#and had to reference the eyes and the spear

[sp00derm4n]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐖𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫

Clarisse la Rue x fem!demigod!reader

summary: your fighting lessons with clarisse are getting put to the test in a game of capture the flag. you just wished you didn't have to fight her

a/n: there's gonna be a prequel of their lessons together and maybe more parts after. this is my first work, i hope you all enjoy!

warnings: slight enemies to lovers, NICKNAMES!! (princess), clarisse falling for the reader HARD at the end

wc: 1.1k

---

"I can't do this," you exclaimed, looking between Annabeth and Luke. They shared a sympathetic glance at your revelation. You were close friends with Luke and Annabeth and, you trusted them with all your heart. But at this moment, you were starting to regret agreeing to participate in Annabeth's so-called master plan. 

Annabeth let out a sigh. "Don't worry, just follow the plan." 

You gave an exasperated look. "You mean the plan where I distract the Clarisse? The most feared prettiest person at this camp?" you emphasized. 

"Is someone talking about me?" Speak of the devil, you thought. You rolled your eyes, turning around to face the one and only Clarrise la Rue. Her mouth lifted into a smirk, and her eyes crinkled in satisfaction at your displeased expression. "Didn't know you were such a fan princess," she chuckled.

"Still not a fan of that nickname la Rue," you snapped back.

Her eyes were trained on yours, not even sparring a glance at Luke and Annabeth behind you. "I'll see you on the battlefield, princess."

---

You had wandered the forest, wishing this game would be over. Your eyes darted across your surroundings at any sudden noise you had heard. You were hoping for an uneventful Capture the Flag, not wanting to get hurt. However, luck wasn't on your side today as you didn’t expect to end up with Clarisse La Rue pointing a spear at you. 

“Where’s your little friend?” She sneered, referring to Percy Jackson, the newest camper at Camp Half-Blood. Since his arrival, she had taken a distaste for him.

Your eyes narrowed in response. "Why do you care?" you questioned, reaching for your sword. 

Clarisse's grip on her spear tightened. "I just want to have a simple chat with him." She growled, stalking closer like a predator and their prey. "Where is he," she pressed.

You scoffed at her tempered response. "There's no way in hell, I'm telling you, Clarisse." For a moment, her eyes softened as her name left your lips.

She raised her spear, "Then you leave me no choice," she snarled. Taking a step towards you, "Get out of my way, princess," she warned. The nickname made the butterflies in your stomach flutter for a moment. Not now, you thought in your head, you have a job to do. 

You raised your sword in response, praying she wouldn't be able to hear the falter in your voice. "Bring it."

The spear twirled in her grip in a practiced motion, and she lunged suddenly. Her blade shot forward with a blinding speed, aiming for your head. 

Your eyes widened at her ruthlessness, "Are you trying to kill me?" 

She smirked, "Don't take it personally, princess." Her eyes searched your face, "I just have a job to do."

You stepped back, dodging her quick attacks as if it was instinct. Your sword clashed with her spear, startling both parties. 

Clarisse was knocked back slightly, and she grunted as her spear jarred in her hand. "Good," She breathed, her face tight with cold focus as she readied another attack, "At least you're not completely useless." The spear came forward once more, aiming for a blow to your stomach.

"Well, I had a decent teacher," you playfully grinned, referring to your lessons together.

Your lessons together... Clarisse thought, and a smile crept onto her face, her spear missing you by only inches as you managed to dodge out of the way.

"I taught you well," the daughter of Ares replied, her tone smug. She launched the weapon again with a forward thrust aimed at your chest.

"Yeah," you replied. "Thought I'd put those skills to good use."

"Good use?" Clarisse smirked before she attacked once more. 

Clarisse was confident, cocky even. She was an experienced warrior. She knew she could defeat everyone, especially you, who had only just received a few lessons from her.

She came at you with another strike of the spear, hoping to end the fight quickly, secretly not wanting you to get injured. 

"You're not gonna win this battle princess. Remember, I'm the one who taught you everything you know."

You rolled your eyes at her, "We'll see about that." The comment pushed you to take the offensive, swinging your sword in an attempt to disarm her. 

Clarisse tsked as she was able to deflect the strike with the edge of her spear, though it left a small dent in the metal tip. 

She chuckled and then countered with a series of stabs towards your heart, all of which you deflected as well.

"Pretty good," She said, her smile widening. As arrogant as she was, she was proud of your skills in battle, too. She had spent some much-needed time teaching you her methods, and there had been immense improvements in your skills on the battlefield. 

You couldn't stop the blush that appeared on your cheeks at the compliment. I can't get distracted at a time like this you thought.

Clarisse noted the pink that crept on your cheeks for a moment before her attention was focused on the spear in her hand. 

She was enjoying herself in this fight, a lot more than she thought she would. There was no rush, no feeling that she needed to finish this fight quickly. She was having fun, the same kind of fun that she had the last time you guys were in combat together.

"You've gotten better, you know," She muttered as she continued attacking you again, not letting you have the chance to catch your breath.

"Thanks," you reply hastily. Your mind drifts to what Annabeth told you before the game started. Distract Clarisse. 

Clarisse's pride grew as you continued to attack her while also defending yourself. She was enjoying herself.

She moved forward even more, pressing herself against you more and more, forcing you to stay on your toes.

Your weapons clashed together, making your faces only inches apart. 

"You know you can't win, right?" She whispered, her grip on her spear never faltering.

"Lose the battle, win the war," you whispered back, looking into her eyes.

Clarisse froze, her eyes locking on yours. Her mouth opened as she heard the sound of Chiron's horn in the distance, signifying the end of the games. She felt your breath on her neck, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized how close the two of you were.

She let out a curse, her smirk growing on her face. "You did good princess." A proud look adorned her features as she continued studying your face. Although she lost, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of your battle. 

"Fuck."

[ohdeerfully]

Spoilers ahead for the final episode!

Imagine reader being a healer for others but is cursed to not being able to heal themselves.

Like during the final battle, their skills are heavily relied on while they also fight along side them. Afterwards they rush to find their lover Alastor to heal the wound on his abdomen. Poor thing was so worried about healing him that they forgot about patching up themselves.

hello everybody im alive........... hello hold your applause /j

i got two very similar requests so i combined them into one! hope thats alright with the two anons! hugs and kisses

Stitches

alastor x reader (fluff) TW: nothing serious, just some briefly graphic(ish) descriptions of violence/gore, reader referred to as female but doesnt influence plot

join my discord!

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It was supposed to be “no big deal” for him; that’s what he had promised you. You worried, of course, but knew better than to pester and beg for him to change his mind. Plus… of all demons to hold back Adam, Alastor seemed like the most capable. You had to trust him. He promised.

You were in the midst of slaying an Exterminator of your own, cutting it down with a sword lined in angelic steel, but you couldn’t help that your train of thought kept returning to the Radio Demon, who was currently on the roof of the Hotel maintaining a forcefield that prevented more angels from joining the battle.

You allowed your eyes to glimpse up towards said roof even though you knew it’d be impossible to see him from your position on the ground. You had looked just in time, however, to see the shield that surrounded the battleground begin to dissolve, an opening blooming around the figure of Adam. 

A sickly cold feeling of dread churned down your spine and into your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay focused. Alastor would be fine, surely. It’s not like he said it was an invincible shield. You had other things to worry about, anyway, when you realized a wasp-like swarm of Exterminators had made their way in from the dissolving forcefield, their glittering white wings and shining angelic weapons molding together in a blur.

You fought along a small group of demons from Cannibal Town, providing aid and healing when possible. It seemed to go on for hours; stab an angel, tear one away from a companion, heal, stab, save, heal… it somehow began to feel monotonous and repetitive. Your whole body stung, littered with wounds ranging in extremity, but you couldn’t stop. Not if you were going to win this thing.

That monotony was broken when the chaos halted for a brief moment—not even a second. You had seen Charlie looking up in… fear? Shock? So, you looked, and your breath hitched. It took you a moment to process.

Why was Adam flying above, looming, grinning, analyzing… Why, when Alastor was supposed to be keeping him occupied? The immediate answer that came to mind brought back that sickening feeling from earlier, but increased a hundredfold. It seemed that Charlie also had a similar idea.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling this time and, against your better judgment, took off towards the crumbling Hotel, abandoning your position as healer. They could wait, honestly. The pounding in your ears and anxiety in your body clouded the sensation of angelic spears grazing past you, filling your already burdened body with more gashes.

You were halted by a powerful beat of wings, wind pushing you backwards onto your back. You scrambled into a sitting position, leaning on your arms. All of the aching, stinging pain from the night seemed to rush in all at once because of the interruption, and you could barely keep your eyes steady on the man in front of you.

The first man, at that—standing all too high-and-mighty above you, a twisted grin curling up his mask. 

“Hey, bitch,” He said almost casually, grabbing you by the hair and lifting you up to be eye level with him. You stifled a pained cry at the sensation, though your eyes filled with tears, betraying both your fear and pain. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of Adam, but you were almost too exhausted to mask it.

“The fuck did you do to Alastor?” You talked through a mouthful of blood. You spat some out in his face, to which the grip on your head tightened but he seemed otherwise unbothered. You did see a glint of madness in his eyes, though.

“So you’re that fine babe of his?” Adam mocked, looking up and down tastelessly. You didn’t expect much more from the ‘dickmaster’ but you couldn’t help but feel disgusted. “Satan’s daughter told me all about you when she was trying to tell me you gross fucks could be redeemed.”

He started rambling out a multitude of insults and curses. It seemed fitting, you thought, that the stuck-up first man would be too full of himself to keep his guard up and just start going off on a tangent about how cool and awesome he is versus how gross and weak your kind is.

“I mean, the fuck? You all sucked ass at being alive, so why the shit would we let you up into heaven? And, quite frankly, too fucking ugly to live up th—” He choked on the last few words he had, his eyes widening in shock and pain. He dropped you to the ground.

During his rant you had managed to use your heel to kick up a stray spear from beneath you. His tirade had given you enough time to balance the weapon between your feet, aim, and jam it forward into his stomach. The robe he wore darkened, glistening gold seeping into the fabric and from the hole you punctured into him.

“You–” He spat, hovering his shaking hands around the impaled spear. He gingerly pressed a hand against the wound, lifting his bloody palm to his face to look at the mess. He looked up, down, up again, and took a quivering step towards you. There were a million expressions in his eyes all at once; rage, fear, pain, disgust… 

“You fucking bitch,” He took another step, reached a hand out towards you. “You can’t kill me! Nobody can kill Adam! You’re just a worthless, sick, good-for-nothing sinner that couldn’t—fuck!” He stumbled and fell forward, and you jerked away as his fist nearly closed around the hem of your shirt. As much as you hated the guy and wanted him dead, you still cringed at the sight of him falling onto the spear and impaling it completely through his body.

You heard a distant cry of his name, but you didn’t hesitate to see who it was. You took off into the hotel, albeit slowed by a painful limp, and made your way up the stairs towards the radio tower.

There was an ominous feeling in the air as you ascended the ladder into the nearly demolished tower, slowly opening the hatch into the room. An intense, static-y feeling smothered your senses, hair raising and skin prickling at the sensation. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and peered around the dark room. 

Claw marks and a trail of blood caught your attention, leading your eyes towards a corner where the demon you wanted to see most sat against. He had been wordlessly watching you with glowing red eyes since you entered.

“Al,” You said almost breathlessly as you rushed forward, ignoring the way your leg shot pain throughout your body in protest. You fell gracelessly to your knees in front of him.

“I don’t want you here,” He said rather plainly, a hiss in his voice as he spoke through his teeth and a grimace of a smile. You ignored the comment, eyes traveling over his body before settling on his palm, which was pressed against his abdomen. There was a still-growing patch of dark blood seeping through his shirt and between his fingers.

You reached your hand out towards him, flinched to a halt for a moment when his claws tightened around the fabric of his shirt, but continued. He made no move otherwise to stop you, but you could feel the tension in the air growing as the static ambience got louder.

“I can take care of myself,” He said, his other hand suddenly snatching your wrist. His grin widened, but his eyes narrowed. You frowned at him.

“Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier for me to just fix you now,” You retorted, trying to jerk your hand away from his grip. He didn’t yield. “If you stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I’ve dealt with much worse, my dear,” He continued to convince you to leave him alone, his voice smooth with that manipulatively suave voice he put on sometimes. Unluckily for him, though, you were just as stubborn as him.

“But I’m here this time to help you,” You finally managed to free your wrist from him, your sharp expression unwavering from his own, which seemed equally aggravated. Maybe he was too weak to actually stop you, or maybe he actually did want your help and just wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t stop you from lifting his bloodied hand from his wound.

You pursed your lips at the grizzly sight, but said nothing. You ignored the stinging smell of blood that flooded your nose. You hovered your hands over the wound, channeling the energy in your body that granted you the ability to rapidly heal others. A faint light flowed from your palm and into the gash across Alastor’s torso, forming glowing stitches that weaved throughout the damaged skin.

Periodically glancing up at his face as you worked, you watched for any sign that told you to stop, but it never came. He stayed silent the whole time, which was… rare, from him. You would never admit this out loud, but Alastor seemed almost… pitiful, in this silent, weakened state. The Radio Demon himself, reduced to a bloodied, passive husk of himself.

After healing so many demons during the battle outside, you had spent so much energy. You were already so weak and exhausted, but you pushed yourself to force just a bit more—

“There,” With a weak sigh, you sat back, admiring your own handiwork. Even though it was magic, it did take some mental ability to know how to use your power. “Was that so hard?” You chided him jokingly.

He gingerly drug a clawed finger down the stitches, analyzing it for himself. 

“I have to admit,” He began, looking up at you. “It would have been nice to have you in my early years as— dear?”

You barely heard what he was saying as all of your senses seemed to get foggy all at once. Your vision blurred and speckled, you ears felt muffled, and you swayed with lightheadedness. You pressed a hand to your face, trying to steady your breath.

“I’m good,” Your voice came out in a quiver. “I think I just—”

You don’t necessarily even remember fainting, but reason that you must have as you stared at the ceiling above you. You woke up ten minutes ago, and spent the time piecing together everything that happened. How much time has passed since then? A couple hours? Days? It was hard to say. Though, you thought as you looked around. The hotel looks… damn good all things considered. 

The door creaked open and your ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice humming some tune that you couldn’t recognize. Considering the atmosphere wasn’t tense, you actually welcomed the prickling, static-like sensation that Alastor’s presence brought. 

“Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!” He announced pleasantly, setting a plate rattling with two neat little glasses of warm liquid on the bedside table. You eyed them and quirked your eyebrow.

“Seems you were ready for it,” You said, commenting on the fact that he brought two cups.

“Well, what kind of man would I be if I wasn’t au fait to my darling’s status?” He explained, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning over you. He would never admit that he brought up two cups every time he checked on you just in case. 

