, always praying to her for fertility of the land and womb. she thought of her mother, whom despite everything, persephone still loved deeply. she could not begin to imagine the sort of pain hanami must be enduring since her disappearance.

“i do not wish to cause you this sort of pain, persephone,” ui ui said earnestly, a hand over his heart. “you already know that i have kept your secret for these past six months.”

six months…

“what does it matter if the mortals are dying?” hades grunted, waving a dismissive hand, leaning back against his throne. “the more souls that reside in our realm, the stronger we are. zeus knows this.”

hermes’ face scrunched up in discomfort. “zeus… acknowledges that fact, and he is imploring for you both to see reason.”

has it really been six months?

“reason?” hades scoffed. “riddle me this then, trickster. is it reason or jealousy that drives my brother to ask me to give up my wife, hmm?”

“he knows not that you are married, so let me help you strike a bargain with the god of lightning,” hermes proposed, his hand ominously disappearing into the folds of his toga.

he procured a whole pomegranate in his palm, holding it out to them both like some sort of salvation. persephone sucked in a breath, and hades stiffened, his muscles hardening into marble at the sight, as if he were almost afraid of it.

she knew that fruit; it was from her tree.

“i offer you a choice t-”

“you overstep, hermes,” hades hissed, recoiling and ready to strike. “you do not offer her a choice, only to lock her in a cage with me.”

“stay calm, ryomen,” persephone finally interjected, her voice but a mere drop in a turbulent ocean of salt and sorrow. “what if this is the only way?”

ryomen’s gaze snapped towards her, a whirlwind of confusion and unmistakable panic in his eyes. “what way, persephone? i will not have you bound to only this realm. it would just be another cage.”

“but it wouldn’t be a cage if i was willing. it is you, after all,” she returned, tears of pearls running down her cheeks.

“my love, my sweet flower, you would only resent me after a time,” he whispered reverently, his forehead touching hers. “and i would rather be thrown into the depths of tartarus than have you hate me.”

six months…

“please, then let me do what i believe is right,” persephone implored desperately, her fists clenching his toga. “you promised me that you would let me be free to do as i wish.”

persephone watched on as her beloved, her ryomen sukuna, seemed to wage a war within himself. his deep ruby eyes, usually so alight with a stout sort of resoluteness, were now a tempest of uncertainty. lines were etched deep into his forehead like scratchings on a stone carving, and each fleeting change of emotion spoke volumes of how much he was struggling.

until the god of the dead finally crumpled, his shoulders growing slack, and his entire demeanor going so very still.

“do what you must, my love. my soul cannot refuse you, nor can it stand to limit you,” his voice quivered with raw emotion, heavy and unbearably low with defeat.

persephone kissed the bridge of his nose, a salty tear landing on her husband’s cheek, and slowly, agonizingly, untangled herself from his tight embrace. she strode towards hermes, the gold jewelry adorning her arms and neck – opulent gifts that ryomen frequently showered her with – clinking as she did so.

the messenger of the gods quirked his eyebrow expectantly, and he further extended the pomegranate towards her, its smooth skin reflecting the dim light of the underworld. her fingers itched to reach out and touch it, a mixture of longing and dread washing over her.

persephone wasn’t sure whether or not to grasp it or run far away from it.

she cleared her throat and thoughts, and asked, “what sort of bargain would ever stand with zeus?”

“i propose this to you, loveliest persephone,” hermes began, cracking open the pomegranate in his little hands. “you have spent six wonderful months with your husband, and so your mother is owed six months in return.”

anger flashed in her irises, and the ground shook once more. “you are full of mischief, ui ui. you speak so very boldly for your age.”

ui ui seemed to shirk in shame, curling into himself ever so slightly, as he removed six ruby gems of pomegranate seeds from the shell of the fruit. “i propose a bold claim, and therefore i must speak in the same manner.”

“well, what is it then?”

“eat six of these seeds to bind yourself to the realm of the dead. you will be forced to return to your husband for six months of the year, and there will be nothing zeus nor demeter can do about it. i will go to olympus and inform them of what you have done, and will say that you threaten to eat another six seeds if zeus does not vow to never touch you while you are away from hades.”

thorns grew beneath the soles of persephone’s feet, her ichor and power manifesting its detestation over the injustice of it all, a painfully silent protest against the weight of the choices before her.

how could she possibly make a decision to willingly leave her husband for half the year?

she couldn’t. she wouldn’t.

but could i abandon the golden crops of my labor to die because of my choices?

behind her, she could sense ryomen’s grief growing wildly – a sorrowful groan echoing through the earth as it responded to his pain.

ui ui grabbed persephone’s hand, dropping the seeds into her palm, and curled her fingers to cover them. “i never wished for you to ever be in pain. i have always thought of you very fondly, and i hate for you to be coerced into such unfair choices.”

she unfurled her fingers, staring down at the glimmering gems from her tree as if they beheld all the answers of the universe.

“you have much to learn, ui ui, as do i,” persephone murmured, her voice suddenly imbued with all the wisdom of the gods before her.

she had grown this tree from a mere seedling to what it was now. how could she have not noticed that it had always revealed the true nature of her soul? it had always known her intimately, as its branches curved and tilted towards the earth, and persephone had never understood why it had until now.

it had always been guiding her.

persephone looked over her shoulder at her husband, her ears sinking as she took in ryomen’s crushed posture. he was stooped over, a pair of arms crossed protectively over his chest, the other pair gripping his throne in support.

persephone hated how utterly exposed he looked.

“but you must always know to listen to your heart,” she said, her voice steeling as her ichor pulsed in her veins. “know that it cannot lead you astray from what is right for yourself.”

with a tip of her head, persephone pressed her palm to her mouth, the seeds falling between her teeth. she bit down slowly, their burst of tart yet sweet flavor spreading over her tongue, their red juice staining her lips and trickling down her chin in rivulets. her husband stirred, and she felt her soul meld with his, intertwining and caressing each other as persephone sealed her fate.

two gold strings tied together, shimmering threads of destiny, never to be undone until the end of time.

༚༅༚˳✿˳༚༅༚

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[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

[giuli4nna]

DECORATED

hamzah gets distracted while you two are putting lights on the christmas tree.

your fingers fumble with the large ball of christmas lights you’re attempting to string along the branches of the first christmas tree you and your boyfriend bought as a couple, in your shared apartment.

attempting to hold your balance while untangling the cord of the lights - you get distracted, swaying slightly and causing your legs to instinctively tighten around hamzah’s head to avoid toppling off of his tall frame.

“you got it, sweetheart?” he asks from below you, his fingers squeezing your thighs a little bit tighter, trying to make sure you stay in place.

“not really,” you grumble. “they’re all knotted up.”

“here,” hamzah’s hands slide up to your hips, making you gasp as he suddenly, effortlessly picks you up off his shoulders.

being careful to not bump your head against the ceiling, he lowers you back onto the floor in front of him. “let me help.” he offers, holding out his hands for you to place the intertwined lights in.

you hand over the lights, and you both spend a while sat on the couch, attempting to get them all untangled. you two manage to at least get a few feet undone, and you plug the loose end into the wall, the tiny bulbs glowing as hamzah continues to intricately undo each knot.

several more minutes pass, and you’re now laid across the couch with your head in hamzah’s lap, the soft glow of the lights casting over your face while you stare up at his hands working away at the tangles.

“here, lemme see.” you murmur, sitting up and grabbing the hold of the cord that’s nearly all straightened out. your fingers pull apart the last few knots for him as he cracks his knuckles, his hands tired and achy from spending much more time on tedious task than you did.

“all done?” hamzah questions, his voice low in your ear as he watches you finish off the untangling.

“mhm,” you hum, leaning your head on hamzah's shoulder, his hand coming to rest on your thigh that's pressed up against his own as you sit beside him. you hold up the lights proudly, as if hamzah didn’t just do most of the job for you.

but he doesn’t care about having done the work - something's caught his eye.

his gaze is fixed on the way the decorations illuminate your skin in a gentle radiance.

and something else really sparks his imagination; the way the cord is slightly draped across your wrists as you grasp the string of lights between your fingers.

“can you help me put them on now?” you ask, tilting your head up towards his to cast an eager glance at him.

"uh-" he coughs, eyes widening. "what?" he quickly blurts.

"the tree..?" you clarify, your brows quirking in confusion as you vaguely gesture over to the corner where the tree stands.

“oh, right..” hamzah says absentmindedly, slightly shaking his head as his eyes flick between your face and the lights in your hands. "the tree, yeah."

you recognize that distracted tone of voice - there’s something on his mind.

"what's wrong?" you ask, your eyes searching his face, seeing if you can pick out a distinct emotion.

"there's just.." he mutters, sneakily sliding his arm behind your back and around your waist. “there’s somethin’ i wanna do first, mkay?”

before you can question him, he’s scooping you up, maneuvering your position with zero struggle as he lays you down across the couch.

“baby,” you say cautiously. your eyes meet his as he hovers above you, the expression he wears suddenly doing nothing to hide the dirty thoughts his mind is conjuring up. “what’re you thinking about, hm?”

he dips his head down, his lips skating across your neck as his hands wander across the fabric of your pajama top - a red plaid button up that’s part of a matching couple’s pajama set that you purchased for the two of you. you’d left nearly half of the buttons undone, showing off your bra that had the same pattern.

hamzah claims to think it’s corny, but you know he secretly loves all the holiday traditions you want to experience with him, hence the decorating of the christmas tree in the first place.

“i’m thinking about..” his voice is whispery against your skin. “how pretty these lights're gonna look.”

a breathless, confused laugh escapes your lips as he presses sloppy kisses against your collarbone, his fingers fumbling to undo your shirt fully, helping you shrug it off your body and discard it onto the floor.

“on the tree, you mean?” you question, glancing behind you at the fir tree that’s barren of any decoration so far. “i mean, yeah, but..” you trail off, still unsure of his motives as he partially undresses your body and leaves you in your plaid bra.

“no, angel.” he says, subtly taking the strand of lights out of your grasp, making you realize you forgot you were even holding them. “they’re gonna look pretty on you.” he says.

your lips part in silent shock as hamzah suddenly flips you over, your knees tucked into your stomach as his hands quickly grab your wrists and pull them behind your back.

“hamzah..” you whine as he begins to tie your hands together with the cord, your face now smushed against armrest of the couch.

you’re stunned by how fast he was able to get you in this position - compared to the slow pace he held while lazily untangling the ball of lights just moments ago.

you strain your neck, managing to catch a glimpse of his face as it darkens with lust at the mere sight of you tied up before him, struggling against the restraint as he elaborately secures a knot in the lights.

“mm,” he hums, admiring his handiwork as you squirm beneath him. “i was right.” he coos, hooking his finger into the waistband of your pajama pants. “you do look pretty like this, like you’re decorated just for me.”

the way he’s speaking, the fervor with which his eyes drink you in - it’s already making you soaked.

this was uncharted territory for you two. neither of you have ever been restrained like this during sex, you always had your hands all over each other, trying to feel as much as you could.

but you’d be deprived of that this time.

the idea excites you.

“tell me, sweetheart,” he leans down, lips brushing your shoulder. “tell me it’s a bad idea. tell me you don’t want me to fuck you, tied up like this.”

you only whimper in response, your mind doesn’t seem to have the capacity to form a sufficient sentence due to the fact that hamzah's already starting to slide your pants down.

“poor thing.” he murmurs, chuckling darkly. “maybe i should just check and see how wet you are right now, yeah?” he quips, pressing a kiss to your back as he tugs off your bottoms for you, leaving you in your panties.

he reaches down, his touch feather-light as he drags his fingers across the damp spot that’s formed on the thin fabric of your underwear, making you gasp.

“dirty girl..” he says, finding your clothed clit and circling it with the tip of his finger. “you like this, don’t you?”

you feverishly nod against the surface of the couch, your cheeks flushing a deep red as you arch your back, slightly parting your legs for him.

"so responsive." he mutters, softly caressing the smooth skin of your ass while continuing to slowly rub you through your panties. "but you gotta tell me what you want, baby. or else i'm gonna leave you here, all helpless." his voice is sultry and teasing as he threatens you.

obviously, you comply, your voice quivering as you voice your needs. "please," you choke out, your chest already heaving with shallow breaths due to the intense anticipation you feel.

"not enough." he growls. "look at you, so impatient. getting all worked up, and i've barely touched you."

"baby.." you cry out softly. "please fuck me, please, i really really wanna feel you," the words are so desperate, so unfamiliar.

you've never had to beg like this before, hamzah usually just knows exactly what you want, and doesn't hesitate to give it to you.

"mhmmm," he hums in satisfaction, only waiting a few seconds before he's practically ripping your panties off, tugging his own pajama pants and boxers down, his erection springing free.

immediately, you try and shove your hips back, needing some sort of friction to relieve the suffocating soreness in your core.

hamzah lands a harsh smack on your ass, forcing a moan out of you as a stinging sensation erupts across your skin. "you really want it bad, huh?" he says, teasing you by rubbing his tip up and down your soaking folds, making you gasp. "didn't know you'd like it this much.." he murmurs wickedly.

"need you," you whine. "please."

suddenly feeling his tip pause at your entrance, you get curious and try to look back at him.

the moment your eyes meet, he shoves his length inside your tight cunt, bottoming out in a single thrust and making you squeeze your eyes shut in pure ecstasy.

"oh, fuck!" you exclaim, jaw falling slack as hamzah starts pounding into you at a merciless pace.

one of his large hands holds onto your hip, bouncing you against him while the other takes hold of the christmas lights that still bind your wrists together. he tugs at them, pulling your arms backward and making you arch your back even further, allowing him to hit a deeper spot within you.

"shiiitt.." he groans, admiring your scrunched up face and relishing in the feeling of your walls hugging his cock, practically sucking him in. "squeezin' me so fuckin' tight, angel. feels so good."

your fingers are reaching out, silently begging for a chance to touch hamzah - the action hardly going unnoticed by his gaze.

"so needy." he states, leaning down to kiss your lower back as his hips continue slamming into you, his cockhead bumping against your g-spot over and over.

"lemme- mmph, lemme outta this, hamzah!" you whine weakly, your hands scrambling to find purchase but the only thing you can grab onto is the strand of lights itself.

he lets out another low chuckle, snaking his hand up to gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail, tugging your head back and making you spew out unintelligible jumbled sentences mixed with gasps and moans.

"already asking me to untie you?" he says harshly. "at least look at me while you beg, angel."

forcing your eyes open after they've been wired shut this whole time, you stare back at him - seeing the way his pupils are completely dilated, his forehead shining with a thin layer of sweat, a few stray curls sticking to his skin - it all drives you even crazier, the pressure that's been building in your tummy becoming even more intense.

"atta girl," he growls, gazing down at you. "listen, baby. i'll- god, i'll let you go when you cum for me, yeah? ruin yourself on my fucking cock, and you'll get what you want."

he continues doing most of the work for you, trying to pull an orgasm out of you as fast as he can. mindless whimpers and broken obscenities tumble from your lips, the knot in your stomach feeling tighter and tighter - you know you're gonna lose control soon, if he keeps up this unforgiving rhythm.

"c'mon," he exhales, licking his lips as his eyes fixate on the lewd sight of his length disappearing inside you. "make a mess on my dick, sweetheart."

driven by the brink of your climax, you start pushing your hips back to meet his, fucking yourself on your cock until your self control is completely gone.

"hamzah!" you cry out. "ngh, fuck- i'm gonna.. gonna cum.."

"thaaat's it," hamzah moans, feeling your walls close in on his dick. "let it out, babe."

complete euphoria crashes over your body like a tidal wave, your orgasm hitting you hard and fast. your voice, emitting moans - that are more like screams - is muffled by the surface of the couch as hamzah fucks you through your high. he lets up on the rough pace a little bit, not wanting to overwhelm your sensitive pussy.

your mind is clouded with pleasure as your legs tremble and you completely unravel underneath hamzah. you hear him uttering praises, telling you how pretty you are, how perfect you are for him.

and, as you come back down to earth, you feel the restraint lifted from your wrists as hamzah undoes the tight knot in the cord.

