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deepperplexity · 4 years

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A/N: Pt.2 of Train Ticket Madness [pt.1] - Imagine request by avisfortunae @ Wattpad: "I wonder if Snape has ever been on the internet?"

Summary: You went with professor Snape on the train, and then a bus - all the time the air bristled with the tension between you both and when you finally arrived at his home you felt overwhelmed and lacking. But he puts those thoughts out of your mind, and the darker side of you comes crawling out with a need to submit. Enticed by his commanding presence. As your mind betrays your thought of him as a master - in the bedroom - he gives you a nickname. Only for you...

Pairing: Snape x Muggleborn Reader

Setting: First a muggle train, then a muggle bus and finally Snapes home

ABBR.: │ (y/n) - Your Name │ (y/l/n) - Your Last Name │ (e/c) - Eye Colour │(s/c) - Skin Colour │

Word Count: 5083 (yeah, a bit long but...)

Warnings: PG15, Swear Words, Sexual content, Soft Dominance

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

The train bumped along, thudding and squeaking noises could be heard from time to time. But you could not hear it. You did not notice the bumping or the people getting on and off, on and off, finding seats, standing around, walking by. No, you noticed none of them. No other person mattered; only the man sitting beside you.

Your knees were touching; however, he did not spare you a single glance. He hadn't since you both had sat down on the worn-down seats of the smelly train. You could not find any words to utter, neither did he speak. There was only a thick silence between you - like a heavy fog settling in for the night. What do I do now?

The thought had you frozen. Unmoving. You barely even blinked, afraid to miss the moment he would look at you; acknowledge you in some way. But he did not. The train ride seemed to go on an on and you still weren't sure why he did not just apparate? He could, could he not? You could so why would the amazing professor be unable to? I don't understand, we literally could skip this whole damn train ride and just go instantly where ever you want to- "It is not that simple." His sudden words made you yelp and jump a bit, unprepared for the gruff voice sounding so close to your ear.

He looked down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment, "You may not know this, but there are people who would gladly keep tabs on my whereabouts. Using magic to travel leaves traces. Traces I would rather avoid at this particular moment." You hung on to every word he uttered in that low rumble of a voice and he was right, you didn't know and you had no clue as to why he would want to keep his whereabouts secret. How would one even trace him? He's not underaged, he doesn't have the Trace on him?

"There are other ways..." he growled, "illegal, yes, but these people, do not care about such things." You shrunk in your seat, perhaps because how heavy his presence suddenly got or because his voice felt like a weighted blanket. "I, don't understand," you said with a low voice. He just huffed and shifted his gaze away from you. No explanation came and the silence-fog laid thick around you once again.

You had left the train, you scurried behind him as he took larger, longer, quicker strides than you were used to. You walked slightly behind him through the little station; all around you people were on their way somewhere - their destinations clear in their minds. Yours was not. You had no idea where you were heading - still you followed Severus like a lost little puppy. Just happy to be close to him.

His billowing coat was like a storming cloud on a windy moonlit night. You took care not to touch it, afraid of what the fabric would have felt like. Afraid of breaking the little spell you held on to; the little spell that kept him with you, allowed you to be close to him. You peered up towards his face, half-hidden behind the black hair the surrounded his head like curtains. What I'd do to run my hands through it... You scolded yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander again. He can read you mind stupid!

You both stepped into a red bus, he led the way but stepped aside once you were near all the way back in the bus - he nodded with his head for you to sit in the seat closes to the window. As you were moving towards the seat you brushed up against his chest. You could have sworn that you felt his heart pound beneath those layers of fabric.

Your cheeks blushed slightly, he arched his brow in that oh so gorgeous way and you looked at him through your lashes for a mere second before taking your seat. Your heart raced, your pulse roared in your ears and his divine smell reached you despite all other smells trying to invade your nose. You breathed in a long, steadying breath through your nose as you hoped he didn't realise what you were doing. Sage, peppermint and that smell that was all him filled you. Made you tingle in places nobody else had ever reached. Without physical touch.

The bus rolled into traffic and that silence became heavier for every stop you passed. His knee touched yours a few times and each time a jolt went through your body as if the stormcloud had released lightning. Breathe (y/n). Just breathe, you told yourself over and over as small beads of sweat were misting the skin of your neck. He was so close, to close, yet not close enough.

I don’t even know where we are going… I’m such an idiot! Yes, by all means just follow the growling man with the extreme presence and let him take you where ever he pleases because you are nothing more than a little puppy happily wagging your tail for you master! MASTER?! Where the fuck did that come from? Your cheeks blushed and you hid your face from him by looking out the window. But you could feel how your face, ears and chest were burning up with - well embarrassment, yes but, excitement too perhaps?

You hade struggled for the last 30 minutes with your thoughts, his presence, his smell, the jolting and burning sensations that seemed to have travelled all through your body. “We’re here,” he said and the low rumbling that was his voice caressed you like a night breeze. You nodded and trailed after him out of the bus. You had no clue where you were. You had never been in that town but the bus stop sign said ‘Cokeworth End’ at least so you were still in the town he had bought train tickets for - when did he have time to buy them? I left, he came straight after me? No? You pondered about the tickets for a mere moment.

His hand landed at the small of you back - you were instantly electrocuted by jolts of all kinds of emotions. Your body went stiff, rigid, and at the same time, it felt as though you melted. Somewhere deep inside something was soothed by that simple little placement of his hand. That tiny touch that was all new to you. “This way,” he said and gave you a little nudge. You needed that little push as you were apparently frozen in place. All thought going towards that large hand steering you softly but swiftly.

You walked in a brisk pace, between houses and along some wider streets. All houses looked the same. The air was thick and heavy; but not in a good way. Dark clouds loomed above your heads and everything seemed to be dampened. At some point, Severus’s hand had started to push a bit harder, “Quickly,” he had murmured and you obliged. Where are we even- “Here,” he said and it interrupted your thoughts.

He stepped up a few steps and unlocked a black door. In to a house, a home. No, wait? No fucking way! His house?! What the- I can’t be here! Alone. With. With him?! I can’t, I can’t be here! Your thoughts rushed and you took one step back. Severus turned around. His face harsh, his skin looked paler and those deep onyx eyes were swirling with some unknown emotion. Something you had never seen in those eyes before but much like that expression he had worn in the tunnel over two hours ago. Horror, it looked like horror and fear. It made you gulp.

“Inside,” he huffed, “please…” he added with a clipped yet softer voice. You shook your head, I can’t go in there! That’s his house, his home! It’s not for me to enter! The conflicting emotions you held about wanting to enter, wanting to see, wanting to smell and sense the imposing man’s home battled with the fear of entering, the fear of crossing a line, the fear of being alone with him in the comfort of his own home. “Inside,” Severus said once more and gripped your arm, he hauled you inside with one harsh movement - yet it didn’t hurt and his grip was not too tight. Just assertive.

His home was small yet had enough space for all comforts of a home from what you could see. You were, in all honesty, a bit overwhelmed. You looked around, your eyes wide as they took in as much of the home as you possibly could. From the worn carpet on the floor to the somewhat dusty lamp in the ceiling, from the paintings hanging on the walls to the books stacked just about everywhere. There were trinkets, vials, bottles and what you believed to be jars of different potions ingredients on every available space.

But the house was not cluttered not dirty. It wasn’t unorganized our messy. There was order and everything was neatly placed. “Your, your home…” you mumbled and the chuckle that sounded from behind you made you turn. He was looking at you, his eyes bored into your own. Onyx coloured to your (e/c) ones. “Do not look so surprised. Despite rumours, I do not dwell in a dungeon. Neither do I live my life completely bound to Hogwarts. I do have a life besides my work and I do have a home besides my quarters at the school.” His voice rumbled and bounced against the walls in the little hallway.

Your head hung slightly, you had not meant to offend him. That thought had not even occurred to you. YOu had never listened to rumours like that when you attended Hogwarts. “(y/n),” he said and to hear him say your name reminded you of that little puppy once more. You eagerly looked up at him, had you had a tail it would most likely have been wagging. Wagging ridiculously.

He took a step towards you, you took a step back - why? You had no idea. He intimidated you, made your brain stupid, your fingers restless and you skin burn with a longing to touch and be touched. He halted, as did you. Your arms came up and wrapped around yourself. “Do not be afraid,” he said and his voice was soft. Yes, soft. It rumbled but softly like soft waves caressing a beach. You looked at his face, then your eyes wandered down. You counted the buttons and your fingers tingled with the need to unbutton them all. “I-” you had no idea what to say as your thought were invaded with thoughts of his naked skin against yours, his rough hands caressing, grabbing, stroking and exploring.

You imagined ripping away his cravat after having untied it slowly, twelve buttons… Twelve buttons to undo… What, what would you do if I reached for you? What would you do if I wanted to undress you? Explore you? Kiss you? What would I do, if you’d let me rove over your body… Enjoy it, find it, stroke it… Love it... Your cheeks flushed. You felt hot and bothered as heat curled through your body like a hungry snake. Wrapped itself around every limb. It suffocated you. Slowly. Deliberately.

Memories flashed in your mind. Potion class. A billowing coat. Thundering heart. Pounding between your legs. Lonely nights in the dorm. Cold eyes. Unyielding lips. Dismissive huffs. Cold shoulders. Years of denial. Years of hiding. It rushed towards and through you like galloping centaurs. You were panting. Light sweat started to mist your skin and your hands shook.

What would you do, what would happen, if I unbuttoned those twelve buttons… If I kissed you… If I loved your body as I love your mind and soul..? “(y/n).” The single word of your name left his lips in a silent breath. It danced in the air. Your eyes grew wider as the realisation hit you. He had yet again read your mind. But before you had a chance to blush further or yell words of intrusion he stepped towards you.

It caught you off-guard. His movements were so graceful and swift. He grabbed you, fiercely. Your body suddenly pressed against his. His cold hands landed on your body, one at the small of your back pressing you towards him, one at the nape of your neck holding you tightly to he could look straight into your wavering eyes. “Do, not, play, with me…” His words were a rush of breath - so silent yet so strong. It heated your face and his grip tightened as your own hands travelled up to his shoulders.

“S-severus, this is, this is wrong.” Your words stilled him, his body seemingly frozen. “Why?” he simply asked without letting you go. You stuttered but pressed out the words. “We were student and professor, your amazing and wonderful in every sense, I have longed for you since; since forever and you… You…” Tears pricked at your eyes and he placed a soft, oh so feather-light, kiss on your forehead. “We were. Not any longer. My feelings for you, this, is not new. It is ancient as the world. It has been forever and will be forever. My affection and want for you are unparalleled,” he said before leaning slightly back so you could see all of his face. The hooked nose, the thin mouth, the harch lines and the dark circles under his eyes. It all was perfection, to you.

You could not fathom what he was saying, how could his feelings for you be ancient? How could it be as old as the world itself? It confused you to no end but at the same time, you were filled to the brink of explosion with joy and relief. “Severus…” you mumbled his name and he gave you another one of those smiles. I just want you to kiss me, kiss me and be done with it… “No, (y/n), we will never be done. But we will begin,” he said and you had no time to collect yourself before his lips were pressed to yours. His grip hard and firm, his pounding heart could be felt against your own chest as he pressed himself into you.

Jolt after jolt travelled through you. Your hands snagged in his hair, he was moving you backwards. You did not care. You feasted on his lips as if you were a starving dog given a chunk of meat. No, no you were feasting on him as a puppy would lick its master when he came home - with joy and excitement. ...like you were my master… The thought rolled through you and Severus broke the kiss. You whimpered at the loss of contact. “Call me that again and we won’t make it to the bedroom,” he warned gravely and your face heated as your legs felt unsteady. “Get out of my mind…” you breathed while panting form the kiss.

He growled and lunged for your lips again. You took every stroke and lick of his lips, every press was answered eagerly by you. It was no secret to you that part of your love for him was his power, his presence, his way of being. It was a big part of him and that domineering, harsh part of him was what had lured you in from the beginning. You; sensitive, soft, kind (y/n) had been bound to a grim, unyielding, brutal man of seemingly never-ending darkness. You were frightened yet enthralled by the man. You feared his darkness yet knew that there could be no dark without light and the darker the shadow the brighter the light behind it.

You were moving again, up some stairs, you stumbled several times yet he held you firmly - kept you from falling. His strength was unyielding and your body was light to him. “Severus…” you panted as he opened a door behind you with a slight squeak. “Hush,” he said and kissed you yet again but this time he travelled down your chin and landed on your throat. The warmth of his lips was searing. The bedroom was dark and you could barely make out any details. Not that you even tried. You were too occupied by him. His lips, his hands, his breathes.

He pulled at your jacket, you shed it on the floor. Your shirt was next, he didn’t even bother with he buttons as he just ripped it open to expose your (s/c) skin to him. “Your beautiful,” he murmured and kissed your collarbones one by one. His hands held your hips, they were cold yet burned you. I, I can’t, I need… Like a puppy needs petting from its master I need- Severus’s growl rippled through the heavy air and he raised himself up to his full height. “Do not play with me, do not call me that unless you want to play…” His words were harsh and his eyes wicked. Ignited as you had never seen them before. You swallowed harshly.

You fingers trailed down from his hair, over his shoulders and towards the cravat. You looked up at him through you lashes with a wicked smile. You, master, have no idea what I’ve been dreaming of… You did not say the words out loud, that was too much but in mind, you could speak however and about whatever. You were braver in your mind than in your words. He arched an eyebrow towards you, you untied the cravat and pulled it from around his neck. You tossed it behind you in hopes of it landing on the bed somewhere back there.

“(y/n), careful now…” You gave him a small yet wicked grin as you moved to his many buttons of the frock beneath the billowing coat. You stopped before touching the first button. You instead grabbed the shoulders of the coat and pushed it off his shoulders. He let go of your hips to let the coat fall to the floor. “Thank you,” you said softly and his hands were back on your hips. Holding you firmly. To steady you or himself you didn’t know.

Your hands move to the first button again and slowly you began unbuttoning all twelve buttons. The tension was heavy, the aris seemed too still and no sounds were heard. As if the house was locked away somewhere - hidden somewhere no others could reach. It was just him and you.

As you released the last button his frock coat opened fully - revealing a black shirt with more buttons. You pulled at the frock coat and it - with some force - came of him. You were panting, his chest was heaving. Your heart pounded and your own blood seemed to roar in your ears. “Don’t gawk,” he said harshly as you were indeed gawking at the many, many little buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were already feeling a bit numb and your hands were shaking. You were too aroused, too eager, you had longed for too long after this moment. It could not come fast enough for you. Fucking buttons! You roared in your head as you scowled at the black little buttons. Severus chuckled and let go of your hips.

He pushed you slightly backwards, your calves hit the end of the bed when you stopped moving. He deftly unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off together with your shoes and socks - you had no idea how he did it but you were nearly naked in an instant. He’s experienced… Too, too experienced maybe? You suddenly felt shy and scared of what was to come. You didn’t have a great deal of experience, a little but apparently not enough to satisfy him. Maybe I can’t, maybe he won’t… Maybe I’m not good enough for- “Schhh, no more. Do not belittle yourself or the pleasure I find in you, you have no idea (y/n)... No, idea,” he said harshly in a low rumbling growl.

His words echoed in your heart and groin. You nearly whimpered as his finger stroked you jawline softly but with intent. He held your gaze for a moment before his eyes flicker to your mouth. “Lay down, pup,” he said oh so softly. You obeyed and lowered yourself down to the bed before moving upwards. He roved your body with his dark eyes, a wicked gleam to them that had not been there a moment earlier.

He ripped open his shirt, no buttons scattered. They just slid through their holes as if obeying a command from him. You whimpered and panted as he stood before you, shirtless. His pale skin glowed form what little light came through the two windows in the room. You let your eyes linger a bit before you watched as his hands deftly undid his pants and got rid of the rest of his clothes in some swift movements that were somehow graceful.

You wetted your lips as he stood before you in all his naked glory. He was not what you had expected. He was not what you had thought. He had a slight belly, yet his body was not fat or untrained. His thighs were wide and looked ridged. His manhood was far from what you had ever dreamt of. Not in your wildest dreams had you been able to imagine such pride of a limb.

“Approve?” he asked with a rumble, you had no words for him. Only a nod. He gave you a small smile and took the two steps needed to arrive at the foot of the bed. “You take away all my thoughts of right, you obliterate all my walls, you, (y/n), make me a monster of lust…” His words washed over you and it felt as though they had been inside of him for a long, long time. “Spread your legs, pup,” he commanded with a soft bite to his dark voice. You obeyed instantly.

Sweat misted your skin as he crawled up between your legs. He kissed end nibbled, licked and stroked with his lips and tongue. You whimpered and bucked as he reached the apex of your thighs, right by your groin. He gave you a final, soft lick before travelling up your belly. Over your chest with a light flick of his tongue over each nipple that was stiff with arousal. “Severus…” you panted as his mouth kept travelling towards you own. “Pup…” he breathed against your cheek, “look at me…” You moved your head and looked at him as one of his cold hands travelled up the side of your body and the other kept him steady by the side of your head.

“Say it, once more. I’ll listen to your mind…” He said, seemingly he understood that in actual words you were not as brave, not as strong or vulgar. But in mind, you could tell him, you could ask him. You could say the things your dark side longed to utter. Love with me, touch me, connect with me in every way physically possible… Master… Your thoughts were hushed and your skin showed the heat that swirled through your veins from the thoughts, his touch, his proximity.

He smiled; a soft yet wicked smile. His onyx eyes gleamed and seemed to turn black as he leaned in and kissed you fervently. The passion he held for you leaked through as his movements quickened. Hardened. “Mmh, pup…” he mumbled before he dove to your groin - licking, suckling, stroking and loving with his lips and tongue. You whimpered his name as he drove you towards your destination of climax.

“Open your legs, pup.” His command was harsh and you obeyed instantly. “That’s it, good pup.” You felt embarrassed and endeared, belittled and empowered by his nickname for you in this game of dominance. He kept up his play of torture as his hands kneaded your thighs and hips. His skin misted with sweat and his breaths seemed harder and faster - just as your own were.

Your hands fisted in his hair and he hissed as you tugged but you felt, you could simply tell, that he enjoyed your harsh grip of his black tendrils. “Severus…” you whined as he built you up, up, up. Forced you to climb higher and higher. He gave one final stroke of his tongue and left you right on the edge. Every muscle in your body was tens, every nerve ending tingled and you felt such a need for release that tears pricked your eyes. He took his sweet time to climb your body, his skin rubbing against your own as he laid atop of you.

You pleaded, begged and writhed beneath him. Yet he gave you no release. “P-please,” you whined as tears rolled down your cheeks and he kissed them away. “Tell me you’ll stay,” he said. His voice was void of passion and heat, void from lust and feeling. It was a hollow sound that stabbed you right in the heart. Wrenched around like a rusted blade. Wha- what are you talking about? I, I don’t, what? You had no idea what he was asking you or what he wanted. You could not wrap you overheated brain around his words or his empty voice.

“Tell me you will stay, (y/n). Please,” he breathed and laid a light kiss to your temple. You shuddered as his manhood poked you. He was just as aroused as you, you could feel it. Yet he could speak with such hollowness. I will say whatever you want me to say... “I’m not asking for what I want you to say, I’m asking for you to stay, be mine, live with me. Be mine,” he growled and heat came back to his voice, passion spilt from his body like waves of heat.