His overall demeanor seemed appropriately confident and indifferent, but his eyes held an uncharacteristic look of tenderness and worry as he looked over you, analyzing your condition. He sat at the edge of the bed, picking that plate up again and offering you a cup.

You sat up against the headboard and took it with a light smile, warming your hands on the smooth surface. You enjoyed the aroma of the tea, and you realized it was your favorite. How sweet.

The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of a radio that seemed to just… radiate from him… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Now that you were sitting up, you took the chance to look down and over yourself. Bandages were wrapped tightly over your arms, chest, stomach, legs… basically everywhere. You were suddenly all too aware of the dull ache that afflicted your entire body.

When you looked up, you noticed Alastor had been looking at you rather intensely. His expression was weird and unreadable. You tightened your lips awkwardly at the strangely passionate look in his eyes, looking into random directions to try to ignore it. You tried to concentrate on taking another sip from the cup in your hand, bu, to your dismay, it was already empty. You sat it down on the plate.

“How’s my stitchwork holding up?” In an attempt to dissipate your own awkwardness, you reached towards his abdomen. He caught your hand gently, directing it away from himself. But he didn’t let go.

“No doctor in all of Hell could have done better,” He complimented. He still had a hint of that weird expression. “If only you could fix yourself up the same. Fortunately I have some experience from my time alive…” He trailed off.

You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, jumping forward and tightening your arms around his neck. The static in the air sharpened for a brief second, matching the tenseness in his body, but slowly returned to a normal frequency. After a few more seconds, you felt him slide his own arms around your waist, pressing you against himself.

“You scared the fuckin’ shit out of me,” You said, voice muffled by his coat. “I thought Adam killed you. I thought I was going to find your body buried under the rubble.”

“So you avenged me by killing Adam yourself? I appreciate it,” He remarked lightly, a slight chuckle rumbling from his chest. His voice was low, breath tickling your ear as he held you with a feather-light but somehow still firm grip. 

Alastor was quiet for another moment, and you realized the static in the air had completely dissipated. You also realized the pressure of his arms wrapped around you was getting increasingly tighter.

“You worried me as well,” He said finally. “You were out like a hibernating bear for days. You worried everyone.” You pulled your head out from the crook of his neck and met his gaze.

“Can’t a gal get her beauty rest?” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder against him playfully. He swayed for a moment at the contact, but the eye contact never broke. Wait, was he getting closer? 

Instinctually your eyes closed, and the briefest kiss was placed on your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. Before you could open your eyes, Alastor placed his hand on your head and pressed you back against his chest. He then began rubbing his hand gently on your back in a soothing motion.

Despite being in bed for apparently days, you still felt tired. You sank into him as his claws drug gentle shapes against your skin, careful to avoid bandaged spots. He hummed a quiet tune, and you noticed his microphone of a cane, which was laying against the bedside table, emitted an accompanying song.

“Maybe redemption isn’t all that,” You commented with a sigh, lazily picking at the hem of Alastor’s collar.

“Hmm?” He prompted you to continue.

“Is Hell really so bad if you’re with your favorite soul?” It felt corny to say, but you couldn't really find a better way to phrase it. Plus, you couldn't take this rare moment of tenderness for granted.

His hand paused for a moment, and he gently squeezed your arm in response. You felt him press another light kiss to the top of your head.

“I know, now,” He finally replied. “Just the feeling.”

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

Generous offer

Word count: 4.2♡

Part 1/4. My praise kink was going crazy with this 😍

Warnings: fem!reader, demon reader + referred to as a woman, praise kink (ex: pretty girl, good girl), rough sex, cluckolding, sub reader, dom akaza, shy dom Aizetsu, virgin Aizetsu, teacher kink?? (Akaza tells Aizetsu how to please you), hair pulling (akaza to aizetsu but NOT in a ship way), throat fucking, oral sex (reader receiving and giving), squirting

The infinity castle felt like a maze, even for an upper rank. This beautiful yet haunting place is mainly inviting for upper ranks to be summoned and to take orders from their lord Muzan. Upper one and three are a great example of being a favorite to muzan and for that they are given "special permission" to do whatever they wished in the castle.

Aizetsu felt like he had been walking around the castle endlessly. His main reasoning for taking this long walk was to clear his head from the fight that broke out between him and his fellow clones, or "brothers," as they liked to refer to each other. The patients for Muzan's arrival after being summoned caused some heated tension, and Aizetsu is known to be over simulated by heated conflict.

"What a disappointing way to start the night," he spoke to himself, thinking out loud with his eyes shut. "I wish lord muzan would arrive soon so we can leave. How sad this is turning out to be." Aizetsu sighs and drops his shoulders to the point where his body becomes sluggish sluggish but keeps his legs moving, taking him to God knows where.

Aizetsu started to become lost in his depressive thoughts and became unaware of the room he was approaching, too. He walked past many rooms, but this one had faint noises coming from it. Even a demon could hear it from that distance, but before Aizetsu could comprehend the noises his demon sense got to him.

His eyes softened, and he felt cheeks heated up from the scent coming from the room. It was the sexual aroma from a female demon. The scent alone made Aizetsu excited. His heart pounding a little faster, his breaths becoming heavy and his mouth opening slightly to expose his fangs. Aizetsu takes a few steps further, wanting to take a peek in the room until he comes to a hard stop.

"L-Lord, Akaza!~" You moaned, loud enough for anyone outside the room to hear. Aizetsu's arousaled, heavy breaths soon turned into a panic once he heard upper 3's name and quickly covered his mouth with both hands. He was screwed. He got so caught up in your scent, thinking it's just you masturbating alone in the room. The thought of you being with someone didn't hit him until now.

Aizetsu knew very well that male demons are very possessive over their partners, especially during sex. He knew that, yet he just couldn't seem to leave. Your moans were so pretty, and the sounds of the skin smacking against each other roughly made Aizetsu more excited than he realized.

"That's my girl. looking so pretty when you take it. Haa~ you're gonna make me cum just from your pretty moans alone beautiful" Akaza said with his hands grabbing at your tits and giving each nipple a lick. "Akaza... a-aah akaza!" Your whimper softly and your back started to arch reaching your orgasm.

"Yeah? Gonna cum? Be a good girl and cum on my cock" Akaza chuckles, fucking you more roughly. "Yes, lord akaza~ haa~ I'll be a good girl." You become a moaning and even scream in pleasure until you cummed.

Aizetsu couldn't help but whimper in his hands softly. Did you really have to sound like that? His eyes trailed down to look at his dick printed out through his pants and sighed softly. He knew this would happen since he made the choice to stay and listen to your sweet moans but now he needed to leave to take care of himself. In this state, it would only embarrass him if muzan came back to see him like this.

Aizetsu uncovers his mouth and grips onto his spear tightly. His eye brows rised high in some worry, hoping he dose not make a sound on his attempted leave and started by lifting his foot to take a step away from the door. "Where is it you think you're going. Upper four" Akaza's low, yet formal voice calls out to him. Aizetsu felt like eyes were watching him through the wall and a chilling sensation hitting his body, causing a cold sweat to run down his face.

Aizetsu couldn't think of excuse. There was no way out of this, and it would be futile to try and outrun akaza if he wanted to run away. Aizetsu's hands and knees fell to the ground without thought and rested his head gently on his hands to bow. "i-im sorry. I'm sorry, Lord akaza. How sad... I didn't mean to interpret you with my presence. Please forgive me." he begged, rather wanting to be beheaded then scolded.

Faint whispers came from the room before Akaza spoke again. "Come in," Akaza said, rustling with the blanket to put over his lap and cover his lower half. Aizetsu lifted his head from the ground in confusion, hoping he heard Akaza right. "I will not repeat myself," Akaza said in a harsh in his tone, showing clear annoyance at the slow obedience.

Aizetsu quickly rushed up and put his hands together and over his crotch to hide his erection. He uses his elbow to slide open the door, and his eyes widen at the site. You were sitting next to Akaza wearing a silk, see-through night gown. "He's cute~" You giggled and sat up more to make your arms squish your boobs together. Aizetsu's eyes softened again, and his mouth opened slightly to let out a deep sigh with his eyes narrowed down at your boobs.

Although your night gown is see-through, Aizetsu couldn't help but bit his bottom lip at how your harden nipples blug out through your clothing. "Hey." You said to catch his attention and your arm covering your boobs as you began to crawl towards Aizetsu on the bed. "Yes ma'am?" His voice quivered and pressed his held hands together on his buld to hide it as you came closer to him.

"Ma'am? How charming." You smirked and came to the edge of the bed. "How about you come join us, upper four?" You asked seductively and stood close enough for your boobs to almost press on his chest and looked at him with pleading eyes yet still having that smirk on your face. Aizetsu risked it and took a glance at your boobs, biting his bottom lip harder and felt himself getting more aroused in his pants. However, Aizetsu had to calm down and sighed.

"It's sad, really. To turn down an offer like that.... I wouldn't want to make Lord Akaza upset..." Aizetsu said with a bummed out tone. "I called you in this room, didn't I?" Akaza said, making Aizetsu have direct eye contact with him. "If I wanted to, I could've killed you before you even took another step closer to that door, but I didn't"

Akaza is right. He's known to despise all the upper ranks and is not afraid to be violent if he wanted to, especially to upper two and one. Despite knowing that Aizetsu was left with more confusion. What did Akaza want? and what did you want? He remained calm and broke his silence for the conversation to continue. "I guess you're right." He said and looked down.

"Be nice. He looks like he's going to cry." Your smirk turned into a soft, welcoming smile. "I appreciate you calling me ma'am, but my name is y/n." Your smile became wider and showed your fangs. "I know you have a name instead of "upper four." may you tell it to me?" You asked, and gentle took his hand away from his crotch, making him drope his spear and hold his hands in yours.

"A-Aizetsu," his face felt like it was heating up again from your touch when he looked at your face. "My name is Aizetsu... You're a beautiful woman," he spoke softly. "You're a handsome demon. Your eyes are so gorgeous, I want you to keep looking at me with those eyes," your arms started to wrap around Aizetsus's neck, pressing your boobs on his chest and being inches away from his lips.

"I have a proposal for you, Aizetsu," Akaza said with a smirk on his face. "What is it-" Before Aizetsu could turn to look at Akaza, you placed your hand on his cheek gently and turned his gaze back to you. "You can hear but keep your eyes on me~" You smiled. Aizetsu gulps "Okay, y/n.." his voiced quivered softly and his jaw tightening, clenching his teeth together to hold himself back from kissing you.

"How about you fuck y/n in front of me" Akaza bluntly said and began to man spread on the bed as he watches you all over Aizetsu. "Im afraid i don't follow.." Aizetsu said and made Akaza, and you chuckle. "I just can't help but fantasize about my beautiful y/n getting fucked from behind in front of me. I want to see her fucked out face and her body jerk roughly when she takes it" Akaza said and grabs his hard cock through the blanket at the thought.

"I may not be an upper rank, but even a regular demon has good hearing," you said, slipping your hand in his kimono. "Is this okay, Aizetsu?" You asked, and he nods his head. "I know a demon has good hearing... b-but why bring that up?" Hos voice shakes when he feels your hand rub on his bare chest. "I heard those whimpers you made. Your voice is so cute." You said and began to undress Aizetsu from the top further.

Aizetsu felt embarrassed at your call out but also feeling weak in your touch. "You have such nice skin," you said, letting the top part of his kimono fall to his hips to expose his upper body and admire his beautiful dark skin. Your hands touch his chest, then his biceps and then his slim waist. "I was right to pick him for your desired fantasy, Lord Akaza... I want him so badly," you said and kissed Aizetsu's chest, making him let out a soft moan.

"Do you accept? Y/n seems to he getting needy for you," Akaza asked and waited for this response. "If you don't want to, then you're welcome to leave. After all, it'll get rough. " Akaza smirks, and so did you.

"No. I accept your offer," Aizetsu said.

"Catch me," you said and jumped from the ground and wrapped your legs around Aizetsu's waist. He catches you and holds you up with both his hands on your ass. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?" Akaza asked with a dark chuckle. "Very gorgeous." Aizetsu said and grabbed your ass in his hold.

"Can I kiss her?" He asked Akaza, then looked up at you. "Can I kiss you?" He asked, pressing his mouth between the space of your boobs. "Yes," both you and Akaza answered, giving Aizetsu the confidence to kiss you.

"mhm~," you moaned softly as your head leaned down to press your lips on Aizetsu's, giving him a soft peck, and then pulled back. "Is this your first time kissing someone?" You smiled and kissed his nose, then turned your head to the side to kiss at his pointy ears. Aizetsu frowned. "It's sad, isn't it? I don't have experience in kissing nor sex. It makes me sad that I could fail this." His head falls between your boobs to hide his face.

Akaza groaned. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood for this. Sit on that chair with y/n." he points to the chair next to the bed. Aizetsu didn't hesitate to obey and walked to the chair with you in his arms and sat down, placing you on his lap gently. "You're doing fine. Stop being so damn sad. It was just a small kiss she gave." akaza crossed his arms.

"Then again, you're a literal clone, so it is your main purpose in this life it to be sad and miserable, but right now isn't the time. Be grateful I'm assisting you. Just kiss her lips. Right now, you're in charge of her pleasure," he said with his arms still crossed. "You're doing fine already. I love the way you grab my ass... do it again, please, " you asked and leaned in for deep, passionate kiss.

Aizetsu nods at Akaza's instructions, and then his hands slip under your night gown up and grabs at your ass lightly. His eyes closed, and his mouth opened slightly once he felt your tongue press on his. Aizetsu let out a gentle sigh as his 'sorrow' tongue made its way inside your mouth. "That's it. During this start to touch her body more" Akaza instructed again and now palming his cock as he watch your hips grind softly in Aizetsu's touch.

Aizetsu moaned softly when he felt you adjust yourself to sit on his cock and grinding your hips slowly. A hand leaves your ass and makes its way up to your boob. He roughly grabbed it at first but started to softly grope and massage you tit and then lead using his thumb and finger and play with your nipple.

Aizetsu could taste your heavy breathing in the kiss, and you could taste his as your tounges play with each other in your mouths. "Good choice to go for the nipples. She loves that, don't you y/n?" Akaza called out purposely and smirked when you opened an eye to look at him, exposing your little fetish.

"Y/n~" Aizetsu pulls away from the kiss, having both your tounges stick out and a thin line of Salvia connect you two for a moment. "If you like having your nipples played with... c-can I suck on them?" He asked and rubbed his thumbs in circles over both your nipples. "Aizetsu~" you moaned his name and grind your pussy harder over his clothed cock.

"So sensitive.. You're so pretty when you moan my name." Aizetsu let out a heavy breath and watched as your body trembles as he plays with you. "What eles dose she like lord Akaza," he asked, and you whined, "What's wrong, princess? I know how shy you can be when saying what you want. Let me tell him," akaza teased and chuckles at your cute pout.

"Y/n loves her clit being played with while you suck on her nipples. Having her grind on your cock it better, if you can't tell since he's been grinding on your hakama pants this whole time" Akaza couldn't help but chuckle at you both but Aizetsu takes note and pulls his pants down just enough to expose his cock.