"jesus, baby.." he murmurs, rubbing your wrists soothingly, feeling the deep indents that the tight string made in your skin. "what a good girl, took me so fuckin' well."

hamzah pulls out of you as you try and regain composure. when you're catching your breath and using your arms to stabilize yourself against the couch - you're suddenly getting flipped over onto your back, your gaze snapping up to hamzah kneeling over you.

"wanna see my angel's pretty face when i cum," he groans, stroking himself a couple times before his dick twitches and he's suddenly throwing his head back, panting and groaning while his seed spills out onto your lower stomach.

you bite your lip, admiring him as he experiences his own high. "fuck.." you whisper, making his gaze fall upon you, his eyes half-lidded. he suddenly reaches down, dragging his thumb across the soft skin of your belly. he collects his own release on his fingerprint before placing his thumb on your lips, probing your mouth open.

you accept, eagerly taking his thumb between your lips. his jaw falls slack as he watches you taste his cum, swirling your tongue against his thumbprint to clean him off.

once you've both recovered, he tucks himself back into his pajama pants and collapses against the couch.

"so," he murmurs breathlessly, casting a glance over to your weak frame, sprawled out across the cushions. "how 'bout that tree, hm?"

you laugh, kicking him in the leg playfully. "it can fucking wait," you say, reaching down to the floor to grab a strand of garland that was lying out with the other miscellaneous christmas decor you bought. "it's my turn to decorate you."

____________________________________________

a/n : heard the hamzah tag was in need of something.. so i decided to write this for my first post !!! tis the season

xo giulia

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (8)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, betrayal, fire, knives, dead parents; farewell; feels; tension

Author’s Note: This is not the end, no worries. Wouldn’t leave you guys hanging like that. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

It stands tall in the distance.

Rising above the emerald treetops, like a melancholic monarch draped in shadows and light.

The grey stone battlements jut against the hazy sky. Turrets - clearly emboldened by the hues of the background - spiral toward the horizon, austere and elegant, crowned by banners that flutter limpidly in the distance.

The very stones seem steeped in centuries of command, and each mark of weather bears testimony of its history and storms - the memories of which, it seems, they still hold with great dignity.

The castle seems at peace, standing upon its cliff, hanging suspended from the rocky outcrop, as though it grew from the very rock, planted there, eternal. A sentinel of this kingdom. The kingdom that belonged to your father.

Craggy towers break the swell of pallid sky, their dark slate roofs glimmering under the wan light filtering through clouds.

The sight of this castle holds a strange pull on your senses - a magnetic foreboding that you can’t seem to shake.

It looms powerful but sinister, an observer too heavy with secrets for history to bear. Around it, trees keep dancing in and out of shifting hues of green and gold, branches stirring to a wind barely in existence, each gust swaying leaves like a restless audience to your arrival.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. There is more here than just the daunting architecture pressing on your psyche. Something personal smolders in the shadow of that place.

You try to put your finger on it but only grasp fleeting impressions - the way your father spoke in clipped tones about duty and appearances, the pack of expectations, the noose he metaphorically kept around your neck.

Beside you, Bucky’s presence shifts. He seems to slip into a hesitating step. The muscles of his shoulders tense against the still slightly stained fabric of his armor.

He does not take his eyes off the castle. The blue steel of his gaze sharpens. You can feel the tension emanating from him, a tangible energy that snakes through the air between you. There is a hostility in the way he looks at that castle. A hardness that knots his jaw. A tautness that frames his mouth.

Somehow he wears apprehension with discomfort.

And it shakes your heart with an inexplicable dread.

He always moves like a man accustomed to balancing control with instinct. But his breathing pattern changes slightly. You ignore the fact that you know his normal breathing pattern in the first place. But there really is a slight strain in his breath.

Your gaze snaps back to the castle, peering through the branches framing its silhouette. Even from this distance, you can feel something lingering around the fortress - energies unvoiced, but undeniably ancient, as if the very stones remember.

A strange chill skitters down your spine. But you can’t really say why. The path underneath your boots is softened with fallen leaves, giving off a musty, earthy scent. You want to hang onto the smell, with its cool air gliding across your skin and the tranquil solitude of the forest. But your gaze keeps wandering back to the castle looming still so far off. It is magnetic. Impossible to ignore.

A realization comes with a blow to your heart.

This might be your destination.

Perhaps this castle is where he's meant to bring you.

A bittersweet and aching pang lodges beneath your ribs. You can’t imagine the journey that has momentarily intertwined your paths is perhaps going to be coming to a close.

You steal a glance at Bucky’s profile. If this is where he is meant to take you, then why does he seem so tense at finally getting here?

Trying to interpret the small frown tugging at his lips, the rigid line in his jaw, you let your eyes sweep. There is a weight of something hanging from his brows, drawing them down.

The wind around you changes direction, ruffling branches and making leaves hop around as if to note the abrupt transition occasioned by you.

The entire atmosphere between Bucky and you seems to stiffen.

The twitch of his fingers at his sides almost betray a gesture of need - to make a fist. He controls his breathing too deliberately for your taste.

Your gaze drags back to the castle ahead. To Bucky. To the castle. And back to Bucky. And back to the castle.

Here stands the proud fortress, untouched by the ravages of time, like one who has never been forced to bow before the wickedness of mankind. Never had to bend to the world’s cruelty. But perhaps, this too, is an illusion. Perhaps it became something wicked, something cruel itself.

The thought strikes you, brief and sharp.

Clouds sweep across the sun and the light dims. Shadows weave itself through the forest. You take in the now cooling air.

No words pass between Bucky and you, but with every step, the mounting tension between you both gets stronger.

It feels flimsy, like glass waiting to shatter.

You want to ask him. Want to ask if this castle is where you are going to part ways as soon as you reach it. It will take some time still. Maybe a day. Maybe less. Maybe more.

But it feels so dwindling and you can’t grasp the time you want to keep.

The sight of the castle only clutches your heart with hands showing not an ounce of mercy, squeezing your breath thin and shallow.

You always knew this journey would come to an end. Even had hoped so for some time. Had complained about relieving yourself in the woods like an animal, sleeping on the hard ground of the forest, not being able to bathe in the warmest water. You have complained about practically everything in this godforsaken forest. But you don’t want this journey to end so soon. Maybe because it’s not the forest at all you want to keep yourself surrounded with.

It’s Bucky.

And admitting that to yourself only tells you that your fear is rising. That this travel with him might really be over soon.

Some part of you grew accustomed to naively believing the road would go on forever. With firelight embers in the dark after making camp for the day. Quiet conversations held in the dark. The endearing way his lips would twitch when he tries to suppress his amusement with you. The way he keeps you afloat even when your world is crumbling into itself. Giggling at his gruffness when he doesn’t like the small ration of food you eat just so he can have some more - him calling you stubborn despite the fact that he mostly won the argument in the end. Walking beside him in the forest and listening to both of your crunching footsteps on the ground. Lying awake at night and listening to his breaths. Exchanging fleeting glances, that linger longer than they should.

You try and swallow the prickling pain at the back of your mouth, but it remains raw and bubbling.

You’re not even thinking about what might await you at the castle. The only thing you can’t get out of your mind is the realization that Bucky will leave you here, will vanish back into the woods, and whatever shadows formed him before both your paths crossed.

And for some reason, just the idea of his absence is a wound that would bleed more than anything your father’s kingdom could ever conjure.

You want to rip through the wall built between the two of you since the castle came into view - but words are pulled between hesitation and instinct. You almost feel lost in whether that silence needs filling or should just remain untouched.

And yet, there is something that settles the attraction to walk beside him. An anchor, if you will, though the world feels like it could collapse at any second due to the weirdness surrounding him.

You cast him another furtive glance, feeling suddenly breathless at the faint tinge of something slashing in his gaze.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he moves his head slightly, the hardness of his expression mellowing just a fraction as he glances down at you.

And for that small moment, you feel light again.

The path turns deeper into the woods, trees obscuring the vision of the castle again.

And once more, you keep walking.

The sun is barely setting when you settle down for the night, cloaked in the golden haze of a waning afternoon.

Shadows grow long and thin across the forest floor, folding themselves beneath the reach of the branches above.

Bucky moves with specifically calculated slowness, like he’s trying to keep control of something.

He collects a small amount of dry wood and then kneels beside the fire, striking flint against steel with sharp and quick movements. You always liked watching him do it. But now it hurts.

A spark breaks, catching on brittle wood and setting it alight.

Instead of observing Bucky, you keep your eyes on the meager lights ascending, tiny glints that illuminate the sky momentarily before they are absorbed into the gathering darkness. Just about like this fleeting moment, which you already feel slip away.

Bucky didn’t give you any reasons as to why you stopped to rest earlier than usual. But you know. The heaviness in his gait, the reluctance in his silence, the way he can’t meet your eyes for longer than a few seconds. It’s clear enough.

This is your final night with him.

The thought penetrates you profoundly, like a punch to your already bruised ribs.

You have expected it since seeing the castle rise among the trees, but it only gets more real the more time passes. It’s a present hollowness in your chest and all you can focus on is the fire crackling angrily, filling the empty space of your chest with everything but the things you want.

Slumping down in front of the fire, you tuck your legs beneath you and let the heat slightly brush against your face.

There is still a chill nipping at your back, but it’s not what makes you shiver.

Wordlessly, Bucky lowers himself onto a fallen log near the fire, letting out a sigh as he drags a hand across his face. He looks tired. Not just physically that is, but in a way that suggests of something deeper.

He stares into the fire, eyes distant, the flames reflected in his eyes like fragments of something burning far deeper than the wood.

The tension is continuously buzzing between you, caressing your skin in a manner that suggests it doesn’t even know how to handle itself.

It’s in the way he doesn’t quite look at you, though you can feel his gaze every time you aren’t the one watching. It feels somewhere between heat and static. You wonder what he is thinking, but are too scared to ask.

Instead, you engage yourself in preparing a simple meal for Bucky and you, hands moving almost mechanically through the familiar motions. The aroma of dried herbs and roasted meat mixes with the smoke from the fire, but the food tastes like ash in your mouth when you finally take a bite.

The silence weighs down, carrying words neither of you knows how to say.

A distant call of a night bird is the only thing talking.

Every now and then, your eyes stray to him - just brief stolen glances exchanged across the flames. His gazes ignite a spark on your skin. He sits with his elbows braced on his knees, shadows throwing across his face, making the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones even more defined and painfully enticing.

His lips are pressed into a thin, unreadable, line and you wonder if he is fighting to find the right words to break the silence as well.

Your heart aches to think that this will, in all likelihood, be the last night spent together, surrounded by nothing but trees and stars and the comforting crackle of the warm fire. Whatever flimsy bond you’ve built with Bucky will be severed by duty and distance.

When your eyes go back to their favorite sight, you find Bucky already watching you. His gaze holds yours for a moment and even the fire seems to have stopped burning for a second. Leaving Bucky and you alone in this situation.

There is something sore in his eyes. Something he couldn’t have prepared for or you would not be able to spot it that easily. It staggers your breath.

Then, he breaks your gaze and only leans further toward the ground.

The silence is getting stern. Unsparing. It enclaves you.

The sputtering fire only gets louder, and something tells you that whatever slips away into the curling smoke fading into the night, it will be something you can never hold onto again.

You shift slightly, adjusting your body on the rough texture of the wood you’re sitting on.

Bucky’s gaze flickers towards you again. Brief but piercing enough. It lingers just a second longer before he looks back at the fire. Shadows play with the lines of his features.

Leaves brush against each other in whispery sounds above you. The wilderness seems reluctant to let go of daylight, its golden glow retreating with a hushed farewell, until only a few pale shades of the dusk remain.

The light of the fire causes shifting patterns to sweep over the forest floor. The night feels delicate, almost. And you can’t shake the sense that this is your last evening spent like this, the very last tranquility you will have with the tamed nature and the stars just starting to blink awake overhead. And of course, Bucky sitting just a few feet away, so close that you could touch, but also so far that loneliness can’t be avoided today.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the noise deepening into a long, low sound and it makes your chest hurt at the same time.

The silence holds until it can no longer.

It breaks with a clear of his throat. The sound is low and rough, scraping against the quiet.

It makes your head snap up. You blink at him.

“There’s an outer gate,” he starts, working the words out slowly, hoarse, as if he is dragging them from some reluctant place inside him.

His gaze remains fixed on the fire as soon as he’s confident you are listening to him. The orange brightness flickers in the pale blue depths of his eyes.

“That’s where I'm s’pposed to take you.”

You don’t need him to explain to you what place he’s talking about. He knows you know. The castle looms as graphically as it has the first time you saw it between the trees. A place carved from stones and shadows. Of course, that’s what he’s talking about. But hearing it from him - hearing it made real - cracks something open inside you.

“You will probably be expected by now,” he continues, the notes softening in his voice as though the words hold an unfathomable weight. “Can’t take you through the front gates. Don’t wanna attract too much attention.” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm taut. A vein stands out. “Guess only the important people’ll know 'bout your arrival.”

Important people. The words land sharp between your ribs. Reminding you of where you come from and where he does not belong - or maybe does but refuses to.

You swallow thickly and taste the bitterness of knowing that your father and his web of control likely extends even here, even after his death.

Bucky still does not voice that he means that castle. But he doesn’t have to. There is an implicit understanding in the way his voice falters, in the way he watches the fire like it holds answers neither of you are ready to hear. He seems to have drawn the conclusion that you know your destination is near.

But truly knowing for real only hardens the pang that tears through your chest. It’s a violent and splintering thing, as if something solid inside you is crumbling, breaking down into fine, snaggy crumbs that settle into the hollow spaces in your chest. They make a sound with every inhalation, scraping against your insides and stabbing at the tender places that have already endured enough.

You look down at your hands, curled loosely in your lap, fingers trembling slightly despite your effort to still them.

The thought of this being the end - of stepping through that gate alone, of watching Bucky turn and disappear into the forest without you - makes your breath hitch painfully in your throat.

You’ve known this was coming from the beginning. You hoped this was coming at the beginning. You’ve known it since the moment you agreed to leave behind everything you knew and put your fate in the hands of a man who wanted nothing to do with you. It hardly helps to think about it.

The fire isn’t the only heat between you. Something else is crackling there. In the air. But you can’t tell what exactly.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched tightly as he stares at the ground. There is something edgy about the way he sits, as if he might be somewhere between wishful thinking and physical presence.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more unbearable - the fact that he doesn’t seem unaffected by this either. The slumping of his shoulders, the hesitation in his words that speak to something more than mere obligation.

Still, he doesn’t really look at you. And maybe that’s for the best. Because you’re not sure you could hold his gaze without breaking entirely.

And the world just keeps turning, ignorant of the slow destruction lying half-lit between you and Bucky.

Everything feels tremendous. Monumental. Every breath, every sigh, every thought you nearly speak out loud, every glance that never quite meets its mark.

And when it sinks in how very heavily all of that rests in the pit of your stomach, you wonder how you’re supposed to survive stepping through that gate alone.

“What do you know about this place?” you ask hesitantly, voice small.

Bucky’s gaze lifts briefly to meet your own. His forearms rest on his thighs, fingers flexing. He exhales through his nose, a faint shake of his head following. “Not much.” His voice is low and tinged with weariness. “Just that it’s where I’m s’pposed to take you.”

Supposed to. Like some invisible hand has mapped out your fates long before you ever had a say in them.

Something cold and gnarling twists in your chest. His answer tells you nothing - no assurances, no comfort.

It’s unsettlingly simple.

You stare into the fire, its embers glowing brighter as your thoughts turn darker. That castle you know is not too far away anymore. The one who stood so proudly at the edge of the cliffs - beautiful, imposing, and so wholly foreign - takes a larger shape in your mind.

Your heart grows heavy with apprehension. What might await you there? Your mother, even in death, has always held a protective influence over your fate. The instructions for your journey to this castle may have been hers. After all, that’s why Bucky is here. Because he promised your mother.

But maybe this destination does not come from your mother at all. Sure, Bucky and this journey is her doing but maybe not where you end up going to. Maybe she didn’t have a say in it. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she had something else in mind for you as a final safeguard in case everything crumbles.

You can’t know. You also can’t know if she perhaps was the first to die. And that last order for you to be sent away did not come from her at all.

A chill of fear blooms at the base of your spine, unfurling upward in wavy patterns.

Maybe this is your father’s doing.