Your heart quickened. Your brain went blank. The passion coiling and writhing within you became a dull ache. The world fell away as the reality of his words hit you like a bag of bricks. “You- you want me?” you stuttered, your voice half chocked. He only nodded, he did not look at you and you felt as though he was afraid to do so. As if something would change if he did. “Is it not obvious that I want you (y/n)? Have I not bared myself for you? Brought you to my home? In to my bed…”

His pride poked you again and it drew out a small his from you as the passion and arousal surged and came back with full force. “I will stay, forever.” You said the words with finality. There was, after all, nothing you wanted more than him. He was everything, even though you did not really know him you knew him more than most. You knew him, you felt him. He knew you, he felt you. There was something, a bond or bridge between you and nothing would be able to destroy it. I will stay with you until the end of time… Sev… You let your thoughts ring clear as the tears rolled down from a new reason

“Submit to me… Pup,” he said and the game was back. You were his, he was yours. A Master with his puppy. The idea thrilled you and you started to let him in. You submitted to him as you had never surrendered before. You gave him everything, let him take whatever he wanted as he gave you so much more in return.

Together you climbed, him between your legs, pounding relentlessly while stroking and petting you. He gave you soft kisses and harsh licks from time to time anywhere he could reach. Higher and higher you went until there was no more space to climb, as the world fell away from underneath your feet and you both fell through a core shattering climax. He moaned your name and it was the most glorious sound you had ever heard. Unlike him, you panted his name in a rush. Too consumed by the burning sensation that filled your body and too rallied by the tensing of muscles and tingling of nerves.

It took a long while before you could breathe again. It took even longer for your body to relax. But what took the longest was realising that you had been asked, and said yes, to stay with him. Be his. Be with him. But… what, what does that mean exactly? “It means,” you jumped slightly from his sudden words, “that I love you.” You went utterly still. Frozen. “It means, I will be yours and you will be mine.” He gave a kiss to your shoulder before he rose up on his side, supported by one arm as his other arm draped over you. “It means, we will live together and love each other in every way possible.”

Your body tingled again, it was all so sudden and your day had been brutal and wonderful. You were tired and wiped out. He just smiled and kissed your soft cheek. “Sleep,” he said in that rumbling voice of his. But you could not follow that command. “No,” you said softly, “no I don’t want to sleep. I want to lay here with you - until today becomes tomorrow…” Fear crept through you, just in case midnight breaks this spell and I lose you forever along with anything resembling a life.

Your thoughts were dark and Severus seemed to not be pursuing your mind at that moment as he only kissed the top of your head and pulled the cover over the both of you. You snuggle din close to him and he seemed unsure of what to do. It made you smile, “Just hold me, please,” you said softly, sweetly. “I have never done that before,” he said as he tentatively allowed you to curl up in his arms, your head against his chest. “I figured, don’t worry, you’re already doing it perfectly…” You mumbled as you felt that post-climax heaviness take over your body. Perhaps I’ll sleep, just, just for a moment…

You fell asleep in Severus’s arms, to the steady thumping of his heart and his strong arms wrapped protectively around you. You could have sworn that you felt him smile right as sleep claimed you. Right as you left reality only to be disappointed by your dreams since nothing could compare to your reality now.

Hey guys! So this took a long time to get posted but I just wrote this entire thing - today, like right now. xD It was a challenge I tell you, but I’m hoping you really liked this fic! ^^ Also… Writing sexual scenes so that the reader can be a male (have a male gender) or a female (have a female gender) is damn hard guys! O.O But, I think I managed, what do you guys think? xD

[Oct:2020]

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

Taglist: @lizlil

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

Good enough

Henry Cavill x reader drabble

Disclaimer: angsty fluff, insecurity, slight possessiveness, some strong language (and tickle danger)

Word count: 1.769

Author’s note: On request of a dear Nonnie: “could u write something about henry comforting the reader when she feels insecure in their relationship?” + fluffy. Now, nonnie, I think Henry has all kinds of ways to comfort his lady, but this? After a few drinks? Definitely.

Song I listened to while writing: Matt Corby - Miracle Love

(Link to my Masterlist)

Oh! These darn long legs. Those unblemished skins that basked in luxurious licks of expensive French cosmetics, finished off with whiter than white million dollar smiles. Literal million dollar smiles.

All night you just stood there, watching one after the other cookie cutter beauty “casually” greet Henry. You just stood there and stood there, sipping on boozy drinks as you watched one after the other, old and young, bold and beautiful, try a best attempt at some “innocent little flirtation”. Especially when you pretended not to hear them over the loud noise of the after party.

But you could.

Oh yes you could.

You weren’t deaf, you weren’t blind, and despite your best efforts to just let it slide, your painted lips turned into fake a smile..you couldn’t help but let it affect you.

It hurt.

You were no cookie cutter beauty. Peculiar, perhaps. Unique, your mom would say. But as the night progressed it appeared that unique, peculiar beauty brought you nothing but the sensation that you didn’t belong. That you weren’t thin enough, that your boobs weren’t big enough, you face not symmetric enough.

Just not enough. At least not the be here with Henry.

Returning home after what seemed like the longest cab drive ever - once more because maddening crowds couldn’t leave your celebrity boo alone -, all you truly wanted was to just close your eyes and forget about it all. Your shared bed beckoned you to come, was willing you to dive into its warm, silky embrace.

Henry, however, had other plans.

As the two of you maneuvered around the living room, slightly inebriated after a cocktail too many, you felt his eyes on you. Which meant you either had to get to bed real fucking fast, or just give in. Not that is was a bad thing. Henry was rock in the turmoil of your life. He always wanted you, showed it in every way possible and if he needed to tell you a million times how much he loved you, he would say it a trillion times.

And when he gave you that look, like he did right now, it was clear that he was very adamant on showing you yet again how much he loved you. He would envelop you in his arms and kiss every little concern away.

Because he was a good man. He knew when you weren’t feeling okay.

And he cared.

Tonight though, you didn’t feel up to it, your face pulled into a dark frown as you struggled to get out of the painful contraptions that were your high heels. Finally, after some awkward tugs, the little straps released your sore feet and you quickly made for the stairs. Not quick enough though. Strong arms enveloping you, just as expected.

‘Hey you.’ Henry hummed, the alcohol running thick in his bear-like veins, his voice slightly husky. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t possible escape the steel strength that lingered beneath his warm skinned arms.

‘Henn..I’m tired..just let me go to..’ - ‘Are you okay?’ He easily broke off your half-arsed attempt to fend him off, his voice now far more gentle and inquisitive, blue eyes searching yours as he turned you in his iron lock of love. You sighed, your frustration quickly sinking away as those ocean blue orbs studied you, willing you to break down whatever wall you were building up.

‘It’s fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Yea..fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine! UGH! Now just..’ You tried to push his arms away before the last of your frustration was taken away by him again. Somehow you wanted to feel frustrated for a bit. You had the right to be frustrated, right? Who wouldn’t be frustrated after..after..this?

Henry licked his lips, his brows furrowing in a thoughtful frown. ‘No.’ He simply stated, which made you frown in turn. ‘No? No what Henry?’

‘Just no. You’re not fine.’ He shook his head once, as if that was decided, then cupped your cheek in one hand, keeping the other safely wrapped around your lower back. ‘And either I’m going to guess all night till I get it right. Or you’re going to tell me what is up.’

You rolled your eyes. ‘Hennn...ugh..come on let’s just go to sleep. It’s nothing, really.’

‘Hmm..very well then.’ Henry’s face relaxed, a glint of cheekiness etching his lips and before you could even question what was up, you were lifted into the air and thrown over his shoulder, your pretty Greek-inspired gown making you look like the helpless Persephone as she was stolen away by Hades. Squirming like a little leaf that weighed nothing in the clutch of his bear hands.

‘HENN! PUT ME DOWN!’

‘Shh..the neighbors.’ He teased, patting your butt playfully.

‘Henn..’ You warned more quietly now. ‘I’m not in the mood...’

‘I know, I know. And I promise you’ll get to bed soon enough. But first..’ He moved you to the couch and carefully placed you in your favourite spot in the corner, licking his lips again as he settled next to you, folding your legs over his lap like you always liked to them be when you were together. Watching movies or just cuddling.

‘Hmmm...maybe it’s the shoes? Hmm? Painful shoes?’

You didn’t respond, just watching him as he picked up your feet, strong digits starting to massage the painful skin there, rubbing away all sore spots with mighty precision. You sighed quietly, closing your eyes for a moment - it was good.

‘Mmm..’ He peeked back at you, then shook his head. ‘Nope, it’s not that.’ He stopped his massage instantaneously. You swatted his arm, not agreeing with him stopping as quickly as he started, then swiftly turned your face back into a frown.

‘Hmm...maybe it’s...the bra?’ He reached out an arm to unclasp the clip of the bra you wore beneath your dress, but you quickly pushed away his hand. ‘No.’ You said with an angry pout on your red painted lips.

‘Alright. Fair enough. Not the bra.’ He licked his lips again, thinking aloud. ‘And not the hair, the make-up, the food? The food was good, right?’ He teased, feigning innocence as he continued to list anything and everything that obviously wasn’t the problem.

‘Perhaps it was the setting. Yes, that might be it. I too get a little bit of an iffy feeling when I’m in a museum. All the artworks..the..’ He sat back in the couch, as if readying himself to list every item to be found in a goddamn museum.

You sighed with exasperation. ‘No..Hen. Ugh. Fine. I just feel insecure. You happy now?’ You folded your arms over your chest and evaded his gaze, his warm eyes studying you after his tiny victory. You had answered, finally.

‘Talk to me about it.’

‘No.’

‘Baby..’ He raised an eyebrow and from the corner of your eye you could see him reach an arm out again, this time obviously ready for a tickle assault if need be, his hand sprawled out like a spidery claw.

Honestly though; this man had some absolutely barbarian techniques to get you out of a foul mood. Tickle fights? Oh yes he was brutal like that. Quickly snapping your head back at him, you glared at him with widened eyes. ‘Don’t you..DARE.’ You hissed through clenched teeth, barely managing to hide the slight amusement that trickled into your voice.

Amusement? Why yes. Tickle fights with Henry were actually kind of fun, because he was ticklish, too. Two could be barbarians. And he knew that once instigated, he wouldn’t get out of this assault unharmed, “ungiggling”.

Reaching an arm out with equal impending doom you were now right in the middle of some type of Mexican stand-off, both of you holding out a clawed hand, ready to snap into a tickle assault.

‘It’s a fine day for a tickle fight.’ He said airily, offering you a bastardian grin. ‘Oh you do not know what you’re getting yourself into Cavill..’ You warned, your voice getting heavier with amusement, slow seconds ticking away.

Here you were, sitting in full gala getup, folded over each others laps, holding out clawed hands at each other.

Because you were silly dorks, it had to be admitted.

And this..well this was kind of cute..that needed to be admitted, too.

You weren’t feeling quite so annoyed and insecure anymore, but you most definitely weren’t going to admit that just yet. Keeping your face pulled into an unamused frown you peered back at him over your outstretched claw, ready to pounce.

‘Very well, Mr. Bond.’ You purred, dangerously, your cat-eyed eyeliner perfectly fitting in your newly found role.

‘Mmm..what say you, Pussy? You, me..a tickle fight?’ He purred back, a devilish smirk appearing on his Bond-esque lips. It was fitting. He was every bit the James Bond like this. Smooth shaven jawline, crisp tuxedo, smoothed back chocolate hair. And that smirk. That DARN smirk.

‘Why..was that a question?’ You raised a teasing eyebrow, as if enticing him to start the fight. But he didn’t take the bait, his eyebrow also raising up high. ‘Why? Mmm..’ He dropped his voice an octave. ‘Well..maybe Pussy wants something else entirely?’ His tone may have been playful, but the message beneath his words was clear; tell me if you want me to stop. Tell me if you want to talk.

You sat up a bit, lowering your clawed hand slightly.

‘Tell me..Mr Bond..of all the vixens in your vicinity. Why me?’ Your voice kept its deep, teasing purr, but also here there was a message laced through its syllables. A message that did not go unnoticed, Henry also shifting his weight slightly, moving in closer, lowering his arm.

‘Why? Because there’s only one Pussy for Bond. And she’s a funny thing, she is.’ He lilted with a heavy Brit accent, leaning in even closer. ‘..and far prettier than the rest of ‘em too...’ He smirked as you rolled your eyes. ‘..and by the Gods..can she kick my butt if need be.’

You both chuckled.

‘Good thing I’m unarmed.’ You said, smiling finally as you fully lowered your arm. ‘As am I, Pussy, as am I.’ He grumbled, being so close now that all he needed to do was press his lips forward.

But he didn’t. He just smiled. Huffing quietly - what a tease he was - you closed in the last bit of distance between you, lips locking with his. Slightly tangy with alcohol, slightly musky with his breath, slightly gasping as you didn’t want it to end, you just sat there, almost entirely hidden away on his lap.

Kissing.

Because you WERE good enough.

More than good enough.

And he’d make sure you knew it and felt it every..single..day.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #tickle fight #pussy galore #drabble #henry cavill drabble #fluff #good enough #mr bond #after party #insecurity #angst #fun banter

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demonprosecutor · 4 years

Text

ANOTHER HADES ONESHOT

by the time Lady Persephone had deigned to return from her daily haunts across the bountiful lands, your predictions were correct, Lady Artemis had driven her moon-chariot across the night sky by the time she had returned. but before that, zagreus had been gracious enough to bathe in the rose water, and to drain it into the hungering ground.

(the lands were a strange thing, a thirst that can only be quenched by the life essence of gods, even if water was a paltry substitute)

you laid out a fresh chiton for the godling, hanging outside the door, from your critical eye - it was a flattering colour, a sweet lavender colour that made him look more boyish, lined with white in swirling, intricate designs that made him look princely.

however, being idle was not your way, and already, your foot tapped impatiently on the ground as hands fluttered over your sewing. and once the god had finished his bath, smelling like roses and skin a healthy sheen from olive oil imported from athens.

he picked at the fluttering hem of his chiton, more bemused than anything else. you were quite sure that the finery that he had been bedazzled with was far superior than anything you had on this realm. “did you give me this?” the corner of his mouth was quirked in amusement, even moreso at the way you stared critically. “what? does it look bad on me?”

a snort huffs through your flared nostrils, a substitute for the bark of laughter that wanted to leap past your lips. “borrowed,” you stressed. “it... looks flattering, but a bit small on you.” in the sense that his godly height and width strained against fabric, offering a view that made you fluster and avert your gaze politely in the guise of looking out the window. you pat your thighs and push yourself to your feet, stretching with the luxuriousness of the felines that liked to prowl through the home, hunting for the mice that squeaked underneath the floorboards and pilfered the cheese that you laid out for Lady Persephone to enjoy.

(she had no need for mortal sustenance; however, she enjoyed the taste and texture of food. more of a luxury than a necessity)

“you keep looking out the window, is there someplace you need to be?”

you’re wrested from idle musings (more like the rushing thoughts of what needs to be done) before nodding slightly, “demeter’s winter is coming soon. i need to pick the rest of the apples. she is not... pleased with my kind this season.”

there’s a knowing look on his face, as though he understood the frigidity of the Goddess of seasons. “how could you tell?” he sounds curious enough that you oblige his godly curiousity and lead him out the door, standing on the sun-warmed sweet grass, the river burbling in coy delight nearby. “erm... I don’t get it.”

“tsk, slow down and feel.” you tilt your head, taking a deep inhale. “do you not smell that? the sharpness of Lady Demeter? the cold settling?”

zagreus takes a deep inhale, face contorted in consideration before it falls, “not really. i just smell... freshness. you know, just fresh air.”

you have to laugh at that, shaking your head as you bend over to grab the wicker basket filled with apples, propped against your hip. “well, when one is at the mercy of the gods, you tend to notice the inclinations of them more often.” you dip your head and go back towards the area where you had begun your pickings before being coaxed by the appearance of zagreus.

“were you a servant of the gods?” you leap a few feet in the air, dropping the basket and whirling around to find your impatient guest apologetically put his own wicker basket down and helped you pick your dropped items up. “sorry, didn’t meant to startle.”

“what are you---?” you shake your head. whatever, he can do what he wishes. “aren’t we all servants of the gods?”

the sharp-tongued retort makes him grin, reaching upwards, far above your head to grasp the red-rubied apples above and place them into his basket carelessly. “funny, but no. i mean, did you serve at the temples? like a priest or priestess?”

you shake your head, “that was not my vocation. there were a great many things i had hoped to do, but i am content where i am.” it’s almost time for dinner, but you staved your hunger with the choicest of apples - a crisp, sweet one whose flavour burst in your mouth. “tell me:” apples sweeten your words and lower your reticence. “what do gods eat in the underworld?”

you move closer, too aware of the heat that he emitted. like a fireplace from a distance and scanned his apples, picking out the best and juiciest one for him. after staring at it, zagreus takes it and takes a big bite out of it before moaning in the most obscene fashion, you look away with fluster. dear gods, Lady Aphrodite is playing around today! “pomogranates, nectar...” his cheeks are filled with apple and juices run down his chin messily. “we don’t normally eat honestly.” zagreus swallows and licks his lips, studying the apple with unabashed delight. “this is right delicious.”

“well, if you do stay, i’ll make dessert with it.”

he perks up, looking too much like a puppy offered a slab of meat.

by the time Lady Artemis begins to harness her moon horses in the sky, and Lady Nyx begins to blanket the sky with ink blackness, you both return to the cottage and deposit the apples in a bin to be either preserved or saved over the winter. zagreus, in all of his eagerness, aided you in picking the best apples for dessert that night.

lady persephone returns without much fanfare, the door opening, and the cottage shuddering with the welcome return of its goddess.

you turn to her, hands clasped in front of your body respectfully, “my lady... the god zagreus...” you are interrupted by lady persephone whose verdant gaze fills with tears, throwing her arms out in welcome.

“my son!” zagreus stands up and envelops his mother in a tight hug, her form swallowed by the sheer bulk of the other god.

“mother.” you hear the joy in his voice, the relief, and you feel something in yourself settle. there would be no quarrel today.

like all servants, you had mastered the gift of blending into the background - readying to make dinner and dessert, allowing mother and son to talk well into the night, the heathfire crackling in the background.

-----

you do not know how long they have been talking, but it has been long enough that you retreat for the night, folding out a cot outside under an olive tree (gifted to lady persephone by lady athena), a slice of apple pie in your bowl, one leg brushing the ground listlessly.

perhaps you were far more tired, more drowsy than expected, but its the sound of someone stepping closer that has you sitting up and making the move to stand.

“no, no. don’t get up. i just wanted to...” you blink at the sight of zagreus - wearing an emerald green chiton that fitted his form much better than your lent clothes did, holding a bowl filled with smushed apple pie inside. “just see outside.”

“oh, i see.” you feel awkward, enough that you shuffle to the other side of the cot and pat behind you.

zagreus hesitates until you pat the cot more insistently, swinging your feet so that your back was to him. you wait for a few moments and when the cot dips, and the heat returns at your back, you know he’s taken your offer. however, you failed to calculate just how much more heavier he was in comparison to you because you start sliding back, backs pressed against each other.

“oh! oh dear, I’m sorry---” a string of apologies start to leave your mouth like a river stream before zagreus laughs, his laurel wreath a light in this comforting darkness.

“i don’t mind! it’s ok. no need to apologize.”

it takes a few seconds to settle, only because you were embarrassed and you never dared to touch a god, but the warmth was... nice. you wait to see if he reneged his word, but relaxed slowly, air filled with the sound of crickets and the sweetness of baked dessert.

zagreus sighs deeply, head tilted up towards the blanket of stars, “we never had this in the underworld. well, i mean kinda? but they were shining crystals in the ceiling. everything is so open.” you listen to him, not making any reply. after all, gods never really expected to hear a mortal speak. what was the term? seen, but not heard. “everything is so fresh and sweet and warm. the underworld had always been so cold, so distant. and just... it’s so lively here. is it always like this?”

the question makes you startle, “sometimes. this is a... sleepy part of the lands. there are more exciting parts. the cities, the oceans.” you poke at your apple pie. “i’ve always wanted to see more, explore more. but alas, i have no complaints about my life now.”

he turns his head surprised, brows arched and disconcerting mis-matched eyes wide at you. “really? have you never left this place?”

you shake your head slowly, “no, for the longest of times, Lady Persephone and the upkeep of her lands have always been my home. Besides, much could be done to a lone traveler like I, especially a lone traveler without any combat experience.” you leave out the part where the thought of combat would make you drop into hysterics.

zagreus looks at you, something like pity, something like understanding. “i guess i kinda get it. but what about your family? don’t they miss you?” he knows that he had said something wrong the moment you look away, a gentle remorse creasing your features. “oh. i’m sorry.”