"Is this okay?" He looks at you with his frowned eye brows and his pretty blue eyes. Aizetsu pulled your hips to make your pussy make contact with his cock and watches you nod. He leans down and hums when his tongue makes contact with your nipple.

Your head falls back with soft moans, escaping your throat as you hold onto his shoulders, almost digging your nails into his skin. Your moans grew louder when you felt his thick veins on his hard cock brush past your wet folds as you grind upwards. Aizetsu moaned on your nipple at your actions, pressing his cock against his stomach to grind your pussy.

"You're being such a good girl for Aizetsu aren't you y/n" Akaza's breaths slightly shake with his hand stroking his cock and watches you desperately plesure yourself just from grinding on Aizetsu. "Yes~ y-yes~" you answered and speak your hand down to grab at Aizetsu's cock in your hand making him but down on your nipple.

"Y/n," he moaned. "I want to be inside you. You're pussy feels so good on my cock b-but I bet it would feel better inside your pretty pussy" he said and uses his thumb to move your fold to see your wetness "you're so wet for me. Can I fuck you now? Please? I wanna hear you say it too" Aizetsu whimpers and uses his free hand to place on your back to support you as he starts to rub his tip on your wet hole and beginning to thrust it in and out.

"I want you inside me too," you moaned at the feeling and grabbed his wrist to stop him and then go to the edge of the bed. You were in Akaza's direct line of eye site and rest half your body on the bed with your feet on the ground but spread apart. You look at Akaza with begging eyes and he chuckles "you want two cock at once mm? You've been a good girl, so I'll allow it," he said and looked at Aizetsu. "Get over here.

"Yes, lord Akaza." Aizetsu got up from the chair and walked over to stand behind you. He looks down at you, spread out for him, and grabs a handful of your ass. Aizetsu admires your body from behind and starts to become more bold "can you shake your ass a little?" He asked, and you did as he said. You yelped once you felt his hand spank you, and you looked over. "Hurry..." You begged.

Akaza scoots himself to the edge of the bed. He used his large hands to grab both your ass to spread you open more. "Before you fuck her I wanna play with her pretty pussy again" akaza said and slips his thick fingers inside and fingers you. "Lord akaza!" You moaned loudly with your back arching and almost standing on your tippy toes. "What's wrong, pretty girl? You're pussy was begging to be stuffed wasn't it?" Akaza asked and kissed your ass cheek continuing to finger fuck you faster.

"More~" you managed to say. Akaza watched Aizetsu practically stand behind you, almost drolling and watches his cock twitch. "Lick her clit. When you make her cum she feels so fucking good when you put your cock inside" Akaza said curling his fingers deeper inside of you.

While Akaza has one hand holding your ass cheek open and his other hand having his fingers to fuck your pussy, Aizetsu gets down on his knees and uses his hand to hold your other ass cheek open. He brings his head down to your clit and sticks his tounge out, pressing his tounge flat on your clit. "Oh my god!" You moan having your nails dig into sheets, your legs shaking from having both the demon men play with your clit from behind.

Aizetsu moans on your throbbing clit while tasting your juices leaking out everytime Akaza pumped his fingers inside of you. "Right there!" You whined "be a good girl and cum. Let Aizetsu taste more of you," Akaza said and gave your ass a bite, sinking his fangs in and groans at your pussy tightening around his fingers.

You've reached your orgasm and creamed on Akaza's fingers. Aizetsu catches some of your cream leaking down and licks it up, slowly stopping his tongue and pulling his mouth off you. "Are you ready for more, baby?" Akaza asked and watches you weakly nod.

Akaza holds open your ass cheeks again and looks at Aizetsu. "You can put it in yourself. I'm not helping you with that," akaza joked, making you chuckle and shaked your head. Aizetsu couldn't help but smile at the comment, feeling more comfortable.

Aizetsu remembers before that you liked having your clit teased so he takes his cock and rubs his tip on your clit slowly. "Looks like you don't need my guidance anymore." Akaza chuckles. Aizetsu lined his cock and pushed the tip past your folds and beginning to push his length inside. "Oh fuck Aizetsu~" you whispered and lift your head from the sheets as you felt his cock half way inside, opening your up.

"Haaa~ you're pussy feels so good" Aizetsu lets out a longish moaned and shuts his eyes at the feeling of your warm, wet walls sucking him in half way. "Y/n~" he moans your name and begins to thrust his hips slow and fucking the rest of his length inside you. "A-am I being too rough? Is this ok?" He asked with soft broken moans between his sentences.

"It's so good~" Your moans drag out, and your sharp nails dig into the sheets. "Keep going~ You and Akaza prepared me, remember?" You giggled with broken moans, "so it doesn't hurt. Be as rough as you want to. I love it!" You said. Aizetsu's thrusts began to sped up at your words and his hands grabbing your hips tighter with his nails digging into your skin.

"Hah~ Her pussy looks so pretty taking my cock" Aizetsu's mouth fell open, becoming a moaning mess and getting pussy drunk. His eyes are locked on your pussy and watching his veiny cock slide in and out easily and seeing your cream form a white ring around his cock.

"Oh yeah, it almost slipped my mind. There's one rule I have for you," Akaza said, stepping closer to Aizetsu and smirking at how your ass jiggles from the back shots. "A rule? What is it?" Aizetsu asked, not fully focused until his vision was at akaza and a painful tug on his hair, causing his thrusts to come to a full stop. Akaza had grabbed a fist full of his hair and looked at him with murderous eyes. "Don't you dare cum inside her inside her." He said and kept his grip.

"U-understood..." Aizetsu whimpers softly with a nod. He gasped at his release and watched as akaza went on the bed in front of you "continue to fuck her. But more roughly now," Akaza said as if he didn't just scare Aizetsu out of his mind. Aizetsu continued to continued, now fucking you more hard and watches as your pussy and your hole thob and your moans becoming louder.

Akaza's hand grabs under your chin with a chuckle and squished your cheeks lightly. "That face really turns me on," he said and slipped his thumb in your hung open mouth and watched your drool spill from your lips. "Cock drunk already? You look so pretty getting fucked. Maybe next time Aizetsu can fuck you in front of a mirror to see how pretty you look" Akaza said slipping his fingers inside your mouth playing with your tounge.

"Lord A-Akaza~," you managed to call out with your tongue being played with and started to suck on fingers. "Sucking on the wrong thing pretty girl" he said and holds his cock to your face. "This is what you should be sucking on. C'mon. Suck it like the good girl you are, yeah?" Akaza rushed his tip past your wet lips until you opened your mouth to take his cock in your mouth.

You bob your head and use your hand to hold his cock in place while moaning on it. "Ah~ she got so tight at your praise. You really are a good girl," Aizetsu said and snapped his hips harder, making your body jerk forward and his skin smacking on yours. "Taking two big cocks at once and being so pretty while you do~ haa you clench around me so hard, do you like being called pretty?" Aizetsu asked and watched as you nod your head with Akaza's cock in your mouth.

"Pretty girl who's sucking this cock just right" akaza pet's your head "while creaming on the other~ fuck I'm gonna cum in your mouth. Can i fuck your throat pretty girl?" Akaza asked. You nod your head and took your hand off his cock to place your both your hands on his thighs, holding them tightly. Akaza flexes his abs, laying back slightly as he starts to thrust his hips upwards while grabbing onto your hair.

"Breathe through your nose. Yes, that's it~ You're doing so good. Such a good girl," Akaza moaned. You felt his cock hit the back of your throat and breathing heavy through your nose while moaning with small gagging sounds. "Get ready to swollow it. Fuck~ I know you can do it baby" Akaza's body lays back fully and his head going back "fuck I'm cumming~" he moaned clenching his teeth together as he cums down your throat.

"M-me too" Aizetsu whimpers and leaned down to rub at your clit while moaning in your ear. "I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm c-cumming!" Aizetsu gasped and sat up quickly to pulls his cock out, almost forgetting Akaza's rule and shoots out his cum onto your onto your pussy.

Aizetsu went back to rubbing your cum covered pussy and watches your legs shake intensely as you squirt on his hand. Once you've drank all his cum your mouth quickly pulls off his cock, screaming in pleasure until your squirting came to and end.

The room was filled with heavy breaths calming down from the intense orgasms. Akaza slowly got up from the bed to see your fucked out pussy and then looked at Aizetsu "I'm serious. You'd be dead if you came in her, but good job for making her squirt," he said, and Aizetsu only nodded.

"Go see if lord muzan has arrived yet. I still don't sense his presents. I have to take care of y/n right now," Akaza said, looking at your head and resting on his thigh. He smiles and begins to pet your head softly while looking at Aizetsu. "I'll let you join next time. How does that sound?" Akaza asked, and you looked at Aizetsu with a weak smile and giving him a flirtatious wink.

"I will definitely join next time..."

[shibaraki]

IF TIDES COULD SPEAK (THEY’D CALL YOU HOME) ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI

synopsis: an unlikely hero comes in the form of a barbarian. your stolen pelt is returned by his hand— but for a selkie that is more than simple kindness. it is a proposal.

tags: AFAB reader (referred to as a 'wife' once + 'baby' a few times), fantasy au, barbarian bakugo (+ the squad), selkie reader, brief non graphic suicide attempt, minor injuries, previous forced marriage + captivity, strangers to friends to lovers, accidental marriage + bond, magic elements, bathing together, sharing a bed, miscommunication, love as a choice, getting together, shapeshifters, angst + fluff, eventual smut, bakugo carries reader (he’s strong!!), oral + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex

wc: 25K+

↳ for the mermay collab hosted by the teahouse server ↰

The battle rages on behind as your bare feet carry you frantically toward the cliff side, incognisant to the uneven earth and jagged rocks cutting under your heels. 

A magnificent orange glow is cast across the land. Blistering heat radiates at your back and seeps through the thin robes pulled across your shoulders. Fire eats away at the canopy above, at the dry grass in the gardens, at the place you deign to call home. 

It is a sight you wish you had more time to savour. A draconic clan hailing from the north had descended upon the land and sought to reap the riches for themselves. The anguished screams of your once wretched husband still echo in your heart, dancing through its chambers like wind through chimes. 

You fled with only one destination in mind. 

Many, many moons ago, you had been stolen away by greed. A man that called himself king yet acted anything but kingly. Lord only in name. He speared your pod mate and took you, dirty calloused fingers sinking into your flesh, violently tearing the pelt from your back. Nausea churns in your stomach as you recall his grin, eyeing you greedily, desiring servitude that was not his to have. 

“You are to be my wife,” he said, drunk on tales of rare creatures who would keep a hearth burning and bear his children if only he stole their hide. “Now you belong to me”. 

Your pelt remained locked away in an armoured vault along with his other opulent treasures— goods that would now be burning, turned to ash. He had finally taken from the wrong people and must reap the consequences. 

You are so relieved to be free of his clutches that there is no time to grieve the loss. This is your chance. With or without your pelt you are a selkie, and the ocean always welcomes her children home. 

Guided by the tides' tumultuous song you sprint through the woods, treeline funnelling out on a plateau to reveal the edge of the cliff. You take a staggered breath, wincing at the pain in your chest. Now your momentum has slowed to a stop, the fatigue catches up with you. An ache seeps through your legs and your knees threaten to buckle as you shiver. 

This is it, you think. You watch the waves below roll like dark ribbon. Steeling your resolve you spread your arms as far as they go, until the sinew holding your back pulls taut. Something acrid sinks in your gut and you feel distinctly ill. It takes all of your willpower to deny the fear pounding in your body as you step forward. 

The wind billowed around you, swaying your human form towards the edge. Faux wings spread and a roar pushed to the limits of your small voice, sound whipped from your mouth and cast far asea. Eyes squeezed shut, you tip into the oncoming depths trusting your mother will catch you. 

The sound is cacophonous. Not even your pulse can be heard over the waves; elemental fingers apply sharp pressure to the north and south of your body, shaping flesh until you're nothing but a pebble caught in gravity's path.

If you should concentrate you’d hear a frantic shout through the white noise. And between the milliseconds left before bone collides with the tide, a large clawed foot encircles your forearm. A rush of air swells in your lungs as you try to scream, the abrupt disruption of your freefall forcing your shoulder from its socket, talons tearing through capillaries as if your skin were wet paper. 

Suddenly, you’re a sail without a mast, rippling over the open ocean. Dark and cloudless, not a speck on the surface. The spray is icy against your ankles, a million papercut kisses. In the mirage, you can see fleeting reflections. The silhouette of a dragon mid-flight. 

You’ve no memory of hitting the sand or being carried along the shoreline. Your consciousness dips and peaks. The few times you come to are when your body is being jostled, a blurred figure looming above and unrecognisable. In one breath they are washing your wounds with water poured from a wineskin, the next you are flinching away from salve covered fingers as they poke and prod to stem the bleeding.

Warmth is the first thing on your mind as you wake. With a sudden gasp for air, all the exhilaration and adrenaline hits you as if your soul had been caught, suspended in that moment. Phantom touches skim the length of your spine and all at once you are overwhelmingly aware of your body. 

The sharp noise startles a figure in your periphery. 

“Back in the land of the living, huh?” 

A broad, bare chested man sits at your bedside with his arms crossed tight and pillowed in his lap. There’s a single delicate braid by his ear, longer than his short-spiked hair and dangled loosely beneath his jaw. You’d find him beautiful if not for the searing glare. 

“That was a fucking stupid thing you did back there,” he snarls. Brusque and overfamiliar. When you don’t respond he continues, “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

You shrink back. 

There’s an awful pinch in his brow. Concern seems to be superseding what was a show of honest anger. Dimly lit by a few oil lamps, from what you can ascertain there is no one else in the room but you two. Inhaling the residuals of healing magic you find that your throat is unbearably dry, tongue stuck to the back of your teeth. How long have you been asleep?

You couldn’t find a voice to ask, exhaling a pathetic whine. The silence provides a window of opportunity for him to further scold you yet he doesn’t take it, fuming as he recedes into his chair. “Don’t need to act so fucking skittish. M’not here to hurt you,” he exhales hard through his nose, reaches out and leaves his hand upturned on the edge of the bed. “Alright?” 

Something draws you to this stranger. Inexorable, like the pull of the tide. You accept his proffered palm and it feels unsettlingly familiar. The skin is rough, battle worn and hot. Slowly, your fingers intertwine, and you see fair hair on the back of his knuckles. 

Disorientation, loss and anxiety err on the edge of your consciousness. The lamp above his head gives him a warm hued crown, highlighting strands of gold. You can feel sleep weighing on your eyelids but you don’t yet want to look away. “Whatever,” his mouth sets into a frown. “Get some more rest or I’ll knock you out myself”.

When you come to the sun has risen and filters into the room in thin streams of light. Dust fairies dance around the bed. You squint as your vision sharpens, a dull throb reverberating through your skull. 