He was not the man who made decisions for your happiness or peace of mind. His schemes were calculated, self-serving, often cruel beneath their polished veneer. You can’t shake the unabating thought that this place might have been his command, not your mother’s - a contingency for his ambitions even beyond the grave.

Maybe they even both ordered for you to be sent here. Just out of different intentions.

Your fear is awfully gripping. And you won’t know whose will is being carried out until you step through those gates.

Your muscles twitch as an unbidden tremor rattles through you.

“Do you believe it might have been my father who ordered it?” you ask Bucky with a slightly shaking voice. Heavy with doubt.

Bucky has been watching you dealing with your inner struggles. His eyes are deep pools of alertness. They search you. His voice is even. Slow. “Could be.” There is a reluctant pause, tension rolling through his shoulders. “Banner told me to take you there. It’s where you’ll have to go he said. Never talked to your mother or father ‘bout this. Only ever through Banner. And he didn’t give me much. He said your mother would want you protected, but I’ve got no clue if that’s what she meant.” He lowers his head for a moment, a little guilty. “Never bothered to ask.”

You don’t blame him.

Though it doesn’t make this easier.

Sir Banner has always been a kind man, one of the few in your father's court who treated you with genuine warmth. You remember his thoughtful smile, the way he spoke to you as though your opinions matter even when the rest of the court dismissed you.

But even Sir Banner - loyal and true - has ultimately served your father first and foremost.

Has he known? Has he seen your father’s real face?

A swift and aching slash tears through your chest.

Maybe Sir Banner has genuinely believed he was acting on orders meant to protect you. Or maybe he just hasn’t known the full extent of your father’s motives. The thought makes your throat prick and tingle. The man you held dearly in your heart might have been complicit, unwitting or not.

It doesn’t matter that your parents are gone. Their commands will still echo through the kingdom, shaping the path you are walking on even now. Your father’s words carry the weight of stone. And even from beyond the grave, it could crush you.

Bucky’s jaw has tensed immensely. His eyes find you and stay. You might believe he is thinking the same thing. Cool air brushes against your back, igniting a shiver that lingers.

If it was your father’s order then the motives could be far more insidious than you dared to imagine - isolation, subjugation, control, banishment, your own lonely prison.

“Do you believe Sir Banner knew everything my father did?”

You just can’t seem to stop asking for his input.

Bucky’s mouth is a flat line. He swallows and grimaces lightly as if the words taste bitter on his tongue. “Don’t know,” he admits, voice sounding throaty. His body shifts before answering. But he looks at you. Keeping his eyes on you in a way that has you feeling he tries to make this easier for you. “But he seemed sure this is the right place for you.”

You take in a deep and wavering breath and nod at him slightly. Thanking him for his honesty without being able to get the words out. Your fingers fidget in your lap and you look down at them for a while.

You want to trust that whatever awaits you in that castle is a place of safety, not another, even worse gilded cage built from your father’s manipulation.

But you will be walking into the unknown. You might as well be blindfolded. And the man sitting across from you, who has fought and bled for truths buried by men like your father seems just as wary.

Being out in the woods and always in the presence of Bucky has become a strange kind of sanctuary - a place where you learned to breathe freely and hope again despite the dangers lurking in the shadows. But it’s coming to an end. And it feels so abrupt. So frightening.

Your fingers clench around the fabric of your cloak and you fight to steady your breathing.

You glance at Bucky again. His profile glows starkly against the fire, his silhouette strong against the dark woods and you feel your gaze soften at the way his own does. Not enough to give everything away but enough to offer something without words. Reassurance. A promise.

It makes your breath hitch.

The air seems to take on a softer quality itself. Hushed by things never spoken of, he holds something precious in his eyes.

But there is also a sudden sadness glinting within those blue babies. Something you’re not sure isn’t reflected in your own eyes. It seems to be such a rare thing for him.

His presence is a gift.

You’re aware of that now. Though it might be too late.

He became your only tether in a world that has violently spiraled off its axis.

He moves protectively without being overbearing. He never crowded you but always seemed within reach.

It’s the tiny gestures - a glance to check your footing on bumpy ground, a steadying hand when you stumbled, him shifting so he would block you from the cold wind, the way he always ensures you have the warmer side of the fire without ever making a fuss of it, the way he made sure you weren’t going to sleep hungry.

And it’s not just about keeping you alive.

Bucky has done far more than fulfill some vague promise of protection.

He has been tasked with keeping you alive but he has done so much more than that.

He kept you sane when everything around you came crashing down. He became the grounding force you never got your whole life.

When sleep eluded you at night, haunted by shadows of loss, it was the sound of his breathing mere feet away that lulled you into rest.

He became the reminder that no matter the odds, you have him just right there.

He warmed you in every way that fire and shelter could never. Comforted you without needing to say a word.

And what makes it all the more profound is that he didn’t have to. This journey, this promise - none of it required him to care beyond the basics of survival. Yet he did. He does. Bucky cared about more than keeping you physically safe, he cared about you.

He didn’t have to watch out for you in those small, thoughtful ways. He went beyond duty, quietly and without fanfare.

Bucky Barnes is good.

And not just competent or capable, but good in a way that runs deep.

You blink back the stinging in your eyes as if to ward off that very realization. Even despite the burdens and the scars and the doubts he carries, he is a good man. He might not necessarily believe it himself - you heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes - but you do.

You saw it firsthand, felt it in the moments he stood between you and the chaos of the world, protecting you from the ruins.

But what makes your heart bleed red crimson is the fact that you don’t have the time to make him believe.

Because this journey is ending the very next day.

Your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two different directions - toward the promised safety that lay ahead unknown and the comfort of what you have unexpectedly found.

And after this, what will happen?

Once the castle is in clear sight and his task is completed, what then?

Will he leave just like that, fading back into the forest this time without you?

Will you be left with the ache of his absence, suffering in the understanding that you’ve known something so rare and special, only to lose it?

You don’t know.

He was meant to take you somewhere safe and see you through to the other side. And you are nearly there.

What comes after is up to you.

You’re not even sure what you want - what you could even ask for - but the idea of stepping into that castle alone, without him at your side, fills you with trepidation.

Your heart stutters, unsure whether to face forward or shrink back. A needling chill spreads beneath your skin, making it itchy.

Your body seems to brace itself against the time ahead but there is no way to wrestle it into place.

The fire pops, showering sparks into the night.

Bucky moves a fraction, adjusting himself on the log, gaze pinned to the flames again. His broad shoulders are bowed slightly forward, his head tilted lightly. The grim set of his mouth is shadowed as the orange light is rather flashing on the stubble along his jaw.

You are drawn by him, by something beyond logic or necessity.

It almost even feels unnecessary to acknowledge that the weeks spent together have forged a little something between you two.

And though this travel is coming to its end, the hope remains within you, that perhaps it does not also have to be the end of whatever it is.

“Princess.”

Your head snaps up at the husky sound of his voice. He tries for a smile. It looks sad.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

No. Not without you.

Maybe in another life, you’d be able to say that out loud.

****

You basically spent the night searing him to your memories.

Not even the creaking branches or the swaying leaves were able to catch your attention anymore. Only him.

You committed everything you found out about him to memory.

He didn’t seem to sleep all that much as well so you couldn’t exactly stare at him too long. But you worked with what you already picked up, tracing his features in your mind.

That would be the endearing spray of freckles along the side of his face, scattered like stars in a constellation. It’s an unforgettable map etched into his skin.

The strong and proud slope of his nose, that sometimes moves with his mouth when he speaks.

You followed it down to the fullness of his lips, plump in a way that almost makes them look gentle despite the hard set they often carry.

Then there is his smile. So mesmerizing. It starts with a tug at the corners of his lips like it is something he doesn’t want to show but can’t quite suppress. And when it breaks free, it’s devastatingly beautiful.

And his eyebrows, able to relax when he sleeps or even when a fleeting peace washes over him that oftentimes has something to do with a glance your way.

His voice is clear in your mind, gruff but low and warm when he speaks those little nicknames. He no longer laces them with mockery and hearing them always makes a light rise in your chest that heats your skin.

And his eyes. God, those eyes. You tried to name their exact shade of blue, scouring your memory for the right hue. Could it be the light blue of forget-me-nots, those little blooms always so delicate in your hand when you went to seek them out at the palace gardens? Or maybe a more cornflower deep blue, looking so alive between other shades. No, probably more a nice soft, thick, tranquil velvety blue of hydrangeas, looking royal but still so brittle. Or freesia, with their delightfully tender beauty.

None seem quite right. Yet you search anyway. Desperate to pin down something so elusive.

And the way those blue eyes would search your own. Like he is always trying to figure you out, always trying to look deeper than you are sometimes comfortable with.

Your fingers flex slightly at the memory of his touch. The rough callouses and textures of his palm were stark against your soft skin, but his touch has always been gentle. The way he would hold your cheeks, sweep his thumbs over your skin, and tend to your wound, as if you are somehow a precious thing he wants to handle with care. A choice made rather than an obligation fulfilled.

And his hair - chestnut brown, but catching glimmers of gold in the firelight. You liked to watch those wild tendrils whip around his face in the wind. You remember how it looked when dampened by sweat, still unruly, sticking to the sides of his face.

His stubble - the rugged frame along his jawline that heightens his intensity. The one he would scratch at, or run his hand along once in a while. Especially in moments of thought.

You want to remember all of it.

Getting it all in memory locked away inside your mind to access whenever you need him.

Every laugh, every glance, the smallest change in his expression.

The night tried to propel you into the inevitable future, but you put up a fight as best as you could. You lingered, documenting every detail of him, making a mental capture of his perfection. Because he’d be gone.

So you took the time of the last night with him to memorize him, wishing the memory would be forever bright behind your eyelids. Never to fade. Never to leave you alone. That somehow against the odds, he would be there with you long after this journey reaches its conclusion. If not in flesh, then in your heart forever.

But for all the silent preparations you made under the shroud of the night - fixing Bucky Barnes into the tender folds of your memory, knowing you would have to let him slip away into the corners of a life without you - nothing could have braced you for the reality of the gate that enters your vision in the distance.

It stands looming and gnarly, iron bars reaching for the sky like the black ribs of some primeval creature intent on eating you alive. It’s menacing and grating in all its ridges. Almost like Bucky himself.

The path narrows as you tread forward. And with every step, your feet grow more heavy. The earth beneath your boots will be the last reminder of this journey you are so reluctant to leave behind.

The wilderness - the forest - has become such a peculiar place of comfort, full of campfire smoke, marked with whispers, and Bucky’s omnipresence - the stable wall just half a pace in front of you right now.

He scans the terrain, letting his eyes sweep across the landscape in his animalistic way. He surveys every tree, every shadow, looking for anything threat-like that might lurk here in the bushes around you.

There is no part of him that looks unsure. But you know better now. You’ve learned to read the subtle language of his body - his silence, his pauses, the set of his jaw when he’s holding back more than he is willing to share.

Wind brushes around the silence between you.

His earlier instructions echo in your head, just before you took off again this morning. His tone was clear and clipped and detached in a way. So practical. Too practical. You’ll approach the gate together to a certain point. Guards will be waiting on the other side. They will know who you are. They will take you in.

And you will go alone.

You remember his jaw clenching, teeth-gritting with each distinct word as though it caused him actual physical pain to say it, to try and shape this farewell into something more tolerable.

But the gate is in your sight already, far off, and nothing feels tolerable about that. It feels cold even from a distance.

Your breath hitches at the hope your body is already beginning to abandon.

You will have to walk the rest of the way alone. One breath of air in, and one breath of air out for every step. A deep gulf opens within you as the grim truth of that tries to settle. Bucky will stop walking any second and watch you take your first steps through those iron bars, leaving you to the kingdom waiting beyond.

Guards will be placed there. Waiting.

For the princess.

You have to remind yourself that that’s you.

The title no longer fits, awkwardly belonging to the body that has outgrown it much like a gown delicately torn at the seams.

The girl who once danced in marble halls bedecked in jewels that sparkled like shards of stars no longer exists anymore. What is left is the stark truth of exposure - physically and mentally - and survival driven by fear and fire through and with the unforeseen solace of companionship. Perhaps even friendship if you might.

And yet, here they are, waiting for a princess.

They're prepared to welcome back their princess like you’re something valuable to be retrieved. But god, you don’t feel like it.

You feel fractured, worn down by grief and guilt and the truths you’ve come to uncover along the way. The title is a relic from your old life that people now expect you to slip into again. Like a pair of shoes. As if it would be that easy.

You briefly look over at the back of Bucky’s built, broad frame, gripped with tension. His discipline surrounds him, the protective air he wears like his brown armor. But there is something more uneasy in the way his shoulders move.

You don’t know what might await you. What fate that castle will write for you. Bucky doesn’t either. And he almost seems to hate that fact considering the way he keeps his eyes on the gate ahead.

It isn’t just a passage. It’s a threshold. Crossing it will sever something irrevocable. Leave behind everything you’ve come to rely on, everything that’s kept you steady through the burn of your ruins.

Bucky.

You don’t know how to do this without him.

Your steps falter, but Bucky’s don’t.

He presses forward almost fiercely, determined. But still so stiff. You wonder if it is easier for him this way - to keep moving, to treat this as another mission, another battle won.

But he’s no soldier anymore and this is not a mission.

He is simply a man who keeps his promises.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Each step brings you nearer to the end of something special, something you haven’t even fully understood before it began to elude you.

And then Bucky stops.

Your heart might as well have stopped along with him.

He turns his gaze toward you, indecisively, slowly, as if he is unsure whether he wants you to see what waits in his eyes.

But you do see. Oh, you see. And it hits you with a force that tears the breath from your lungs.

There is a rawness there, sharp like frost - something jumbled and aching underneath all that grit and stoicism he acknowledges as a part of himself.

You thought you knew those many different shades of Bucky Barnes by now. The gruff protector, the silent watcher, the man who said more with a tilt of his head or a blink of his eyes than with words.

But this is new.

This stripped-down, unguarded version of him - brimming with something that makes your heart stutter. The pattern it's been following for weeks not making sense anymore.

Your breath stumbles in your throat, rough and halting, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Chilled fingers clench uselessly at your sides, wanting to clutch something, wanting an anchor.

There is no relief. Only him. And that is worse, since even he feels far away now, like a shoreline that seems to slip ever so farther from your reach.

Even Bucky’s stance is off. Unfamiliar. He’s always stood like bracing for a blow, feet planted firm and shoulders squared in resolution to receive whatever blow came his way. Now he stands as though bracing for something else entirely - something no less brutal, something no less punishing.

Something like heartbreak. Or at least something dangerously close to it.

The tension between you is electric with a tingling spiral that tightens with every breath neither of you seems to take.

Words hang unspoken. They force themselves against the back of your throat, refusing to be formed into that simple goodbye you both know is coming.

You drop your gaze, unable to withstand those searching eyes any longer. They fall back to the road leading through the woods into what has become a strange sort of home for you.

The trees loom big and indifferent, the breeze swishing their leaves and whooshing against your cloak.

“I have to thank you.” A shaky breath leaves you, an attempt to steady the tremor in your chest. You try to look at him. “For everything you did for me.” It comes out weak but sincere, each word trembles in its truth.

True. How heart-wrenchingly true. He has done so much more than he was ever bound to. He kept you safe. He kept you whole. And there aren’t enough words in the world to say what that means to you.

You hear the sharp intake of his breath. His head shakes. Almost quick. Almost desperate. As though trying to wave your words away before they take root.

One hand scrubs across his troubled face, ruffling his hair more aggressively than probably intended. The brown strands fall haphazardly back against his temples. Wild and beautiful.

“You don’t gotta thank me,” he rasps out finally, his voice thick.

Of course, he would think that. After all, he merely kept a promise, hadn’t he? Delivered you to safety and nothing more, like some grim knight. That’s how he would see it.

But it’s not how you see it.

“I do,” you insist, voice slightly steadier now though your heart is anything but. “In earnest. I mean it.”

You are drowning in your appreciation for this man.

You do not want him walking away from here thinking he was just a means to your own survival, that this was nothing more than duty completed.

He has been more. So much more. And he deserves to know that.

The tendons in Bucky’s neck strain as his jaw stiffens further. Muscles in his face jump.