“it’s... it was a long time ago. i do not have any more family to speak of.”

it seemed that he didn’t know what to say. for all of his hatred of his own father, of his own dwellings, at least zagreus had the support of his family to tide him in his escape and journey. you bite the inside of your cheek, ashamed of the showing of your emotion. “there is no need to feel anything for me, it’s nothing.”

your heart throbs painfully in your chest, beating against the cage of your ribs. no! it’s everything!

“but... i think it’s still affecting you.” war and death had a tendency to do that, not that zagreus could understand the futility of death much, but it was... a lot. “maybe...”

you set your shoulders, looking back upwards, “maybe nothing. what is in the past is in the past, nothing more. i thank you for your concern, but i have made peace in my grief.” it’s sharp when you reply, but you are tired of this conversation. perhaps he had the gift of ever-lasting life, but you are far too aware of your own mortality.

“i apologize. i’ve upset you.” he sounds like a puppy kicked, and you feel something inside of you soften marginally.

a sigh leaves your lips, “you were trying to comfort me, it’s fine. but for now? let us enjoy the stars.”

you both quiet, contenting yourselves with watching the stars until your bowls empty and stomachs full - mortality and godhood coexisting in quiet peace.

#hades the game #hades supergiant #zagreus #zagreus ades #persephone hades #persephone #my writing #aku writing

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souljaems · 4 years

Text

↬ “let me let you go” greekgod!au 2 — huang renjun

— “Athena is destined to always win this not ending war, but this time some things are different. You and Renjun are the humans destined to be the reincarnation of the Greek gods and Athena already has awakened inside of you, not completely, but that’s how she can feel that some things are weird. (…) You have too many feelings for Renjun, way too many.”

1st chapter — Blurb intermission 1 — Blurb intermission 2

PAIRING | Hades!Renjun x Athena!reader, w/ mention of Mark as your brother. GENRE | Action - Drama - Angst. AU | greekgod!au WORD COUNT | 5.4K WARNINGS | Aggressive behaviour, violence, reincarnation, mention of death, bruises. DISCLAIMER | I don’t know any of the NCT members personally, I’m writing this based only in my opinions and greek mythology.

↬ PLAYLIST HERE

“Milady?” Aioros asks before knocking on the door.

“Come in.” You answer, knowing that your friend won’t be satisfied after he sees that you didn’t eat as much as he wanted you to.

“As I can see, you’re still not hungry.” Aioros takes a deep breath before doing something with his eyebrow that brings you a memory from your brother, he used to do that all the time when he was worried.

Seeing your brother’s body in front of you wasn't easy, but seeing your brother’s body doing things that your brother used to do? That is a low punch.

“Is there anything that I can do to help you? You look pale.” Aioros asks, with concern all over his face. “You really should have eaten more, miss Y/N.”

For hours, you’ve been missing Renjun like crazy. It isn’t usual for you to be in control of your body for an entire day, but Athena doesn’t seem to be coming back any time soon, and you hate it. You hate how your entire body hurts. You hate the feeling that you’re constantly grasping for air, craving for a way out of that pain. Your heart aches. Your mind spins. Your hands are trembling. Your eyes hurt. Your body can’t seem to move probably. You want it to stop.

But you just miss Renjun.

Oh God, you miss your husband so fucking much.

When the two of you decided to get married, both of your families thought you were insane. You two were young adults, how would you be ready for marriage? What did you know about falling in love in the first place? Easy, you didn’t. However, you and Renjun still loved each other like crazy.

You learned how to cook with him. You learned how to clean the house with him. You learned how living felt like with him. Everything you thought you knew, you relearned it having Renjun by your side. Back then, Mark was the only one who supported your decision. He even walked down the aisle with you, since your father wasn’t Renjun’s biggest fan. Those two were your foundation, the ones you could always count on. You’ve always thought that you could always rely on them, that they would always be by your side. Today, you’ve been proven wrong. Neither of them is with you.

“I’m not hungry, just freezing.” You force your lips to move without thinking properly about the actual answer. But seconds after you did, you start to notice how cold your “room” is truly getting.

“Freezing?” Aioros furrows his brows in confusion. “But, we have a good temperature here and...” Aioros stops his sentence when he notices your hands shaking, which seems to be impossible since you have a thick blanket around your figure.

In a matter of seconds, Aioros finally starts to feel the freezing pressure coming from everywhere and smashing onto his body. That feeling, so unknown, but also very familiar, crashes into Aioros’ bones, causing his body to ache at the sudden pressure that it’s making it hard to breathe. It’s already dark outside, but something tells him that the dark blue sky has just turned into a dark deep black. Aioros knows pretty well what could make that happen, being more specific, who.

“Y/N.” You hear Aioros calling your name with a deep voice that you’ve known your entire life. That is Mark’s worried voice. “How long have you been feeling this cold sensation?” He questions in a quieter voice, as he inhales and exhales. The air feels heavier, you’re starting to feel it too.

“Aioros, what’s going on?” You ask, feeling a bunch of shivering going through your body and bristling your hair. “Why am I feeling this? What does this mean?”

“Answer me, please. I need to know how much time we have.” Aioros insists, forcing his body to move through that resistant force as he walks closer to you. “I don’t know, around an hour, maybe?” You answer, with your lips shaking as talking starts to become even harder.

“Damn it! If I’m feeling this just now, it means that he’s close, too much close. I don’t know if we can hide anymore at this point.” Aioros silently curses at the situation, looking around as he begins to think about any possible solutions to avoid a direct conflict. Without Athena in control, it’s too dangerous to risk your life in combat.

“Aioros? Him?” You question, not daring to say Hades name, feeling too afraid of the answer.

Aioros looks at you silently, still. He doesn’t wanna say the words. He doesn’t want to be the one who scares you with bad news. He doesn’t want to see you so sad again. But Hades is close, and as much as either of you want to say it out loud, you both know it.

“But you said that it would still take a while for him to come for us!” You state in a louder scared pitch, only to be quickly shushed by Aioros. “Apparently, he’s way earlier.” Aioros returns, as he starts to look for something in his pocket as if his life depends on it. And it does. “Athena was supposed to be awake in a situation like this. Why isn’t she in control?” He wonders more to himself than to you, not understanding why everything is so different from other past wars. “Can you hear her inside your head?”

“N-no, I can’t contact her.” You shake your head helplessly.

“It’s not here. Shit, I think I left it downstairs. Listen, I need you to stay here, sit on the floor and wait till I come back. We'll have to fight if we want a chance to escape.” Aioros tells you with a sudden light appearing on his eyes. He's ready to die for you if he has to, you can feel it. Somehow you know it.

Aioros is saying a lot of slang, Mark's personal problem when he's nervous. That's how you know things are a lot more serious than it sounds like. A lot more serious than the time allows to explain.

“Fight? Hold on, wait a minute, Aioros, I know nothing about fighting!” You contest in widened eyes. “Trust me, you do. Just wait here.” Aioros looks deep into your eyes for a few seconds before running out of the room, not giving you any chance to debate.

As you're left alone inside the room again, you sit on the cold floor with your head full of worries and for a second, you want to truly believe that it will be enough to keep you away from the hard truth, but when your eyes slip from your focus and shift to stare at your own hands, some forming tears start to appear. The cold Hades' pressure is not the only thing crashing into your heart right now, the fear is also burning you alive.

How can you even think about hurting the body of the man you decided to marry? The man your heart chose to be the one? Your head is not thinking straight in the middle of this situation; however, your heart would never be willing to make him go through any kind of pain.

The hard truth isn’t the fact that Hades is here. The hard truth isn’t the fact that you can barely move your body. The hard truth isn’t the fact that you know nothing about fighting.

Hard Truth time? If a miracle happens and you suddenly remember how to fight as much as Aioros says you do, you won't be able to hurt Hades if the opportunity appears.

“Athena, please, if you’re listening to me, I want you to take control, I mean, I need you to take control right now more than ever... Athena, these hands can’t hurt him. I can’t hurt him.” You let a small cry leave your lips as you stare at both of your opened hands. The same hands Renjun used to hold only a few weeks ago. “I know he’s Hades now and that he won’t hesitate if he has the chance to kill us, but I just can’t. I still love him with all of my heart.” You finish your quiet request with tears dropping off of your face directly to your hands.

Your sobbing is filling the entire room and the fear of Hades hearing you is no longer a problem. You wish you could scream and let the whole world know how miserable you’re feeling without him.

“Even if deep down I know how to fight as Aioros said, I can’t do this, and I can't lose my brother for good as well, so please, take control. Just take control. Do something. Anything." You whisper, putting all of your hopes in that next request. “Don't let me be the one to see the love of my life dying right in front of me.”

“Milady, I need you to let me put this on your neck.” Aioros quickly enters the door and whispers next to you. The second he notices the tears falling down your cheeks, a part of him breaks.

That is exactly what he wanted to avoid so bad. He failed. He wants to dry all of those tears away, take you somewhere safe and just tell you that everything will be okay. But as the pressure starts to crash onto his heart, he knows that possibility could only be reached in a dream.

“This is your armor, perhaps if you have it around your neck, it will help you to remember that you can fight.” Aioros explains as he gently pushes your hair to your neck, putting the gold necklace on you. “We just need some minutes, it will be enough to…”

“Athena! Where are you hiding, my dear old goddess friend? Don't be so rude. That is not the proper way to treat a guest.” Hades' tone is calm, but it also sounds too loud and noisy in your ears almost like he is right next to you, it's so loud that you have to contain yourself not to let a small cry leave your lips. “Especially, when we have some background history together, don't you agree?”

Even if you try to cover your ears, you know nothing will stop Hades' voice to sound loud and clear inside of you, that's the worst part of being somehow connected to the devil himself, you can't get away from him. Aioros puts his finger on his lips, indicating you to stay silent, although he knows nothing can mislead Hades now since your goddess presence attracts him. All he knows is that you need a plan, fast.

“You cannot hide her forever, Aioros.” Hades addresses as he finally stops at the front of the warehouse where you're hiding with Aioros. “Why don't you come out here? We have some unfinished business.”

“He's here.” You mouth with no sound.

At this moment, you know you have no other choice, but to rise, despite not knowing exactly how to do that.

“I don't think your unfinished business involves Aioros, Hades.” You warn him, as you finally stand up close to the open window, letting the thick blanket slip off of your figure.

You can feel Aioros' eyes burning you in the second after you've done it and when your eyes finally meet with Hades', part of you immediately regrets your bold and unthinkable decision.

“Finally! I thought I would have to order my army to burn down all of this place just to find you. Thank you for avoiding such a waste of my time!” Hades states, still in a calm tone as a half-smile takes over his face.

For a second, your whole body petrifies. You know you're looking at Hades, the lord of the dead and the king of the underworld, however, it's extremely weird how angelic he looks and how soothing his voice is, it still sounds like Renjun's voice, but is also deeper, colder and has kind of authority to it. His eyes also burn yours. As much as Hades looks like Renjun, his eyes are nothing your husband’s. Renjun’s eyes used to give you comfort and warmth. Hades’ eyes give you nothing but fear and cold.

The whole look paired with the black hair makes you forget for a second that what you’re seeing it's Renjun's body. However, it doesn't have the appearance of what you pictured Hades to look like either, which is good since you would never be capable of holding that firm posture if the vision ahead of you instantly related Hades to Renjun.

What can you say? It's hard to match an angelic appearance to the greek god who wants you dead. And as absurd as it may sound, you're thankful for it considering that it seems to be the only advantage you have against him.

In a blink of an eye, Hades opens his hands and a flash of cold black lightning hits the warehouse, obliging Aioros to quickly hold you close and jump out of the place before its explosion.

“Milady, I understand that he looks like the man you have loved your entire life, but this is Hades and I won't let him hurt you, even if you ask me to do so.” Aioros warns you as he carefully puts you on your feet again, his eyes never leaving Hades’ figure. “I will have to hurt him, you know that, right?” He stares at Hades, feeling his mythological sword finally physically appearing on his right hand.

“I know.” You lament as one of your hands moves to your necklace, avoiding to look at Hades as you try to pick what’s left of your broken heart. What you feared the most is about to happen. “What's the plan?”

“What about not letting ourselves get killed? How does that sound?” Aioros asks in a fun tone, trying to ease your nervousness as he nimbly moves his sword in circles, stopping it only to point at Hades' direction.

“That sounds like Mark.” You smile at Aioros, hoping that Mark can sometimes talk to you through Aioros, even if his body is now fully reincarnated Aioros.

“That sounds insane, even for you Aioros. You should know that such a plan won't work, especially when I have an army by my side and there are just two of you.” Hades mocks Aioros’ suggestion, motioning with his head to all the army who’s behind him, just waiting till he says the words.

“Really? Allow me then to demonstrate why I'm the strongest Athena knight." Aioros snaps and faster than your eyes could see, he punches the floor, causing the ground to crack and open up, making dozens of Hades' soldiers fall into it before it magically closes.

You gasp, not really believing what your eyes have just seen. But since you have discovered that you have reincarnated Athena, nothing can deeply surprise you anymore. And as far as you can read Hades' unbothered expression, Aioros' attack didn't cause much surprise to him either.

“Your strength abilities remain in good shape, Aioros. If I was truly a human, I would say I'm impressed, but that's not why I'm here. Shall we end this?” Hades sarcastically chuckles while he starts to slowly walk towards Aioros' direction.

You're right behind Aioros and finally, for the first time, you feel something that is not burning fear. You feel your necklace burning around your neck and a golden light starts to surround your figure. Your first impulse is to think that Athena is finally taking the lead of your body, but the feeling rushing through your veins is different: YOU are taking the power. Your power. Part of you wants to believe it's just a crazy impulse, but when your body naturally reacts to Hades moving his hand to throw his dark power at you and Aioros, you know that's not just instinct, that's you.

You rapidly move to the front of Aioros, and before Hades could complete his strike, you move your arm and throw gold energy in the shape of a staff, Athena's mythological staff, right in Hades' direction.

Hades looks incredulous for a second. But then, he recovers from his momentaneous shock fast enough to dodge your attack, regaining his imposing posture right after.

“So, you truly are the reincarnated Athena. I have to admit, I had my doubts about it since your aura didn't fit goddess greatness when I first saw you.” Hades admits as his calm and cold expression comes back to his face.

“How dare you to say that?” Aioros hisses with his eyes full of anger as he closes his fist, aiming to attack Hades to show him a piece of his mind, but you gracefully put your arm in front of him, stopping Aioros from doing so.

"Aioros, don't." Your voice sounds powerful, yet peaceful.

Aioros has been fighting by Athena's side since the age of mythology; and even if he wanted to, he could never confound her with anyone else. He knows her aura or in better words: Your aura.

“Y/N?” Aioros calls for your name in furrowed brows. Your eyes remain still locked in Hades. Aioros recognizes that fierce, yet elegantly look on your face. When seconds later, the mythological staff physically appears on your hand and by that, no doubts are required anymore. You’re somehow her. “Athena.” He states, finally letting a smile come to his lips when you nod with a side smile on your face.

Hades strikes another attack towards you, which you retaliate throwing an arrow made of your golden power that left the tip of your staff, on the direction of his attack, destroying Hades' attempt, however, the greek god manages to stop it with his open palm, crashing the arrow with his power that was centimeters of touching his skin.

“I see you’re weaker than I thought you were. As I can see, I’m not the only one going through a strange situation at this age with my usual body. However, I’m not a fool who's willing to fight a war without my full power capacity.” He smirks, making the golden arrow you throw at him turn to ashes as he closes his palm effortlessly, rubbing his hands together as if he’s cleaning them. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for you yet, I’m only here for Mark’s body.”

Something is different about you, and as much as Aioros tries to figure out what is it, nothing makes him so sure about the fact that somehow you have remained yourself, even with Athena's essence over you, like the next words you say:

“You will have to run over my dead body if that's what you wish.” You threaten him, taking a step forward and putting your body in front of your brother's body. You are not losing your brother. Not today.

“Oh, it will be my pleasure.” Hades smirks, striking another attack at you, but before it could hit your body, you position your mythological staff in front of your body, repelling his dark power back at him, causing one of his soldiers to jump in front of him to receive the attack instead of Hades. “It doesn't matter if my powers are not in their greatest moment in this age, I still am the goddess of strategy, have you forgotten about this?” You state, using the leverage of Hades' lack of attention to hit the floor with your staff, making thousands of Hades' soldiers fall on his feet.

He's standing still, staring at you almost like he is surprised at your last choices. Unlike the other times, you're being bold and not cold and calculating as usual. You are not acting like the old Athena he knows.

“So predictable. Not a good characteristic for someone who claims to be the goddess of strategy, war, and wisdom.” Hades ponders, trying to diminish your strange confidence while he raises his left hand, making all of his fallen soldiers get up on their feet again. “You can't kill the soldiers of the King of the underworld. I decide when they die.”

“But I can take down their leader, just like I've done before.” You chuckle, feeling your whole body being involved in a golden light as your suit armor finally gets out of your necklace to take place on your figure. The gold helmet, the shield on your left arm, your staff still on your right hand, all of them weighing nothing in comparison to the sparkle that has taken place in your now greyish eyes. That is what being a goddess feels like, it's like fire rushing and burning through your veins with nothing being more intense than that. Not even the glory of gold.

When you stare at Aioros', seeing him also with his armor on, you just know what you have to do. You start to run towards Hades with Aioros following and mirroring every single one of your moves from behind, like your own shadow, and before Hades could think about striking any other attack, you throw your staff towards him, causing Hades to again dodge your attack, exactly as you predicted. He just couldn't predict Aioros' sword flying right in his direction. Again, the greek god managed to get away from Aioros' attack, but not without a bleeding cut on his left arm.

Suddenly, you remember one of the most important leverages from other eras: Hades has a blind spot, one he doesn't know about.

“You dare to try to hurt me?” Hades scoffs at the sight of his bleeding arm, staring back at you like you have profaned a sacred territory. “I will take your precious big brother’s body with me, I will leave you alone at this age, and I WILL KILL YOU and every single person you have ever loved in this life, human!” He points at you, feeling his hatred consume his figure and turning the whole place around him colored in a true black.

When silver bolts of lightning and thunders start to surround you and Aioros, you position your left arm with the shield as a way to protect the both of you from the bolts of lightning; but before you can even turn around to ask Aioros for a plan, you feel your knight's hand on your right arm, forcing you to run behind him towards another empty storehouse just like the one you two were hiding earlier.

“What are you doing?!” You question, trying to break off from his grip as he drags you into another abandoned place. “Saving your life. We need to come up with a plan that doesn't involve facing Hades and his army at the same time. We are still weaker than usual and facing a furious Hades without a strategy will get us both killed or too hurt to fight back.” Aioros answers, without looking back at you as he pulls you away from any visible spots.

“I have it under control!” You contest, pulling your hand off of his grasp as you stare at Aioros with a twisted expression on your face.

“Y/N, I know you have emerged with Athena's goddess essence without losing your own essence. And no, I don't have the answer to why this is happening, but you need to get yourself together and understand that you are still the goddess of strategy. We are not gonna win this war with irrational attacks.” Aioros grabs both of your shoulders, shaking you slightly as if that can somehow make you pay attention to him.

“Aioros, I demand you to stop this nonsense!” You force his hands off of your body aggressively. “Hades is outside with his whole army with him, we do not have the time to come up with anything. We need to trust our instincts. This isn’t the time to argue whether a strategy will win the war or not.”