You look at your body first, arm well bandaged and the rest of you bruised tender like an old peach. The wounds throb in time with your pulse when you shift, reminding you that they’re there as your thin clothing brushes against them with little movement. All you can remember is falling. How the waves had careened up the cliff side to catch you, only to have you snatched out of reach once again. 

Wherever you are now it is obviously far from your Lord’s grasp. He has never bothered to take you to a healer. You are in a private office, tucked into a bed with soft blue sheets. The shelves are stocked with various medicines, salves, and analgesics. Herbs and chopped petals are stuffed in glass jars labelled with messy penmanship you can’t decipher. A metronome sits on the nearby wooden desk, ticking back and forth, filling the silence until the door is pushed open. 

Whoever enters is trying to be careful. You can tell by how slowly they turn the handle and pause at every little complaint the hinges give. Their hair is green, richer than the later weeks in spring, with loose waves that bounce as they move. You watch wearily while they move through the space, humming under their breath and picking up a notebook from one of the desk drawers. 

The healer, you presume, pinches the end ball on the metronome and brings it to a stand still. He hushes it as though it were an unruly child before turning on his heels toward you—

And immediately screeching as your eyes meet. 

Loud enough for the entire country to hear, his abrupt shout seems to alert others in the building, causing a gaggle of people to burst their way into the room. A metallic tang fills your senses; magic ready, the man that sat brutish yet kind at your bedside wields explosive sparks in the palm of his hands, adorning chains with carved talons and beads and asymmetrical armour strapped to his left bicep beneath a red fur lined cloak. 

“What is it, Deku?!” 

You offer wordless gratitude to the final dregs of sedatives in your system. You barely flinch at the hostility in his voice, time seemingly slowed as your gaze drags to the companions at his back. First a woman doused in pink. And like the sun, her face glows the rich ochre of dawn, framed by silky salmon toned curls. There are horns protruding from the top of her head, bending like the junction of a tree branch. 

Beside her is a large man. Red, red, red. Bright eyes split with a reptilian slitted pupil. Crimson hair styled into sharp spikes. He’s built like a warrior, tall enough to swallow most of the doorway, yet you feel no true fear when you look at him. Something innate in your gut tells you this is a kindred spirit. Energies aligned, you think he must be a shifter of some kind too. He locks onto you first, his alarmed expression smoothing into a wide toothed grin. 

Last are two men who have managed to tumble to the floor amidst their rush to get into the room. Distinct gold bangs with a symbol of lightning, pale faced, an undercurrent of electricity thrumming below his skin. Dark shoulder length hair, white spools of rope wrapped around the crook of his elbow, grappling hook in hand and ready to strike. 

“Sorry, Kacchan!” the healer, Deku, spluttered. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking them in a placating motion. “Nothing, it’s nothing! All of you please calm down!” 

Deku is quite the unfortunate name, you think. At his insistence the group lower their defenses and slump forward, relieved. All but ‘Kacchan’, who only raises his hackles further. 

“Don’t fuckin’ scream like that if it’s nothing,” his upper lip curls to bear his teeth, moving fluidly as his group slinks past him to stand by your bed. “I damn near blew up the building”. 

Distantly, “I couldn’t help it…!”

The frame jostles, mattress dipping as it takes on the weight of another. Head turned into the pillow you blink dazedly at the sharp toothed shifter. Propping his chin in his hand, his elbows are braced next to your thigh. “Hi. I’m Kirishima,” he chirped, unmoving as his friends wrapped themselves around him to get a look at you, all repeating his jovial greeting with introductions of their own. 

“…Hello,” you rasp. The word grates the inside of your throat and tears well in your eyes as you fight the urge to cough. “Where am…?”

“Back up, losers,” ‘Kacchan’ forces his way to your bedside, shoving the group aside. There’s that odd sensation again as you stare up at him. Strong jaw clenched with eyes narrowed and blazing; sliding to where you lay, waning briefly. “Have some manners”. 

“Since when have you cared about manners,” the pink woman, Mina, bemoans. 

“Shut it!” 

Deku’s nervous disposition dissipates quickly and he ambles to the opposite side of your bed, his notebook flipped open to a page covered in incomprehensible scrawl. While the others squabble he leans forward and flashes a trembly smile. 

“Hi! I’m Midoriya Izuku, the one that fixed you up,” Midoriya—not Deku—lowers his voice into a more soothing tone. “It’s good to see you awake. Do you think you could tell me your name?”

You remember your name. Yours. The one given to you before human hands stole your hide. Midroiya’s pen scratches at the parchment as you recite it, his lips silently repeating it. “Great! Thank you. Now can I ask, how are you feeling?” he asks, eyes darting across your face, your body, scanning the bandages wrapped around your arm. “Any pain? Nausea? Loss of vision? Numbness in your limbs? Hallucinations?”

“Slow down, nerd,” Bakugo grunts. 

Midoriya immediately appears sheepish, “I’m sorry”. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “My mouth is dry and my arm hurts but I’m— okay, I think”. 

“That’s my bad,” Kirishima speaks up from his place next to Bakugo, lifting a hand. Despite their difference in stature it was clear who led the charge and who fell in line. “I was rushing so I wasn’t very careful when I caught you”. 

Your first thought is that he must have been the dragon. Your second thought is, ah, right. You had tried to fling yourself off the cliff. 

As though he’d read your mind, Bakugo scoffs. “Not much choice when you’re saving someone that’s trying to kill themselves”. 

Overlapping objections ring loud in your ears. “Bro, not cool,” Kirishima groans, similar sentiments sent loud and fast from the rest of his group. 

“I wasn’t trying to—” your half lie is halted by the seething look Bakugo turns to you. Same as before, beneath it all is worry and confusion, unblinking as though you might disappear between the seconds. “I just wanted to go home,” you confess weakly, tethered by the restless twisting of your fingers into the linen. 

“Home?” the electric blonde, Kaminari, murmurs. 

Tension returns to your limbs, instinctively bracing for the greed you have learned to expect. You may get away with evading questions now, but the healer—if he’s worth his salt—would already know what you are. 

“I’m a selkie,” hesitance bleeds into your tone, the confession coming quiet and small. Your chin dips as you swallow, canines sinking into your inner cheek. “The Lord whose castle you raided stole my pelt and kept me hostage for months. I figured it was long gone, so as soon as the attack gave me an opening I ran”.

The atmosphere is stifling. Silence befalls the group, equally stunned. Midoriya is the only one that does not react, kind eyes closely observing you.

A litany of emotions weave through Bakugo’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, regret. “Sick bastards,” he mutters heatedly from behind gritted teeth. 

A head of pink hair rests by your knee. You’re taken aback by how informally they all behave towards you. “You still would have died though,” she says, bottom lip jutted, sadness colouring her features. 

“I would have become seafoam,” you rectify passively. “It doesn’t mean death, not to my kind. It’s a sort of rebirth. My pelt is with the ashes now. I thought… it was my only option”. 

“Wait. It got burned up in the fire?!” Kirishima straightens worriedly, eyes wide and apologetic. His fingers twitch as though he wanted to reach for you but thinks the better of it. 

“Surely. I mean, I assume it was,” your mouth thins into a strained, rueful smile. “He kept it in the vault with all his other treasures. I watched his quarters go up in flames”. 

Recognition passes over Bakugo’s expression but Midoriya is already stepping forward with his outstretched hands waving dismissively. “Okay, guys! No more stressing my, uh… patient,” he says, allowing some strength into his instruction. “Give us some space. You can ask more questions later. Please?”

Your new guests surrender with a chorus of groans. Bakugo squints pointedly at you over his shoulder as Sero ushers him out into the hallway. You feel rooted by its significance somehow. An unspoken instruction that you can’t decipher. 

“Are you really feeling okay? No wooziness?”

Drawn to the gentle cadence your gaze meets Midoriya’s. He has set the notebook back onto his desk and rolled up his cuffs. “I’m okay,” you reply after a moment of consideration. “Thank you. You fixed me up, right?” 

Rubbing at his nape, Midoriya shoots you a sheepish grin. “To the best of my ability, yeah,” he says. “I’m just a researcher and I don’t have an affinity for healing magic, but Kacchan insisted that I help”. 

“You’re not a healer?” it’s then that you notice how untraditional his dress is for a doctor. A bishop sleeved shirt, six buttoned green waistcoat and dark pants. There’s a belt strapped tight around his hips, small satchels hooked into the leather, and an empty waist sheath clearly meant for a sword. “Ah. You really aren’t a healer,” you repeat blithely. 

Midoriya giggles, nervous. “No— I mean, this is my office! And I guess I am an apothecary of sorts, but that’s only a small part of what I do,” he explains, gesturing to his various  shelves and cabinets. “Kacchan could’ve taken you to the next town over on Kirishima’s back but I think he was panicking— oh, please don’t tell him I said that. He just doesn’t trust other people much. So you got shafted with me”. 

When he leans down to untuck your bedsheets you bend your unharmed arm, propping your upper body onto your elbow and working in sync with him as he fluffs the pillows behind your back. Sat upright you hold your bandages out to him. “Thank you,” he mumbles, delicate as he slides his hand around your forearm, patting around his belt and satchels with the other. 

Finding a small pair of scissors he tucks it beneath the top of the bandage and carefully cuts down the length of your arm. Your chest constricts as the inflamed skin is slowly revealed to the tepid air. There are ribbons of sutures running from your inner elbow to your wrist, puckered but thin and largely healed, sinew clumsily fused together. 

“Sorry about my poor suturing,” Midoriya says as he overturns your arm in his palm, checking from root to stem. “Everything looks good, though. No infection or fever,” he continues muttering, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. “Your immune response was pretty quick. I wonder if it has something to do with your selkie blood…”

You barely register his apology, stuck on the jagged scar tissue decorating his own hand. The cautious call of your name breaks your reverie. Midoriya’s brow is furrowed, eyes wide in genuine concern that wanes when you try to smile at him. “Got lost in my head there, sorry”. 

“I get it,” he breathes, glancing over to the largest cabinet in the room. Reaching the ceiling, stained dark wood, and looks slightly out of place alongside his other furniture. Misaligned, you realise. It is on four small wheels and placed an inch away from the wall. Odd. 

You watch Midoriya stroll over with a bounce in his step. His biceps strain under the pale sleeve fabric as he grabs either side of his cabinet and pulls. The wheels squeak and it rolls away with some exertion to uncover a hidden door. Dust cascades through the air; he coughs into his shoulder, shaking out his hair. 

“I’ve got a private washroom through here if you’d like to use it,” he explains after catching your questioning frown. The room is barely bigger than a closet. There’s a toilet, a tiny sink, and a tub that, given the width and depth, would require you to sit with your knees beneath your chin. A mere speck compared to home. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, maybe you could pretend you were resting in a tide pool along the shallows of a beach. 

You stand for the first time in who knows how long. An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawls the length of your legs as the phantom turns solid and blood rushes to your toes. You grip at your bare thighs where the hem of your robe falls, flesh bursting through the gaps between your fingers, and you gasp through the pain. It’s as if you’re growing a new limb all together. 

“Careful,” Midoriya murmurs kindly, hovering at your side in case you need assistance. You hobble over to the washroom, each step like treading on seaglass. He moves away once he is happy with your progress. 

“It’ll take a while to warm up,” he warns. “But there are various medicinal soaps and salts under the sink that I’ve made, so you’re free to use them”. 

The door is closed behind you. 

Left to your own devices the first thing you do is fill the tub with water. You find that the bathroom has no lamp, illuminated only by the cool light flooding in from the main room. His warning had not been exaggeration — fingertips touching the bottom of the basin, the water comes slowly and remains cold up until your second knuckle. Then it warms, warmer than the sea, and with no salt at all. 

Bare knees against the floor and skin pimpling under the thin robes, your breaths come quick, stumbling over the erratic jumping of your diaphragm. Indentations between each tile press uncomfortably into your skin, the initial pain dulling into numbness as you sit back on your heels. Beneath the sink behind you are the medicinal soaps and salts. You delicately take a small pot, squinting to decipher the handwritten labels in the dark. 

Pulling back one of the lids you’re overwhelmed by an unfamiliar floral aroma. Inside are rocks— tiny, tiny pink rocks, with dried white petals. You pinch some with your already damp fingers, feeling as they immediately dissolve in the moisture, and sprinkle them into your bathwater. 

Once full enough, you strip yourself of the robe and fold it neatly, left by the closed doorway. The cold air prickles, your nipples pebbling and the soft hair across your body standing on end, but the water is hot. 

You dip your foot in and breathe a sigh of relief as the temperature suffused through your skin, swaddling you in warmth. You submerge yourself completely. As suspected the space is remarkably cramped. Your legs are bent, tucked against your chest with knees below your chin, arms folded around your shins to keep yourself together. 

Enclosed in four walls again, shrouded in little to no light, you feel lonely. The type of quiet that makes you whisper. Your mind drifts to the stranger that had saved you, wondering where you might’ve met him before. You smile ruefully, cupping the scented water between your hands. He’s strong for a human. Imposing, you muse, staring back at the reflection held in your palms. Not only in his stature, but even his presence is difficult to ignore. 

You bathe, scrub away the blood and grime until you’re a flesh wound. The temperature is cold by the time you’ve turned focus to your fingernails, neurotically picking away the flecks of blood dried beneath them. Drain the murky water, refill, repeat. No matter how harshly you pinch and pull, the feeling of being dirty does not go away, but you stay in the water at least until you feel like yourself again.

The towel you find is coarse to the touch. Sitting in the heated water has tended well to the knots in your muscles. Ungainly as you re-enter Midoriya’s empty office, you flop back onto the freshly made sheets with little guilt. You sit there for a while and let the air dry your body. 

There is a pile of spare clothes on the end of the bed; neatly folded shirts, tunics, skirts and pants. You throw on a sleeved shirt and come across a simple beige kirtle as you parse through, the skirt falling just above the ankle, delicately sewn buttons lining the back. The fabric is very soft, though fitting and naturally cutting at the waist. 

After putting on some thick knitted socks and a pair of hardy brown boots left by the desk you run both hands down your sides and spin on your heel, causing the free flowing skirt to plume. Satisfied, you slip out the door and creep toward the gathering voices at the far end of the hall. Phantom fingertips walk the length of your spine. Odd, but you put it down to the apprehension churning in your stomach. Gradually you are able to make out what they’re saying. 

“Get your filthy hands off it,” Bakugo growls venomously. 

“I just wanna feel,” another whines. You recognise it to be Kaminari. “Why is Kacchan the only one allowed to touch it?”

“Stop calling me that, fucker!”

You round the corner and the bickering halts with a harsh shushing sound. They’re all in the centre of a cramped lobby, few chairs lining the walls, woven tapestry hung from the ceilings. Kirishima stands in front of you wearing a pleased grin, comically large. The armoured plates on his naked shoulders clink as he moves. “Hey! You clean up nice,” he tells you. “Feeling better?” 