But he doesn’t look away. His blue eyes - blue like forget-me-nots and cornflowers and every flower you’ve ever tried to compare them to - flit between yours, looking for cracks, for lies. But there are none.

Silence crashes back in again. And something appears to be shifting in it. It’s not goodbye yet, not quite - but it’s close. So close you can feel it brushing against your skin so frigidly final.

You wonder if he feels it too.

Remembering, you shrug off the dark cloak around your shoulders. He bought it for you at that market so long ago - or perhaps not so long. Time has become rather vague on this journey, but that day stands crystalline in your memory. The warmth of his unexpected gesture. The protection it symbolized. The way he did it without a blink.

But you can’t keep it. It’s no longer yours. And he can use it far better if he continues on his journey to wherever it will take him next.

But before the fabric can fully slip off your shoulders, Bucky’s hands tighten it back around. Making sure it sits properly. His hands linger on your shoulders.

“No,” he says firmly, gritting his teeth slightly. He shakes his head once.

“You should take it back.”

“No,” he repeats, still sternly but quieter. “It’s yours.”

You snap your mouth back shut at the insistent way he stares at you. Letting your hands drop from the fabric, Bucky adjusts it another time before slowly moving his arms back to his side.

His eyes sweep over you. Meticulous. Unhurried. It makes your heart stutter painfully.

He seems to be doing what you have been trying to do - committing you to memory. Tracing every line of your face, every shot of emotion that passes through your eyes, and tucking it away where it will be safe.

The moment feels suspended. Infinite. But fond.

This was never meant to last.

But it hurts like hell that it’s ending.

And so you linger. Just a second longer, you tell yourself. Unsure how to step away from the place you’ve both come to, where the boundary between protector and protected has long since blurred into something softer, more human.

You’ve tried to brace yourself for this moment in a hundred quiet ways - attaching him to a place in your mind, memorizing the cadence of his breaths and the rough edges of his voice - none of it has prepared you for how impossible it feels now that it’s there.

You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You can’t let this moment pass by without trying to hold onto it for just a little longer. Even if it doesn’t make the ache go away.

“What will you do now?” Your voice is bordering on tipping over but you try to keep it even enough. “Where will you go?”

You do want to know. Even if curiosity isn’t the whole of it. Maybe knowing will help make sense of losing him. Maybe if you can picture him somewhere - walking new roads, finding new places - you won’t have to carry your carved-out heart around all the time.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he looks past you, his face fixed somewhere in the distance. There is a crease in his brow. His fingers flex absently like he is working something through. For a moment, it seems he won’t answer at all.

“I’ve got a place to go, darlin',” he utters finally, the term slipping out as naturally as breath. “Don’t you worry about me.”

But there is something strange about the way he says it. Something weighted. An odd note in his voice that catches on the corners of your heart and refuses to let go. His voice is too quiet, the syllables too thick with meaning he doesn’t name. There is an implacable sadness around the words. So much thought. Something mournful lingers there, as if he might be grieving something. A thought he never dared to say out loud. A question he never dared to ask. And now never will.

It makes the ache in your chest fester and rip at the same time, urging you forward even though you don’t know where this conversation will lead. “You could stay here,” you offer. “Maybe for a while.”

You approached the suggestion timidly, like a leaf teetering on falling. You’ve made it sound careful, hesitant, afraid of disturbing whatever delicacy remains between you.

Bucky stands frozen. Head slightly bowed. His breath catches, a sound that is more of a sharp exhale than a laugh. Breathless, lacking any real mirth. Disbelieving. His head tilts lower toward the ground, perhaps searching for something there, something grounding. His shoulders shake subtly, as if he needs a second to pull himself back together.

When he lifts his head again, there is a tightness in his throat you can see in the effort it takes him to swallow.

“You know that won’t be possible, your Highness.”

Well, that hurt.

There’s a punch to your gut. There’s a stab to your heart. There’s a blow to your head.

All at the same time.

It leaves you bleeding so deeply, you don’t know how you’re still standing.

It leaves you gaping. With your heart in your hands. With your blood dripping to the dirty and leaves-covered floor.

His words don’t slice you open because they are mocking. God, that would be easier to dismiss.

No. His words pain you because there is no mockery at all.

None of his usual teasing lilt. No wry amusement or humor curling around his voice.

It’s gone. Everything stripped away until nothing is left but the sincere intent. He didn’t even call you princess. He called you what he was expected to call you. And he meant it.

He addressed you as a princess. As the most important person to your father's kingdom now that the king and queen are dead.

The persona you have distanced yourself from.

The persona you’ll have to step back into.

You’re so hurt you can’t breathe.

Because in that one utterance, he’s already bid you goodbye. Made it real in a way that spins you around, gutted and rootless.

In your ears, your heart beats to the thunder of a title that expects too much of you. It drums against your skin, as if in revulsion to your existence or perhaps the existence you are expected to have now.

And just like that, the freedom you hoped to have found in this forest - the warmth of the fire, the shared moments, passing glances - cracks apart and slips further from reach.

You want to protest, to tell him titles shouldn’t matter, not after everything you’ve experienced together. But his voice has been so pained.

And that’s the most heartbreaking part of it all. Because you know Bucky Barnes is a man who will carry this goodbye quietly, tucked deep into the hollow places of himself where no one will ever see it.

And you’re afraid that’s exactly what you’ll have to do too.

Because he is not meant to walk that path with you.

You try to hide and swallow the sting his words have caused.

But the pain that crossed your features has already been detected by Bucky.

And before you can step back, he leans toward you, closing the small space.

His hands lift without hesitation, large palms brushing against your skin as he cups your face between them. The hard lines of his fingers are familiar. So is the tenderness in which he holds you. He smells of pine and ash and Bucky. He is so close. Almost pressed up against you.

And your breath catches at the warmth seeping from him, at the fierce storm in his eyes. Remorse and sorrow bleed into the blue, shimmering with a kind of sympathy that nearly makes your knees buckle.

You can’t look away. He won’t let you.

And god, you wish he would, because this moment is everything and nothing you were ready for.

“You listen to me, darlin',” Bucky rumbles out, voice low and rough, with a gentleness that has you floating around his orbit. There is determination in his gaze. Not for himself, but for you. “You’re not your father. You’re not even like your mother. And that’s good. That’s good, because you’re better. Better than all the fools that’ll try to tell you otherwise.”

Your breath shudders against your lips. He leans in even further. Forget-me-nots actually do capture his eye color pretty well. You will have to find those flowers in your new gardens.

“You show 'em that,” he urges, though he still takes his time with telling you. Making his conviction come across. His thumbs brush ever so lightly against your cheekbones. “Make 'em believe it. I know you will.”

His belief wraps around your shattering heart, holding it together even as cracks threaten to tear open.

“You’re gonna be okay.” There was a slight waver in his voice but he caught it. “You are what these people need. Keep that in mind, yeah?”

His words are so achingly earnest. They have you teetering on the verge of tears.

“Yes,” you breathe out, giving him a nod. Just in case that whisper did not even reach him.

You feel something bloom inside you. Wildflowers perhaps, the color of all those you have spotted throughout your travel with this man. They push through cracks in stone and fill some of those spaces you had thought were left to be hollow forever.

The muscles in your jaw are trembling. They want to spill out a sob or a laugh or something else. But you hold firm.

Still, your breaths are released in shivers.

He believes you to be strong. He believes you to be your own powerful person without being shadowed by the ghosts of your parents.

And yet, there is something you spot in his eyes that you don’t want to see there. It’s a flicker of doubt. A tiny glimmer of self-deprecation that tells you he is convinced he is not part of that strength. And that he will never be.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for him, but you don’t dare move.

His eyes are still rooting you to the spot.

His breaths are mingling with yours.

The unrelenting blue of his eyes is so intently drawn to your own gaze.

There is nothing but him.

His touch sets every nerve in your body ablaze, buzzing with a tension so fierce it’s impossible to overcome.

You feel it thrumming between you. A crackling pull.

His eyes flicker down to your lips. And before you know it, your own eyes betray you as well. You trace his plump red mouth. Like poppy flowers. You would have to find those too.

He feels closer. The space between your faces is shrinking. So tentatively.

Your heart races wildly and you feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly against your skin, seemingly torn between letting go and pulling you closer.

You want to close the distance.

You want him to close the distance.

A wave of sensation sweeps through your spine, leaving your skin tingling.

It would be so easy. Just lean up a tiny bit and press yourself against his lips. You already seem to be standing on your tippy toes anyway.

You could let this moment become something even more tangible and real, something you could carry with you in the spaces of your heart reserved just for him.

His lips hover just a breath away from yours, and you can feel the warmth of him. Everywhere. You feel him everywhere. His breath fans over your face so sweetly.

You both know where this is leading.

And unfortunately, you both know why this can’t happen.

Before your lips get the chance to fully touch, he pulls back. Slowly at first. Only an inch, studying your reaction, flipping his eyes between yours so rapidly you can’t keep up.

But then, reluctantly, he lets you go and takes a step back. His hands fall to his sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.

This is the end of the road.

If you fall into his arms now, it will only make the parting more difficult.

But it’s still not even nearly easy.

With a shuddering breath, you straighten your spine and pull the cloak tighter around yourself. Just so you have something to do.

A gust of chilly wind hits you and you miss his touch in an instant. You feel removed. Cold.

You’ll carry this hurt, just as you will carry him. Just not behind the same door.

The space between you seems haunted now.

Like something has been stolen from the both of you.

You feel like you’re about to be pressed into the earth.

You know this is the part where you have to go. Where fate and duty carve their lines through your shared path, splitting it in two directions. He takes one half of your heart along with him.

Bucky’s eyes remain steadfast on you. Shadows are turning in and out of his gaze. He watches everything - the wind pulling at your cloak, the slight tremble of your lips, the desperate defiance in your gaze as though willing this not to be the last time.

Breath quivering, you force yourself to stand taller, chin lifted, although you don’t feel like it.

You don’t want to walk away. You don’t want this to end. But it has to. It always had to.

Your voice is thin and brittle like the last leave holding onto a winter branch. “Goodbye, Bucky,” you breathe.

And it still tastes inadequate on your tongue. It doesn’t hold even a fraction of what you truly feel, of what he’s come to mean to you.

Bucky’s movement is a slow gesture of a nod, almost seeming to store this moment away in a secure place deep within him. “Goodbye, darlin'.”

You take a step back, each inch widening a chasm between you. The pain is an entity that breathes inside your chest. Your legs are stiff, the earth not wanting to let you leave itself.

When you are about to turn, your throat clogs and his voice catches you in your tracks.

“Do me one favor, will you?”

You pivot cautiously, meeting his gaze. “Anything.”Fracture lines your voice. But you make it sound resolute. You’ll hold whatever he gives you tightly in your heart where it will live forever.

The corners of his mouth lift into a ghost of a smile. It’s feeble and laden with sorrow. It holds his final goodbye. The sight takes the wind right out of you.

“Don’t forget about me, yeah?”

You won’t.

How could you ever forget about Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll spend a lifetime remembering you.”

- Astrid Suu

Part nine

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd

[flippinpancakes64]

The Wobbly Third Wheel

Summary: You and Steven have been going strong for a couple of months now. The only bump in the road is Marc, who for some reason, can't even seem to be cordial with you...

Marc Spector x Reader-centric, fluff and a lot of angst, mostly just a look at Marc's character

Note: I'm finally branching out past Twilight someone take a picture omg. But this is my first try writing for something different, so hopefully it goes well. I saw a Moon Knight edit on TikTok and now I'm back in my MK phase so... Anyways Enjoy!

In the beginning, you told yourself it was just him getting used to you.

Steven already told you all about Marc's past. His history with his mom which led to Steven's creation, the whole situation with Layla, Khonshu, being Moon Knight, basically everything.

So you weren't all that surprised when the grumpy American didn't exactly want to be your best friend. That's fair after all. You never asked to be best friends.

What you did ask, though, was for something like a mutual respect. A peaceful coexistence where you could both exist in your own spaces and interact in a kind way if you needed to.

Only, Marc seemed hellbent on, well, giving you hell.

He would go out of his way to order food for himself and not you, even if you were sitting on the couch right across from him. There have been a couple of times where you and Steven were out on a date, and Marc suddenly fronted. He would walk off, leaving you stranded and frantically searching for your boyfriend without any explanation or apology later on.

But the worst were the nights.

You had spent the night at Steven's place again, and it was currently the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky, and London was quiet. You two were intertwined like vines, one of your legs between Steven's, his arms wrapped around your body in turn. It was hard to distinguish where you ended and he began.

It was nice, everything was peaceful.

Until Marc woke up.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, scanning their bedroom for anything that might have caused him to wake up. Finding none, he looked down at you.

And promptly got up.

That was always one of the worst things he did. Whenever you and Steven would be cuddling, or hanging out, or even just talking, if Marc fronted, he would always leave like there was a fire. Never an explanation, never a warning, just a complete tonal shift.

You know the boys can't necessarily control who comes forward, when they do, or how long they stay out. You know they have some level of control over it, but not a whole lot. And the way Marc looks at you when he suddenly fronts definitely leads you to believe that he's not the one behind the switch.

The surprise, followed by annoyance and slight disgust. His signature look whenever he saw you.

Marc roughly twisted out of your hold, not really paying any mind to if it woke you up or not. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as if he just got off a long shift.

Truth be told, he doesn't really know why he pushes you away like he does. He thinks you're nice enough. And clearly you love Steven. But there's just something about it, about even entertaining the idea of holding someone else close just like how he used to hold Layla.

Steven sometimes catches him fidgeting with his bare ring finger, running his fingertips over the indent left by his wedding band from all those years ago.

Layla moved on a long time ago, so why can't he? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to look too far deep into himself to figure it out.

You moved on the bed, groaning softly as you reached out for him. No, not him- Steven. You were reaching out for Steven. And he doesn't really want to think about the way his heart clenched when he thought of that.

"Steven," you groaned, your eyes blinking open sleepily as you turned to face him on the bed. His back was to you, but you recognized the tense line of his shoulders. The way his head was perpetually hung low like he was always guilty. Always a poor puppy waiting for another kick to land.

"Not Steven," he responded, his voice low and quiet. He wanted to be gruffer, to make himself sound tougher than he really did in that moment. But his body betrayed him, something it's been doing for years now.

"Marc," you whispered. He could hear you shuffling around on the bed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were now sitting up. No closer to him than before, still giving him the space he needed. He appreciated that.

"Just... just go back to bed," he sighed, running his hand over his face tirelessly. It was too late for this bullshit. Too late to be having a late night conversation with his alternate personality's partner who he's slowly starting to develop feelings for too.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice infinitely caring. So caring and kind and understanding that it grated on him.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed," he grumbled, moving to stand up.

"Wait," you called, grabbing his arm before he could go too far. "Please, can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about. I'm not your boyfriend," he gritted, his voice tight.

He could hear your tired sigh, and he felt his heart clench at being the source of your sadness.

"I know you're not, but you're a part of him. A big part of him. Please, can't we just talk for a little bit? I'm tired of this passive-aggressive act you've had going on for weeks now," you pleaded. When he turned back to look at you, he was met with those sincere, loving eyes. The same ones he's seen through Steven's. A patient, caring gaze that you save only for those you love most. And he's part of that.

He huffs, trying his best to play the part of the annoyed, grumpy man he's always portrayed himself to be. "Fine. Talk," he grits, sitting back down on the bed and facing you.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You realized this might be the only chance you have to change things, to at least convince Marc to be civil.

"Okay. Look, Marc, I'm not asking you to cuddle with me, or to kiss me or dote on me like Steven does. You're not him, we're not dating, I know that," you started, looking deep into his eyes. Marc hates to admit how his chest tightened at that, how he had to fight back the urge to do exactly that.

"All I'm asking is that we can coexist. I love Steven, and I want to be able to spend time with him without feeling like I'm intruding on your space," you continued.

"You are intruding on my space. This is my apartment, this is my bed, you're wearing my clothes," Marc grits before he can stop himself. The way you sigh and bow your head afterward makes him want to hurt someone. Mostly himself.

"I know... I'm... I'm sorry. I promise, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. That's what I'm trying to get at. But I can't work with you if you don't work with me," you pleaded.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell you that you're always welcome, that you don't need to work around him. But he can't. His pride is too fragile, his ego too small. To turn around now would be to wound himself.