“I’m trying to save your-” “She's right, Aioros.” You again hear Hades' voice loud and clear in your ears. The difference? Now, he truly is inside the empty place, right behind you. “Oh Aioros, tell me you didn't think I couldn't see through my own darkness.” He addresses with nothing but pure irony on his voice, laughing while you slowly turn around to face him.

“I could have killed you right now, Athena, and it would have been so easy. Guess this age has taken your usual keen senses away as much as it has taken your rationality.” Hades opens his arms, and his whole body cracks as a pure form of darkness get out of his body, flying straight to Mark's direction.

You were about to jump in front of Aioros to protect him with your shield, when you hear Renjun's soft and confused voice, calling for your name. There is no way Hades could replicate that. And the fact you looked away from the dark form flying towards Aioros to face your Renjun on his knees for a second, is the leverage Hades needs to enter in Mark's eyes.

All you hear next is the sound of Aioros' body falling on the floor.

“AIOROS!” You outcry, throwing yourself to the floor as you try to hold the now aggressively shaking body of your brother. He’s cold. “Aioros, talk to me, what's going on?” You try to get him to look at you, but Mark's eyes are distant, almost like he's facing his own battle inside of him, which is confirmed when groans and screams of suffering start to leave his mouth. “Aioros! What is happening? What is he doing?” You shake his body, trying to get his attention as you stare helplessly at your brother's body reacting at the evil soul of Hades.

“H-he's trying to kill Aioros, so he can take control of Mark's body.” You hear Renjun's voice by your side, making you stare at him in pure desperation. Not really believing that voice belongs to your husband, not until your eyes finally met again.

For a second, you just sit there still. Your vision is blurred from the remaining darkness that continued on the air after Hades' fast movements, but deep down in your heart, you know that the person next to you is not an illusion. You were so caught up in trying to contact Hades, that you didn’t notice Renjun crawling over the floor till you. The young man next to you still has the black hair falling onto his forehead, but his eyes? Those are the eyes of the man you’re married to. Nothing could replicate those eyes, not even Hades.

A small part of you is relieved to see the love of your life alive, but the other one can't process the fact that you are on the verge of losing your brother.

“How are you alive?” You question him, more to yourself than to him, to be honest. “It doesn't matter right now. But what it does matter is that whatever made my soul continue alive when Hades inside of me, is not going to work in Mark's body if Hades manages to take control. He's going to kill them both.”

“What? No! No, there has to be another way!” You argue, shaking your head aggressively as you refuse to believe in what’s happening. This has to be a lie. A hallucination.

“You’re half Athena now, so if you don't know a solution…” Renjun holds onto his bleeding arm, trying hard to remember about everything Hades had thought when he was inside him, but finding no useful information. “Then I don't think there's one.”

“NO. I refuse to let this happen, Renjun. He is my big brother, my partner in crime, my ride or die best friend. I can't lose my brother to an evil psycho!” You exclaim in fear, staring at Renjun's eyes as if you’re looking for any type of answer they can provide you.

“You won't.” You hear Aioros' voice, followed by the cold sound of the knife he usually keeps close to his waist going through his chest.

And just like that, all the sounds of suffering cease.

You've always heard about those stories where people go through almost a death experience, and how their whole lives go through their heads in a blink of an eye, with tons of memories like flashes. Now you know they aren't true. You're not the one who's about to bleed till death, but you still see all those memories going through your head like a bullet.

The pain and sadness drain through you, taking away all the strength and power that you so firmly and believed that could save you and your brother out of this mess. The only thing left is the ocean of tears that you were trying so much to hold back previously. You have no reason to stop them from falling now.

“MARK!” You screech in pain, gently placing your brother's body on your arms with forming tears on your eyes as his eyes finally meet with yours. “Hey, little sister.” Mark gives you the best smile he could in that position, making your heart feel like it is physically breaking.

“What- Why? Why are you doing this? Have you lost your mind?! Huh?!” You let a loud cry leave your lips, watching as your brother's mouth starts to get filled with his blood. The blood with your genetics. The blood that so deeply connected the two of you. One of the greatest bond you could ever have with someone on earth.

“This-” Mark coughs his own blood, staining your trembling hand that is currently caressing his cheek tenderly. “Hades won't have enough power to hurt you in his abstract form of darkness. He'll have to go back to the underworld, and this will give you enough time to run.”

“Mark, I can't-” You choke on your tears, feeling like all the air inside of your lungs has left you alone. Your sobbing is so loud that for a second you’re scared that the words just won’t leave your mouth. “Goddammit, Mark. I can't lose you. Who is gonna secretly give candy to my future children before dinner? Who is going to show them all the pictures of me with that terrible short cut hair? You can't leave me. Why in this world would Aioros give you this terrible idea?” You hold his head next to your chest, almost like you could stop him from leaving you if only you hold him tight enough.

“He didn't, I came up with the genius plan, he just agreed with me.” He let a weak laugh leave his lips, staring at the person he loves the most in this entire world.

You.

“I'm your ride or die, remember? I have the feeling that Aioros is the same thing for Athena. And because of that, we are more than glad to sacrifice ourselves if that means that both of you will have the chance to stay alive.” Mark coughs on his blood again, getting harder and harder to speak. “Besides, Nike is by your side this time. You're finally going to break this curse and end this war.” Mark elucidates, causing you to shake your head at his statement.

“Nike? The goddess of victory? What are you talking about?” You ask, with all of your tears dropping off of your face and landing on Mark’s face. “Baby, look at your arm.” Renjun touches your right arm, making you look at it for a second, noticing for the first time a drawing of Nike glowing from the inside of your arm.

“Aioros knew something was different about you when you finally fully awakened. It is her… she has come to help us.” Mark finishes his sentence with a hopeful smile on his face, reuniting all of his left strength to cover your hand on his cheek with his own, whispering the last words you would ever hear him say to you: “I love you.”

The only thing that can be heard after that is the loud scream of pure agony that leaves your mouth, filling in the entire empty room.

You have the arms of the man you love around your figure, which was everything you could ask for some minutes ago. But at the same time, your own arms are holding close to your heart the lifeless body of the one person you thought that would never leave your side. The one you love with your whole soul. The one who left you behind with a missing piece of your heart. Your only brother. Your big brother.

Your Mark.

#nct #nct dream #huang renjun #renjun timestamps #renjun imagines #nct imagines #nct series #nct greek gods #nct dream greek gods #nct dream timestamps #nct timestamps #nct blurbs #renjun drabbles #renjun angst #renjun angst hours #nct dream blurbs #nct drabbles #nct dream drabbles

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author-morgan · 5 years

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Phobia ☤ Alexios

nineteen - a mother’s prayer

masterlist

“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.”

Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.

HIS SEARCH LEADS him to Naxos and the closer the Adrestia sails to the island, the more anxious he becomes. It is the closest he has been to his mother since that night on Mount Taygetos, and somehow he still feels leagues away. Irene walks with him along the white sands of a quiet cove. "Go on," she whispers, trying to soothe his addled nerves.

"What if she doesn't recognize me?" He asks. He had only been a boy of twelve on Mount Taygetos –still growing and not yet a warrior. Now though he is a man, hardened by life. All traces of the boy Myrrine once knew are gone. The boy his mother raised died on the slopes of Taygetos.

Irene smooths her fingers over his creased brow and across the scar below his eye before taking his face into her hands –forcing him to meet her gaze. She focuses on his eyes, which are darting back and forth, shining in the fading light of the sun. They are a deep, earthy brown with glints of old copper and flame. "You are her son," she tells him, "she will have never forgotten you, Alexios."

He desperately wants to share the princess's sanguinity. It's not just seeing his mother again for the first time in over a decade –it's figuring out how to tell her Kassandra is alive and she may be past the point of redemption. It's gathering the nerve to ask about his real father and the Cult. It's hoping his mother will adore Irene as he does.

There's a storm raging inside him and only action will quell it. The longer he waits, the stronger the storm will become. "Chin up, Spartan," she remarks, tipping his head back so he's no longer looking at their feet. Alexios takes her hands into his own –the briefest of smiles appearing on his lips. Irene raises to her toes and places a chaste kiss just below where his jaw and ear meet. He steps back but does not let go of her hands. "Go," the princess smiles, "I'll be here."

MYRRINE THINKS THE gods are playing a cruel trick, but her son is alive and so is her daughter. She has just as many questions as Alexios, but hers can wait. Though the words on the tip of his tongue aren't a question, not yet anyway. "Mater, there's someone I want-" Timo rushes onto the balcony before he can finish.

They both turn at the interruption. "Soldiers from Paros just made landfall in the cove!" She announces, out of breath. "A small force, maybe a dozen."

His mother curses and sighs as though this is a common occurrence. "Gather the troops," she commands, then turns back to her son –eyeing the spear on his back and sword at his hip. "I assume you can use those weapons?" She asks. Before that fated night, he was still clumsy and timid –steadily improving like any boy yet to enter manhood.

Alexios smiles. "Better than when you last saw me," he notes with a soft laugh. Myrrine motions for him to follow. They will make short work of Silanos' troops. As he and his mother near the cove, Alexios feels his heart sink into the pits of his stomach. It is the same beach where he and the princess walked. Only now she is no longer on the white sand looking off to the horizon. In her place is a dozen men though two are already bleeding out.

He wastes no time trying to be stealthy and drives his sword through one man's gut then thrusts the broken spear up into another's neck –pulling it free from the other side. They fall concurrently, blood creeping toward the sea. A third brute hoists an axe above his head, though before it comes down, Alexios spins. Slashing both sword and spear across the brute's stomach –eviscerating him in a single fluid motion.

The other half of Leonidas' spear is laying in the sand, the blade glistening with blood. "Irene?" He calls. There is no response. Another soldier rushes toward him. Alexios turns, ramming the spearhead into the soldier's chest and slams the twitching body down onto the beach. "Irene!" He shouts but there is still no answer.

In only minutes. Paros' troops are defeated –either dead or dying. Myrrine raises her spear to finish off one of the soldiers. He is the only one still clinging to breath at the moment. The Eagle Bearer prowls toward the man before his mother can send him to meet Hades. "Where is she?" Alexios asks, seething. He had not come all this way just have Irene torn away from him.

The man lay dying, clutching his bloody entrails. "He. Took. Her." Pulses of bile and blood flow from his mouth between each word.

Alexios hauls the man to his feet. "Who?" He growls.

"Silanos," the man gasps.

"Tell me where he is and I'll ease your passing." The soldier opens his mouth, but no words come. His head lolls forward, spilling blood on the sand by the Eagle Bearer's foot. Alexios throws the corpse down and kicks the sand, brimming with rage. Not Irene he pleads to whichever god will hear him and listen. You already took Phoibe, don't take Irene.

Myrrine looks across the water to the sister island of Naxos. "Paros," she tells her son, laying her hand on his bloody shoulder. That is where Silanos resides.

SILANOS CROUCHES NEXT to the lost Persian Princess, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She squirms at the touch but has nowhere to go with both hands and legs bound. They'd gagged her too after she almost bit off one of the deckhand's ears. Before that she'd been kept tied to a post like an animal.

"I imagine the Order will offer a handsome reward for such a prize." For twenty years, she has evaded the Order. A Tainted One in plain sight, rising amongst the ranks of the Athenian elite. His hand slides down to her throat and squeezes lightly –fear floods her eyes and stirs a carnal desire deep in Silanos. "But you may be of use to Deimos too. Yet that is for others to decide." The Cult and Order would choose what became of her, but until she was delivered to Phokis, Silanos of Paros controls her fate.

The cultist leans toward her. Irene feels his hot, acrid breath on her flesh and trembles. His hand moves from her neck, slipping below her peplos and apodesmos. "You must enjoy the touch of a Spartan," he says, roughly, squeezing one of her breasts.

She clenches her jaw and rears back, smashing her forehead into Silanos' nose. He falls backward, two streams of red flowing over his lips and into his greying beard. Silanos touches the blood, looks at his fingertips and laughs. Struggle only makes his conquests sweeter. He surges forward, one hand winding into her hair, pulling her head back, the other pushing up the tattered remains of her skirt. Silanos drags his bloody nose and tongue up the pale column of her neck. He will have her before the day is done.

Irene writhes in his grasp, shouts, and curses silenced. Silanos shifts and she manages to quickly bend her knees, and kick out –her feet colliding with his groan. His wince of pain is followed by a snarl. The pressure on her scalp lessens and both his hands twist onto the thin material covering her breasts –it tears and bears her to him.

A cultist guard steps into the dark underbelly of the trireme and ends Silanos' assault. "A ship with an eagle figurehead approaches!" The Adrestia.

Silanos growls and grips onto Irene's chin. "Perhaps I'll let you look upon your dead misthios while taking you." The princess thrashes against her bonds as the cultist leaves and screams, but the sound is muffled.

PAROS' FLEET SINKS to the bottom of the Aegean, but there is no sign of Irene. Alexios' grip tightens on her half of the broken spear –feeling the faint indentation of her hand on the wooden shaft. He turns his sights to the island until one of Silanos' captured men laugh, asking how long he thought the princess could survive in the hull of a sinking ship. Myrinne races to look over the edge of the Adrestia into the depths and watches as her son dives into the water without a second thought.

Her hands are still bound and she struggles to open the hatch to the deck. The butt of a broken spear is wedged under the hinges for leverage, but she is not strong enough and the weight of the water grows heavier with each passing second. One of the rowers' corpses floats past her.

Alexios reaches through the latticework of metal, fingers brushing over her arm. She looks up and sees his shadowed outline –hopeful even as her lungs begin to burn and darkness creeps into her vision. He plants his feet on the deck and pulls as she pushes with what strength remains in her body. The hinges give and the hatch lifts. He grips onto the rope tied around her wrists –begins swimming toward the surface as the trireme sinks further into a watery grave.

Two heads emerge next to the Adrestia. Alexios holds Irene against him, keeping her above the water he swims toward the ship with one arm. "Help get her up!" Barnabas shouts, spurring the crew into action. Five deckhands link arms and lean over the water –carefully pulling the princess up.

They lay her upon the deck. Barnabas slices through the bonds and quickly lays the ragged scrap of brown fabric draped over his shoulders across the princess –to protect her modesty. The Eagle Bearer collapses on his hands and knees next to her. Alexios pushes black hair from her face, leans down and is relieved to feel shallow puffs of air against his cheek. He runs his fingers over a fresh scratch on her temple and presses his forehead against hers. "Alexios," she breathes –unsure if it was him or a dream, but the way his arms tighten around her feels real. Irene's smile is ethereal and ephemeral before exhaustion takes her.

"Back to Naxos!" Myrrine shouts and the rowers extend their oars into the water, turning the ship back to the island. Alexios carries her from the dock through the streets up to his mother's villa and lays her on a kline, falling to his knees. She still breathes, but it feels as though he has failed her all the same. Aella follows him from the ship with a golden chlamys and one of Irene's spare gowns. He removes Barnabas' mantle and replaces it with the soft golden fabric.

Weary, the Eagle Bearer rises, kisses her temple then stumbles from the room leaving her to rest. Myrrine finds her son on a balcony overlooking the sea. She has not seen him smile since Silanos' men landed in the cove.

Alexios glances to his side as his mother comes to stand next to him, leaning her hip against the stone railing. "She must be special to you," Myrrine notes.

He looks to the sea again and the depths remind him of her eyes. A lump rises in his throat. The princess is more than just special to him. They share a connection he has never felt before with another woman –or man. It is more than physical attraction with Irene, his soul longs for her as does his heart. The gods must have crafted them for one another and fate had brought them together at last. Alexios glances at his mother and realizes there is a word that describes how he feels about Irene. "I love her, mater," he tells her, voice low and heavy with guilt.

"Did you know humans were created with four arms, four legs, and two faces?" He shifts toward his mother, brows furrowed. "Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." She lays her hand on his cheek and wipes away the dampness beneath his eye. Myrrine sighs –she had felt a great power lying dormant within the princess. The same kind of power than ran in her and Alexios' bloodline, but much more potent. "She is your other half, Alexios." He blinks, unsure if he heard his mother correctly. "And she is strong."

#Alexios #Alexios x OC #Alexios Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Phobia #my writing

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panicked-nights · 5 years

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Mother, Make Me (a big grey cloud) ~*~ [Panic + Helle]

In which Panic goes to the Ambassador for help after discovering Attina is gone...[takes place: March 10]

[tw: discussion of death, discussion of child death, fire/burning]

PANIC: Tina was gone.

Stepping into their house there was a certain chill. A chill that resembled his own.

An energy that didn’t belong in this world. Just like how she didn’t belong in his.

It didn't matter that the house was perfect.

Tina was gone.

And it was his fault.

No one escaped the Underworld. Not alive at least and admittedly Panic was sure already if he could be counted as alive. After all he had been able to get out once.

What do we do? What do you mean what do we do? I mean we're not leaving her alone down there are you? For all you complained about that place- Do you really think I'm going to leave her there Perc? But there is no we at all during any of this. You can't do shit. I can do more than you give me credit for. It's the underworld buddy. No one can do shit.

Feeling the familiar tug and pull Panic all but ripped himself from Percy's body. But Panic's form didn't ripple. It didn’t waiver because for the past two decades he had worked on strengthening himself.

Even now he could feel some of Percy's strength while they stood side by side.

He couldn't just wait for that to weaken time was an iffy problem. He wasn't leaving Attina there girl any longer than necessary. Mind you the minutes here were already too long. He needed a quick way to get down there more than waiting for him to get pulled back in. He needed to give up something so Tina could leave.

He needed to tie himself there.

You're not coming back are you? Not at all. Time to meet the ambassador.

It didn’t take long to get to Belle's place. Of course if it had then Panic was really barking up the wrong option.

So when Belle opened the door he didnt have time to spare.

"Hey. Great to see you and everything. Any chance Hades is at home? I need his help. Or yours if you know how to send a demon back to the underworld."

BELLE: There was a knock on the door.

In the Acheron house, that was rarely a good sign. Especially when they were not expecting anyone. It was only Belle at home, at the moment. Opal was upstairs napping, Hades at Chapter Three, giving Belle some peace and quiet to focus on her school work.

But, there was a knock on the door.

Belle looked up from her books at the kitchen table, towards the door. Shuck lifted his head as well from where he’d been sleeping at her feet. He did not growl, just watched the door steadily. With a little, annoyed sigh, Belle got up from the table and made her way to the door.

When it was Percy...Panic...Percy and Panic?--she smiled and opened her mouth to say hello, but they cut across her at once. Her brow furrowed and she closed her mouth, looking them over once. Who was even speaking to her? Surely Percy, yes? Why would a demon want to go back to the Underworld? She took in the look on his face--the way his brows were furrowed and he seemed pale and anxious. Whatever was going on, it was not good.

Belle steeled herself, as she always did when facing someone knocking on the door.

“You should come in,” Belle said without really answering. She opened the door a little more and then closed it behind her friend. “Hades isn’t home, but he should be soon.” He would be, because Belle was reaching into her pocket to text him now.

“Now, what’s happened?” she asked, feeling rather official, like Panic was a client of hers, that she was agreeing to defend in court. Perhaps, that was how queens often felt. The thought simultaneously amused and exhausted her.

PANIC: Panic ran his hands through his hair ever thankful he had spoken to Belle about being a demon even though it was just about having a kid because now it meant he didn’t have to explain too much again.

He didn’t have the time.

If he did he would have done this all on his own. Waited until his power drained him enough that he couldn't stay here anyway.

He didn’t think about telling Belle who he was. Who she was talking to. He barely gave Percy a chance to remind him to be nice.

He had fucked up and Tina was paying for it.

Fuck.

Calm-- Don’t tell me to calm down. But you need to. Belle can’t help if you're all frazzled. Fuck off Perc. Not happening idiot. Either calm down or I'm taking over. I can do this. My fiancée. Basically our kid yeah? Fuck you

"Apparently I left some really bad connections down below and they came back to haunt me. Not literally." Panic muttered sarcastically waving his hand in the air as if some random ghost would be offended at him.