“Much better,” you affirm, perking up at his sincerity. “I’m grateful to you all for watching over me”. 

“Our Bakugo did most of the work, really. Got a little protective,” Mina, the one kissed by dusk, leans into your space with her plump mouth curled into a smile. The thin gold jewellery hung from her lobe to ear cuff glints in the late afternoon light. “Barely let us in the room”. 

“Cause you idiots are too loud,” Bakugo grumbles, stepping forward holding a shiny garb. The fond undertones belied his annoyance, and everyone heard it loud and clear. Your skin prickled as he drags his eyes over your clothed body, evoking a sense of insecurity that is foreign to you. You aren’t sure what, but you wanted him to see something in you worth coveting. 

Then your gaze falls to the fabrics folded over his forearm. Your heartbeat ricochets through your ribcage. A tide of emotion wells at the base of your throat. He handles the pelt with purposeful care. Shivers break out across your skin as he smooths a hand over it. Holding it out, he says your name as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

“Here,” he thrusts the pelt into your arms. You scramble and clutch it to your front. Something deep inside you shifts. “This is yours, right? We took it during the raid”. 

You’re frozen to the spot, mouth gaping around words that won’t come. Bakugo frowns, the group members behind him glancing at each other and shrugging when they find no answer to your silence. 

“Well?” he demands, embarrassment staining his ears pink. 

“Yes,” you choke, bringing the hide up to your face and rubbing your cheek against it. So warm and alive. Brine fills your senses, overwhelmed by the smell of home. The relief is short lived. “Thank you for returning it, but…”

Losing strength, you try to convince yourself that he needn’t know— that the old ritual would not be binding if done with a human. If the Gods were merciful there would be no condition that tied you together for the rest of your lives. Yet you felt it the moment your pelt was handed back to you. You’ve been feeling his touch all this time, even before the bond had solidified. Heat rose to your cheeks at the realisation; such an intimate act, and it had been accidental. 

From one prison to another. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. Bakugo seemed good, in his own rugged way, and he was handsome even by faerie standards. 

You wet your lips, breath shaken. “Bakugo. Do you understand the significance of what you just did?” 

Bakugo’s expression darkens and he becomes rigid. You get the impression he hates being left in the dark. “What is it?” 

“To…” your nails sink into the short velvety fur. “To a selkie their pelt is like an extension of their soul. In our culture, to find and return it is viewed as a…marriage proposal”. 

Sero catches Kaminari and Mina as they grapple one another in a dramatic fashion, swaying on their feet. Kirishima puts a hesitant hand on his friend’s shoulder, eyes flickering between the barbarian and your slouched form. “Bro… don’t do anything hasty,” he faltered. 

“Bakugo is married now?” Mina shrilled, promptly shut up by the hand covering her mouth. Sero sends you an apologetic grimace. 

“Like hell I am”. 

Hackles raised, voice sharp and commanding, Bakugo is staring you down like an enemy. Your knees threaten to buckle but you stand your ground, shielding your body with your thick hide. His hands remain by his hips, sparking as the tang of magic bleeds into the air. Despite making no move to attack you still feel his rejection strike you. 

“Break whatever vow I just made,” he demanded. “Now”. 

“I can’t,” you admit helplessly. “It’s more than a legal contract or a declaration of love. We’ve— it binds us together”.

The barbarian starts forward, upper lip curled into a beastly snarl, held back by the dragon shifter’s grip. Stumbling as you dodge, two familiar scarred arms catch you before your fall. “Kacchan, what are you—?!” Bakugo darts out to grab you and Midoriya immediately pushes you behind his back, shielding you with his body. “Stop it!” 

“Midoriya,” Kaminari wheezes, tears beading along his lash line. “Kacchan accidentally got married. Can you believe it?” 

Midoriya observes their exchange with a look of confusion. In the seconds that follow you see his eyes fall to the pelt folded against your chest, eyes brightening in understanding. Incognisant to this, Bakugo continues his verbal barrage. “Oi, Deku. You’ve got brain cells. Figure out a way to fix this”. 

Mouth gaping like a fish out of water, Midoriya pins Bakugo with a pleading look. “Kacchan. Please tell me you didn’t personally give back the selkie pelt”. 

“You knew and didn’t think to say anything?!”

“Why would I?” Midoriya returns, equally irritated. You press your face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling the vibrations of his voice as they argue. “It’s common folklore!”

“You know I don’t listen to fucking fairytales, Izuku”. 

Midoriya reaches back to brush your wrist and offer a comforting touch. You knock your knuckles to his own, grateful for his consideration but unneeding of it. While Bakugo’s furious refusal hurts, and his volume is harsh on the ears, you aren’t truly scared of him. More than anything your body remembers those warm palms— how he had held your hand, even as a stranger, and how he meticulously groomed your hide only knowing that it was of importance to you. 

“There’s nothing I can do to fix this,” lowering his tone into something more apologetic, Midoriya’s shoulders slump in defeat. You step to the side, coming into view. Head bowed, weight shifting between each foot. You refuse to be subservient any longer but cannot ignore the guilt that churns in your stomach. 

Bakugo sees you. Something flickers in his features; a brief glance, a rough exhale, it flies across his face like the shadow of an albatross and disappears, equally fleeting. Never taking his vermilion eyes off you he argued, “What about cheeks?” 

The golden hour spreads her hands all over the room, air cooling when his spitting frustration dwindles to uncertainty. 

“Uraraka?” Midoriya mused aloud. His softer countenance tempers your anxiety. “It’s possible she could do something… Let me go see if I have her recent coordinates written somewhere…”

Midoriya scurries back down the hallway, leaving you defenseless. Without thinking you ask the group, “Uh. Who’s Uraraka?” 

Everyone’s attention falls to you and you resist the reflexive urge to cower. “She’s a witch,” Kaminari supplies happily, arms wrapped around Sero’s neck like a scarf. “An old friend of ours, but she’s pretty hard to find now. I heard her place is always moving”. 

A building that could move with magic. The human world never ceased to be fascinating. 

Mina nudges her elbow into his side and a shock of electricity sparks from his crown. “That’s outdated, dummy! You’re supposed to say occultist”. 

Kaminari whines, rubbing at his ribs. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe,” he enunciated, pouting. “Same thing”. 

Bakugo growls, ignoring their exchange in favour of pacing the room. Your pelt is a comforting weight as you follow the back and forth motions, taking the chance to really look at him. The fur lined cloak across his shoulders billows obnoxiously as he turns, jewels and talons strung around his neck knocking against his clavicle. Doused in sunlight, the markings painted across his bare chest are highlighted, and you notice the uneven skin beneath them— more scars. 

He combs his fingers aggressively through his hair and his arm bulges beneath the armour strapped to his bicep. Kirishima tires of watching and cuts into his path, hands open in surrender. 

“Stressing won’t do you any good, man,” the shifter reasoned. “We’ve all got your back. I’m sure Uraraka will know what to do”. 

Bakugo huffs. You think there should be steam coming out of his nose. “I know, shithead. I just,” he takes a quick look at where you are awkwardly standing. “I don’t like this”. 

There’s an abrupt yelp in the distance. Midoriya’s cry is followed by a crash, the sound of books tumbling from shelves onto the wooden floor. He stumbles out into the hallway slightly dishevelled, patting off the dust on his waistcoat and proffering a sheet of paper. Tucked under his arm is a rolled up map. 

“Kacchan,” comes his breathless chime. “Here’s where she was last. But I remembered that she was planning on taking a short trip to the valleys near the coast to find more idiran leaves since they’re in season now. I mapped out all the areas where they usually grow, in case you—”

Bakugo snatches the coordinates and the map without ceremony. “Thanks,” he grunts, turning on his heel and making for the exit. “Come on, losers. We only got a few hours until it’s too dark to fly”. 

The group works in perfect synchrony. Sero reaches under one of the nearby chairs and drags out a large bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. Mina does the same, pulling back the draping tapestry by the doorway and taking back a concealed sack. You watch as they walk leisurely behind Bakugo, in no real rush despite his demands, Kaminari lamenting how little they trusted him with their cargo. 

Kirishima lingers behind, clapping Midoriya soundly on the back. “Thanks for everything as usual, man. We appreciate it,” he emphasised his gratitude with a strong squeeze. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” you’re impressed by Midoriya’s reaction; a smile from ear to ear, sturdy and unaffected by Kirishima’s obvious force, his smaller frame belying his strength. “Just promise not to shift too close to the building. I don’t have time to re-thatch my roof”. 

“I promise!” Kirishima traces a cross over his heart with his fingers. Their focus turns to you. You tense, feeling entirely out of place. “Sure you’re feeling alright? Have you ever flown before?”

“No,” you admit, needlessly smoothing the fabric of your kirtle down. “I’ve probably never been this far inland, nevermind flying”. 

Midoriya’s eyes widened, though not unkindly. They’re sparkling, as if he were excited on your behalf. “Then you’re in for a real treat,” he beams, the intensity dimming within the next breath, sadness hemming his smile. “Just know you’re in good hands. Kacchan is a little abrasive but he means well”. 

“And I swear I’ll fly carefully,” Kirishima interjects. It’s funny, a man so large exuding such gentility. “I’m a dragon shifter, if you hadn’t already guessed”. 

You had sensed it immediately. Shifter energies were palpable and animated things. They hung in the air like a humid fog. Despite your similarities you are still so uniquely different. While you were tied to the pelt in your arms, Kirishima had no such restriction. You envied his freedom. 

“You caught me…?” you say. He nods at your words. “Thank you, then. Again”. 

“That was all Bakubro. He saw you before anyone else did,” as though on cue, Bakugo’s voice penetrated impatiently through the walls, demanding that you both get outside. Kirishima’s lips uptick affectionately. 

“If I don’t get to see you again, well…” Midoriya begins to corral the pair of you to the door as he speaks. “I hope you make it home. And I’m really happy I could meet you”. 

Surrounding Midoriya’s residence is a dense forest. The trees are tall, older than any you’ve seen, their branches reaching out and intertwining with one another to conceal your group under a canopy shrouded in gold. Further ahead it thins out onto a winding road. Built on a steep hill it dips in the distance, opening up to the many plots of land below. 

The earth is soft under your boots. There are wildflowers at your feet. You try to step around each one carefully while Kirishima advances forward to the group with vigour. 

Bakugo is saying something but you barely hear it, lost in your thoughts, besotted by the vast canvas around you; a sense of harmony as the pigments blend together. It is like a dream in which you can’t tell one side of the veil from the other, and nothing like the dreary castle you were once stowed away in. 

Your moment in lucidity is soon interrupted. You instinctively pull the pelt closer to your chest before realising who had approached. “You listening or what?” Bakugo calls quietly, an attempt at being reposeful. Amidst your daydreaming Kirishima has disappeared into the overgrowth and the others are watching your interaction with poorly veiled interest. 

“Uh, sure,” you blurt uselessly. He raises a brow and you feel ridiculous. 

“Kirishima said it’s your first time,” he pauses and you nod in affirmation. A hand comes to rest on your back, breath caught in your throat, pressure pulling you close to his side. “Then you’ll sit up front with me”. 

Your head bobs again, unrolling the pelt and knotting it tight to your waist, skin prickling under his close scrutiny. Bakugo brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, “Red!”

‘Red’ answered the call with a low room and a rustle of wings. The dragon’s head lifts, towering above the treeline, his body following as he steps out into the open. Amber eyes gleamed in the early evening light as he bobbed his head on a serpentine neck. His deep red scales shimmered with a faint golden sheen as he flashed his teeth in greeting. 

You err on the side of reticence while Mina and Kaminari sprint toward the dragon whooping excitedly. Various lines of thick rope trails behind them and Sero picks up the slack, looping it thrice through their bags. He spins the cut end, undulating as the momentum builds, and throws it over Kirishima’s back to be caught by Kaminari and pulled taut. 

“C’mon,” Bakugo leads you forward. He is surprisingly patient with you now. You’ve faced young whales and sharks yet still you feel dwarfed by the sheer size of the dragon, heart all pitter patter behind your ribs. It is the prey animal in you. 

Kirishima snorts, lowering to the ground. The earth trembles, a gust of wind dancing through the grass. Another rope is flung around his neck, threaded through the horns protruding from his skull like a set of reins, dropping in front of you. 

The hand by your hip slides further at your abrupt flinch, arm securing around your waist. “On three I want you to climb,” he commands, giving you no time to think. “One… two…”

Bakugo takes the weight like it’s nothing, lifting you higher so you can grab the rope. Molten heat. You pull yourself up, scrambling to straddle Kirishima’s upper back. The others are further down his spine, playing around at the base of his tail without a care in the world, as though they were not about to be thousands of feet in the air. Kirishima’s lungs expand for breath and you cling to a spike protruding from the dragon’s nape, grip flexing at the warmth that settles behind you. 

Bakugo frames your body with his thighs, thick by the skirt bunching above your knees, and pulls the rest of the rope up to wrap it around your pelt. In an instant you are all too conscious of him as a man, the proximity plucking at your centre of gravity, a cold sensation spreading throughout your chest. “Sorry,” he mutters unprompted, so quiet you aren’t sure you were meant to hear it. You get the impression he doesn’t say it often. “For dragging you into more shit”. 

You mull the words over as you relax into his hold. With that one sentence you think you understand him a little more than before.

Sero’s voice travels through the silence, “Good to go!”

Fastening his arm across your middle, solid and steady, Bakugo brings his boot hard down onto Kirishima’s shoulder. “Get moving, Red!” he roars. 

The dragon’s movements are heavy, slow. Aligned with the winding road, he builds up speed. As though he’d shaken off his own mass Kirishima is suddenly quick on his feet and breaking into a run; forced back in the momentum your stomach swoops, upheld by inertia as your body follows the broad bounding movements. 

Leathery wings snap open into the clearing. Your hands clutch at Bakugo’s forearm and he digs his fingers in harder, his lips warm against your temple. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, but all you can hear is the thundering wind and the blood rushing in your ears. You watch the steep edge approach and take a reflexive breath as it abruptly disappears. 

Air pours into your lungs and then out again in a ragged, exhilarated gasp. The ground falls—and then you are gliding.  

The cool air whips against your cheeks. Smooth and steady as a horse’s canter, Kirishima soars through the open skies, his magnificent wingspan bearing the weight of five riders. Below, the fields coalesce into one land. Towns and villages become an inscrutable speck. Incredulous laughter bursts from your throat, nerves evolving into excitement in the climb towards the clouds. 

Bakugo mellows by the second, tension ironed down by gravity. There’s a particular satisfaction to his expression, contentment you’ve only ever experienced in the ocean’s depths, and yet, as he squeezes around you intermittently to remind you he is there, you can feel it too. 

“You with me?” he shouts. “Not scared?”

You lock eyes and try to show him a tremulous smile, answering at the top of your lungs, “I’m good”. 

Then he bares his teeth, grinning proudly. Over you comes the sense of being praised. Your smile widens.