"Well I don't know what you want me to do," he settled on instead. A non-answer he always gave Layla when they argued. It had the same effectiveness now as it did back then, which is not much.

"All I want is some communication. I'm not very good at picking up the differences between you two yet. And sometimes it happens so quickly I can't catch it. It's jarring, you know? To be cuddling your boyfriend one minute and then the next minute he just gets up and leaves with no explanation," you said, your voice dripping with worry and sorrow.

"So what do you want me to say?" he gritted. He needs to backpedal, he needs to go back, but he can't stop himself. "'Hey, it's not Steven anymore, so fuck off,'? Is that what you want me to say? 'Hey, it's Marc, get out of my goddamn apartment, I don't want you here and have never wanted you here'? Do you want me to tell you that you're a nuisance? That you take away from my limited alone time because you're always fucking here? That I can't get a moment's peace?"

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. The lines between your brows, the slight purse of your lips, the wobble of your chin.

"If... if that's what you want to say, then go for it," you whispered, barely hiding the hurt in your voice. No, no, no. He doesn't want you to cry, he's never wanted you to cry.

But this is just who he is.

He's Marc Spector. Moon Knight. The guy who always manages to fuck up everything good that comes his way. The guy who ruined not only his life, but has managed to fuck up Steven's too. The one his broken brain made to be the good one, the one who was supposed to be happy and live a good life away from all of their trauma, he pulled him into it too. And now they're both broken. Everything he touches breaks, and clearly, you're no exception.

Your hand on his shoulder that pulled him back down into the bed, the one that urged him to keep talking, that was when fate was set. And the proof is right in front of him.

The love of his life, his second chance at happiness, crumbling to pieces in front of his eyes.

And yet all he could do was watch.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling from those eyes that hold so much love, so much patience. He knows if he watched long enough, all the love that you held in there for him would disappear too, so he looked away.

He didn't say anything after that, he just got back up off the bed and stalked out to the kitchen. You were left to tremble silently, to reel and mull over what he just said.

The next day, Steven told you that he didn't mean it. He reassured you that Marc doesn't hate you, but you don't believe it. From your eyes, Marc has only ever pushed you away.

This is what always happens. Marc breaks your heart over and over again, constantly proving that he doesn't love you.

But when it's the dead of night, you don't notice your boyfriend's arms tightening around you. You don't hear the whispered confessions of love that slip from his mouth, missing that signature British accent. You don't feel the hesitant kisses he places on your cheeks and forehead, ghosts of affection that he believes aren't supposed to be there.

Marc thrives here, in the shroud of darkness where no one, not even Khonshu, can see the love in his eyes. No one can hear the vulnerability in his voice. No one sees the tremble of his hands or the reverence they hold. And no one, not even Steven, can feel the longing for love inside of him.

[parkerslatte]

Down Comes The Blade

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: blood and injury.

Summary: While on a mission with Azriel, Y/N’s mind gets taken over and she only has one thought on her mind. Kill Azriel.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The rain poured down heavily as Azriel and Y/N surveyed the small cabin from the dense forest. There was a flicker of candlelight through the window signalling someone was inside. Next to him, Azriel felt Y/N shiver. He had noticed it more than once since the rain started over an hour ago though Y/N never mentioned anything about it. 

Slowly, Azriel wrapped his wing around her body, doing his best to block out the rain. The movement caused a stir in the trees sending a few leaves falling to the floor and branches to shake. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet. 

“You are cold,” answered Azriel, taking his eyes off of the cabin for a brief moment to look at Y/N. If it were anyone else, he certainly wouldn’t have done it. 

Y/N shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

“I did tell you to wear your winter leathers,” Azriel said as his gaze returned to the cabin. 

“It wasn’t cold when we left,” Y/N said. “And they are getting too small for me now. It’s been a while since I wore them.”

Another shiver from Y/N caused Azriel to pull her closer to him by his wing. His arm twitching by his side in desperation– desperation to wrap it around her body and pull her flush against him. 

“Surely this isn’t practical?” Y/N asked, her gaze slipping from the cabin to glance at Azriel. 

“You being cold isn’t practical,” Azriel said, flexing his hands which were beginning to become stiff with the cold. 

As he rested his hands back on his knees, warmth encased his hands and Azriel couldn’t help but look down to find Y/N’s glove covered hands wrapping around his. 

“You being cold isn’t practical either,” Y/N said, her body shuffling closer to him and Azriel felt his heart beat a little faster. 

Y/N didn’t let go of Azriel’s hands, even as she fixed her gaze on the cabin once more. Once Azriel followed in her footsteps, he suddenly remembered the reason they were sitting in the pouring rain. The patience Azriel had was high but it was wearing thin. All he wanted to do was return home and relax, preferably with Y/N by his side– if he could ever muster up the confidence to confess to her.

A crack of a log behind them diverted the duo’s attention. It was pitch black through the trees. 

“What was that?” Y/N whispered. 

Another crack. 

“Stay here,” Azriel said. “I’ll go and look. It might be nothing.”

And it was nothing. 

There was nothing at all and Azriel sighed as he trudged back to Y/N through the rain. He hadn’t even wanted to go on this mission in the first place as it didn’t seem to be a priority. However once Rhys mentioned that Y/N was to accompany him, Azriel immediately accepted it. He still hated sitting in the rain in the dark. 

Azriel slowed his pace as he came to the area where Y/N was sitting not even a few minutes ago. She wasn’t there. A quick glance around the area confirmed that this was where she just was. The same two trees that began to intertwine the further up they became. The same fallen tree not even a metre away. Y/N should have been here. 

“Y/N?” Azriel whispered as he frantically looked around. “Y/N, where are you?”

The thumping of his heart quickened as Azriel scanned the area for any sign of her. There were not even footsteps in the mud below his feet. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Azriel looked toward the cabin. The door was wide open and a familiar figure stood in front of it. 

Without thinking, Azriel rushed forward. “Y/N,” he whispered. 

Y/N didn’t turn to him, not even as he was standing an arm length away. He spared a glance to the open door of the cabin, there was no one inside. The flickering candles were nearly burnt out. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said. “We should go.”

Once his arm found its way onto her bicep, Azriel noticed Y/N slowly pulling the blade strapped to her side free. 

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked, his normally calm voice rising with a hint of panic. “We need to go now.”

It happened fast. Y/N’s blade flew past his head and embedded itself into a tree behind him. Azriel let go of her arm and took a step back. There was no time for a rest as Y/N drew her other blade, the one Azriel had gifted to her just before they went on this mission, and held it tightly in her hand. She lunged at him. 

With a quick dodge, Azriel was out of the way but that didn’t stop Y/N as she only lunged again. And again. And again. 

“Y/N!” Azriel exclaimed as he tried to hold her off but Y/N knew every single move he made, even going so far as to prejudice them before he made them. It was incredibly useful when they were working side by side. But now as she continuously tried to slice him with her blade, it wasn’t ideal. 

“Y/N, stop!”

Y/N didn’t stop even as Azriel procured truth teller. Metal scraped against metal as their blades met. With one arm, Azriel managed to hold onto Y/N’s wrist, holding her hand with the blade out to the side just as he pulled her back against his chest, breathing heavily. Truthteller hovering close to her. 

“Why are you doing this?” Azriel asked, desperation evident in his tone. He didn’t want to fight against Y/N. He didn’t want to hurt her. 

Y/N thrashed in his hold, grunts of frustration slipping from her lips. She sounded almost animalistic. With a thrash of her head that was when Azriel noticed it. It was small but it was there. A small slice across her collarbone where her leathers had been ripped away. It had been too dark to notice it at first. The skin surrounding the cut was purple and black. Poison, Azriel concluded. 

Guilt crept up Azriel’s spine. He shouldn’t have left her. He should have known that those sounds were simply a diversion. 

“Y/N,” Azriel whispered, his voice softer as his lips grazed her ear. “Please.”

Y/N screamed and tore out of Azriel’s grasp. Truthteller slicing her cheek in the process. Azriel stilled as blood poured from the wound. It wasn’t a shallow cut, he was sure he felt the blade touch her bone. He had caused that injury. If he hadn't been holding truthteller at that specific angle…

Everything was quiet as Y/N stood before him, her chest heaving, blood pouring down her face. It was clear the poison, along with controlling her mind, was also taking her energy. Those eyes that Azriel loved so much were clouded over with a haze. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice shaking. “I know why you are doing this and I know you cannot help it. The poison will make you fight me until either I drop down dead or you drop down dead. I could fight you until either Rhys or Cassian arrive to help but I won’t do that. I can’t do that.”

There was still no recognition in Y/N’s eyes but she didn’t seem to lunge at him so Azriel continued. “I won’t fight you.” Azriel dropped truthteller to the ground. “I will not hurt the person that I love. So if you want to fight, you will need to kill me here because I would rather die than let you get hurt again by my hand.”

Slowly, Y/N stepped forward, the grip on the blade loosening. A spark of hope lit up within Azriel. His gaze didn’t break from hers as she stood close to him now he could smell the familiar and comforting scent of her, even in the rain and through the blood. 

“Y/N,” Azriel said softly, his hand coming up to caress her face. “I love y–”

The phrase wasn’t completed as a cold blade found its mark in Azriel’s side. His eyes widened in shock. Y/N pulled the blade out and blood poured from the wound. Stumbling back, Azriel crashed onto his back in the mud, coughing up blood. 

Y/N looked down, the haze over her eyes lifting. Azriel wished he was dead. He wished the moment Y/N stabbed him he would have died instantly. 

He watched as the horror of what she had just done wash over her features. She screamed his name as she scrambled in the mud to get to him. Nothing she said was clear as she put pressure on his wound. 

“Why didn’t you fight me back, you stupid male,” Y/N said through her tears.

“I couldn’t hurt you,” Azriel said, resting his hand on top of hers. 

“Hurt me all you needed,” Y/N said. “Anything to stop me from doing this.”

Azriel shook his head as he closed his eyes. It was getting hard to keep them open. “I couldn’t hurt someone I love.”

Despite Y/N’s pleading and begging for him to stay awake, Azriel welcomed the darkness not knowing if he were to wake up again. 

***

When Azriel woke, he was surprised. It felt as if only moments had passed since he had last closed his eyes but as he moved his hand and felt the stubble on his face, he could tell it had been longer. Beside him in the chairs, Rhys and Cassian sat sleeping soundly, though looking quite uncomfortable. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Azriel asked, his voice hoarse. 

Rhys opened his eyes and sat up straight in the chair. “No hello for Cass and I?”

Azriel didn’t have time for Rhys’s attempts to cheer him up. “Where’s Y/N?”

Rhys sighed and shared a look with Cassian. “Y/N hasn’t left her room since we saved you a week ago. She explained what happened and locked herself away from everyone. Madja didn’t even have the chance to treat that cut on her face.”

Azriel solwy sat up. “I did that to her.”

“And she stabbed you,” Cassian said. 

Azriel growled. “She didn’t do it on her own accord, Cassian. I need to see her.”

“You need to rest,” Rhys said. 

Azriel ignored him. “Order me all you like. I’ll only ignore them.”

Even if it had been a whole week since Azriel was stabbed. His body was still in pain and he groaned as he stood up from the bed.

“At least rest until the pain is bearable,” Cassian suggested. 

“No,” Azriel responded and before either Rhys or Cassian could stop him, he allowed his shadows to encase him and before he knew it, he stood inside of Y/N’s room. 

The curtains were closed and she was laying down in her bed. From the sound of her breathing, it was clear she wasn’t asleep. 

“Y/N?” Azriel spoke up. 

“Please leave, Azriel,” Y/N replied, her voice muffled by the blanket she was cuddling. He knew exactly what blanket it was and it wasn’t even hers– it was his. She has most likely taken it from his room. 

“Don’t shut me out, Y/N,” Azriel pleaded, limping over to the bed. 

There was no response from Y/N as Azriel climbed into the bed, facing her back. His wings were uncomfortable hanging off the edge. He wanted to reach out to her but if Azriel knew anything about Y/N, it was that she would simply flinch away from any kind of touch after anyone was hurt on a mission, especially pain she had caused. 

“Can you look at me?” Azriel asked. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Y/N turned over in her bed. The wound on her face was mostly healed and Azriel could already tell it would leave a prominent scar. Guilt crept up his spine once more. 

“I’m sorry. For doing that.” He gestured to the scar.

“It’s not anything I don’t deserve,” Y/N replied.

“No, don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Y/N you didn’t know what you were doing, you couldn’t control what you were doing.”

“You’re wrong on one of those statements,” Y/N confessed. “I knew everything, Azriel. I saw everything I was doing. I was aware of everything but it felt as if something else had taken over my body and I was simply a spectator. I begged myself to stop, I couldn’t sit there and watch you be killed by my own hand. But nothing I did seemed to work.”

Azriel’s hand moved until it was placed next to Y/N’s on the pillow. He didn’t touch her, allowing her to make the first move if it was something she wanted. “Y/N, please listen to me very closely. There was nothing you could have done. What you were poisoned with, I have read about it. There was no way to get it out of your system without either you severely injuring me or me killing you.”

“I wish you would have killed me,” Y/N muttered. 

“Killing you would have only killed the both of us,” Azriel replied. “I could not have lived with myself if I would have killed you.”

“And you think I can live with myself for nearly killing you?” Y/N exclaimed. 

“Yes, because you are stronger than me, Y/N,” Azriel said. “Yes, you would have been upset about it. Perhaps you would have done exactly what you are doing right now, locking yourself away, not interacting with anyone. But I have known you for many years. I know that you would have eventually found yourself moving on, intentionally or not. Because I know you and I know that you want to live, you love your life and you love your friends and family. You know that they will help you through anything.”

“They would do the same for you,” Y/N said. 

“I know but I am not as strong as you, Y/N. If I were to kill you, I would lay down in my bed and I would never rise from it. I would die there and follow you into the afterlife. I would never forgive myself for it. Whereas you had no choice or control if you had killed me, I would have had full control and it would have been my actions that would have caused your death.”

There was no response from Y/N but her fingers gently brushed Azriel’s before she laced her fingers with his. 

“Did you mean it?” Y/N asked.

Azriel knew what she was talking about. “I did.”

“At first I thought you were only saying it to get through to me,” said Y/N, shuffling closer to Azriel in the bed. 

“I was saying it to try and get through to you,” Azriel said with a squeeze of her hand. “It doesn���t mean I didn’t mean it.”

“I wished you would have told me sooner,” Y/N replied. 

“I wish I did too,” Azriel said. “There have been so many times where I wanted to but didn’t have the courage to say it. Call me a coward if you wish.”

“If I were to call you a coward, Az, then it would be extremely hypocritical of me,” Y/N admitted. “Whenever we are alone I have the urge to confess my feelings to you but I always hold myself back. Afraid of your reaction.”

Silence consumed the room, although it wasn’t uncomfortable. Azriel continued to look at Y/N while she looked at their clasped hands. Of course he had held Y/N’s hand before but there was something different about it this time. Perhaps it was because of the indirect confession lingering over them. 

“Can you stay here with me?” Y/N asked. “I haven’t been able to sleep while you have been recovering and knowing that you are here will help I think.”

Gently, Azriel unclasped their hands and opened his arm for Y/N to slot against his chest. “Come here,” he said softly.

Her warm body pressed against his and Azriel practically curled his body around her. Somehow her touch lessened the pain in his body that it wasn’t his primary thought. He was consumed by Y/N as he had been for many years now. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his torso as she buried her head into the crook of his neck and breathed him in before relaxing fully. Azriel assumed it was the first time she had relaxed since she locked herself in the room.

“I love you,” Y/N muttered. 

“I love you too,” Azriel replied with a kiss against her head. 

“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” Y/N asked.

“You would actually need to kill me to get me to leave,” Azriel replied.

“Not funny,” Y/N groaned and buried her head deeper into his neck, her lips brushing over his skin. 

“Of course I’ll be here,” Azriel said softly. “I’ll be by your side for eternity if it is what you wanted.”

“As long as you promise me the same thing.”

Azriel held her a little tighter. “I promise.”

With that promise, Azriel felt himself drifting off into a peaceful sleep with the female he loved in his arms. 