"Tina was dragged into the underworld and I need to go back as quickly as possible before I cant find her."

BELLE: Belle blinked once.

In that blink, a thousand emotions crashed through her. Fear spiked first--harsh and cold inside of her, as if she’d just been stabbed through with an icicle. A deep, throbbing sadness was left behind in its wake. This was followed by a kind of exhausted recognition. It reminded her of Hercules, showing up at her door with a dead body in his arms. Married to the Lord of the Underworld, this was her life. Hearing these tragedies was just going to be part of the package, a sacrifice she didn’t mind making, no matter how hard. Death would always shroud this house. Death slept in her bed every night.

That did not make bearing this burden any easier.

Because--a mortal could not go into the Underworld without dying.

Surely Panic knew what Belle knew: Attina was, most likely, already dead. If she had been dragged through the veil, she was already lost. Not that Belle would give up just like that, if Belle was that kind of person, she’d not be standing there now, but the path would not be an easy one to try and get Attina back.

“We should sit down,” Belle told Panic gently after that initial moment passed. She drew up her armor then. It was a heavy thing to hold, but Belle had held much heavier before. Her hand reached out and grabbed the frantic Panic by the elbow, tugging him gently but firmly over to the couch and making him sit before she sat down next to him.

“What kind of demons took her? Do you know? If--” she’s still alive “--we need to know where she is if we are going to do anything about it.”

PANIC: Panic took a deep breath but allowed Belle to tug him over. He didn't want to sit. If he sat then he had to think about everything that had happened and was happening. The tidal wave of everything would crash over him and he was sure he might just drown.

He didn't have his mermaid to save him now.

Breath. Breath and I've got you. I can't do this Perc. I can't. You have to because there's no other choice.

Now that was a strange thing where percy was the one calming him. Protecting him. But he would let that because the other option wasn't pleasant.

"It has to be more demons of emotions. I've had my trouble with a few. Greed. Envy. Pride. Anger." The last he was feeling so much he might as well be a demon of it.

"I don't know anything and I don't care. I can't leave her there. I have to get her back."

BELLE: If this was another situation, Belle might find it kind of amusing, the whole concept of “demons of emotions.” Not in a true haha-funny way, but in an ironic way, because it felt almost too accurate. Belle lived most of her life ruled by those kinds of demons--Envy, Panic, even Anger, occasionally Pride. She knew just how dangerous they could be, without their physical manifestations. Yes, that also made her very aware of how dangerous the demon sitting on her couch was, but she also trusted him, in that ill-advised way of hers.

“I know,” Belle told him softly. “We will do what we can, alright? Just--give me a moment. I promise, just one moment.”

With that, she stood up and moved to the mud room, disappearing around the corner. Crouching down on her hands and knees, she crawled along the floor until she found the group of books she was looking for. Grabbing them, she sat up and then stood, making her way back to the living room.

“Until Hades gets here, this should help us get a good start. I’ll need you to tell me everything about these demons. Anything you remember, from your own time in the Underworld. Then, we can make a plan to get her out. We will do everything we can.”

At least, Belle knew that was true. Belle didn’t know what Hades was going to do about Panic, she knew he wasn’t going to be happy, but--either way, Attina was innocent in all of this, and it was their job to make sure innocents didn’t get mixed up in all this Underworld mess to start. At least, that was how Belle saw her Wife of the Ambassador duties.

PANIC: Panic curled in on himself focused only on his and Percy’s heart beat.

Percy’s heartbeat. It wouldn’t be his for much longer.

One moment was enough for Panic to descend into his own mind of chaos. For Percy to peek out and mentally shake Panic until he was willing to look up with tears in his eyes as Belle returned brushing them away.

“Just before we get into all of this - you’re a good person Belle. Mind looking out for Percy for me? Tina too. When she gets back.” Panic didn’t care if it was a long shot. He didn’t care if Belle didn’t think they could get Tina out. Panic had to get her back. He wanted her back here with her sisters and her family.

And after all of this. Panic didn’t think he’d be the one to offer any help.

BELLE: Belle didn’t notice that Panic was crying. Even if she had, she would’ve pretended she didn’t. Knowing what that was like, being so consumed by fear that you could do nothing else but cry. She knew how uncomfortable it was to cry in those situations, how vulnerable you felt. So, she would’ve ignored it, if she’d seen it.

She hadn’t, however, because she was busy flipping through her books, jumping into research. They were in a race against the clock. Belle was familiar with this feeling and she knew that they couldn’t waste a single second.

Though, when Panic started talking, Belle stopped. That anxiety of time running out suspended for a moment and she saw the pain beneath all the rest. See, Belle didn’t like dealing with the pain--thinking about Panic’s pain, or Attina’s fear, or their baby--

She just wanted to get to work.

But, she also felt her heart twist at Panic’s plea and she reached out her hand to grasp his. Her smile was small, but genuine.

“I promise,” Belle told him. “We’ll look after them.” She hesitated, because she wanted to tell him that it would be fine and he would be the one looking after them, but she wasn’t sure if she would be able to promise that. A demon of his status escaping once from the Underworld was a feat. Twice was almost unheard of. “If it comes to that, we will make sure they’re taken care of. It’s basically our job.” Well, it wasn’t, not really, but Belle felt like it was.

PANIC: There was a moment of calm thinking about the future, one where Tina and Percy were safe. One where Amelia was with her mom and whatever they decided on Percy being. He didn’t need to be there for them to be happy as long as they were home and safe.

He apologized now. Percy having all the words Panic would say when Attina was back and Panic couldn’t say them himself.

“Thank you.” Panic stated softly though there wouldn’t ever be enough thanks Panic could offer Belle for any help she was able to give. Even just a moment up here more. Even just helping Percy after the fact. Even just being a great friend.

Oh poor Sally. Maybe she saw this coming, Maybe she already knew what he was about to do and Percy wouldn’t have to explain it.

Squeezing her hand back the calm rushed away back into the tidal wave creeping higher and higher. Even as pages flipped to information Panic knew and didn’t know. The tidal wave creep closer and closer. Higher and higher.

At least until the door opened and the water escaped and the Ambassador walked in. The one thing Panic had been avoiding all these years.

HADES: Hades sensed the demon when he saw the lights of his house. And that was when Hades ran.

Before, he’d been sporting a serious, directed walk-- spurred on by the texts Belle sent, couched in rather vague language. He knew that official Ambassador business waited for him at home; he knew that Opal and his wife was safe; he knew that on the scale of potential underworld disasters, this ranked on the lower end, or else Belle wouldn’t have simply texted (she would have, at least, called.) So he’d quickly shut down the store roughly forty minutes earlier than he would have already, and then made his way home.

But when he felt the demon--its energy frenetic, pushing the friendly, sleepy ghosts out of the realm of his home in fright-- Hades had no bloody idea what Belle was thinking.

So he ran, threw open the door of his house before he was several metres there. He rounded in and did not bother to ask questions. It mattered very little to him that Belle was holding a book and the demon was sitting across from her, as if they were having tea. His powers erupted as if an official announcement of his power.

The lights flickered and Panic was dragged across the room toward Hades, and then forced to his knees.

“Try anything and I won’t hesitate to make this especially painful,” Hades threatened and then looked up to see Belle staring at him, exasperated. “What?” he demanded. “You didn’t say you had a bloody demon over!”

PANIC: There was a lot of reasons Panic avoided the ambassador of the underworld.

Hades of course overpowered him.

Panic of course was technically not supposed to be here.

Percy of course was being possessed by a demon.

Neither boy had expected to be ripped from where they were sitting eyes rimmed red in front of said ambassador down on their knees like they needed to beg for their life.

To beg for forgiveness.

To beg for mercy.

No neither boy had expected it would go well. But they hadnt expected to feel the overwhelming and constricting power of Hades.

The thing was this was nothing compared to what Tina was going to have to face so his eyes while red and streaks of tears down his face.

Even with panic swirling in his chest adding to Hades power Panic steeled himself glaring at the Ambassador.

"Fucking hell. Could have just asked would have bowed to you either way-" Panic muttered.

Shut the fuck up He's an asshole Hes doing his job He's an asshole Damn you're annoying. You wanna take over? You're more than welcomed to.

BELLE: The door burst open and Hades’ power swept in with the cold, like a shiver up the spine. Belle barely had time to react before Panic was being yanked across the floor, one of her precious books tumbling underneath him, its spine snapping backwards.

Right. Belle probably should’ve mentioned the demon part. She hadn’t thought about it. A grievous oversight, but, well--Panic was her friend. (A bit diabolical, honestly, on his part. Considering Belle was quite loyal to her friends and despite lying about being a demon (which, fair), Panic had always been a good friend. She couldn’t just turn on him because of what he was...it was kind of her whole thing.) He hadn’t registered in her mind as a demon she needed protection from.

She had gotten up from her seat as Hades whole show had played itself out, her hands in fists on her hips.

“Yes, if I thought that was pertinent information, I would’ve said so.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, since she had more or less simply forgotten to mention it, but--she needed to be in control of this situation. “Now, let him go. He’s not going to hurt anyone. His name is Panic and he’s a demon of emotion and a father. His fiancee and unborn child have been kidnapped.” Belle raised both her eyebrows slightly in a ‘sound familiar’ gesture. “We’re going to help get them back,” she told her husband matter-of-factly.

Make no mistake, Belle knew she was in trouble, but she also knew that right now was not the time for a domestic. It was time to buckle down and get to work, to help Panic, Attina, and, most importantly, their unborn daughter.

HADES: Hades’ eyebrows twitched up. And then his eyes narrowed.

Belle had always been his partner first in the truest sense of the word-- partner before lover, partner before wife, partner before the mother of his child. He respected what she had to say and sought her input.

However, being summoned here by his partner, not given all the information, and then commanded wasn’t exactly equal treatment, was it? And when it came to the demon kneeling in front of him, Belle’s input was not asked for. It wasn’t needed. For all of the complicated parts of his destiny, Hades had always understood the possession=bad part quite plain. Only mediums could ever handle a possession successfully and to some sort of a just ends. This bloke was not a medium. This demon was not a restless ghost in need of a little closure.

This demon was a demon, possessing a mortal. When Belle spoke of a fiancée and an unborn child, she spoke of the mortal’s fiancée and unborn child. Not the demon’s. Unless--?

He did not let Panic go.

“We are?” Hades said, coldly. “Can we do that after we banish the demon part of him? Unless the fiancée and the unborn child are also demons, in which case, well, I don’t make it a point to save a demon I’ll just have to banish anyway.” He snorted. Clearly that sounded insane; Belle was many things, but not insane. “You’re not telling me the full story. Tell me that, and then I’ll consider thinking about maybe letting him go.”

PANIC: Panic maybe unwisely (most definitely unwisely) wasn't afraid of Hades. But this was his story and Belle had been nice enough to be a friend and to already promise help in spite of her husband's annoyance.

He did however feel a little bad this was all popping up from him.

"They aren't demons. Just me. But my fiancee knows and Percy is more than capable of speaking for himself if you want to talk to him." Panic stated moving his eyes only to glance at Belle before focusing on Hades again. "My past came back to bite me in the ass and now my family is at risk." Panic started before taking a deep breath. Banishment was always an option. He wouldn't have sought both Belle and Hades out if that wasn't on the front of his mind.

"I want you to banish me. I want to go back but I need to figure out a way to get my daughter and Attina back here. They deserve that much even if my daughter has some demon in her which I don't even know how that would work because of Percy. But please. I beg you. Help me save Attina and my daughter." Banish him. Send him away. But bring them back.

BELLE: Right, well, that was fair enough, she supposed.

And, honestly, did Hades really think Attina Triton was a demon? (Unless he didn’t know Panic was dating Attina...had Belle ever mentioned? Probably not, she wasn’t the type to gossip about friends, neither was Hades.) He probably only knew of Panic/Percy in the vaguest of senses anyway. To be fair, Belle and Percy/Panic weren’t exactly the best of friends.

But, right, explaining. She could do that. She was going to do that.

Panic opened his mouth instead.

Belle closed hers with a little wince, though she quickly smoothed out her features. Nothing to do about it now. She would’ve put it differently, but at the end of the day, this was Panic’s life, his family, and he knew best. Except--

“What? Panic, no--” Belle took a step forward before she cut herself off, pressing her lips together and looking at Hades.

“She’s human,” Belle said instead, confirming Panic’s story. “One of the Triton girls. Panic hasn’t done anything wrong,” she added. “He is good.” And Belle would never say this if she didn’t believe it wholly. To her, Hades’ job was not quite so black and white. He was supposed to keep the balance, not be judge, juror, and executioner. Some demons could exist in their world without any problems. Calcifer was an example of this. (Okay, well, there had been the whole Howl-almost-dying thing, but he hadn’t! And Belle had been able to talk to Percy, herself. What he had said made sense to her. Sure, it was strange, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.)

HADES: Hades listened.

Hades didn’t care for what Belle had to say-- Panic’s goodness, here, was irrelevant.

What he did care was for the imbalance struck not here on Earth (though that would be fixed) but down in the Underworld. Panic wouldn’t be permitted to stay, but Attina and her child should be returned if what the demon and Belle said was true. If it was because of the demon’s mistakes, not that of Attina’s-- then the Underworld would give Attina and the child up.

Probably.

“You’ll get your wish,” Hades said smoothly, after a few beats of silence. “You’ll be returned to the Underworld so you can save Attina and her child. But there’s little I can do for you once you’re down there. I may be able to walk all the paths, but the world will recognize you for your true self. And the Underworld will test you-- that’s what it does.” He snorted a little. He always found it a bit dramatic, the Underworld. All its tests, illusions, demands, and sacrifices. But it was to keep the balance, and so that made sense.

“So that means you’ll be leaving your human host behind. He wouldn’t survive otherwise.” Flames lit Hades’ fingers, flickering in a dance. “So. I can be ready when you are, if you’re eager to go now. Not sure what you’ll find in the books beyond the myths.”

PANIC Panic. No Percy. This is what’s gotta be done. Go home, you’ve missed your parents long enough for my whims. Take the money. Go on a trip. See the world. Whatever you want. Go be you. That’s not the point. It never has been. But that’s what it is now. Thanks for the ride bud. I love you.

Pushing Percy back of his mind Panic nodded at Hades. “Never planned on taking him down there in the first place.” Glancing at Belle he hoped she would keep the promise she made. To Percy and to Attina, to Amelia. He didn’t need help on his side of things.

If there was nothing else in the books that could help him then he would just have to figure it out there. He had done this once when he was younger yeah. He could do it again. Tina wasn’t meant for that world. They had to return her. Right?

Steeling his eyes up to Hades, Panic nodded.

“I’m ready.”

HADES: Hades glanced at Belle, but his glance didn’t linger. In the end, this was exactly what he had been born to do. In the end, no matter the other factors at play-- a fiance, a mortal child-- this sort of demon, a demon of emotion, did not belong in this world. His time had run out.

So Hades nodded back at Panic. Their eyes met. And in the mortal’s eyes, Hades could see the dark of the demon, though it wasn’t like any other demon he’d ever faced. Belle was telling the truth and so was Panic-- he did not mean to harm anyone. Despite this, there was no hesitation on Hades’ part, because he also saw acceptance in Panic’s eyes. Acceptance and sadness.

He might never meet his child.

Hades’ heart thudded once for the demon, and then it was stone in his chest.

He pointed at the demon’s feet. Fire jumped to life, licking its way around Panic in a circle, trapping him there so he could not escape from it in case he had any second thoughts. Then Hades moved forward and stepped into the circle with him. He gently put his hand on Panic’s shoulder.

“I wish you luck, I really do,” Hades offered. It was the only gift he could give. And then his hand slid to the demon’s throat, and his fire hissed to life. At its touch, the demon fled from the mortal’s body in a bright flare of blue flame.

Just like that, it was over--

The fire turned into ash on the ground--

The man clutched in Hades’ arms, mortal once more.

#idk how ashley does her tags so #labellerose acheron #trip downtheriverstyx #attina the responsible #sure

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hayjeon · 6 years

Text

Drain (m) ft. Jimin

→ sonofPoseidon!Jimin x succubus!reader → 2.4k words, fantasy drabble m.list

a/n: woke up to so many sweet messages, thank you, here’s a treat for ya’ll.

Jimin’s breath stutters as his torso shudders and his body feels that weightlessness that signifies the next part.

Everything gets dark, and even though he knows his eyes are closed and everything is as black as can be, the room considerably dims, sucking every light fissure out from beneath his lids and depleting them into the energy of the darkness. His breath becomes even more ragged as the darkness becomes so heavy and thick that it weighs down on his chest, almost akin to the pressure he feels when he swims a bit too deep.

And then, he hears it.

Your voice is almost like a siren’s, but it’s not singing. You whisper, tender whispers and temptations into his ear, the syllables dragging with a hiss at the end, arching and curling up in tendrils up inside him until he’s twisting in anticipation and desire.

You whisper sweet nothings to him, taunting him at the fact that he can’t move, giggling lightly at the way his body becomes rigid at the sound of your voice and trembles with each sentence.

“Jimin,” you giggle, the voice lingering near his ear, although he can’t see anything. Are his eyes open or closed? He can’t tell.

“Did you miss me?” Your voice has a taunting pout in it, torturing him in the way he can’t move a single muscle, just strain against the invisible bonds that hold him to his bed. “Awww, sweetie,” you coo, and the bed dips like you’re sitting on it. All of his senses are on highest alert, now that his sight is obstructed by whatever darkness it is that you summon.

He can smell you. You smell of pomegranate wine, the sweet and dark nectar a match for the way your presence is absolutely breathtaking and addicting. It surrounds him, lingers in his nose and his lips.

He can taste the way the air shifts, becoming heavier and denser, lingering on his skin along with the sweat that breaks out along his neck and back.

He can feel you, feel the way you bring about a darkness he’s never experienced before, one that’s addicting and makes him feel like he’s drowning or floating, he can’t figure out which one. Often you’ll sit on his side of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, and his muddled brain registering the light jostle.

You run a cold finger up his abdomen, tsking as his muscles ripple under your touch. When you reach his pectoral, your fingers splay as you press your entire hand over where his heart is. Jimin huskily exhales, the air escaping in a shuddering rasp, that although his vocal chords are rendered useless, you snicker at the way even his breathing reflects his arousal. He feels the bed dip as a weight settles over his hips and around his torso. You’re kneeling over him.

His breath releases in a sudden whoosh when you lean down and tongue a stripe up from the base of his neck to his jawline, your voice cooing, “Aw you did miss me, look at how tense you are.” Your hips settle over his, resting your weight on his hardened length, and a hoarse cry breaks free from his lips when you begin rocking against him steadily, dragging your hot and wet core over his clothed length.

He can’t reach up to feel you, he can’t see you, but he knows that you’re naked, knows that there’s no way he can feel so much wetness and warmth this fast without you already being bare. The thought makes him harden even more, as he tries to buck up and speed you up, but you just let out a little chuckle, “ah ah ah,” you tut, slowing down significantly and tweaking his nipple, “bad Jimminie, no moving allowed.”

Jimin relents, letting the darkness drag him under that weight of motionlessness, and lets you take the reigns of the pleasure all over again. If he could move, he would reach up and throw you onto the bed and pound you like the way you deserved after weeks of teasing him during his sleep. He would ravish you like one of his lovers, tease and overwhelm your body within his until you couldn’t tell where each ended. He would chain you to the bed, tie up your arms and legs to each post of his bed and fuck you for hours. The next day he would prevent you from cumming, bringing you to the cusp of orgasm a million times until you were sobbing and promised to never put him through sexual torture again without his permission. Then the next day he would give you what you wanted, dragging you through orgasm and heady pleasure until you didn’t even know anything but his name.

But you don’t care.

You come at night, when the moon is at its dimmest, and steal through his dreams, cloaking his empty room in complete darkness that’s almost addicting, making him feel like he’s drunk. You always do this, whispering sweet promises and cooing comforts into his ear as you do unspeakable things to his body. And then...