Time moves differently in the skies. Closer to the sun, you thought perhaps things naturally moved slower. Change is always less apparent when you are walking alongside it. Instead, you measure the hour by the shadows cast chasing Kirishima’s tail, and eventually the skies darken. 

Lowering his head, tilting a wing to swing out in a broad arc, Kirishima angles toward the earth. Bakugo raises up a battle worn hand, the lineaments of his face irradiated by streams of dim light threading through his fingers. He makes a specific gesture, signalling to the others of the incoming descent. Like the sun, you can’t look away from his raw brilliance. 

Kirishima lands at the base of a mountain valley. It sends a gust of wind across the clearing. Through the dark you make out a familiar reflection of light in the distance. The lake is hardly an ocean, but you’re extremely comforted to be by a body of water. 

Chest pressed flat to your back Bakugo’s natural heat spreads through your shirt. Helped down much in the same way you were boosted up, he seems determined to keep you near. You can’t say you mind it— a quiet attraction comes and goes as he steadies you on your feet. He clicks his tongue, muttering clipped insults that he doesn’t mean. 

It’s decided you’ll remain there for the night. “You can bet your ass we’re having an early start,” Bakugo says, pointing at each of you with stubborn intent, squinted glare lingering on the less than enthusiastic members. Kaminari slumps forward dramatically and you worry his knees might buckle. 

Kirishima leaves again, briefly, to circle the area in his full form while Bakugo starts on the pit. It’s lit by a whisper of fire from the returning dragon’s mouth, setting the tinder ablaze over the nest of branches; the dry, withered pine slowly releases years of energy soaked up from the sun, the air, and the ground, keeping the camp brightly lit. 

Smoke swirls above and dissipates into the atmosphere. You are far enough from any large human settlement that you see the night sky in all its clarity. Around you now are the soft voices of acquaintances filtered between conversations; none you could hear properly, but the sounds were still soothing, coming in hushed tones that add to the intimate atmosphere. 

Flames dance on their cheeks, illuminating the prominent parts of their faces. You’re sitting beside the water’s edge with your pelt strewn across your lap, close enough to feel the warmth as it crackles and spits, watching the way they love each other. 

Kaminari has fished out a big bottle from his bag, dramatically popping the cork, and is steadily passing it around. Alcohol, you guessed. Sero took a heavy swig without flinching. Mina had tried to do the same and now has her head pillowed by Kirishima’s thigh, thick and sturdy as a human, and his fingers stroked through the curly by her temple aimlessly as he lost himself in discussion. Sensing your gaze, she meets your eyes and smiles dazedly, lids fluttering. 

You look away, take a breath and notice the air tastes like sake and smoke. Darkness covers the lake. Under the waxing moon your face stares back at you, swimming among minnows and echoes of stars. It ripples where you dip your fingertips, mind empty, anaesthetised by the chill.  

“You idiots never pace yourselves,” Bakugo’s voice rumbled over the flames and rolled over your skin. He is sitting closest to you, legs loosely crossed in the dirt . “If you throw up on Red tomorrow I’m not cleaning it up”. 

Kaminari shakes the bottle in his direction. The bubbles fizz upward, some spilling out. “Such a stick in the mud, Kacchan. We gotta celebrate your marriage somehow!” 

Sero cackles as the other two chime in agreement.  You stroke your pelt, restless at the mention of your union, and it soaks up the water from your fingers. Surprisingly, Bakugo lets it slide, though not before scooping the loose earth into his hand and throwing it at an oncoming Kaminari. 

Eyes of amber briefly flicker over your form in his approach. Kaminari drops into the empty space beside you and pulls the bottle from his mouth with a resounding pop, leaving behind a wet sheen, and tilts it forward. “You too,” he grinned. “Congrats. Our boy is quite the catch, y’know”. 

“So I can see,” you smile, letting the gloom be pulled right out of you, your fingers wrapping around the bottle's neck. They grazing his own and spark static. Neither of you comment on it, his squinted stare fixed curiously on your expression as you bring the finish to your lips. 

The aroma is rich, sweet like overly ripe bananas. You tip back, feeling it dry and bitter on your tongue. There are hints of vanilla and brown sugar, a sting to your throat that begs you to cough. You hear a quiet laugh. 

“Too strong?” Sero teases lightheartedly from across the campfire. 

Your expression twists, “It’s good. But it burns. Is that normal?”

“That’s why it’s good,” Kaminari snickers. You clear your throat, handing the bottle back, attention drawn back to the lake in a beat of comfortable silence. “Oh, hey. I did want to say— you can swim if you need to, y’know”. 

“Hm?”

“Kiri has all sorts of weird urges if he doesn’t shift for a while. Gets all restless and snappy,” Kaminari gives a knowing look to the man in question. Kirishima nods at you, his features taut with sincerity. “So if you want to swim for a while or something we totally get it”. 

You’re flustered by their earnestness, gripping at your pelt, all too aware of it. Slipping into your other form feels far too personal; well meaning as they are, they’re still strangers to you. “That’s— I’m alright,” you politely decline, “my needs as a seal aren’t really felt while I’m like this”. 

A surprised noise resonates from Kirishima, Mina unmoving from her place in his lap but watching with rapt curiosity. “You’re practically human right now, then?” he asks. 

“Practically,” you give a self conscious shrug. Somehow admitting it felt like stripping yourself. Confessing to a weakness. Unsettled, you deflect the subject back. “Do you keep your dragon traits as a human?”

“Nah, not while I’m in this form. I don’t even have my hydrogen glands— look,” Kirishima hooks his fingers into his cheeks to spread them wider. You lean in for a closer look. The glow from the campfire illuminates the back of his throat— barely, and ironically. His tongue wiggles as he tries to lay it flat. You’re not sure what he’s trying to show you. You’ve  never seen a dragon’s maw before, but aside from the shark-like teeth his mouth really does seem the same as any other man’s. 

“Pretty boring, right?” his words come garbled around his fingers and so he pulls them out, wiping the spit on his pants. “But even though I can’t breathe fire right now, I can do this!”

You stare in surprise as the skin along his forearm hardens into tough scales. He holds it out to you in permission to touch; they feel jagged under your fingertips, tough like the bark of an ancient tree. “That’s amazing. You have your own shield,” you breathe, awed. 

“Damn right,” Bakugo interjects. There’s that unfettered pride again. Kirishima’s cheeks redden and you sympathise with him. In your short time with them you knew receiving praise from Bakugo felt like standing under the sun. “Should‘ve seen him as a kid,” he continues, eyes alight and mirthful. “Had scales like wet paper. Even cried when he first shifted”. 

“D’you have to bring that up,” Kirishima groans, though not upset by it. He shares in the amusement, uplifted by the sound of his friends' laughter, and pouts playfully in your direction. “It was scary!” 

Mina giggles. Her movements are sluggish and dopey as she waves her arm in Kaminari’s direction, who then stretches around the pit to Sero, who then passes it off to her. She takes a quick sip, free hand pinching Kirishima’s cheek. “Wasn't your first time an accident, too? That’s so cute”. 

“He sneezed actually,” Sero supplies, smirk crooked, foot tapping Kirishima’s ankle in a preemptive apology. “Destroyed half his house”. 

Kaminari slaps his knee, “Man, you were stumbling around like a newborn foal. It was hilarious”. 

Bakugo grinned as the others bickered, a fond, radiant thing that lit up his whole face. He’s softer like this, drenched in warmth. Cloak tucked behind his shoulders you are given the view of his broad chest. And when he finally looks at you, his half lidded gaze has been softened by his third swig; though he remained considerably sober compared to his companions. 

“What’re you starin’ at?” he mutters.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, then, quieter, “It’s just nice that you’ve all been together for so long”. 

“Since we were snot-nosed brats. We hail from the same clan. Deku too,” he replies, elbow propped on his knee, chin cupped in his palm. “Getting sick of seeing their faces at every turn”. 

“Liar,” you hum amusedly. “What do humans call it…? Emotionally constipated”. 

His eyes slide over you, brow quirked. With his friends distracted he is more emboldened giving you attention. “Got some liquor down your neck and suddenly you’re givin’ me cheek?” 

“Guess so,” you feel yourself endeared by your not-husband. The pleasant honeyed sensation shrouding your body must’ve loosened your tongue. “Anyone can see they’re like family to you”. 

The barbarian kisses his teeth and shifts himself toward you, an ugly look on his face. You catch his peek at your pelt. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Bakugo grunts. “Yeah. You got family?” 

If not for the alcohol that question might’ve sucked all the joy from the air. You settle on a sad smile, dragging your fingertip through the dirt to draw a vague seal shape. “That’s hard to answer,” you intoned gently, barely audible over the crackling fire. “My memories of them are vague. The longer I stay human the more I forget”. He frowns, but you continue, unperturbed, “Usually it would be the same thing in reverse, if we weren’t bonded I would likely forget all of this”. 

“And you’re okay with that?” he says, some edge to his tone. “You’re okay with being stuck here?” 

The ‘with me’ goes unspoken but you hear it, and you fall silent. Because you have no answer. You’d had months to reconcile a pallid future— at one point you thought you would never again see the ocean, least of all your family. It was probable that they’d already moved on without you. 

“I don’t feel stuck,” you admit. His actions and his words, albeit harsh, proved that to be true. Aside from the obvious differences from your previous capture, the biggest is that you are equally in possession of Bakugo’s individual liberty— you’re married, you mentally amend, not in possession. While it is true you wouldn’t be able to stray far from him with the bond established, you held your pelt, independence, control. 

A near imperceptible tension seeps from him at your answer. “What about you?”

He scoffs, stretching out his legs. The soles of his boots drag in the dirt. “Do I look fuckin’ stuck?” 

“No,” you murmur with amusement, turning to gaze at the flickering pyre. “A man that can fly hundreds of miles on dragonback in a single day certainly isn’t stuck”. 

“Now you’re getting it”.

The other conversation has worn into soft murmurings. Kirishima drunkenly hands off the last of the alcohol to Bakugo, gesturing to the three who’ve surrounded him and fallen asleep. As the dragon shifter repositions himself to join them, curled together like a pack of seal pups, Bakugo takes a sip. 

There’s probably only a mouthful left and you accept it when he offers. “You should sleep, too”. 

You heed his instruction and lie down on your side, your pelt pillowed under your head. The smell of home swaddles you. “Early rise, right?” he nods, leaning back onto his arms. “How long do you think it’ll take to find the—uh, occultist?” 

“A week if she’s where she’s supposed to be,” he scowls. You’re not sure what draws the heat to your face; the drink or his voice, now gravelly with fatigue. “Three at most”. 

“Okay,” you exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Bakugo”. 

A soft breeze dances through the brush. Your skin pebbles, shivers slipping down your spine. Something heavy drapes over you and encases you in a warm cocoon. Fluff tickles at your nose. Your fingers curl into the familiar red fabric of Bakugo’s cloak. He has pointedly angled away from you, ready to ignore any attempt at interrogation. The gruff act of kindness makes your heartbeat faster. Fondness settles in your chest, so big that it aches. His natural scent mixes with yours and it’s like being laid on the shoreline, stitching sea and land together. 

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me yet,” the muscles in his back ripple as he tends to the dwindling fire, declaring with conviction, “Just follow me. I’ll fix this and get you home”. 

You lick your lips, mouth dry from the alcohol. In that very moment you want to tell him that the ocean and the sky are like a two way mirror; that when you were up there with him, strangely, your body thought it was at home. 

Instead, you close your eyes and watch the embers paint yellow and orange kaleidoscopes behind your eyelids. 

Instead, you sleep. 

The weeks that follow are arduous. Uraraka is nowhere to be found, and your group resorted to searching the areas of iridian growth Midoriya circled. 

You weren’t used to hiking up mountainous lands, navigating forests or scaling dragons, not in the beginning. Rising with the sun, enduring unpredictable changes in weather, wincing through the ache that grew in your weaker human muscles, Bakugo found your crankiness amusing and irritating all at once; never missing an opportunity to comment on your lack of stamina, then using it as an excuse to assist where assistance is not truly needed. 

But you saw through him, and let him. You did not need help climbing, yet your hands weaved together so he could pull you up. You’re soon practiced in saddling Kirishima, yet you always wait for Bakugo to put his arm around your lower back every ride. Your inner voice sings whenever he brings you food— begrudgingly, he throws it into your lap and grunts like the barbarian he is— or hangs his cloak over your head without a word as though you were a rack. It’s a little more charged every time you interact, and you found you liked being taken care of in those subtle ways that did not undermine your independence. 

The others noticed and teased accordingly. They call him a dutiful husband and his aggravated explosions saw you driven out of two small settlements for startling livestock. You become closer to each of them. Their patchwork family makes room for you quicker than you know what to do with. And you enjoy it; learning about the people around you, peeling back the rind of their lives piece by piece with mundane questions, seeing what they’re made up of.

You learn Kaminari enjoys literature, dramatically reciting love tales in the night, referencing poems you’ve never heard. He’s charming but never with actual intention. It is somehow more endearing that he doesn’t know his own allure, finding comfort in the role of a jester. Mina is pure joy wrapped in flesh. Apologetically overbearing and well meaning. Like an older sister she showed you how to securely fashion your pelt—over one shoulder, a belt fastened around the waist, keeping it in place— and let you use her combs. She speaks fast when she’s happy, hits hard when she laughs and gossips avidly, picking up new information wherever she goes. 

Kirishima looked at you with kindness and iron surety in his eyes from the start. Good natured and feeling— he has a heart so big that he apologises to a flower bed after he steps on it. There’s a natural fraternal air about him that sets you at ease and the group’s clear affection and appreciation for him diminished any worry about your own treatment as a shifter.

But of everyone else in the group you found Sero the most easygoing. Conversation came fluidly and your initial diffidence was thrown by how naturally you were able to fall into place with him. He lends an ear to any questions you have, practised in the art of human interaction; a man capable of adapting to any one person he comes into contact with. As such, he is the member sent to negotiate, collect information, and make arrangements. 

When you make it to the last destination on the map you are drenched in a time-steeped sunset. Sero trudges back through the brush, returning from the nearby port town. Landing at such a late hour Sero had been tasked with finding the local tavern to buy a few rooms for the night, and the lazy thumbs up he waves from a distance is proof he accomplished his goal.

“They don’t get too many travellers passing through here so I swiped up three rooms,” he huffs, coming to a stop and brushing the dirt off his pants. “They’ve got a bathhouse, too”. 

Bakugo makes a noise of approval, lifting a bag over his shoulder while Kirishima carries the rest under his arms and  flashes a toothy smile. “Glad it went smoothly, man”. 

“Thank the Gods,” Kaminari cheers, clapping his friend on the back. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to sleep on an actual bed again”. 

“Uh huh. Two twin rooms for us lowly minions,” Sero continues, his grin curling into something more sly. You get a sense of foreboding. “And of course, a double room for the newlyweds”. 