[writing-fanics]

underneath the willow tree [everything stays]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[summary: he left you waiting in the garden and slowly nature reclaimed you]

Let’s Go

In The Garden

You’ll find something waiting

Your laughter seemed to echo throughout the garden. You were always so cheerful and full of joy, that was your gift after all bringing joy to others in Heaven and Earth. You sat there in the garden, waiting for Lucifer. He promised that he'd meet you in the garden, as he had something he needed to tell you something very important.

You were naive and innocent and unaware, of his infidelity. How he'd been spending time with Lilith, sleeping with her when he was supposed to be meeting up with you. You were blissfully unaware, of how your very own fiancee is cheating on you.

He was drawn to Lilith, Adam's wife, because of her independence, which made him infatuated with her. Unfortunately, he was unfaithful to you, and you were unaware of his infidelity.

You believed that your relationship was flawless and were looking forward to the upcoming fall wedding. Between you and him, and you wondered what he had to talk to you about.

Maybe new adjustments to the wedding?

As you waited for your fiancée to return, you spent hours standing amidst the serene beauty of nature, listening to the sweet melodies of birds and the soothing sounds of nature. You were filled with a sense of innocence and contentment, as you played with the ring on your finger - a symbol of your love and commitment to your significant other, Lucifer.

You giggled as butterflies landed on your nose and then flew away. You began humming the songs that Lucifer would sing to you. As the sun slowly started to set, you looked up at the sky and whispered, "He's been gone for a while." Despite this, you continued to wait.

and waited

and waited

The passage of time seemed to have flown by as you looked down at the ground. You noticed that roots had wrapped around your legs and your hand had been in the same position for so long that you felt rooted to the spot.

You couldn't help but frown as you wondered if you were doing everything correctly. Had you accidentally missed seeing Lucifer? And where was your fiancée? It was difficult to tell, as it had been a long time since you last saw him.

You found yourself weeping while standing there, wondering where he could be, as the cold breeze sent shivers down your spine. Your legs felt rooted to the ground, making it impossible to move a single step.

As you stood there, you noticed something strange happening to your body. You felt an unseen force pulling you down, and before you knew it, roots had wrapped themselves tightly around your legs and arms, preventing you from moving any further.

You struggled in vain, but the roots only grew tighter and stronger with each passing moment. As time went by, you realized that you were slowly transforming into a tree-like shape, and your tears fell to the ground like rain, watering the soil. The roots that had once trapped you were now a part of your being, intertwined with your limbs and coursing through your veins.

You couldn't help but weep, and as you did, your tears began to take on a life of their own. They sprouted from your body like leaves, delicate and dainty, resembling the graceful branches of a willow tree. You were no longer just a human; you were a part of nature, forever frozen in time, a poignant reminder of what once was.

It wasn't until centuries later when the King of Hell, arrived in Heaven for the centurial meeting he had a few minutes to spare. He'd seen and walked passed the willow tree that rested in the courtyard of the courthouse.

As he sat underneath the huge oak tree in the park, he couldn't help but notice the strange looks he was getting from passersby.

Perhaps it was because he was dressed in a suit and tie, an unusual sight in a public park. But he didn't care, he just wanted to enjoy the peaceful surroundings. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the branches of the tree, and some leaves fluttered down around him.

As he brushed them off his lap, he noticed something small and shiny land on his thigh. When he looked down, he saw that it was a ring, a familiar-looking ring. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he couldn't help but wonder how it ended up in his lap.

As he held the ring in his hand, he couldn't help but notice the delicate engraving on the band. He began to read the words, and with each passing second, his heart sank deeper and deeper.

He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and heartache wash over him as the true meaning of the words became clear. It was as if the words were a painful reminder of a past mistake that he could never undo.

‘To my love, my everything,’

- Love Lucifer

Everything stays

Right where you left it

[fangswbenefits]

Backfire

(amazing art by @dopepoisonivyoncrack 🥺🩷 thank you so much!)

Summary: You should have known better than to make Astarion jealous, and now you are left to deal with the consequences.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Jealous/Possessive Astarion. Orgasm denial. Fingering. Edging. PiV. Creampie. Knife (dagger) play. Body worship. Innuendo.

Word count: 3.4k

You vaguely wondered how long it would take to set Astarion off.

He was glancing at you from across the camp, leaning against an oak tree as he twirled a dagger in between his masterful fingers.

The fluid motion broke your concentration for a moment.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and you quickly realised he was aware of your attempts.

Shit.

So much for subtlety.

Maybe you should have picked Wyll to test his jealousy as you reckoned it would have been more effective.

But now it was too late.

You feigned innocence as you patted Gale's arm, mindlessly nodding as he happily explained the intricacies of a chicken broth that he was preparing for later.

“See, the essence of this dish lies in getting the proper ingredients,” he went on, dipping the ladle into the steaming pot and stirring it gently before bringing it to his lips. “Hmm. Definitely lacking something, as I suspected.”

“Really? It smells very pleasant,” you said truthfully as the soft breeze wafted the delectable fragrance your way.

Gale raised one finger. “Mushrooms.”

“What?”

He nodded. “It requires a touch of mushrooms to fully bring out its flavour.”

You patted his shoulder with a warm smile. “I’m sure we can do without it.”

But Gale’s enthusiasm immediately wavered, his brows sinking. “Absolutely not. We require a proper meal and a proper meal is what I shall provide.”

Oh.

He stirred the broth again before rummaging through a satchel at his feet. “Well, I don’t suppose you could fetch me a few?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you found that Astarion had vanished.

Shit.

Your plan shattered into pieces as the object of your teasing was nowhere to be seen.

“Could you?”

Gale’s voice snapped you out of your frustration and you found yourself frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I need some mushrooms, my friend.”

Your frown deepened, but you really had no choice now and a refusal would most likely break his heart.

“Where can I find them?”

Gale beamed with a wide grin. “I spotted a few on the side of the road and near some trees as we were setting up camp. I was foolish enough not to pick them and now I’m burdening you.”

You shrugged with a sigh. “It’s no bother. I was the one who asked you to teach me some of your cooking tricks.

“Ah! You should have trained to become a wizard,” he said with an approving nod. “A hungry stomach and an equally hungry mind.”

As much as you wished to return his enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but to feel annoyed at yourself for the appalling attempt at riling Astarion up.

Maybe he had seen right through it and merely walked off, probably chuckling.

But maybe you had stirred something inside him that ultimately caused him to leave.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

You followed Gale’s instructions, nearing a forest area, shaded from the sun as the canopies of the surrounding trees grew denser and branches intertwined with each other above you.

It didn’t take you long to spot a conglomerate of a few rounded caps by the protruding roots of a large and thick oak tree.

Unsheathing your dagger, you squatted down and began dicing through the spongy stalks.

You were halfway through your task, when you felt the cold press of metal resting on the side of your neck, freezing you in place.

A smile crept across your face.

“I don’t suppose you value your life enough if it’s this easy to sneak up on you.” The blade moved upwards and along your jaw, causing you to turn your head. “Darling.”

You flinched away from Astarion’s grasp and both of you rose to your feet in an instant.

“I doubt any foe would be as delicate as you should they intend to truly harm me.”

He twirled his dagger, offering a devious smile. “Point taken.”

As expected, praising him always did wonders. 

And it was absolutely true and equally expected that a skilled rogue could move in the shadows with unmatched prowess. 

But then, the mood shifted as he deepened his smile. “What were you doing back there with Gale?”

Oh?

You cleared your throat, sheathing your blade once again at your hip. “I was merely observing his cooking skills.”

He took a step in your direction.

“Were you, now?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, darling.”

You allowed yourself to move back with each step he took. “And you’re not as perceptive as you think you are.”

“You weren’t trying to deliberately make me jealous, were you?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart drumming hastily in your chest.

Astarion’s feet only came to a brief halt once your back hit the rough surface of the tree trunk behind you, effectively rendering you immobile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A shameless lie that he immediately tackled. “A lousy liar who’s even worse at vexing me,” he tutted before pressing one knee right in between your legs. “I taught you better than this.”

The air in your lungs stilled momentarily as his arms were now on either side of your head, caging you. 

“Gale was the one offering his teachings.”

He dropped one hand below your chin, tapping it teasingly with the side of his blade and tilting your head back. “Please. I highly doubt that dullard could offer anything of value where it really counts.”

“Astarion…” you drawled in delight. “Are you actually jealous?”

His brows furrowed together. “Obviously not.”

Inside, you were thoroughly enjoying how your fleeting attempt had indeed been successful, despite Astarion’s denial.

You could see it in his narrowed crimson eyes and how the faintest of scowls deepened the lines on his handsome face.

That stroked your ego in a way that almost made you shudder.

You tried to ignore how he was now pressing his knee harder.

His lips almost brushed against your and, for a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he tipped his head to the side and you felt his cold touch on your cheek.

A shiver ran down your spine and you gripped his arms.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled. “Showing you what really counts.”

“And what is that?” you asked, words coming out shaky.

Astarion adored taunting you with words, but he excelled at rendering you speechless with his skilled touch. 

So it came as no surprise when eventually sheathed his blade and had his hand tug your shirt free from the waistband of your trousers, sliding his hand underneath.

This was bad for you.

Terrible, in fact.

He had the upper hand.

And he fucking knew it.

His fingers brushed along your lower abdomen and his voice was raspy in your ear. “If I slide my hand inside… what will I find?”

Your body was too used to him by now to the point that he could have you throbbing for him with little effort.

The knee dropped and you almost whined at the loss of friction against your swelling clit.

“Answer me,” he said, tugging at the waistband.

You swallowed. “Nothing much…”

Was there even a point in deceiving him now? 

Expert fingers tugged at the lacings, loosening the fabric just enough for him to be able to slip underneath, his fingertips gently gliding in between your folds, avoiding your clit altogether. 

But you were wet enough to draw a pleased grunt from him.“What is this, then?”

You gasped, involuntarily clenching around nothing and feeling a gush of wetness spilling as your body reacted in anticipation.

“Use your fingers properly and find out.”

Your taunt didn’t go amiss. “Maybe an apology is in order,” he said, arrogance dripping from each word. “It seems that your foolish attempt at making me jealous has backfired.”

Much to your frustration, your hips rolled into his touch, silently wishing he would stop avoiding your swell.

“How has it backfired?” you managed to say as one finger teased your entrance.

He ignored your question and began trailing kisses along your jawline, his other hand working hurriedly at the front of your shirt.

Of course.

You knew all too well that you’d feel his cock hard enough if he was already this eager to expose your breasts.

One by one, he undid each lacing, and he pulled back just enough for his gaze to drop as the fabric parted and he gently pulled down the binding that held your chest in place.

Your nipples quickly hardened and you rolled your hips once more, causing one of his fingers to slide inside.

He hadn’t intended for that to happen, but he was so transfixed with your breasts that he was caught off guard.

It was the vicious clenches around his finger that snapped him out of it and his lustful eyes met yours. “Give me one reason not to slide out of you.”

You smiled in between gasps as he sank deep inside. “Should I ask Gale what he’d do in your position, then?”

And just like that, Astarion snapped.

A second finger slithered past your tightness and he brought his lips to your ear. “Careful, darling. Choose your words wisely or you’ll be riding your own mage hand instead.”

Oh, this was delicious.

Astarion was visibly annoyed and it did wonders to your confidence. 

It wasn’t easy to get him all worked up, but it only fueled your ego and made you quicken the pace.

Your whimpers increased in intensity and you looped your arms around his neck for added support, lifting one leg to wrap around his waist. The new angle allowed him to go knuckle-deep and you shuddered as his strained erection pressed against his hand nudged him even deeper.

He groaned first, clearly enjoying the newfound friction, and you clenched hard at how his face twisted in pleasure.

“Look over my shoulder,” he suddenly said, his half-hooded eyes finding yours.

Somehow, and in between each roll of your hips, you complied, realising just how close to camp you truly were. Close enough to make out the silhouette of Shadowheart who was now at Gale’s side as he worked on his broth, probably wondering what was taking you so long to bring him some mushrooms.

“What about it?” you asked, a bit louder than intended when he sank all the way in once more.

His lips brushed against yours this time, dragging his fingers back as you clenched desperately around him. “You either keep it down or we’ll have an audience soon enough.”

“Would you mind?”

He stilled abruptly. 

“What? Having Gale hear you coming undone for me?” he taunted as you tried to have him back inside, your hips following his retreating hand. “That he would soon realise he could never provide such bliss to his lover?”

You whined in responde, frustrated that you were now faced with an agonising emptiness.

“See, darling,” he continued, sliding one finger back inside, but not quite deep enough to fully satisfy you. “I can be quite generous when I want to.”

“But what?” you groaned, trying to have him sink deeper to no avail.

There was always a ‘but’.

He placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back. “But I am not willing to share your cries of pleasure with anyone else.”

“Then silence me.”

The most devious grin settled on his face and you knew you had just offered a challenge he would gladly take.

And with his other hand, you watched as he brought the handle of his dagger close to your lips.

“Open.”

Your eyes widened and your heart immediately skipped a beat. “Astarion…”

“As much as I’d love to have your lips wrapped around my cock,” he said with a click of his tongue, parting your lips for him. “I am more interested in finding out how quiet my dagger can make you.”

You clenched around him so fiercely he actually growled.

Your teeth sank into the handle and you readied yourself for what was to come.

Astarion trailed your lower lip affectionately as it wrapped around the leather wrappings and a second finger joined the first, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit as he pumped in and out, never breaking eye contact with you.

The moans and whimpers and gasps that slipped from you were being effectively muffled and you were thankful he had decided to silence you this way, because when the third finger nudged at your entrance, you could only roll your eyes shut as your bit hard around his dagger.

“Surely you can take one more,” he teased, his voice low.

You eagerly nodded, rolling your hips into him, knowing you were more than ready for the added thickness.

It slid inside painfully slowly and the stretch had you gasping and nearly dropping his dagger, which he promptly secured in place.

“Now, I know it’s not as thick as my cock, but I am sure you can keep those pretty lips wrapped around it,” he taunted.

You groaned with a nod eager to please.

Eager to come undone for him.

The combination of being so full of him and how he allowed you to rub your clit on his palm was too much. The lewd sounds were almost too obscene and you gripped both hands together, holding onto the remainder of the sanity you had left.

For a brief moment, he allowed you to ride three of his fingers, giving you the illusion that you’d reach your peak easily and rather quickly.

But Astarion wasn’t forgiving even if he had been rather generous thus far. 

And you should have known that your actions would have consequences.

His generosity came to an abrupt halt just as you felt the familiar coil down below becoming more and more overwhelming, your body quickly reaching the point of no return.

Your gasps were now becoming more erratic and you were visibly struggling to keep a hold of the dagger in your mouth.

And then you felt a painful emptiness as he pulled out from you at once.

He chuckled when you groaned in sheer frustration, not allowing you to spit the dagger out and curse him to the Nine Hells.

You felt the urge to cry as he denied you from reaching your high, your hips still moving on their own accord in the hopes of finding his fingers again.

“Now, now,” he tutted, caressing your flushed cheek with his thumb, a single tear streaming down your face. “You didn’t think I would be that generous, did you?” 

Fuck you!

Your words came out muffled, but he understood enough to continue his taunt. “I know you want to, but not before I have some assurances first.”

Impatience took over you, but you managed to arch an inquisitive brow at him.

He pressed his lips where his thumb had been, kissing your tear away. “Tell me no one can make you feel like this.”

Your eyes widened once more as he pulled the dagger from your teetering teeth.

“I’m all pointy ears, love,” he urged, meeting your eyes. “Go on.”

Astarion adored being praised, but this was just cruel.

Your teasing hadn’t been solid enough to warrant such punishment. You had been so close to your peak… 

“Astarion…”

He shook his head with a frown. “No, no, no. You do not get ‘cuddly and sweet Astarion’ after what you’ve pulled, sweetheart.”

Your hands came to grip his shoulders almost pleadingly, but you knew you had no other choice if you were to reach your climax anytime soon.

“No one can… no one…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

Of course he wasn’t.

It took more than that to fill his ego.

“I’ve ruined you for anyone else,” he said with an intense smile. “You know that, don’t you?”

You immediately nodded, fully agreeing and not out of despair.

“Can you be good for me, then?”