You murmur into his ear, and he distinctively feels a pair of lips slide across his jaw and a hand tangle into his locks. “This is why I keep coming back, Jimminie,” you coo, a slight melancholy in your words, “you’re just so exquisite, one of the finest specimens I’ve ever tasted. You taste so damn good,” you moan, burying your face in his neck as your hips speed up, rocking yourself against him. Jimin practically feels the way you clench and tremble above him, and although he’d literally run all the way to Mount Olympus and back just to feel you unobstructed in all your glory, he still clenches his jaw through the haze and lets out a moan at the way he feels your hips messily rub yourself and himself to completion.

“Oh gods,” you sigh, the other hand carding down his abdomen over his stomach, tracing the lines there, “your body is to die for, I want to spend all my life getting to know each. and. every. single. inch,” you punctuate, rasping against his ear. Jimin is so close.

“And your length,” you groan, “One of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your twists are getting absolutely messy, but he can’t bring himself to care because he’s seconds away from losing it.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you rasp, “C’mon, cum for me. Give me your sweet sweet nectar, cum on my pretty little pussy, you can do it,” the hand in his hair tightens, and Jimin cries out as he arches, breaking through the haze of your torture to finally be able to move a bit as he spills into your hips, “you’re so good,” you coo, hips not stilling until he’s trembling from overstimulation.

Jimin knows what you are. He’s read about you in his Monsters and Demons class, read about the way your kind steals into men’s lives in the dark, sexually seducing them into release and sucking the life force out of them. One kiss on the lips, from a creature like you, and he would die, everything sucked away from him in a moment as the rest of him is discarded into the Underworld. He knows that’s why he’s been waking up feeling like he’s run fifty miles and sweating like he’s fought a thousand minotaurs, his shorts always ruined with a ridiculous and almost embarrassing amount of cum. He knows that’s why there are questionable scratch marks and hickeys and bruises littered across his abdomen. He knows that if he leaves a light on before he sleeps, you won’t come.

But he wants it.

He desires it, not just from his loins, but his entire being calls and sings out for your faceless and nameless presence. His entire body goes into anticipation mode, trembling with excitement and expectation the moment the darkness begins to dim, and the lights behind his lids fade to nothingness. His heart begins to beat in overdrive, filling his head with endorphins that add on to the addicting pleasure of the strongest orgasms he’d had in years.

So instead of doing the smart thing, and telling the counselors about it, or asking anyone from the House of Hades to do something about it, or leaving a light on before he goes to bed, or asking one of his friends to stay the night, Jimin politely declines any sleepovers. He smiles politely at the children of Hades, sparing them nothing more than just the normal greetings, and assures his counselors that his recent performance issue in the arena games are merely due to the pressure of winning for his House. He makes sure to blow out his lantern every time he lays his shirtless body horizontally on the bed, making sure not to turn sideways because it makes it harder for you to sit on him.

And you always come. You recognize the signs and you come to him like a moth drawn to a flame. And he knows that it’ll be the same thing, yet more deliciously addictive than the last: you’ll come, you’ll make him have an orgasm, and then...you’ll leave.

Jimin gasps as he sits up in his bed, the sticky cum dripping down his upper thighs as his chest heaves and he wipes the sweat off his brow. He gives himself a moment to catch his breath back to normal before he reaches over to his nightstand to light the lantern again so he can pad over to the restroom and change his boxers. He sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror.

His dark circles are horrible. His hair is a mess, and his frame is getting a bit smaller, he realizes, as he loses all the hard sinews of muscle that he’d usually gain easily from all the sword fighting training. The lines of some muscles are there, but he knows deep down he’d probably not be able to lift the same swords he used to.

But across his face, is the largest and most satisfied grin he’s ever seen on himself, and he can’t help but chuckle as he pads back to the bed and plops down on the sheets.

He was so screwed.

“Oh gosh, kid, you look horrible,” Seokjin cringes at Jimin when he emerges into the dining room. Hoseok turns from his plate to look at what the eldest is talking about, and widens his eyes, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he chirps, “Are you okay?”

“Oh gosh, look at those dark circles,” Seokjin shakes his head, “And did you even brush your hair this morning? And your cheeks are sunken in. What happened to your cute little chubby cheeks?”

Hoseok shushes him as Jimin responds. “Thanks hyung,” he laughs, “But I’m fine. Just not really getting any good rest though.”

Jungkook concernedly looks over while slurping down his cereal breakfast probably enough to feed three tinier demigods. “Do you want me to cash in my favor for Yoongi hyung?”

Jimin laughs, sipping his juice. The son of Hypnos was notorious for his bad attitude and grumpy behavior, and usually never helped anyone, for any reason. But somehow Jungkook had helped Yoongi create a new mattress of some sorts, using his powers as the son of Zeus to summon the best clouds there were to help Yoongi sleep better. “No thanks,” he shakes his head, although the offer is enticing. “I’m okay. I think asking Yoongi hyung for help is even scarier than not getting any sleep at all.”

Taehyung frowns, running a hand through his hair. “We’re just worried for you. Your sister is always asking us how you’re doing. Coach too.”

Jimin laughs good naturedly and finishes his cereal. “Relax, guys, I’m fine. It’ll be completely, totally fine.”

He stands, and excuses himself, taking his tray so that he can stock up on some better foods and a couple more cups of coffee. He stands in line boredly, waiting until all the kids have finished filling their cups to the brim with the bitter black liquid and stirred in all their sugars and creams. He’s filling his second cup with the spout when suddenly a figure clad in all black appears next to him.

“Holy shit, Yoongi hyung,” Jimin breathes, “Warn a brother next time.”

The smaller male huffs, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “Give me that,” he mutters, reaching over Jimin’s tray to grab his first cup of coffee. Jimin sighs but relents nonetheless. Yoongi watches as Jimin grabs another cup to make up for the one that he stole, silently sipping his drink as he watches the second cup get filled slowly to the brim.

Jimin feels his eyes.

“So...” Yoongi drawls, and Jimin knows its coming. Children of hypnos were like sleep doctors, knowing everything and anything there was about sleep. Naturally, Yoongi was sensitive to something like Jimin’s case.

“Succubi huh?”

Jimin almost drops his cup nonetheless and glances around at the other tired demigods before dragging Yoongi to the side. “Don’t say it out loud!” He hisses, making sure no one heard.

Yoongi finishes off the coffee with a swig, reaching over and grabbing Jimin’s next cup. “Dude, I can practically smell her on you. You need to get her removed, or she’ll drain you completely and kill you.”

Jimin sighs, fiddling with the last cup. He never used to like coffee, really.

Yoongi notices the hesitation. “You like her?”

Sheepishly, Jimin nods, staring into the onyx liquid in his cup. “I...I can’t bring myself to stop. She-” his voice cracks, “She’s like an addiction. She drains me but I don’t hate it. I can’t hate it.”

Blinking tiredly, Yoongi just watches him.

Jimin pleads with the older demigod. “Please, please don’t tell anyone,” he begs, and Yoongi huffs, torn between the loyalty to his friend who actually put up with his grumpy antics, or between doing what was probably right for someone who was clearly an addict. To what though? Being tortured by a sexual temptress?

Yoongi shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, fine. But you need to make sure to do three things: one. You can’t kiss her. Once her lips touch yours out of your own volition, you’re basically signing away the rights to your life away, and she can do whatever she wants with you. Bad. Two. You need to give yourself time to regenerate the energy and life force between each of her visits. If not, you’ll eventually die and wither away. Three,” Yoongi turns to Jimin, locking the younger demigod down with a cold stare. “You cannot, absolutely cannot, fall in love with her.”

#bts smut #jimin smut #bts angst #bts fics #jimin fics #jimin angst #greek au #greek!au #demigod jimin #son of poseidon jimin #fics #drabbles #writing

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trip-downtheriverstyx · 7 years

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First Day Of My Life || One-shot

Summary: Opal, Hades’ daughter, deals with the trials of a first day of university

The night before school, Opal does not sleep. She is like her father in that way. Often times he’s teased her it’s because she was conceived by the wicked blue candlelight of the Keres, which has turned her this colour blue on the inside—made her pale like him, made her restless, made her feel safest when the stars are out. Oh, she’s nothing like her brothers of course, both wearing the Underworld bold on their pale brow as they pass secrets to each other through the ghosts, their own invisible game of Telephone. But she is a child of Keres. A child born in the eye of Lachesis’s needle. A child who dances on the thread of fate.

And she’s Belle’s daughter too, which means she’s restless because it’s school tomorrow, and she’s excited.

There’s a soft knock on her door and she turns in her rocking chair, where she curled up with a book. It’s her father, who must have heard that tiny squeak of the chair.

“—You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, arching a fine brow.

“I was just going to bed,” says Opal to that. “Really. I was just reading.” Her father keeps staring at her. “Alright, looking.” The stare continues. “Alright, my thoughts were wandering. I’m not nervous though, I swear.”

“You don’t have to go,” he says. He folds his arms. “I don’t see what that place can teach you that we can’t.”

“Don’t let Mum hear you say that—”

“I didn’t go to uni, I turned out just fine.”

“Well, I want a degree like any normal, Mundus 18-year-old—”

“Opal, you’re not normal.”

“Well—besides from being dead, I guess.”

Her father only blinks at the word, his lips still pressed in a line, so thin it was as though she’d drawn it on herself. He doesn’t like that language, he’s told her, not because it’s upsetting, but because it’s inaccurate. Opal Acheron is not dead. Not yet.

She’s almost dead though. She would be dead, if her father was not the ambassador of the three worlds.

“Next year, you will be 18 again,” he continues. “And if you want to go then, you can still go. In the meantime, I can take you anywhere in the world. To Japan, Germany, Russia. Anywhere.”

Opal closes her book in her lap and smiles at her father, who is quite good at pretending to be unbothered when he is just that. Only she and her mother know the correct crease on his brow to look for. It’s his tell. “Daddy,” she says sweetly. “Really, I’ll be fine. Alexandre and Bellamy will be there. That’s why I’ve waited a year to go. It’ll be like nothing’s changed.”

Her father snorts again, but he nods. “Alright,” he says. “Now go to sleep. Just because you’re dead,” he says it playfully, giving an eyeroll “doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says back to him. And as the door shuts Opal looks away from the window and to the candle of Keres there on its sill, touching the fire with the tip of her finger, and pretending, for a second, that’s she’s alive.

One year ago, Opal felt an old pain twinge in her chest and for a moment she became breathless. When next she breathed again, the air sat on her chest, growing heavier like a stone falling through her, dragging her down with it.

It was just a few days later that her father touched her cheek and made a face she’d never seen—he was terrified.

Opal had a tumor. Opal had a tumor that was too dangerous to operate on. Opal had a tumor that perhaps magic could fix, but Opal did not have anything for the magic to trade. Opal, and her family, had to make a decision.

“The only thing irreversible is death,” declared her father, looking her straight in the eye. “Before that, anything is possible.”

So Opal, 18-year-old Opal, decided to bargain with the ambassador of death.

She had not died, but she was not alive either. She stayed frozen, perfectly safe in Limbo during the waking hours, before she was called forth by the candle of Keres at night like her father before her, like the candles that burned on the bedside the night she was conceived eighteen years ago. Perhaps her father was right when he said that she was blue on the inside. She liked to think that tumor of hers was blue. She liked to think it was shaped like a flame.

When Opal wakes up, her flame is out and her bed is empty. She opens her eyes and is on top of the ceiling. She huffs—she always does that. A year in ghostskin and she still can’t keep her feet on the ground in the morning!

Her door opens and in comes Alexandre, looking up at Opal. “Still can’t keep your feet on the ground?” he teases.

“Oi, you’re supposed to knock!”

“You’re gonna make me late for our 9am. Mum’s made toast with that strawberry jam you like. If you want a taste.”

Opal closes her eyes and when she opens them again, she’s right in front of Alexandre, her once-younger brother (he’s caught up to her now—funny, strange, but still, she’ll always think him little). “Fine,” she sniffs. Alexandre bites into the toast and Opal feels her own mouth fill with the taste of strawberry. Fresh as summer, though summer is waning now, and, if Alexandre’s nose is right—it smells a little of dust and leaves outside the open window.

“Mum, I love it!” Opal throws her voice so it echoes in every single room of the house.

“She’s already at the bookstore,” scoffs Alexandre. “Bloody hell.”

“How am I supposed to—nevermind. Can we go now?”

“Aren’t you going to get changed?” Alexandre eyes her up and down. She’s in an old t-shirt from a community play (Hamlet—she was Rosencrantz) and green sofie shorts all rolled up. She blinks once and stares at him—hard—challenging their father. Alexandre just looks bored, turning and chomping on toast before clomping down the stairs.

“Up to you!” he calls to her.

“Plenty of students go to their first class in pajamas!” she calls back. “Even the ghost ones!” But she scrunches up her face and imagines herself in something else anyway. This is, after all, the closest thing to a first day of university that she will get. She imagines all the lines of her are solid, thick, real. She imagines boots on her feet and rolled down socks and—stealing Bellamy’s flannel to tie ‘cross her hips—

“Stop tryin’ to nab my clothes!” barks Bellamy from down the hall. Whoops. She forgets, sometimes, how wonderful she is at moving things with her mind now that her mind can be everywhere at once. Like father, like daughter.

Anyway, when she opens her knees, she’s walking along the stone path toward town next to Alexandre. “How do I look now, little brother?” she chirps as she skips in front of him, walking backwards.

“Boo-tiful.”

“Haha.”

“Hey, remind me--what did mum say about you possessing me if you knew the answer? That’s allowed right? She said yes to that, yeah?”

“Alexandre, we haven’t even gotten into town and you’re trying to cheat—”

“Just a question!”

In class, she cannot find a seat.

This is because she is invisible to the eye and no one will spare the poor ghost girl a place. A terrible excuse.

“You were supposed to save me that spot,” she sing-songs at Alexandre as she stands in front of his desk. He is staring through her, ignoring her now, only…

His voice fills the room, echoing off the walls of Limbo. Sit down. We’re goin’ over the syllabus.

“I have no where to sit, Xan!”

Sit on the ceiling for all I care. Stop. Distracting. Me. It’s my first day too.

Heaving a sigh, Opal turns back around toward the board where Dr. Thatch is yammering on about essays and due dates. At first she considers the sitting-on-the-ceiling method, but going topsy-turvy made her insides go all over the place. So she sets her jaw, reaches back to tighten her ponytail and then flounces through the desks and through the students toward the front of the classroom, where she sits, cross-legged, right there on the floor.

Like mother, like daughter.

Her next class is with Bellamy. He is Opal’s favourite little brother, in case you were wondering. Unlike Alexandre, he is not a cocky shit with attitude problems. He is a know-it-all with attitude problems. Opal, as a know-it-all herself, finds they share common ground. She finds him in the hallway outside their literature class, a book already open, nose in it. She flips a page from down the hall just to make him look up and scowl at her, as she skips on down.

“You’re not cramming are you? Not already? I thought that was Xan’s job.”

“I don’t think our European Folklore and Magiliterature class is going to feature Hubert’s Dune,” he tells her dryly, lifting up the book. A student—a blonde, pony-tailed creature who knows how to do eyeliner and Opal’s jealous of that-- looks at them, because Bell hates talking telepathically. It gives him headaches, he claims. Sometimes he accidentally says what he’s thinking, and gods forbid that!

His head jerks and he looks directly at her. “What? Sort of in the middle of a private conversation,” he informs her bluntly.

“Bell, be nice. She could be a friend,” says Opal.

He looks back at her and make a face. The girl goes “Uhhh…”

“I’m talking to my sister who is a ghost. If you’re new to Swynlake…” he trails off and rolls his eyes. Then looks back at Opal. “Anyway.”

“I think she’s sort of cute, you should ask her out,” says Opal.

“I don’t like girls, I like books,” he says.

“Right. Erm. Please save me a seat? Xan didn’t and it was bloody awful.”

He nods and then the door opens. When they all file inside, Bellamy puts one of his notebooks on the desk beside him and drapes that flannel from earlier. “My sister’s sitting here,” he tells a kid who comes in last minute and then stares him down until he goes away.

And Opal happily takes notes all class, she and Bell exchanging little looks every time someone gawks at the pencil twirling in the air.

Lunch hour, she lays out on the grass with Alexandre on one side and Bell—still with a book in his hands, reading as he munches on crackers—on the other. It’s beautiful out. Through Alexandre’s nose, she smells the fresh grass. If she closes her eyes and concentrates as hard as she can, she can feel the grass on his ankles and on his arms.

But she cannot feel the sun. She tries, but she can’t. It filters through her and all around and she cannot remember the last time she was warm.

“I think it’s going well, don’t you?” she murmurs half-way through the hour. Alexandre shifts on the grass and looks her way.

“Feel like you’re learnin’ anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she comments with a tiny shrug of her shouldesr on the grass. Then she sighs and sits up again and stares out at the busy quad, all the students rushing to their classes. She wants to be one of them. To feel the pavement scuff under toe. To feel the weight of the books on her back. She doesn’t want to keep stealing bits of life from Alexandre’s mouth and ears and eyes and nose. Maybe her father was right and all this was going to do was turn her heavy and sad inside, more ghost than girl.

She sighs again, then flicks her eyes up and sees—

Someone is looking right at her.

She looks to her left. Her right. Behind her. She reaches out on instinct to try to tug on Alexandre’s sleeve but just sends a shiver into his body, which is enough of a jolt for him to jerk up with a nasty snarl—“OI, what the HELL—”

“Xan, he’s—that boy is looking at me right? Bell? Bell,” she says his name again and jerks the book out of his hand, sending it halfway cross the quad.

He sits up too. “That was fucking rude.”

“Look, look at that boy—he’s looking at me. He sees me! He sees me, yes?”

Xan squints across the quad too and then heaves a sigh. “Christ, I guess, I dunno. What, you think we’re the only mediums in town—”

“—well usually towns only have one or two mediums,” starts Bellamy, as he leans over to grab his book.

“—Okay, but it’s Swynlake, Dad lives here, I think we’re a bloody exception,” grumbles Alexandre.

“I’m going to introduce myself,” says Opal, breathlessly. Or—she would, if she had breath to begin with.

“Uhhhh, think that’s a ba—Opal!”

But it’s too late. Opal has blinked and now she’s across the quad, standing in front of the picnic table, looking at the boy. He is eating a tuna fish sandwich.

“Can you see me?” she says. The boy drops the tuna fish sandwich.

“You can hear me!” Opal smiles and she sits right next to him without pause.

“Uh…” he glances around, then looks down at his hands. “K-keep… your voice down or—“

“Oh, I’m a ghost person. It’s okay, they can’t hear me. You can though,” she talks fast. “But you knew that, right?”

The boy swallows and nods. It’s a short jerky movement, then he breathes out a harsh, awkward chuckle. “Uh yeah, sorry…” he’s still muttering under his breath. “It’s um… it’s sort of new-ish for me… “

Ah, late bloomer. This makes Opal smile a little. She’d once wanted to be a late bloomer. She’d hoped and prayed for it, wanting to be like her brothers and her father, wanting to know all the names of the ghosts that drifted through this town. She’d come to terms with it around the time she got the tumor. Ironic, thy name is Death, she supposed.

“Is…Swynlake new for you too…then?” she asks as she curls her fingers in a fist on the picnic table. “Um, I mean—are you a fresher?”

The boy nods. “Uh yah, demonology major—”

“Me too!” Opal explains and she smiles again, so bright she almost can feel it. OR—she can, but it’s not something that lives in her cheeks. It lives everywhere, in all the energy that makes Opal, Opal. She could use that energy to project her voice, that’s how happy she is. “Me too—I mean, I’ve lived in Swynlake all my life though so…if you ever want someone to show you around or something—”

“Uh—” the boy clears his throat then glances toward her, his eyes lingering for a daring second before he looks back down at his lap. “Not to be rude, but aren’t you—you know…”

“Dead?” says Opal. And she smiles again. “No. Not yet.”