Mina whistles, slipping her hand into yours and tugging. You freeze, heart in your throat, and force yourself to relax, not yet used to how tactile they can be. She’s too invested in Bakugo’s response to notice. Your eyes flicker over to find him red faced and incensed, knuckles white with the pressure he has around the drawstrings of his bag. 

Sharing a room with Bakugo. Alone. Thus far you’d all been together. Either under the stars or in caves, or packed into cramped quarters stuffed with wattle and daub if a villager felt kind enough. 

“You've got exactly five seconds to explain why you thought that was a good idea”.

Sero quickly put his palms up in surrender. “You gave me a budget, Bakugo. They offered to lower the price as a wedding gift. I figured it would be okay for one night”. 

Bakugo jerks his head in your direction, his steely glare unmoving. The tips of his ears are pink, too, frustration unfolding across his skin. “You don’t get to decide that,” he chided, tone harsh like a hiss. 

Suddenly, Sero looks rather ashamed of himself. “Shit, I’m sorry. Should’ve asked,” he says to you, rubbing at his neck as his head lowers. It’s unlike him to be so wilted— and all because of your potential discomfort. 

You meet Bakugo’s eyes, gleaming intensely, already trying to scrutinise your reaction. Mina hums quietly. She tightens grip on your hand again in reassurance, the other running along your bicep. “If you want I can swap with you”. 

Bakugo snorts at that, as if the idea was ridiculous, but he doesn’t shoot it down despite his clear aversion to sharing with Mina. You understood his disbelief. They behaved much like siblings, squabbling and poking at one another. It’d rouse suspicion and you didn’t fancy being chased out of town for swindling the keepers for a discount. 

“Thank you guys. But it’s alright,” you reassured, mouth lifting into a small smile and reciprocating Mina‘s gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind sleeping with Bakugo”. 

A few beats of silence. You see Bakugo’s expression slip, jaw loose and eyes wide for a brief moment before it twists. He turns away from the group as a chorus of suggestive crowing erupts. 

Understanding your mistake almost immediately hot mortification comes over you, stifling beneath the pelt on your shoulder. “Shut up, you useless fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugo snaps, flustered and wild, swatting at the nearest victim. Kirishima feigns a wounded noise. 

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!”

“Just get moving,” the barbarian marches onward, tearing his way through the overgrowth and heading for the tavern. “And walk behind me!”

His choleric mutters continue, heard even at a distance. Tucking your chin to your chest, you hide your laughter in your silken pelt as you follow after him, mouth filling with a comforting briney scent. You think Bakugo undeniably cute when he’s embarrassed; a sight you’ve had the pleasure of seeing more than once on account of his pod. That feeling from the campfire returns, fills your chest, pulsing through to your fingertips, tempting you to reach out, to touch him. 

More and more you’re inundated with the need to be close. You quell the urge and tighten your grip on Mina, her cheek squished to your shoulder, loose curls the colour of blossom tickling your throat. “Don’t worry. He’s not really mad,” she tells you furtively, as if it were a big secret. 

“I know,” gaze lingering on Bakugo’s back, covered by that thick red cloak, you wonder if your scent still clings to it. Contentedly, “I’m getting used to it”. 

The town is beautiful. Bursting with flora and fauna, accentuated by the dusk, ocean curling around the village in a way that reminds you of mother. Nature's cradle. You cling protectively to your pelt, scenting the salt in the air and hovering closer to Bakugo. If anybody could identify a selkie skin it would be fishermen. Stray drunken locals stumble by, arm in arm with boisterous cheer. You’re greeted like a long lost friend, neither person recognising your true identity. Humans really can be hearty and genuine at their core. Life before had been so desolate in comparison, so lacking in love and colour. 

“Oi,” Bakugo beckons you to his side. When you don’t fall in line he grabs your wrist, pulling you close. His natural body heat lingers like a brand. “Make sure you call me Katsuki from now on,” he instructs under his breath. 

You blink at the unexpected request. The muscles in his face are tight, twitching, and his nose flares the longer you stare. Given names are important to humans in this region. Sharing them is an intimate thing, a sign of your close relationship. “Are you sure?” 

“Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure,” he punishes your questioning with the fleeting tightening of his grip. You can’t help it. He’s pink again and you like it. “I’m your husband, yeah? So call me by my fuckin’ name”. 

The keeper waits surreptitiously by a sheltered stairwell leading to the inn above her tavern. A small Elven woman, uncloaked, the lantern overhead creating a halo of light to circle her ginger crown. She perks up when Sero hands over a small velvet sack, the drawstrings pulled tight. “For the rooms,” he emphasises, coins chiming dully against one another as he shakes it. The woman takes it and cradles the payment to her breast, exchanging the gold for three keys. 

You’re guided up the stairwell and into the building, presented with a narrow corridor. There are numerous doors, decorative runes carved into the frames, a coloured piece of string hung from each handle corresponding to the colour of the keys.  “It’s good to see some youngins pass through. We only ever get the same old geezers around here,” she says, “Makes for a mundane life”. 

The crows' feet wrinkle by her eyes when she smiles, laughter lines framing her mouth. She hands out the keys to your pod who all rush in childish excitement to see their rooms. At last she turns to where you stand stiffly beside Katsuki. 

You’re handed a key. The stem is long and thin and made with copper, the key wards in the bit uniquely shaped to your door. Threaded through the bow is a lavender string. “It isn’t much but I hope you will be comfortable for the night,” with a wink, she adds, “Congratulations to you both”. 

“Thank you. We will be in your care,” your reply is tremulous, undecided whether to be pleased with the sincere acknowledgement of your marriage or nervous to be seen through. At your side, the large barbarian grunts. 

It is uncharacteristic of him; always very respectful of his elders. You lean against him, just a nudge. His attention snaps to you and you smile innocently. “Be polite, Katsuki”. 

Like it was meant to be spoken only by you, Katsuki’s name sits right in your mouth, lips shaping around the characters softened by warm intonation. The reaction is instantaneous. His jaw ticks. His faint blush returns. His stoic expression wanes as he looks to the keeper, who is observing the interaction with mirthful eyes. Lowering his head he mutters, “We appreciate your hospitality, ma’am”. 

“You’re quite darlin’ together, aren’t you,” she comments heartily, mostly to herself, as if airing her thoughts. “We got good food and drinks downstairs, do come if you’re hungry! Blessings be upon you”. 

On her departure you enter the room. Spangles of light dusted the air. While it clearly isn’t lived in, it is homely. You canvas the space. Two square-headed windows facing the street are covered by thin cloth. There is an old, tattered tapestry strung across the wall to cover up a fist sized hole, a patterned glass vase and various other unique tchotchke adorning the shelves. You drag your fingers across the brick fireplace opposite a wide double bed, mattress made of wool but compensated by the many feather pillows and blankets. 

“This is good,” you say, “homely”. Though there is an animal hide on the floor, which you find rather… untoward. A soothing musky smell with overtones of caramel and vanilla rising through the cracks in the floorboards from the tavern below. You breathe it in deeply. 

“It’ll do,” Katsuki voices his agreement and drops his bag with a conclusive thud. “Let me hide our stuff and we can meet with the others for food downstairs. You haven’t eaten in hours”. 

The small consideration makes your heart flutter. “Ah. I’ll be there soon,” you tell him. He squints at you, attempting to mentally pry the answers out of you. “I’m okay, Katsuki. I just need a minute”. 

Pausing in the centre of the room, Katsuki scrutinises you. You fidget under his intense appraisal, undecided whether it pleases you or not. It is strange to want something that often leaves you feeling excruciatingly… exposed. 

You wait apprehensively and wonder if he’ll comment on your use of his name— needless, this time. After all there are no ears or eyes in these walls. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he asks you to stop. 

“Are you sure?” you nod, mouth strained in a thin smile. Bakugo frowns but ultimately gives you your space. “Make sure you catch up. If you’re not down in ten minutes I’m coming back”. 

“I will,” you land heavily on the edge of the bed, wrinkling the sheets as you unclip your pelt. The collar of your ill-fitted shirt slips forward with the motion to reveal cleavage, and Bakugo immediately averts his gaze. 

“Whatever,” he rasps, unexpectedly shy. The door slams as he leaves. You right the collar, tugging it back up, lips pressed thin to repress the laughter that bubbles in your chest. Aimless and left to your own devices you take a solitary moment to groom the pelt in your lap, marbled and downy-soft. Brushing through the coat, fingertips trace the rings of black and brown.

Things are so different. Being a person is more overwhelming than you imagined. Being locked away had kept you in a state of inertia, suffocating in numb misery, but now you were left to grapple with the immense spectrum of human emotion. Urges and wants that you had never experienced before meeting Katsuki. 

You swallow, staring at the spaces between your fingers. Spaces filled with short tan fur. Selkie marriages were simultaneously complicated and simple. Rather, they were so simple that they bore unnecessary complications. 

A stolen pelt creates a one sided bond but upon return it is consummated. Between two selkies in courting pelts were exchanged, solidifying their promise to one another, deeply unified by their magic. Elder podmates said that it meant they belonged to only one another. Abandoning the tides, in a way. 

Since being a pup the voice of the sea was a ceaseless whisper you were always aware of. Yet since Katsuki held your seal skin, unknowingly cradled your very being and returned it to you with only sincere intention, that voice had gradually been ebbing away. 

Would there come a day that you no longer recalled your identity as a selkie—? No. You quickly smother the thought. The immaterial, chimerical magic that made up your very being could never be forgotten. And deep down, you knew Katsuki would not let you. Indeed, you can only picture his surly retaliation if you ever woke up and could not recall your lineage. 

With that you get to your feet. Ten minutes would soon pass and his probable wrath was enough motivation. You consider the pelt in your grasp and give a surreptitious glance around the room for somewhere to hide it. Taking it into a tavern full of drunken strangers and mariners seemed like a much worse idea. 

After rolling it up tight you stuff it behind the pillows at the head of the bed, further pulling over the coverlets. The hallway is quiet when you step out. You lock the door, tensing at the loud click. You can hear muffled laughter rising through the floors. 

It grows in volume when you step out into the evening air. Slurred conversation and bickering pour through the tavern windows. At front is a large, arched door, overshadowed by a dark blue awning. The wood panels are weatherworn and rustic, covered in rivets. You reach for the brass handle. It’s heavy in your palm as you turn it, using your full strength to push forward. 

First, you are met with a crescendo of boisterous cheers. Stepping inside, your eyes are drawn to the green dyed sailcloths hung from the rafters above the bar. The establishment is modestly sized, enough that there is a longtable set up in the centre of the room and a fair few smaller roundtables dotted with stools. 

Across the far end of the tavern is a line of small booths, separated by wooden screens decorated with mosaic carvings. Oil lamps are hooked on the walls, casting a warm sepia hue that seems to cohesively bring everything together. It felt welcoming, and intimate, like approaching a friend by the fire. 

You try to seek out a familiar head of blonde hair. The place is busy but nobody bats an eyelid at your entrance, lively enough that you cannot hear clearly above the overlapping voices around you, intermingling with the low playing of music. 

“Lost, stranger?”

You startle. 

She finds you easily, like she’d been waiting. Mina curls an arm around your back, pressure light as if she was suddenly worried about being too familiar. It tightens when you lean into her and she smiles with more vigour. 

“C’mon. Let’s get you something to eat”. 

The distance between you and them is barely that of a crevice, but it is daunting, yawning like a trench. Over in the far left booth, both secluded and closest to the bar, is a group of friends. Directly beneath a lantern strung onto a hook, Katsuki is bathed in orange and nursing a drink. The others are tucked away in the booth, cups and plates lining the table top. Their laughter slows as you approach and you battle the urge to recoil from everyone’s eye. Mina, sensing the discomfort, begins to rub her hand along your back. 

“All of you scoot up,” she asserted, wiggling her pointer finger. “Make some space for us!”

They move around on the long, curved seat to make space. You end up on Katsuki’s right, sandwiched in by Sero who smiles, though awkward, earlier remorse persisting as you take your place beside him. “What’s the verdict, are you happy with your room? Best I got from Bakugo is a grunt”. 

“Yeah, I like it. You did good picking this place. It’s cosy,” you glance over toward Katsuki. “Beats a cave. The fireplace is nice. I wonder if it works…”

Mina tucks into Kirishima’s side where he sits across from you. Most of the plates are piled up in front of him, food aplenty to sate his dragon-sized appetite. His chin dimples as his bottom lip juts forward, “You guys get a fireplace? That’s so unfair”. 

“C’mon, Kiri. The fireplace is there for…”—Kaminari leans in, suggestively lowering his voice and nudging Katsuki’s left arm—“…ambiance”. 

You feel a gentle nudge. Katsuki, ignoring his friend's harmless influx of innuendos, slides a glass across the table toward you. “What is it?” you ask, bringing it to your lips. The liquid is dark, red like fresh blood, but it smells fruity. Before he can tell you, you’ve taken a sip. 

It is weighty on your tongue, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. Cherries and jam and oddly well paired notes of spicy tobacco. The corner of his mouth curls into a barely there smile, pleased at the immediate delighted sound. He brings forward a large opened bottle and presents it to you. 

“Barmaid gave us this to share,” Katsuki taps at the calligraphy on the label. “It’s wine. Expensive too, usually”. 

“Guess marriage does have benefits,” Sero gibed, raising a glass of amber liquid you assume to be beer. Expression open in sincere merriment, he declares, “To the happy couple!” 

Six glasses come together, toasting to your accidental bond, alcohol spilling over your hands. Katsuki’s cup is there too, his monotonous voice blending into their hurrahs. A hand slides from the back of the booth to rest upon your shoulders and you lean into it, heat prickling over your skull at the feel of his bare skin. Blood thinning, belly full, inhibitions lost to bliss. 

Mina brings her hands together in a succinct clap, weaving her fingers. “Another round!” she beams, and the enthusiasm stirs once more. 

The evening crawls on. Your modest group barely puts a dent into the chaotic din but it sure can eat. You’re made to swallow your fill under Katsuki’s direction—watching you closer than he did anyone else—and savour the dishes, heady and complimented by your flavoursome wine. 

Stories pass through loosened lips, new and old. You don’t mention it when Kaminari repeats himself twice over— nobody else does, either. You all sink into the balmy atmosphere, sharing food and conversation, relaxing entirely for what felt like the first time in months. 

Sero chokes on his drink as Kirishima recounts the story of when he and Katsuki first became friends. How the tiny blonde barbarian would sneak up on him through the bushes, throw rocks at his tender head, and challenge him to battle all in pursuit of friendship. 

Your shoulders shake, burrowing into Katsuki’s side to sap his warmth. Bare skin pebbles as your fingertips skim his ribs, poking near his armpit. “Would it kill you to communicate like a normal person?”

Trembling mouth pressed firmly together, Katsuki refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of making him laugh. You see through it plain as day. “Shut up,” he grumbles.  

“Didn’t even flinch when ma threatened to eat him if I came home with any more teeth missing,” Kirishima continued, sighing happily. “My bro is so manly”. 