Another nod as you tried to nudge him closer with the leg wrapped around his waist just to prove your point.

“Your pleasure is mine,” he said, bringing the handle of his dagger back to your lips and, this time, you quickly wrapped them around it. “My pleasure is yours.”

He removed his hand from inside your trousers and he pushed your leg down so he could tug them down your legs to give him better access.

Once you had slipped out of them, he eagerly wrapped you around his waist as he tugged at the front of his own trousers, until he freed his cock.

You gave it a quick glance, pleased to find the tip glistening with precum.

“Bite down hard, darling,” he warned, aligning you with him. “I know you adore how my cock stretches you.”

You did as you were told and he sank into you in one swift thrust of his hips.

He was all the way in and your back arched as he steadied you with both hands.

The first clenches around his cock made him mumble a string of curses as he tried to adjust to your tightness.

It didn’t take long for him to set the pace, slowly fucking you against the oak tree.

You weren’t going to last long from this new angle, and neither was he. It would be rather easy to get him to lose all control if you lost yours first. Astarion was rarely able to withstand your contractions as you rode out your climax.

His eyes were locked on yours, but something caught your attention.

Suddenly, your hazy eyes managed to focus on the camp nearby and you watched as someone seemed to be approaching in the distance.

Oh… fuck…

Was it Gale?

No.

It was Wyll.

You clenched around him almost panicking, until you realised he wasn’t coming any closer and had simply taken a turn down the hill, waving at Gale.

Your mind was too overtaken by how his cock felt inside you to care about the context of that exchange. 

Having Astarion being so eager to prove you that no one else could fuck you this way, had you undulating your body against his, always making sure he could bure himself fully inside you with each thrust.

Oh.

You were too close.

“Eyes on me,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips.

Dangerously close.

Especially when you met his crimson eyes again.

And you almost topped over the edge at once when you saw him doing something you had never witnessed before.

He finally broke eye contact and his gaze was once again on your breasts and hardened nipples.

And then…

With his free hand, he pulled his own shirt up the length of his body, securing the hem in between his own teeth, fangs digging into the fabric.

What…

He wrapped his arm around your torso and pulled you into him, your breasts pressed against him. The sight was breathtaking as you felt your nipples rub briefly against his, earning a guttural groan from him.

Astarion allowed you to sink all the way down his cock and you could no longer hold back the intense wave of pleasure that came crashing down as you felt his balls pressed against you.

You were biting down so fiercely on the handle of his dagger, you feared youd snap it in half as your first contractions tore through your body.

He pressed your back hard against the tree, and with a final grunt into the crook of your neck, he began spilling inside you, allowing you to squeeze his cum with each of your rhythmic clenches.

You clawed at the back of his shirt, feeling your mind blank as you came down from the overwhelming height of your pleasure mixed with his.

It was hard to steady your breaths and you weren’t sure you had ever come this hard in your life, but it felt like a shared sentiment as Astarion remained buried inside you even when his cum began to spill and drip.

The dagger fell to the ground and you gasped for air, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head through his messy curls.

“Gods…” he eventually groaned, showing no intention of pulling out. 

You grunted in agreement, caressing his damp hair.

“Should I tease you again?” you almost chuckled in between heated pants. “Wyll next?”

He pulled back and shot you a murderous glare. “Don’t you dare…”

Masterlist

[amaranthineghost]

hello!!!

can you do a one shot/ fanfic that Lando has been dating Y/N since they were 15/16, so for a long time, and she just found out she’s pregnant. you can come up with how they would react and how lando would react but i’d love if they were unsure of it in the beginning, but it grew on them as time went by.

thanks!!!!

| OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: they hadn't planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

ꕥ authors note: enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would honestly. tried to make it so she was more unsure than he was and in the end, I liked it. working on incorporating more dialogue in the future because it is definitely not my strong suit. I'll also alternate between requests and my own ideas so if you requested something, keep it in mind <3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, barely mentions thoughts of abortion

TWO RED LINES. her heart had skipped a beat, more like several as she stared at the dark red line and a faded pink one next to it. she couldn't believe her eyes. it couldn't be possible, it repeated in her mind.

but it obviously was. they hadn't been very careful, they're young and dumb and in love. two people so deeply in love that they couldn't care less. at least she thought they did at the time.

staring at the test in front of her shook her whole world, an entirely different branch of her life she'd never expect to take this soon. it was right in front of her.

despite being together for a year or two shy of a decade, it felt too soon. they were still young, had plenty of parties lined up in the near future. plenty of drunken nights running through the streets of monaco barefooted, hands intertwined as the world was focused on them. how they'd escape to the farthest rooftop, drunken makeouts leading to more as they came together under the stars.

they still had time. time to be what they'd missed as teenagers, to make memories. they had time to spend countless nights, wrapped in each other's arms under cold skies on balconies across countries, discussing their future. when they'd get married, where they'd like to live, if they ever left monaco which seemed unlikely, the places they've yet to see, how many kids they'll have and their names.

time for reckless driving through the streets of monaco with the wind crashing against them, hands raised as they cheered. he always drove to the most beautiful sight in the city, but always claimed it would never come close to the beauty she possessed.

time for runs across the beach in tiny bikinis and swim trunks as they raced on the sand. his arms capturing her waist as he tossed her around, feeling the vibrations of her laughter and screams against his skin. a feeling he'd forever cherish.

it all disappeared with a single faded line. everything she knew about their future collapsed with the test barely bigger than the length of her hand. it would affect everything.

it was conflicting. becoming a mother was all she ever dreamed and talked about, when she became older. she'd mention to her curly-haired boyfriend countless times of her dreams of having the mini versions of him running around the house they shared. the longing to see his eyes and curly hair with features of her own on another warm body. their child.

but she wasn't ready. in her mid-twenties, with years of life left to live child-free. tens of grand prix's to attend in support of her mclaren lover, watching 10 feet away from his car. nights to catch up on hours of sleep she lacked from keeping up with lando's lifestyle.

having a kid swept it all off the table. no more late night dalliances, or getting so drunk to the point where lando would have to pull over the car to hold back her hair as she threw up in the bushes.

no more parties at ungodly hours of the night, watching drunk lando stumble his way to the dj booth, giggling over a glass of alcohol at his actions.

no more sleep. she knew she'd be woken up numerous times in the night from the cries of her child, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to give up sleep yet.

and she wasn't sure lando wanted to give up formula one either. obviously, a balance between the two worlds is possible, but she knew he would want to be there with her, and she didn't know if he could.

it scared her. the thought of this changing the dynamic of their relationship on levels she couldn't even begin to think of. she's seen countless videos of how having a child completely changed the way couples worked, good and bad, and she didn't want that fifty-fifty.

she'd sat staring at the test between the tips of her fingers for a solid twenty minutes before she heard a patterned knock she grew familiar with from her beloved boyfriend.

the door muffled his voice just slightly, "darling, you 'right in there?" his hand wrapped around the now cold door handle and twisted it, but it failed to turn as it pressed into his palm.

it was unusual for her to lock the door, she knew he would question it. and she knew she couldn't use the excuse of that she's changing or showering because lando simply didn't care whenever she was. he'd sit and keep her company till she was done with whatever she was doing because it was often what they did. sit in silence, enjoying the presence of one another.

"yeah, I'm fine!" she called out to him in a rushed tone, flinching enough that she nearly dropped the test. she watched as the door knob shook, shoving the stick into the bottom of the trash temporarily. she'd remember to remove it eventually.

she turned on the sink as she hid the box of tests in the depths of the cabinet under the sink. looking at herself in the mirror, she'd wipe away the tears that built in her eyes. she didn't want him to notice, but like always he would.

from the locked door to the second she opened it, he'd watch it. she'd see him leaning on the wall just outside the door, patiently waiting for her to come out to him. he wouldn't question it, he trusted that she would eventually come around to tell him. she always did.

with the frequent trips to the bathroom and the slimmed selection of foods in the fridge, he'd suspect something, but he wouldn't know for sure. not without her word.

because for the time being, it was a secret she kept to herself, as much as she despised secrets. she felt like she was guilty to be hiding something from the person she trusted most in the world.

times when she thought the room was empty, she'd be pacing long ways back and forth with her arms crossed and her face solid. he'd watched her from the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, mirroring her position slightly.

times when she'd drop whatever she was doing to rush into the bathroom and spill her guts into the toilet as he held her hair and ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. she claimed it was a stomach bug, but he knew better. he also knew better than to question her words so he said nothing, but made a multitude of soups for her to sip on, taking notice of her now acute taste.

times when she'd cry over the tiniest of things, comforting her in his arms while she sobbed against the fabric of his very worn hoodie that happened to be her favorite.

it wasn't a great shock when she first told him. stuttering over her words as she fumbled with the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt that went well past her fingertips, he could see tears brimming her eyes with her heightened sensitivity.

so when she muttered the words, "i'm pregnant," his world stopped, restarted, reloaded and stopped again when he finally processed the words. though he knew he could've expected it, hearing the confirmation leave her lips left his world tipped sideways.

but he wanted to hear it again, needed to, words breathlessly escaping his lips, "what, love?" he heard her the first time, but he wanted to hear it again. and again and again.

she choked on her words, sobbing out again, "I'm pregnant, lan," he pulled her into his chest, his hand finding it's way to the side of her head as he cradled her, pressing his lips against her hair.

as they swayed, it finally dawned on him, muttering unsure and excitedly against her head, "I'm going to be a dad?" his breathing deepened, his tongue gliding across his lips, then biting at the sensitive flesh. he felt his heart hammer in his chest, nearly comparing to when he first asked the girl out all those years ago. he reminisced the time when the biggest deal he could think of was rejection. now the girl he had crushed on when he was just a teenager just told him she's pregnant. with his kid.

part of him couldn't be happier, they had spent countless nights in bed, lying on their sides facing one another with stupid grins on their faces as they pondered their future together. whatever they wanted, it always had the other in their thoughts and plans.

this was just their plans manifesting faster than they might've hoped, and sure, he wasn't totally certain that it was the right timing after all. but this was their dream, and maybe they just needed time.

time to accept how greatly their life would be affected. he thought about how he'd have to leave her for days, weeks for his career, the few outlying times when she'd travel with him. he knew that would change, leaving her home with a new life to take care of besides her own. he hated the thought of leaving her.

they needed time to think, whether it was together or just by themselves. they needed to figure out how they'd make it through, if they could. which was a question in itself.

they needed to talk because part of her didn't think he would be so accepting of the change life threw them, permanently altering their course of life and the years to follow.

deep inside, they're scared. they knew they would've been, planned or not. it didn't make it any easier. but when he asked such a simple question, it lifted a massive weight that had been carrying on her shoulders. part of her knew he'd always be so accepting. everything is an experience after all.

with every month passed, every growth of the life within her body, he'd mention. he was the nerdy type to compare the size of the baby with fruit. he'd goggle each week with every new development she'd create. it shook his mind to even comprehend. she could make bones, organs and the tiniest lashes of their soon-to-be kid all within the confines of her body. to him, it was sacred.

and of course, he'd tell just about everyone from every team. all the drivers, mechanics, pit crew, team principals, the list goes on and so does his rants about her.

countless photos of appreciation for her on his social media, after all she was carrying his child and he was ecstatic. he'd spent every waking moment he could with her, his hands always somewhere on her, prodominantly on her growing stomach.

when he felt the first kick, he pulled his hand away sharply, looking at her with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, "it kicked me!" he'd exclaim and she slapped his shoulder, scolding him.

"don't call the baby an 'it!'"

"what else am I supposed to call it?" again, earning another slap to his bicep, and he'd look at her with a growing confused look.

"stop slapping me!" he held up his arms in defense as she scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest. she pursed her lips before sighing as he'd replace his hand on her stomach.

"babe, I don't think this baby likes me," he looked between his hand and her eyes, feeling the movement under his palm. it was a weird sensation, something he'd never expect to feel so soon, or at all.

all she could do was laugh at the stupid expression across his face as he looked back and forth in bewilderment. the warmth from his hand, and the small calluses sent goosebumps across her skin. it incited a smirk to take place on his face, but she slapped it off. he'd expect to feel more of those as the months went by, especially with all the sly comments she'd hear slip past his lips.

with every ultrasound appointment, he'd be there. he'd make sure of it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. she also scheduled them in accordance to his race and where in the world it took place.

every time, his eyes would be locked on the screen that projected his child, a part of him in another life form. a smile always creeping into his face as he held her cold hand. more often than not, he'd get curious and try to become the technician, stealing the equipment out of the professional's hand. his girlfriend would scold him like he was some sort of dog. in response he'd groan, rolling his eyes at her.

he'd still try though, and the technician laughed it off. he'd make comments to her in reassurance, "babe, i've got this," he'd tell him as his hand with the wand came closer to her stomach.

"where's your degree then?" she snapped back, giggling at his sudden pause before he shrugged, waving it off his other hand.

" 's at home."

when the time finally came to birth their new life into the world, god did lando panic. everything he had prepared himself with went out the window when she'd mutter the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"lando," she mumbled as she sat on their couch, turning to him with wide eyes, "I think it's time." her sleeve-covered hands were at her face as she bit nervously on her nails.

he'd stutter over his words, hands in his hair, "you're joking." he'd say repeatedly as he rushed around the apartment, grabbing things. he was the type to grab everything and forget her still on the couch.

she'd call him on her phone when she sees him in his car from the window, through the pain, she laughed at him, "forget something, norris?"

"no, darling, I've got everything-" she'd see his movement pause, his hand returning to his hair, "fuck!"

when he'd come back to help her, she was nearly collapsed with laughter despite the pain she felt through her body.

"stop laughing at me!" he whined but he was laughing with her. nonetheless, they'd get to the car.

she was in labor for hours, crunching on ice chips that he'd fed her carefully. he'd massage her shoulders, hold her hand when contractions got particularly unbearable. he knew not to mumble bullshit words of encouragement, a word of advice from his mum, advice he'd gladly listen to.

instead he'd show her he was there by doing everything she asked until it was time to actually deliver their child they've been waiting 9 months to finally meet.

with a pale face, lando would comment, "I think one kid is fine after all." she'd roll her eyes at his words as she held their daughter in her arms, already seeing themselves in her. she was exhausted and he knew. he put her hair up, cooing words of appreciation to her now that all was done. he took care of her.

he'd remember call his mum later to tell her thank you.

[arayapendragon]

the beauty of quantum immortality 🦋

“what happens after i die?”, is a question that has been asked by many throughout the course of history. yet, us humans were never able to find the one true answer to what awaits us once our life in this reality comes to an end. unless...? ;)

this brings forth the concept of quantum immortality, which is a theory stating that our consciousness will continue to experience lifetimes where we are alive, after we “die” in this timeline or reality. Hugh Everett was an american physicist, who proposed the very fundamentals of quantum mechanics in his PhD in the 1950’s. he introduced the idea of quantum events leading to the universe branching into several different timelines, where each timeline represents a different outcome. therefore, if we choose to, we can continue to keep experiencing timelines, or realities, where we survive, thus leading us to believe we are “immortal”. this is known as the Many-Worlds Interpretation (MWI).

circa 1980’s, the physicist and cosmologist Max Tegmark delved again into the concept of quantum immortality, suggesting that we actually die many times in our lifetime, however, our consciousness continues to experience timelines where we are alive.

here’s an analogy of quantum immortality to better help you understand: imagine a person playing a game of russian roulette; hence, the gun leads to different quantum outcomes. - basis the MWI, the gun fires (due to an “upward spin” in a subatomic particle) in some timelines/realities, killing the person. - while in other timelines/realities, it doesn’t fire (due to a “downward spin” in a subatomic particle), so the person survives. from the point of view of the person in the experiment, they would only experience the timelines where they survive.

the very fundaments of quantum immortality and reality shifting intertwine with each other when inspected at a closer level. both focus on the existence of an infinite amount of realities, and seeing as we shift realities for every decision taken, even the smallest ones, it can be deduced that we permashift to either an alternate version of our CR, or any other DR after we experience death in this reality. meaning, we can experience whatever it is we desire after death, there are no limitations or set rules.

to answer the question at the beginning, there is no definite answer to where we go after death. given that the magic systems for this reality are the law of assumption and the law of attraction, it can be said that we will shift wherever we believe or assume we go after death, thus, in a way, demonstrating quantum immortality.

a few resources you can explore that discuss quantum immortality are:

Our Mathematical Universe by Max Tegmark

Parallel Worlds by Michio Kaku

The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene

Quantum: A Guide for the Perplexed by Jim Al-Khalili

The r/quantumimmortality community on reddit, though note that the users will have differing opinions of the concept, so it is best to conduct your own research.