She leaves the conversation, somehow, with a name—Harry—and a number jangling in her head. She sings it under her breath, over and over, so she won’t forget it—she makes Bell write it down in the dog ear of one of his books and makes Xan sharpie it onto the inside of his palm. And now it doesn’t seem so bad really, being a dead-ish, alive-ish girl, being stuck. She won’t be stuck forever. And she won’t let it stop her.

She walks home with her brothers, one on each side, looking straight on at the sun as it begins to set. “I think mum will be very proud of us,” she announces to them. “Xan didn’t fall asleep in class, Bell managed not to run into any poles, and I made a friend today.”

“Wa-hoo,” says Xan.

“Mm,” says Bell, reading.

And it is at that moment, she feels a tug at her navel, and it’s like being set on fire again—life flooding back into her veins, her blood rushing, toes curling into her boots—

And Opal opens her eyes and takes a breath.

#bdrplabors #in which lauryl dooms herself still by writing 2 much oh well lmao this was great #story #excuse all bad writing

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 7 years

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Break My Heart: Chapter 2 (A Solangelo Fanfiction)

Consider this Hour 1 of the “Three Days”: In which Will and Nico are both awkward, but I love that about them. And neither of them know how to interact, like at all. But somehow I find that to be ceaselessly charming. And they are both gigantic nerds. Enjoy!

Read it all on AO3

Read Chapter 1

Preview:

Will wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting when Nico di Angelo showed up in the infirmary. Maybe a procession of evil and dark spirits, maybe his Stygian Iron blade glinting and ready for battle, maybe a foreboding scowl. But instead Will got none of those things. Instead he got a kid who looked seriously uncomfortable in his own skin, who was swimming in pair of ratty grey sweat pants and a black tee shirt both two sizes too big for him, and Chiron looking back at Will and down at Nico with an expression that read something like: Now, you know what you’ve done is wrong, apologize to him young man or don’t be expecting to see much of your phone over this weekend because you are grounded.

“I’m…sorry I didn’t come here sooner,” Nico said, sounding out the words like they were hard to say. Chiron’s brows shot up and Nico continued to choke through his words. “I forgot. I did. Things were happening, and…yeah.”

“See, was that so hard?” Chiron asked him sincerely, and by the pained look on Nico’s face and the fact that Nico was a son of Hades, Will guess it actually was difficult for him to force out even a sincerely meant but unenthusiastically given apology. But instead of saying what Will suspected, Nico just swallowed and shrugged, and Chiron put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “Good, Will, I leave Mr. di Angelo in your capable hands.”

On that note, Chiron left Nico behind (promising Nico in a low hushed voice that he would check back in later to make sure he had stayed put). Nico seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands…or his whole self, and continued to stand looking around the infirmary with thinly veiled disinterest. Will had a strange feeling settling in his stomach, but he swallowed it down and in spite of himself waved for Nico to follow him. Will picked a mostly secluded section, hoping the privacy would be better suited for him. Nico sat down on an empty bed without a fight as Will grabbed his medical supplies. When Will looked up after he brought a table over, Nico was looking at Will and his various scalpels and scissors with something akin to morbid fascination.

“Do you have any relevant medical history that I should know about before we get started here?” Will asked as he arranged his medical kit.

“I…I was slashed?” Nico stated but it sounded more like a question. Will looked up, expecting Nico to have a wry smile or a glint in his eyes, but instead he was met with straightforward confusion. Laughter attempted to bubble up and Will unsuccessfully attempted to squash it.

“What I meant by medical history was do you have any preexisting conditions or allergies I should know about, but yes, knowing you’ve been beaten up five ways to Sunday is also useful,” Will said unable to help his grin which wormed its way onto his face. Will wasn’t sure what he expected Nico to do, but it wasn’t having Nico lay back against the pillows, and stare up at the ceiling as a long-suffering look claimed his features.

“Why do I even bother to live when I am so socially inept,” Nico asked no one in particular, and Will finally couldn’t help it as he finally burst out into hearty laughter.

“Hey, it’s alright. We all mess up sometimes,” Will encouraged him as he pulled on his latex gloves. “Where were you, as you delicately put it, slashed?”

Nico motioned to his shoulder, which on closer inspection of the movement did appear relatively stiff. After Will directed Nico to remove his shirt to show the claw marks and he did so without any complaint except an annoyed expression. Will felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his head when he saw what he was dealing with. Nico had obviously been given hasty first aid, and it was also obvious because of the puffy irritated skin that it hadn’t been cared for properly. Will quickly palpated the skin, wincing as he saw the discharge and felt the swollen lymph nodes closest to the gashes.

“You have an infection,” Will told him as he sighed. “It doesn’t look too serious, thankfully. I’m going to have to undo the stitches, and I’ll give you some topical nectar and re-stich the deepest one with a drain so we can get some of that fluid out.”

“Can’t you just…heal it with your magic?” Nico asked him curiously, regarding his wound with a curious detachment. It somewhat startled Will—how strangely calm he was about having such a terrible wound and infection. That was a bad sign, Will thought. Will would need to have people paying close attention to his condition if he couldn’t trust Nico to honestly report on how he was feeling.

(You could totally pay extra attention to him, a part of him told him. After all, something this guy does is going to make you like him.)

(Shut up, said the other part of him. That’s like the worst thing I could do right now. No.)

“I could, however…how do I explain it?” Will said thoughtfully as he pulled out his flask of nectar. “Have you ever been really sick? And had a really bad fever?”

“Well yeah, sure.”

“It makes you feel kind of awful right? It breaks eventually, and then you are okay, but it really tires you out. Imagine my healing is like a fever. It heals, but it tires you out because it makes your body work and tires me out for kick starting that work. It’s better for everyone if I work in short bursts over time, and it is good to let your body heal at its own pace,” Will explained as he began to snip open the sutures.

“That actually makes sense,” Nico said thoughtfully, his eyebrows drawn together in thought.

“Chiron always told me that all power comes with a price, it’s about paying it smartly,” Will told him as he continued to work cleaning out the infection in one of the smaller cuts and suturing it close. “Little pinch here—we have time to get you fixed, don’t worry. But if you have anything important to tell me, or things you are worried about, now’s as good a time as any.”

“Well I—“

Nico stopped himself, blinked, and then scowled. If he had been about ten pounds heavier, had some tint to his skin, and not looked like he was about to fall asleep, it would have been a lot more terrifying than it was. And if it was up to Will he would be all of those things, sooner rather than later. (For purely medical purposes because Will wasn’t thinking about any dumb dream that literally meant nothing.)

“I almost said something unnecessary,” Nico said, sounding legitimately peeved. “How are you making me talk? Is it some Apollo-kid thing I don’t know about?”

“Bedside manner?” Will offered.

“Bedside what now?”

“Don’t worry about it. This healing thing can only work if you are honest though, and I promise, whatever it is you are worried about won’t be told to anyone, I promise,” Will told him, but Nico’s expression was closed off as if his mental business hours were between nine and five and Will had just walked in at 4:59. Will decided then and there that he liked his head attached to his body and figured it would be best not to push it, but he would work on this. Definitely.

Will finished opening the last and biggest cut, and flushing out the wound with nectar. Will noted the subtle signs of healing, before he placed a tube and re-stitched the wound and applied topical antibiotic. He got rid of his latex gloves and tossed them in the bin in one shot. Nico looked at his new addition with another oddly disconnected expression, and now that Will was thinking about it he didn’t think he had seen Nico flinch the entire time he had been weaving in the stiches. Will made sure to file that other useful observation away for use at another time.

“That’s going to stay in for a bit so don’t mess with it,” Will informed him, “hopefully it will keep it from getting infected by letting the fluid drain out. Now, you tell me. Ambrosia, nectar, what?”

“Do you have any unicorn draught? That stuff works better,” Nico muttered and Will handed him a bottle which he downed before making a face, before Will helped Nico back into his shirt.

“Have you been doing any…uh…” Will articulated his point with his hand movement and Nico just sighed.

“Using my powers? And melt myself into a puddle? No, I don’t think so. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not that dumb,” Nico noted with a self-depreciating chuckle.

“So, will you let me touch your hands? I want to get a more accurate status report on those creepy crawlies in your veins and see what we can do about them,” Will said as he held his hands out, palm up like a peace offering to him. Nico observed him for a moment with a kind of incredulous somewhere-between-a-squint-a-glare-or-a-scowl that was beginning to be familiar to him, as if Will had just began speaking to him in Swahili and tap dancing on the floor. But slowly and cautiously, Nico relinquished one of his hands to Will’s touch with the amount of enthusiasm Will would have expected if he was reaching out to pet a starved hellhound. (And it definitely didn’t bother Will, why should it.)

Unfortunately, his dream rushed back to him as the sensation of Nico’s fingers curled with his own did strange things to his stomach. Will looked down and almost expected his fingernails to be painted and to look up and find himself by the docks. But neither of those things were true, and he bit them back as a whole other wave of sensation nearly knocked him back. There it was again, the concerning, dark, writhing darkness that swirled in Nico’s body, so tangible that Will almost thought he could draw his hand away and pull back shadows like cobwebs. And Will felt the problem immediately; the darkness was almost like a thick dark tar, congealing and clogging and dragging and pushing at the limits of Nico’s body dangerously. It wasn’t quite at the level it had been when they had come in contact during the battle, when Nico could have turned sideways and almost disappeared, but it certainly wasn’t much better. On top of that, Nico was a mess physically. Will could feel many old wounds, his head ached under the weight of all of the unchecked concussions Nico had obviously fell victim to, the broken bones that hadn’t mended well, and how severely underweight and under-nourished he was.

Will opened his eyes, and met Nico’s gaze (which was neutral, Will guessed Nico had one heck of a poker face). Will released his hand slowly.

“The most pressing issue is the darkness you are bubbling over with like an unwatched tea kettle on a stove. I can’t imagine what I’m feeling is good or comfortable for you. Have you had issues like this before? And how did you deal with it?”

Nico’s blank expression made Will sigh.

“Okay, so you never dealt with it. What did you do?” Will rephrased as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stifle his exasperation.

“It has never been this bad,” Nico said defensively, and when that obviously didn’t make Will feel better he slumped down. “Usually it goes away with time and rest…and when I was with Hedge and Reyna and almost when into a shadow coma they gave me this mud treatment. It worked as well as anything I had tried.”

“Okay, well, when I can catch Coach Hedge I’ll ask about the magic mud. Do you think I could try doing a little healing magic and invocation? I want to see how the shadow-gunk reacts,” Will said and Nico sighed before offering up his hand again with just about as much enthusiasm as last time. Will gripped his forearm and concentrated as he began to sing from a very familiar hymn:

“Beyond the darkness, starry-eyed, profound, the table roots, deep-fixed by thee, are found.

The world's wide bounds, all-flourishing, are thine, thyself of all the source and end divine.

'Tis thine all nature's music to inspire with various-sounding, harmonious lyre,

now the last string thou tunest to sweet accord,

divinely warbling, now the highest chord.

The immortal golden lyre, now touched by thee,

responsive yields a Dorian melody.

All nature's tribes to thee their difference owe,

and changing seasons from thy music flow.

Hence, mixed by thee in equal parts, advance summer and winter in alternate dance; this claims the highest, that the lowest string,

the Dorian measure tunes the lovely spring.

Hence, by mankind Pan royal, two-horned named, shrill winds emitting through the syrinx famed.

Since to thy care the figured seal's consigned,

which stamps the world with forms of every kind.

Hear me, blest power, and in these rites rejoice, and save thy mystics with a suppliant voice."

In response to his hymn, the familiar tide of his power was drawn carefully from his veins as Will attempted to follow its natural ebb and flow as to not overwork himself. In his mind, he worked to direct the golden wellspring that overflowed within him to flow through Nico, and the moment it began to soak in Will felt the shadows that crawled and pulsed within Nico calm. As if Nico’s powers were saltwater and Will was an intruding stream, his magic could not penetrate to root out the infection of the darkness, only calm it with the help of the sunlight and skin across the surface. For now, an oddly confident part of Will told him. For now.

Will pulled away, shaking out his hands. Nico was staring at him intensely and it was unnerving, so unnerving that Will had to look away first.

“How did that feel?” Will asked him somewhat nervously.

“…weird. Warm. What did you do?” Nico asked him in return brusquely, his face an unreadable mask.

“I couldn’t heal it, so I tried to bring down the swelling,” Will translated for him. “We’ll see how successful I am in a few hours. For now I’m going to recommend keeping the drapes pulled open on the window to get sunlight and the use of sunlamps, since the darkness in you seems to react to that. I’m also going to get you on fluids and oral antibiotics I think, and build a meal plan for you. I think attacking this like it’s a regular infection might work, by giving your body the ability to fight back and regulate it by bolstering it and strengthening it and giving you time to rest. Hopefully we’ll be able to fix this with little unnecessary intervention.”

“And you got that all from just holding my hand a bit?” Nico asked incredulously.

“Of course not, I’ve also got skillz,” Will said with a wink and it was Nico’s turn to roll his eyes. Will immediately internally chastised himself. Why, oh why did he do that, Will immediately thought as he mentally cringed. This was exactly what he was not supposed to be doing. He needed to stay more professional.

“I’ve never heard that hymn before,” Nico noted, clearing his throat. His voice had an oddly dark and rasping quality to it, as if carrying on this conversation was a strain.

“It’s an Orphic hymn.”

“What’s the difference?” Nico asked curiously. Will blinked, his composure again crumpling.

“I forgot you haven’t taken any Ancient Greek classes with Chiron,” Will said as he cleared his own throat, that strange feeling inside of him tickling at the back of his throat. “Homeric Hymns are the ones you’ve heard before, and we use hymns to help concentrate our powers—“

“I heard you can do healing without them. I’ve also heard from my time at Camp Jupiter that it’s really difficult to do that,” Nico interrupted and Will couldn’t help but feel himself blush at the compliment. Nico, seemingly realized what he had done, awkwardly looked away.

“I can, but, it’s easier to focus my power when I do. Anyways, Homeric Hymns are the ones written by Homer, obviously. Orphic Hymns are written by Orpheus.”

“You mean Orpheus the son of Zeus?”

“Yes, but he was a great musician and a great composer of hymns. My dad gave him his lyre. Anyways, I like the Orphic Hymns because I’m not much of a singer. It’s easier for me to hold a beat and a tune with rhyming,” Will explained as he rocked back on his chair thoughtfully.

“Your voice is fine.”

“Wow, thank you for that glowing review of my singing prowess,” Will said sarcastically. Nico flushed in embarrassment (his version of flushing, which was adding maybe a degree or two of color to his face in splotches) before scoffing and turning over on his uninjured side so Will couldn’t exactly see his face.

“I…I might have difficulty resting. I don’t really sleep. Or eat,” Nico stated but it sounded apologetic. At least somewhat.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Will told him sincerely. “We’ll go slow with the eating. And we’ve got sleeping medication I can give you.”

“…it’s really bad,” Nico said quietly. “I know it. I’m not dumb. I don’t…do you think I’ll ever be back to how I was before?”

“I don’t know,” Will answered honestly. “I’ve seen some power burn out before, I’ve suffered from it too. But your magic is different and the case is really severe. But I promise, I’ll try my best to help—”

“I’m tired from all this talking. I’m going to rest,” Nico said shortly and curtly, still not moving his head to look at him. Will gently grasped a spare blanket from another bed and placed it besides Nico, noting how small he still looked. He didn’t dare to try to drape it over him, Will got the feeling that Nico wouldn’t have accepted that lightly. Will then opened the window that was opposite of Nico’s drapes, to allow the sunlight to splash against his shirt.

“I’ll be back to check in on you soon and put in that IV,” Will told him, not expecting or receiving an acknowledgement.

Phoebe saw him walking away and gave him a look (as did her healers), and he saw his siblings Kayla, Austin, and their younger brother Antonio congregated by the desk looking down at Nico as if he were a time-bomb.

“I’ve given first aid to the most pressing injuries. He’s going to need fluids and antibiotics, but give him about 45 minutes to decompress. He’s got tons of darkness in his system, like, on a scale of one to ten he’s about a Mordor. Antonio, if you could, could you grab Violet and run over to Hedge’s and Mellie’s and ask about some magical muck that Nico said he used to de-Dark-Side him before—“

“You just don’t want to deal with any babies,” Antonio teased him, dark eyes winking with mischief.

“Or I’m giving Hedge the chance to bop you in the head for hitting on his wife,” Will teased as he ruffled Antonio’s dark hair. He stuck his tongue out, before leaving the infirmary. “Kayla, I know you’ll be the one doing rounds on that part of the infirmary. Please, if you feel like you need help, come get me okay?”

“di Angelo can barely walk straight, I think I’ll be fine,” Kayla scoffed before Austin needled her with his elbow.

“Yeah sure, let’s see how sticking a needle in him works for you,” Austin told her and she just bumped her hip against his, knocking Austin slightly off balance (and he of course recovered with a spin and a bow before they both walked off to attend their other duties).

Will nearly collapsed back in his own seat, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him. He rubbed at his temples, annoyed at himself. Will had almost let a dumb dream get in the way of something important. Just like the gods, Will thought exasperated, giving him a prophecy that he couldn’t do anything about but would only cause him issues. What would or would not happen between him and Nico needed to be a nonissue, especially when Nico was receiving care in his infirmary.

“Pull yourself together,” Will warned himself, giving his cheeks a resolute pat.

“Do you need a break or could you see more patients? Elise wanted your opinion, since she isn’t as familiar with nectar and ambrosia healing, and wanted to know if she should administer that or do a full healing,” Phoebe said as she tapped against the desk.

“And you couldn’t advise her?” Will asked curiously, and saw a strangely familiar grin on her face. One that he most certainly shared.

“Well, let’s just say I am also curious about how you Greeks do things and I don’t like being left in the dark,” Phoebe noted. “It would be a good learning experience for me.”

“You know, we both get that curiosity from the same place. If I do this, will you tell me more detail about the unicorn draught uses?” Will dared her, and Phoebe just nodded in return.

Will got the feeling that maybe there was something there that they could work on.

#Solangelo #Solangelo fanfiction #Will Solace #Nico di Angelo #kayla knowles #Austin Lake

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omegafoxxtrot · 5 years

Text

Mortals

I’ve met the gods.

Dionysus drinks and laughs with the young men in the taverns, they try to forget the world while he tries to remember it.

Hestia sleeps in alleyways and pays for bus rides with change from strangers. She has a white cat whose fur is stained gray from the weather and she never seems to stay in the same city for more than an hour.

Persephone stays in beachfront hotels wishing for the winter so that she can go back home. No matter how hot the beating sun her bed is always cold.

Demeter lives within machines and manufactured rows content that she will never be forgotten. The harvest is bountiful as always, but no one feasts anymore.

Poseidon carefully pulls a plastic ring from the muzzle of a dolphin, the only repose from fighting back the corruption of his home. The ocean is black and angry and there nothing he can do but watch.

Zeus paces the highways and back roads pouring aimless wrath into the uncaring Earth and cursing his misfortune. He is lost, though he won’t admit it, so the storms continue.

Hades is overworked beyond belief. He’s had to take up collecting souls himself lest the whole of his staff be overrun. There are so many good people to collect, so many choose to die.

Hera anxiously glances at the clock again wondering when Zeus will home. He promised he’d return. He promised. There’s nothing she can do but swallow the wine and pour herself another glass.

Aphrodite wants to believe she’s doing well in the cities of men and women bumping into one another unlike ever before. She flits from one to the next leaving a trail of broken hearts behind her as she always has, but these days she no longer enjoys it. She has to keep going though. Maybe the next one will stay?

Hephaestus works in a factory with his beautifully crafted automatons. They perform their duties like clockwork, getting better every day and every flaw that’s sussed out. Soon they won’t need him anymore.