[evielmostdefinitely]

scorned earth |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: the last stop on your honeymoon tour of the districts, leaves coriolanus to show you parts of his past, making new memories with you. based off this ask from the other day :)

contains: smut 18+. dark!possessive!coriolanus. mentions of corio's past. dom/sub dynamics. skinny dipping, semi-public sex. pinvsex. mean-ish!coriolanus.

“Where are you taking me?” You looked around at the tall trees, the sun peaking through the branches onto the moss covered ground. Your hand in Coriolanus’, fingers intertwined, letting him lead you through the thicket of trees. 

“It’s a surprise, my love. I told you.” Coryo’s eyes were bright, daring with excitement. Turning back to look at you over his shoulder, the sun caught in his baby blues, making your heart skip. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

You melted at his words, smiling softly. “Of course, I do.” You whispered, letting him tug you through the forest. “I-I’m just worried about snakes, or bears, or-” 

“-I won’t let them hurt you.” Coryo smiled, squeezing your hand. The pistol resting on his hip offered some comfort to you. “That’s why I’m going first.” 

You’d blame it on the warmth of the day, hot but breezy, as the reason you were so flustered at his words. The heat in your cheeks, tingling up your spine. District Twelve was the last stop on your tour, the last stop on your honeymoon. Coriolanus insisted on showing you around, to some of his favorite spots from his Peacekeeper days. After putting the town on a strict lockdown- you weren’t sure why he did it, but you didn't dare question it- he dragged you out here. 

“This is…” You looked at the water, sparkling from sunlight, and the greenery all around it. 

“Breathtaking isn’t it?” Coriolanus’ arms found your waist, chin tucking over your shoulder. The breeze fell between the two of you, fresh air, not smoggy or stuffy like the polluted city air of the Capitol. 

“It is.” You nodded, hand sliding over his biceps, leaning back into his touch. “How’d you ever find this?” 

Coriolanus paused for a moment, heart skipping a beat at the thought of her. He wouldn’t tell you about her, not now, at least, it was your honeymoon. “We used to come out here on our days off.” He said instead. It wasn’t a complete lie, he supposed. 

“Stay in that cabin, sometimes, when it would rain.” Coriolanus pointed to the cabin, a little more worn than he remembered, a lot colder looking too. 

You turned, smiling at the sight. “That’s… This is very nice.” You grinned, head tilting back to meet his gaze. You looked pretty like this, Coryo decided, under the bright District Twelve summer sun. 

“Would you like to go swimming?” Coryo smiled, hand brushing over your hip, squeezing it gently. 

“Swimming?” You giggled. “In what, Coryo? I didn’t pack any swimwear.” 

“Do you think they have swimwear here?” Coriolanus scoffed lightly, shaking his head at you. “Just go in your undergarments.” 

“Coryo.” You blushed, looking around like there might be others to overhear. It was so improper, you were surprised he even suggested it. 

“Or just go without anything on.” Coryo rasped, his crotch grinding lightly into the fat of your ass. Your body jolted with electric heat, grabbing at his arms. “No one’s out here, darling. I won’t mind.” His breath was hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shivering at the thought. 

Your hands trembled lightly with excitement, pushing down the straps of your dress, gaze on Coriolanus. He grinned proudly as you stripped, your eyes on him so obediently- just as he trained you to be. You were bare, arms covering your most private parts, standing in front of him on the small dock. 

Coriolanus followed, slinging off his slacks, his shirt, grinning at you with that familiar, wild look in his eyes. It made your heart flutter, his gaze animalistic, roaming all over your body. 

“I’m going to throw you in.” Coriolanus growled playfully, though his eyes were primal. 

“Don’t you dare, Coryo.” You pointed at him, walking back on the creaking dock. “Coriolanus Snow, I swear-” 

Coryo lunged at you, laughing at how you shrilled, your scream bouncing off the trees, the mockingjays echoing it through the breeze. Your bare feet padding against the wood, ass jiggling with your run, taunting him. You skidded to a stop at the edge, whipping around to look over your shoulder. Coriolanus pacing towards you, arms reaching out for you, eyes narrowed with a primal sense that had you reaching your arms out in instinct. 

“Coryo, no!” Your squealing pleas were cut short, his hands on your waist, slinging both your naked bodies into the lake water. 

Cool water plunged around you, hands clawing at Coriolanus even under the murky water. You surfaced, a large gasp of a breath, hands hitting the rippling waters with a panicked fury. You could swim, sure, but not very well, especially not when you were thrown in unexpectedly. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Coriolanus hummed, hands pulling you into his wet chest, bobbling with you through the water. You crawled up his back, legs wrapping around his waist, hugging him tightly to you. 

He could feel your heart beating on the back of his chest, your pebbled nipples from the cold water pressing to his back, making his cock lurch with lust. 

“Don’t you dare let go of me.” You hissed, nails digging into his shoulder. “There’s no telling what’s in this water. I can’t even see the bottom.” 

“Oh,” Coryo taunted, chin hooking over his shoulder to grin at you. “Might be a monster, hm? Might come up and bite you.” His fingers pinched the fat of your ass, you squealed in his ear, feet pushing up on his hips, dunking him slightly. 

He sputtered, water, feet kicking steadily under the water to keep you both afloat, wiping the droplets out of his eyes. Your pouting face greeted him once his vision cleared, brows creased in a deep furrow. “That wasn’t funny.” You grumbled. 

“Oh, don’t be pouty with me, darling. I was only teasing.” Coriolanus’ hands found your waist, pulling you around his body so you rested on his hips, legs still tight around him in a vice. “You know I wouldn’t let anything hurt you, petal.” He muttered, cupping your jaw gently. 

It was a rare pet name, but by far your most beloved, which is why Coriolanus used it so sparingly. Only when he was especially in love, when he wanted you to know. 

You ducked into his kiss, your own hands on the back of his head, pulling you closer and closer to him. His lips moving on yours, noses brushing, teeth gnashing in a positively sloppy makeout. It felt exhilarating to be doing this in public, showing such crude affection outdoors, even if no one else was around. 

Coriolanus’ hand on your hip, squeezing gently, sliding under the water up your back to cup your breasts under the water. You giggled breathy into his kiss, legs tightening under the water. Coriolanus tipped you into the kiss, dunking you under the water accidentally. 

You sputtered, coughed at the water invading your nose, glaring back at him. He grinned cheekily, squeezing the fat of your left ass cheek firmly under the water. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea.” He hummed. “Far easier in the bathtub, I’m finding out.” 

You blushed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “So what then? On the banks? Like animals?” 

Coriolanus’ eyes left your gaze, darkening at what he saw past you. You could see the change in them, that crossed over to something sinister and dark, it made your stomach flip with thrill, anticipation. 

“No,” Coryo’s eyes met yours, lips curling in a sinister smile. “I have a better idea.” 

“That’s it, that’s perfect, my love.” Coriolanus grunted, head tipping back into the hardwood of the floors. 

The floorboards squeaked beneath you, with every rise and fall of your hips. Your hair was still damp, as was his, bodies still soft from the water that hadn’t been wiped away. His hands pawed at your breasts, squeezing them with every roll and rise, riding him in the small cabin. 

His mind flooded with memories, memories of before, everytime he looked around. The dark day he didn’t want to remember, a dark time before you. Coriolanus felt guilty, thinking of her while you were on top of him- his wife. So he did what he could to keep his mind from wandering, pawing at your breasts, grabbing at the fat of your ass, but he swore- swore he could hear the mockingjays singing that same song over and over. 

“Wait, just a- hold on, darling girl.” Coriolanus grunted, pressing on your hip to stop you. 

“What?” You panted, chest rising and falling sharply. “What’s wrong?” You muttered, purely lust drunk, your eyes told him so. 

Coryo smiled, cradling your jaw gently, pulling you to him. Your body folded over his, lips on his, kissing him passionately. Coriolanus flipped the two of you, rolling you lightly onto the wooden floor, the floorboards groaning at the shift. His hands cupped under your knees, pressing your thighs forward, letting you hook them over his shoulders while he bottomed out in you, smug at how your eyes rolled back. 

“C-Coryo,” You whimpered at the sudden change of pace, his hips snapping and rolling into you sharply, cock spearing that spongy spot that had your eyes rolling back, mouth falling open dumbly. 

Coriolanus’ pace didn’t stop, fucking you nearly barbarically, at a punishing pace. You hadn’t expected it, truthfully, he normally saved this type of sex for when you’d been bad, when you needed to get fucked like this. Maybe he needed it. Something about District Twelve had him off, but you didn’t pry. 

“Look at me.” Coriolanus growled, hands pushing into your hips, fingertips curling so sharply you knew there would be bruises. 

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with ecstasy from every punctuating jab of his cock into you. “Who do you belong to?” 

You were confused, mind dwindling away, thoughts following them. Coriolanus tapped your cheek lightly, hard enough to get your attention, eyes snapping obediently back to him. “Answer me.” Coryo repeated through gritted teeth, his pace not letting up, not once. “Who do you belong to?” 

“Y-You.” You shuddered, body rolling with another wave of pleasure, thighs trembling around him. 

“Say it again.” Coriolanus spat, reaching forwards, hand cupping your cheeks, squeezing them between his fingers so your lips puckered. “Who do you belong to?” 

“You, Coryo, you. You- oh!- it’s only you. Only you.” You babbled, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes as your orgasm consumed you. He didn’t stop, squeezing tighter around your cheeks. 

“You’re all mine. Mine. You belong to me, you got that? Not anyone else.” Coriolanus growled, his thrusts faster now, leaving you no time to recover. You whimpered at the sensation, the sensitivity. 

“You’re never leaving me, either. You got that?” Coryo snarled. Your eyes had glazed, looking at the wood ceiling above him, half heartedly pushing at his arm. 

Coriolanus’ hand pulled your chin back to him, stilling suddenly, still deep inside of you. “Look at me.” He sneered. Your eyes fluttered to him. “You’re not leaving me, ever.” He held your gaze, his wild eyed one peering back at you. 

“Say it.” Coryo demanded. You whimpered, his hips pressing further into you, filling you more- you didn’t even know he still could, you felt so full already. “Say it!’ 

The sheer possessiveness, his tone, a chilling edge that had you shuddering. “I-I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, voice caught around the lump in your throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Coryo, staying with you.” 

“Forever?” Coryo hated how needy he sounded, but he doubted you noticed, not with the way your lip was trembling, eyes glazed. 

“Forever.” You repeated, squeezing his wrist lightly. “Forever with you. Only you.” 

Coriolanus dropped himself over you, face buried in the crook of his neck to breathe in your sweat soaked scent, rutting into you like a mutt in heat until he was spilling, presseed deep inside of you, milking his load into you. 

The walk back to the train was much slower this time. You clung to Coryo, legs wobbly and unsure, his arms wrapped around your back. It was silent, the chirping of the birds, the breeze floating between the leaves, your only sound. 

Coryo left you later that night, tucked into the bed, pressing a kiss to your head. You didn’t pry as to where he was going, and he was grateful for that. You didn’t ask why he smelled of smoke when he came back, why he was just as ravenous as before, which he was even more thankful for. 

As Coriolanus left you, meeting with the General over the Peacekeepers, leading them back through the thicket, he thought of her. Her smug grin, her in his mother’s shawl, how she’d just left it- left him. He thought he’d never recover after Lucy Gray. Then he met you. How you treasured every gift, only looked at him, craved him the way he did you. 

You wore his mother’s ring with pride, and he knew she’d be pleased with you. 

Which is why he had to kill all of his past before you. 

Kill the woman who wrecked him, the girl who took his heart and shredded it, made it jagged for your hold. 

And as the cabin burned, scorched under the starry night sky, Coriolanus was pleased knowing his last memories of the cabin were with you instead of her. 

Knowing that part of him was ash like the wooden cabin was now, soot mixed with the soil of District Twelve. 

Coriolanus returned back to you, holding you as close as he could in his arms, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. You were his, and he was yours. Now until forever.

[rlimagi]

Can you do bridget with a villain GF. Like major Sunshine x Storm or whatever

Perfect Revenge

Pairings: Bridget x Villian! Reader

Genre: Fluff with a splash of reader being a menace <3

Warnings: evil activities?

Note: Hi!! Thank you for your request, this is a bit short but this is the first time I’m writing for Descendants so hopefully you’ll enjoy this! Also thank you everyone else for the requests, I’ll start writing as soon as I get more ideas<3

“Sweetheart, you need to stop being so nice to people who don’t deserve it!” You frowned, voice raising higher and higher the longer you thought of Uliana who recently dropped a bucket of green paint over Bridget’s head.

It was humiliating for Bridget but she still forgave her, the thought made you more angry by the seconds.

“Calm down, baby. The school’s going to flood soon if you don’t, just…it’s fine just stop thinking about this.” Bridget being the angel she was, intertwined your hands with hers to calm you down even when she was the victim of a petty prank.

You sighed, your emotions got the best of you to the point that you didn’t realize that you summoned heavy rain upon the school grounds.

You lifted your eyes off the ground to see other students running inside the school, trying their best not to get too wet.

“Okay, fine…sorry but really, if she touches even an inch of your body again, Ursala might need to come on land to find her precious baby sister’s remains.” You said, smirking as you eyed Uliana and her gangs who were strutting to god knows where but you know it’s not to etiquette class.

“That’s well…good enough! Thank you baby, now stop sulking and go back to class!” Bridget smiled gleefully, giving you a kiss on the cheek before running off to her class before giving you a chance to respond.

Your face reddened at the sudden kiss even if it was only on the cheek. Bridget had always had this effect on you, even in the darkest of days she’ll somehow make it all brighter.

But just to your dismay, Uliana appeared in your sight again but this time she was alone. A smirk rose up your lips. “Sorry, Bridget. You’ve let Uliana off way too many times. She wants to play with fire, but I’ll give her all the elements.”

You silently followed her into the forest, waiting until she was too far from another living being aside from yourself to strike.

You stood on one of the branches of a tree, luckily the trees in the magic forest was big or else you wouldn’t have been able to hide so easily. “Uliana~” you sang out, your voice echoed into the darkness, scaring the living soul out of the villian.

“Who’s there!” Uliana shouted, trying to seem threatening but you could read her like an open book. She was trying her hardest not to tremble

“Is that how you speak to a friend?” You pouted, faking an innocent look as you jumped right in front of her.

“You!” Uliana screamed, her body fuming in anger but before she could utter another word you snapped your fingers. Then her lips was moving but no words came out.

“I?” You asked, pointing to yourself as you tilted your head to the side. “I what, Uliana?” your smile grew wider as the speed of her lips moved faster and faster, yet no words seemed to be coming out.

But clearly, Uliana wasn’t about to let you off so easily. She glared at you and was about to sprint to your way when you ordered the vines on the ground to pull her onto the ground, tying her whole body to the sharp grass.

Let’s say what happened next wasn’t very pretty.

“Yn! Guess what! Uliana hasn’t been bothering me at all lately, I think she liked the cookies I gave her!” Bridget smiled joyfully, placing the plate of cookies aside before running up to you to give the warmest hug ever.

You melted into her touch, nodding to everything she said. “Of course, who wouldn’t like my princess’s famous choco chip cookies.”

Bridget blushed at what you called her, “Your princess?” she pulled away from the hug for a bit to look right into your eyes, it was filled with love and adoration.

“Only mine, got it?” You claimed in a joking manner, grinning when she playfully pinched your cheek.

“Of course, silly.” Bridget cupped your face before pulling you in for a sweet kiss, a kiss sweeter than all the sweets in the world combined.

After pulling away from the sweetest you wished to never be apart from, you saw Uliana from the corner of your eyes. She looked like a deer caught in headlights after noticing your eyes on her, immediately she ran out of your sight.

It was you who made Uliana stop her bullying towards your girlfriend but no one needs to know about that. Especially Bridget, your girlfriend should never know that you tortured someone for hours just for her.