Apollo hasn’t woken up in a long time. He meanders lifelessly humming a tune the world’s forgotten oblivious to the boiling lakes and rivers beneath his feet. The sun scorches his trail and he wonders why the sky no longer looks as bright as it once did.

Artemis comforts the last of a dead breed as it passes. Her knife is quick to end its suffering but only increases hers. The stars in the sky count the number of sisters she’s lost, but the hunt must continue so she follows the trails and lonely roads where the surviving prey resides.

Ares grows tired of war. His cot is uncomfortable and the food is unfulfilling. He longs for another triumph, just one more great victory, but he’s too afraid to pull the trigger these days. He wonders if it would be best to simply fade away? this is no longer war or even glorious slaughter, it’s cold day in and cold day out, waiting for the world to end. He mourns every child as if they were his own.

Thanatos is sick of death. Every day more die and more are born. So few go to Elysium anymore, he’s considered closing it more than once. Every so often a gently glowing soul wanders into his office of their accord, their spirit heavy with the words of others and the secrets they couldn’t share. They had so much to offer the world, but now they’re here with him. His desk if full of poetry, his wall is covered in paintings and sketches and coffee stained napkins, and his heart feels heavier every time the door opens.

Athena knows the faces in her office by heart. She sees every smile and furrowed brow, every small romance or heartbreak, she watches the brilliant minds and greatest thinkers of the world waste themselves in pursuit of things that last no longer than a day. Her wars are no longer grand in scale, they’re tiny fights, nothing more than attempts to stave off the boredom. She watches as more and more warriors die to be replaced by drones.

I have met the gods, and they are just as mortal as me.

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nlieco · 7 years

Text

a touch of hands

summary: The younger boy narrows his eyes at the mechanic in front of him. Flame child in every sense of the word. “Valdez, did you just burn me when I tried to hold your hand?”

read on ffn

There is something akin to a spark the first time Nico reaches out for Leo’s hand, a kind of surprise similar to an electric shock. Seconds of silence pass, a flash of wide eyes, and then the heat on Nico’s palm flares before he has to pull back in fear of scorching his skin.

The younger boy narrows his eyes at the mechanic in front of him. Flame child in every sense of the word. “Valdez, did you just burn me when I tried to hold your hand?”

And this is how they begin: Leo stuttering out justifications about how he was caught off guard—you can’t just do something like that so suddenly, Nico—and Nico resisting the urge to capture Leo’s hand in his own again despite the fire that could ignite directly on his fingertips.

Later, they will both laugh at how ridiculous all this is and share the story with their friends at dinnertime. Later, Nico will tease him and ask with a raised brow, “Are you ready this time?” and it will be Leo who crosses the distance first to grasp at slender hands.

They smile; curved lips, a glimmer in their eyes, and something like a secret passing between them. They hold on to each other. Embrace this new feeling of palm pressed against palm.

Let their hands do the talking.

Nico’s presence is always a fleeting thing. Never one to stay in the same place for extended periods of time, he hops from camp to camp, country to country, leaving trails of ghostly ever-changing rumours in his wake. Whispers spread about a pale boy in black clothing and a skull ring on his finger—and so he runs in attempt to escape his preconceived reputation, to get away from it all if only for just a minute.

He never intends to stay at Camp Half-Blood for more than a few hours when he visits. There is too much hurt there, too many bad memories and too many nightmares hidden away in the dark corners of Cabin 13, and Nico wonders if he even has anything to return to after all this time.

And he should know by now not to go to Bunker 9—

It’s dusty, littered with mechanical equipment at every inch of the room; he can hear the clinging and clanging of hammer against nails from outside the door and he doesn’t need to step in to know what he’ll find—curly brown hair, sooth-covered pants held together by an over-worn toolbelt, concentrated expression on a normally animated face.

—because every time he goes, he sees Leo, and it makes him stay at Camp Half-Blood longer than he’d planned to.

This time, it’s well into the later hours of the night when he stops by Bunker 9. The son of Hephaestus has his head rested on a wooden table, a rare silence spread thin throughout the room as he sleeps. Nico watches the older boy, expression softening as he finally allows himself to let his guard down a little, fingers tentatively reaching out to stroke at Leo’s hair. The older boy hums a content sigh at the touch and Nico finds peace here, in this personalized workshop. Next to Leo.

The feeling of comfort comes to Nico in the form of surprise, a sense of unfamiliarity. It’s not unwelcome, though, but there’s something whispering at him to go, to leave because he’s already overextended his visit—maybe it’s instinct, habit, his own subconscious telling him not to get used to this feeling of belonging.

He murmurs a quiet goodnight to the sleeping boy before retreating, stepping away to shadow travel elsewhere. Almost immediately, he feels warmth around his hand again. Leo stirs awake and reaches out to the fleeing boy, clumsy fingers grasping onto Nico’s sleeve in desperate attempt to communicate what his mouth cannot:

Stay.

Please.

And Nico looks down fondly at Leo and thinks maybe it’s their hands that know what is truly in their hearts, after all.

The halls he passes are all a blur as Nico sprints toward the infirmary. His arms grow heavier and heavier with each step from the weight he’s carrying, shoulders dragged down and feet turning into steel. It takes a lifetime for him to reach the room he’s looking for, too long, and he kicks the door open brashly. He stands huffing to catch his breath in the doorway, multiple pairs of eyes snapping up in his direction at the commotion.

Will drops the papers he had been holding onto a nearby table, stepping forward cautiously. “Nico, what—”

“H-help him!” The dark-haired boy blurts. He raises up the body in his arms, and he’s shaking just a little, he notices now that the initial panic has died down.

To his left, Will is quickly clearing out a bed and gestures him to come over. “Okay, just set him down here. Gently,” the doctor says, inspecting the new patient. He recognizes this boy as Leo Valdez from his curly hair, pointy ears, and permanent smirk on his face even when he’s unconscious. “What happened?”

Nico swallows. “We were—sparring.”

Will grabs a bottle of ointment from one of the drawers and applies it over some cuts on the son of Hephaestus’ skin. “You were sparring and then he just, what, passed out?”

“No, um, he had this new invention that he wanted to test out, you know. And he told me not to hold back so I guess I hit him a little too hard.”

The older boy laughs lightly at that. “Probably should’ve held back a bit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, no need to worry too much. The injuries aren’t severe and he should wake up within a couple of hours, a day at most. You’re welcome to stay here for a while if you want but I’ve got to check on a few other patients.” Will pats him on the shoulder before getting up and walking over to the other side of the room.

Nico glances down at the brown-haired boy and admits that Leo’s condition isn’t too bad; as Will said, he probably doesn’t need to worry as much as he currently is. But he can feel the guilt thrashing in his heart, the stares burning into his back, the whispers blowing against his ears.

There are only about four or five other people in the infirmary with them and no one is paying attention to anything other than their own problems. Despite that, it’s like the world is pointing in his direction, saying, look.

Child of death. Destroyer of life. He’s the one walking on a trail of corpses, the murky stench of rotting flesh and decaying bodies staining his clothes. Get out, they tell him. The area of healing is no place for someone who wears the image of a skull on his finger. What is he doing lingering, dwelling, staying in a place of life? How can anyone possibly recover with a son of Hades contaminating the air in the room?

But when Nico examines Leo lying still on the infirmary bed, covered in sheets of white as if he’s already died and his body is being prepared for a funeral, he can’t just leave the mechanic there alone. He can’t. There is something in his heart that breaks every time he sees how inhumanly motionless Leo is in this state, the little hitches indicating the older boy’s constant struggle for oxygen.

He reaches out to hold the older boy, to let him know that he won’t abandon even if people say otherwise. And slowly, with Nico’s pale hands clasped around Leo’s limp ones, the son of Hades stays by the unconscious boy’s side hour after hour and breathes life into Leo’s body.

It’s rare to see Leo being completely still. In fact, Nico thinks, this might be the first time he’s witnessed a phenomenon like this.

The piece of metal Leo had been tinkering with earlier lies abandoned on the floor, tools and equipment all pushed to the side. He’s facing away from Nico, hands hidden in the sleeves of his sweater, and for once, there’s no sound at all coming from the son of Hephaestus.

Nico is almost scared to move, unsure of how to approach the situation. Slowly, he crawls over to where Leo is and makes room on the floor for himself beside the older boy. “Even the great Leo Valdez has insecurities sometimes, hmm?” He says the words softly, no judgement in his tone at all; but even so, he can feel Leo stiffen up as if he’s preparing to bolt.

“It’s okay,” Nico murmurs, tentatively reaching over to unwrap Leo’s hands from within his sleeves. His fingers graze over the surface of calloused skin, rough and dry.

“No, it’s not—”

“—I know.” And Nico does know; knows what it feels like to want to hide all the time when no one understands you. Knows what it’s like to think that it’s not okay, that nothing ever seems okay, but—“Is this why you freaked out when I tried to hold your hand the first time?”

When Leo doesn’t say anything, Nico shuffles closer. He turns over his own hands, palms facing up so that they’re fully exposed. There are patches of damaged skin on his hands too, hardened by years of swinging a sword and gripping the base too tightly. The creases are painfully visible and because of his how pale he is, the blue veins beneath the surface seem to pop out more. Dirt has found a home under his fingernails, permanently residing there without offering to pay rent.

He’s sure that Percy’s hands are the same. Annabeth, Jason, Piper, even Drew—they’re all the same. No demigod has perfectly smooth skin.

And this time, when Nico threads his fingers between Leo’s, it’s to prove that even a mechanic’s hands can be gentle, too.

It’s a passing thought that comes to him at times, just a possibility he likes to consider: does Leo have the landscape of his hands memorized?

Because he feels the tapping of Leo’s fingers whenever their hands are locked together, drumming little patterns on the mountains of his knuckles and the seas that dip in between his joints. The son of Hephaestus probably isn’t aware that he’s doing it, that he presses odd rhythms onto Nico’s fingers. Sometimes they mean nothing; sometimes they mean everything.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..-

I love you.

It’s when those three words are spelled out on his skin, his wrists, over the curves of his fingers, Nico squeezes back, feels their galaxies collide, and gathers stardust in the space between their palms.

So, this is how they end: hands reaching out and settling in place around each other. Embracing the comfort of prolonged contact and quick high-fives. Grabbing hold of something familiar in the vast unknown space that is life.

Making their way through all of it together. Hand in hand.

#nico di angelo #leo valdez #valdangelo #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfiction #valdangelo fanfiction #my fics

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liljaspie · 4 years

Text

= Warnings =

Drug use

Cursing

" Can We Get Out Of Here ? "

// S T A R T\\

"Is this poetic or just cruel?" Jasper asked staring in the mirror with a deflated expression.

"Both if you squint." Medu mumbled from across the room. As always the green haired woman was sprawled out on her bed naked. True to her nudist ways even in the midst of three of the most hormonal people she'd ever had the displeasure of knowing.

"Why are you bitching? Fucking spoiled little prick, you're lucky Sarah isn't shoving you into a dress and forcing you into a wig." Daniel cussed glaring at the other who did nothing but helplessly look between him and the naked girl. A silent plead for help.

While Jasper blinked in morse code Daniel dug through the drawers for a brush. When he found it he tossed it at his siblings head with dead accuracy. It bounced with a dull thud and a wimpy yelp of pain. "Comb your goddamn hair!"

Medu sighed in a way that sounded like a hiss and Jasper inhaled with an unintentional snarl. "Come here babes." The green girl beckoned seeing the rising irritation in the other by the look on their pale face.

The black haired victim stood with a dragging stumble in their step. It took longer than it should've to cross the room, but when they reached the bed, Jasper didn't hesitate to fall face first onto the bed and it's many blankets with the brush clutched loosely in their hand.

The tanned girl let a soft chuckle rumble out of her. It vibrated the bed just enough to make the tired being look over at her. A note of they were trying, even if all it was, was trying.

"Give me the brush and get over here." Her command was followed without argument. Jasper lied with their head on Medu's thigh as the other ran the brush through the dyed black locks.

If a human could purr the ravenette probably would be in that moment. The bed was soft, Medu's skin was warm, and smelled like honeysuckle. Though their muscles tensed when Daniel once again made himself known. "We've only got an hour, you still need to figure out if the fucking suit fits at all." He pointed an accusing finger at Jasper.

A sigh was heard, once again with an unintentional snarl that made Medu raise her brow. "What?"

"I-I" A mumble. "I don't want to go Mei." Pale arms found themselves around the green haired girls waist. An action to insinuate how heavy the sentence was.

"It's just your family Jay-Jay."

"That's the problem." A bitter remark.

"I guess it is.. It shouldn't last long?"

"Knowing my brother he's going to pay for a stripper and spend the whole night degrading me to her."

"A couple of big steps back in therapy?"

"It'll be a miracle if I stay sober for more than an hour, even more of one if I don't get into a fist fight with Daniel or a brawl with a stranger."

Medu gave Jasper a pitious look. An almost hurt one, the ravenette had promised again and again they wouldn't get into fights, but life was short, and Jasper was an asshole.

"Get up dumbass, get dressed your brother is about to pop a blood vessel, and not one of his." Hadrian spoke from the doorway, his tone was light, his eyes were red, and his beard was perfect.

When they didn't move Hadrian walked over and picked them up by their feet. "Hades what are you doing-?" A question answered a few seconds later when Jasper was lifted off the bed dangling off of the mans back. "Put me down."

Hadrian had a look of contemplation. "Get dressed."

"Put me down."

"Get dressed."

"How?"

"That's a you problem bud, get dressed."

Their face was red from hanging upside down. There wasn't much time for the poorly circulated ravenette before they stopped feeling their legs. It was awkward and uncomfortable, the way Jasper practically had to do crunches to put on the shirt. A concussion was probable from the way Hadrian dropped them, suddenly letting go of their calves and doing a gravity check.

"You look handsome Jay." Medu spoke from the bed.

Jasper rolled their eyes and tied their tie looking in the mirror to give the green haired girl a half hearted glare. "I always look handsome love,"

"JASP-" Daniel appeared in the doorway red in the face ready to scream. "-OH you're dressed, get in the car it's almost time to go." It wasn't kindness or joy, just a less angry tone that allowed the ravennette to follow their blonde brother.

"Bye babes." Medu spoke still sitting on the bed.

"See you sweets." Jasper responded pulling the door closed behind them as Hadrian walked out.

The ride was long and boring. The same street signs and buildings that were always there.

The music in the club was loud, the lights were neon, and the dancers were naked. "Jay baby! Where you been these past couple months?" A woman with dreads asked leaning against the bar.

"I told you I was going to Paris for awhile."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually go! Where'd you even get the cash for that?" She asked with a slight smile on her face.

"Work, I have a job Karma."

"Do you?" She mumbled mostly to herself. 'Must've been the other guy..' Could've been heard faintly under her breath. She cleared her throat. "Wheres Corbin?"

"With Big Danny over at the chocolate fountain." Jasper spoke both mournful and glad to be free of the interaction.

Hadrian had snuck up on them, or rather, had been standing there giggling to himself at the cousin and cousin interaction. "Soo, why did you bring me here?" He had spoken curiously raising his brow at his adopted sibling.

"You're more family than anyone else in this building." A response made by the black sheep of the family. A less known, less liked, less confident person.

"Pfft, yeah, I'm pretty sure I heard your cousins yelling your deadname when we walked in."

"Fucking Kie." Jasper muttered not missing a beat when they turned on their heal and ordered two vodka shots. Hadrian followed asking for two more, they were added to the tab.

"So glum you're going to drink your way to heaven? What's wrong? They missed you, they threw you a party, buck up." He spoke leaning back with his elbows against the oak bar.

"Half of these people don't know my name, the other half haven't seen me fully clothed- Ever."

The man quirked his brow. "How, I'm sorry, how is that bad?"

"Because, these are my people!" As they spoke they lifted their arms in a would-be joyous gesture. Though their arms fell limp and they slouched forward on the bar. "But my family is here too."

"So what?"

"My judgemental, heteronormative, never forget a thing, family is here."

"I'm still not seeing the issue Jaspie."

"I bring great shame and dishonor to my family, and they willingly came to my world, to crush it." Hadrian immediately brushed off their comment.

"Nahh, I refuse to believe they mean anything but good." He spoke putting his hands on Jaspers shoulders so they'd look at him. The gesture worked, and the other had leaned their head back to frown at him.

The ravenette then turned around, and patted the mans cheek. "They aren't good like you." As this sank in, between both of them two glasses clunked against the bar. They were gone as soon as they hit the oak- "Salud." A comment made in synchronicity.

"Wheres Nickolas anyway, he's practically your twin with how much you two copy eachother." A change of pace and an intentional deflection by Hadrian himself.

Jasper just sighed and ran a hand through their hair. "He's still in Paris, we got into a fight, he's staying with his boyfriend."

"Oh. What- No! Nevermind you need a drink, soooo-" The man knocked on the bar adding a couple more dollars to his tab. "Six shots for the lovely nonbinary."

The sound of scuffling and glass lightly hitting oak echoed in Jaspers head. "Hey.. Hades.. Can-uh Can we get out of here?"

Hadrian raised his brow but nodded knocking back one of the shots before he slid off the barstool. "Sure.. Home-?

Jasper shook their head quickly. "No, no, I don't want to go back there yet.. Daniel will find me." It took a few seconds before an idea of where to go came up. "Let's climb to the roof of the library."

"We haven't done that since we were kids Jasp." Hadrian responded looking at the other. "Are you that uncomfortable?" His brow had furrowed with concern. He soon caved however at the way the other fidgeted. "Jesus, fine. Fine. Let's go. Get you out of here."

The sigh of relief was the only thing Hadrian needed to convince himself he was doing the right thing. They left the club, sneaking their way through the crowd and snagging a few beers.

The walk was nostalgic, the first time back home in years, with their best friend by their side. The gentle hum of Hades Lofi music keeping them both calm in their slight haze.

The feeling of thick boots hitting asphalt, and the ever so faint sound of the loose shoelaces clacking against it resonated with them both. "How long has it been?"

Hadrian looked at Jasper with a mix of confusion and concern. "Since what?"

"How long has it been since the last time we did this?" The lump building in their throat made the words seem a bit heavier.

"Four years."

"Four?"

"Yes, that's how time and math work dumbass."

"You should know I flunked every math class I've ever taken."

"I do know, dumbass."

"Alright.. Why did you decide to come tonight?"

"Your neice wanted you to show her your old music, and I missed you fuckface."

"The metal bands? She doesn't want to hear those." Jasper had a confused look ob their face.

"She loves them actually. Kind of obsessed with it, it blows my mind.."

"I'll make a playlist for her tomorrow then.. Tonight however, Uncle Jay Jay is going to get hammered and probably jump off a roof."

"Plausible deniability." Hadrian spoke lifting up his bottle of bud light.

Jasper took a swig of the drink and swished it in their mouth for a second. "Is that the lirbary?"

"Yeah, it's been abandoned since senior year." The man had spoke.

"I missed too much."

"You came back though."

"I left too.. Do you think Lauren will ever forgive me?"

"I'm not sure if she'll ever get out of jail Jasp.." Hadrian spoke with a bitter tone in his voice. "She an addict... and not one that wants to recover."

"Yeah but so was I Hades.."

"I know.. but drop it? Please."

The conversation had ended there. On that somber note. Three childhood friends who didn't know eachother like they used to. Who weren't the same kids they grew up with. Tonight was the last night they'd probably see eachother. A last ditch effort to stay connected even though they had nothing in common.

Hadrian despite his childhood of gun threats and abuse wanted to live peacefully, legally.

Jasper partook in drugs, sex, and car theft. They were a prostitute and a thief. They were hated, and unlike Hades, they didn't have the spine to fight against the stereotype.

Lauren, was your run of the mill depressed kid. Only she wasn't a kid anymore, and her coping mechanism became an addiction.

"Jasper."

"Yeah?"

"How the fuck are we going to get up there?"

= E N D =

Uh, end I guess? I don't love how this was written, but, better than it could be-?

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