Steadily the energy begins to dwindle into a pleasant hum. You’re together, drunk on wine and laughter and a sense of harmony. Being with them is startlingly effortless. It feels like family. 

In the recesses of your mind you think, I don’t want to let go. 

“Hey,” Katsuki says, sharper when nobody hears him. “Hey, shitheads”. You lift your head from where it had come to rest on his shoulder, cheek slightly numb. “Think I’m going to head up”.

You hear a chorus of sluggish objections with no real heat behind them. While he’s fighting off their interrogation you simply watch him, awkwardly angled and ignoring the twinge in your neck. The bead in his braid glints in the low light. 

Sensing your stare, Katsuki looks down at you, dappled by lamp light. The flames dance in his irises, gaze unbearably soft, as it had been that first night by the campfire. You hold your breath when he sets his thumb with his tongue and uses it to wipe a crumb from your cheek. The touch is like a spark to flint. A fleeting sort of hope stirs in your chest, like this is all you’d been waiting for, that the universe was finally making things right for you. 

Then he snatches his hand back, as though waking up to what he was doing. 

“I’m going to bed. You idiots better behave,” he groused, returning his focus to the group. You mourn his attention. “If we get kicked out early I’ll kill you”. 

“You love us too much,” Mina tucks her drunken smirk into the cradle of her palm, arm almost slipping with the weight. Cloudy eyes follow Katsuki as he forces his way out of the booth like a bull. “Admit it!” 

Bending at the waist he meets her stare head on and deadpans, “Die”. Mina merely laughs and plants a kiss on his forehead that he aggressively rubs away as he leaves. 

You stay a little longer but find your mood dampening. Katsuki’s absence makes known an ache usually quelled by the weight of your pelt, almost as though his presence had placated that innate yearning for home. The thought leaves you dizzy. 

“I think I’m going to go, too,” you announce out of the blue. 

Expressions fall, concerned. Kaminari tilts into your space. You barely even blink at the proximity now. “Everything alright? Y’dont feel sick or anything, do you?” 

“No, not at all—“ he frowns at you, unconvinced, “—I just feel like going for a soak before bed. Sero, you said there was a bathhouse?” 

Sero perks up at his name and nods loosely, head barely held by his neck. “Yeah! They’re around the back, apparently. Just walk beyond the stairwell,” he shoots you a thumbs up. “They’re mixed but only guests can use ‘em, so don’t worry about it being crowded”. 

That’s comforting to know. If luck was on your side it would be empty. You duck out of the tavern with a final wave and a promise to see them in the morning. Thankfully the boisterous chatter grows dull as you step into the night air, stopping to look up the stairwell. You hope Katsuki can sleep through it. 

Heeding Sero’s instructions you follow the beaten path around the back of the tavern. There you discover another building, smaller, but with a steeped tile roof and shuttered windows. Curious, you gently lift the green dyed curtain hung in the doorway and enter the earthen-floored threshold. 

You are led to what you guess is a small changing area. Cabinets left open, again each handle corresponding the key colours. You find a lavender ribbon and peer around the empty space, contemplating getting undressed. 

Gathering courage you pull the strings in your shirt slack, slipping your arms from the sleeves and pulling it over your head. Tepid air breathes over your skin as you push down your pants, stepping out of them where they pool at your feet. Your clothes are folded and left on the shelf, boots lined neatly by the doorway. 

Further in is an open space covered in tiles of smooth green. There are low stools and basins with natural running water, washcloths and soaps. While unpracticed you are at least somewhat familiar with bathhouse etiquette. Sitting hesitantly, hissing as your bare thighs meet the cool wood, you dip one of the cloths to soak and begin to scrub at your body. 

The knots in your muscles become undone with the repetitive motions, again and again until you’re lathered in bubbles. You breathe in, feeling the humidity cling to your lungs, and rinse away the soaps. 

Eventually you dub yourself clean enough to enter the baths. The seafoam tiles soon taper to stone that borders the baths. You take in the tall ceiling with beautiful carvings along the walls and high placed glass windows allowing the moon to shine in easily. The patterns are comfortingly familiar. Shells, waves, gulls, rock formations and arches. Though the bathhouse is much warmer, hot tendrils of steam rising from the bubbling water. 

Penumbral light glinted on the water's surface. It held a distinct earthy scent, rolling in from the nearby springs. Again, you are reminded of a tide pool, but deeper. Clear and clean and natural. What immediately seizes your attention is the familiar man sitting close by, a head of wet golden hair still somehow holding its shape, the loose strands that typically make up his braid now tucked behind his ear. 

Katsuki tips back to rest on the bath's edge. A thin white towel is laid across his face. Your gaze follows the slope of his shoulders, roving over his defined chest, skin pink with the heat. Rivulets run between his pecs to his sternum, lower body distorted below the water but patently bare, same as you. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding and quickly look away from his lap. 

Time spent with Katsuki taught you that he hated being treated delicately. Tip toeing around this was not an option. You would join him in the baths and behave as normal. But—

Humans were fickle about nakedness. Where should you sit? What is an appropriate distance? Straying too far could make him defensive, yet getting too close might—

“Are you going to stand there all night?” 

Startled, the soles of your feet almost slip on the smoothed stone. “You knew it was me?” 

Katsuki scoffs. The towel remains over his eyes, obstructing his view, that which you were grateful for. Your previous indifference had so abruptly burgeoned into apprehension. Just the thought that he might see you this glaringly bare and skinless, a body without boundaries, made your stomach swoop. It is a peculiar sensation; you wanted him to look and you didn’t. 

“Nobody else thinks that loud. Unless you’re Deku,” you can imagine his eyes rolling, the exasperation clear in his voice, though not unkind. The corded muscles in his shoulders shift beautifully as his arm stretches across the bath’s edge, wrist limp to allow his fingertips to breach the surface. He flicks the water in your direction, creating capillary waves. “Just— fuckin’ get in already”.  

“Right,” you laugh quietly under your breath, descending the steps into the baths. The heated water is soothing, climbing the length of your lengths, eventually coming to rest above your hips. 

You sink near to him and pointedly keep your eyes above his collar. Katsuki neither twitches nor acknowledges your approach. In fact, you aren’t sure he is even breathing. It occurs to you that he too could be nervous, tempted to look but refraining. The possibility of being wanted by him brings a sudden sharp sort of awareness that slides through you and heightens your senses. 

Outstretched fingertips brush featherlight between your shoulder blades where you lean back against the wall. You sit with your knees close to your breast, relieved to be covered. “I thought you were heading to bed,” you comment quietly. 

“Saw the path and followed it,” he replies, stiff shoulder jerking as he shrugs. “Wanted some quiet”. 

A deep pink flush is spreading across his collarbones, clawing up the column of his throat. Your rational mind knows it is caused by the steam, yet the greedy part of you, the part so distinctly human, wants to know if you affect him as much as he affects you. 

These feelings had gradually been accumulating since the very beginning. You’ve no idea where to put them. The voice in your hindbrain all but panics at the idea of leaving. You’ve spent a lifetime listening to your instincts and they’re telling you to keep your place at his side. 

You inhale until the pressure in your chest is smothered by your lungs and your heart beat slows. Exhale. The water shifts in sync with your subtle movement. Emboldened by the wine in your veins you slide closer. The soft hair on your legs prickles, everything in you gravitating toward him. Katsuki doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Always staring,” a flustered growl snaps you back to reality. “You got something to say to me?” 

“No,” you answer too quickly. 

“Good,” his upper body sinking lower. After a length of silence it must get to him. Voice pitched low, as though afraid to disturb the atmosphere, he mutters, “Ever had a bath this big, back at that shitty castle?” 

You snort. He turns at the sound and the surface ripples as you quickly smother it with your wet palm. It’s easy to picture the searing glare beneath the face towel. “Sorry. It’s just,” your mouth pulls into a tipsy grin. “All things considered, this place is pretty small to me”. 

“Dumbass. You know what I meant,” he huffs, not bothering to hide his fond exasperation. “The sea doesn’t count”. 

Humans are cute, you concluded. Trying to emulate the ocean in their warm wooden structures. “It counts,” you insist, moving closer still. You’re giddy in the water, with him. Like you’re sharing some special part of yourself in a strange way. “Have you been?”

A rough hum, “Where?” 

“The sea”. 

“Which one?” 

The steam must be making you light headed. You’re tucked to his side again. Thigh to thigh. Skin against skin. You are acutely aware of your shared nakedness. His arm has slipped over the bath's edge to drape around your shoulders. “The closest, obviously. Or any of them,” you knock your knees together. “It’s not like you to be purposefully obtuse”. 

“Big attitude for a little fish,” he mutters, free hand reaching for the towel, sliding it up to his hairline and revealing a crooked grin. Your heart squeezes. “Course I’ve been in the ocean. Flown over it on Red a few times too”. 

You want to do that, too. To bear witness to the wind driving the currents from above, feel the sea salt spray sharp on your cheeks, touch the unreachable seam where your two worlds become indistinguishable.

“Never bathed in it, though?” 

“No,” he drawled, an impatient edge to his tone. “I don’t plan on giving the finfolk an eyeful of my dick anytime soon”. 

You laugh, “Like you are now, you mean?”

Katsuki tears off the face towel before you’ve any time to process it. The water thrashes. You daren’t look away. His stare has a certain ferality, pupils dilated, fair lashes damp from the steam and clumped into little spikes; it pins you in place like prey. 

The blush across his chest is matched in his cheeks. A droplet slides down the delicate slope of his nose. You feel the surface of the water calm and settle just above your breast. You watch his gaze flicker reflexively to them, then to the ceiling, then clamping shut with a growl. Apprehension pulses through you and your thighs clench. 

“You—” he inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts. You track the movement of his tongue as it swipes across his lips. Thickly, Katsuki asks, “What are you trying to do here, exactly?” 

A sense of dejection comes over you and your immediate response is to feign innocence. “Soak with you,” which is no more than a half truth. You attempt to create some distance and his arm coils around your waist. Any effort to twist away from him proves futile; a snake that constricts the more you struggle. He doesn’t allow you to slip away, hand hot at your hip. 

“Yeah?” but there’s no real bite, no vitriol as he drags you closer. “Soaking, s’that what you call this? Rubbing up against me, practically climbing into my lap?”

You might feel demeaned if not for the lust hemming his words. His grip is bruising, fingers kneading soft flesh. You can see this for what it is— a choice, a question. He’s confused, and wanting. Presenting an opportunity for you to change your mind in the face of his callousness. Katsuki is kind, in his own way. 

Your palms come to rest over his sternum, pushing with no real effort, an accomplice in whatever cat and mouse game he was trying to play. His breathing picks up, abdomen clenching. You stare where bodies meet, low light reflecting off the wet sheen. Beneath your touch his heartbeat ricochets around his ribs. 

Katsuki calls you. Your name is barely above a whisper. Peering up through your lashes as his hand comes to cup your nape, the other massages simple shapes into your hip, his fingers splayed across your navel. You exhale shakily as his pinky fits into the crease of your thigh. 

He cradles your nape, guides you into his magnetism, and then you’re tilting— your world with it— into a careful kiss. Static blankets your thoughts. Katsuki’s lips slot over your own, a gentle press that quickly grows feverish as your tongue traces the seam of his mouth. 

Exhaling harshly through his nose he drags you over his lap, the bath water splashing onto the stone tiles, holding you to his front in a way that makes it difficult to discern where you end and he begins. You have all of him now. Half hard under you and tense like he was exerting effort not to do anything about it. Hands wandering, mapping out the topography of your body, clutching greedily at your thighs. Smoke fills your throat, a tang of explosive magic lingering in the grooves of your teeth. 

Minutes passed imperceptibly. You leave it feeling as though all the sinew in your body had unravelled, undone in his embrace like loose skeins of yarn. Katsuki doesn’t appear any more composed than you are; staring at you, slack with hunger, jaw relaxed the way a beast would do to taste the air. Palms cupping his cheeks, thumbs moving in idle back and forth motions under his eyes, you smile—

“Katsuki,” you murmur reverently. For reasons you can’t understand, it wakes him up. Snaps him out of his stupor. Panic flits over his features and you’re being pushed away, deposited back into the water. It rocks with the abrupt movement, waves breaking against your chest as he brusquely wades toward the steps with the small towel barely covering his modesty. 

Echoing louder now, “Katsuki?” 

And he was gone. 

You stare at the entrance to the baths for a long time, willing him to return. You stare until your eyes sting and you’re forced to blink. All that’s left is the soft sound of the running springs, your shallow breath, and the muffled chanting of a few drunken men. 

An emptiness makes home in your chest. Bereft, you follow in his steps, exiting the baths and heading to the changing room. You pat yourself down, rough towel absorbing the moisture, and pull on your clothes. 

A hopeful spark catches when a figure ducks in under the curtain. Snuffed out, then, when Mina greets you cheerily. She seems to have sobered up for the most part, more coherent than you’d last seen her. 

“You took a dip too?” she bounces on the balls of her feet as she undoes her shirt buttons, oblivious to your somber disposition. “I saw Bakugo come from this way too. Looked a little constipated if you ask me. I thought hot baths were supposed to relax you, not—”

Finally, she looks at you. Her voice stops as her brows pinch into a frown. You offer a brittle smile and endure the scrutiny. “Did something happen?” she asks worriedly. 

Your throat closes up. Your teeth sink into your cheek and lower your gaze to the tiled floor, cracks overlapping as your vision blurs. Mina reaches for you. She halts in your periphery, thoughts and actions misaligned. A flash of hesitance, and then determination. She strides across the threshold to pull you into an embrace. Her arms slip around your shoulders, crossing over one another at your nape, tightening. 

The tension begins to soften. Your body slumps, sinking into her kindhearted warmth as the rigidity weakens with your resolve. Bowing into the crook of her neck, you inhale her gentle scent. A soliflore smell, a flower you don’t know the name of, earthy undertones and hints of saké. 

Your eyes are wet. Tears cling to your lashes as you blink. The moths dancing in the lamp light blurs, small specks of white stretching and flickering like pallid butterflies. Breathing shuttered, there’s a thickness in your throat that squeezes your voice into a frail whisper. 

“Thank you”. 

She hums, rubbing a comforting hand along the top of your spine. Her natural heat seeps through the thin fabric of your shirt. Though her arms are muscled they are also supple, like her chest, like her waist. You haven’t been held like this since you last saw your podmates. 

After a few beats she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You shake your head, grasping your bearings, “No”. It’s best left between you and Katsuki. 

“If you’re sure,” Mina gives a final crushing hug before releasing you. “I’m bunking with Sero tonight. Knock if you need anything”. 

“I will,” you say on the end of a shuddering exhale. “I’ll see you in the morning”. 

She hums, watching apprehensively as you make your way through the changing rooms. The retention of her heat clings to your clothing when you step into the cold night air. Your boots rub at the sore skin around your ankles, fitting loose, having foregone tying the laces. They encumber your steps, obtrusively loud and ungainly on your journey up the stairwell. 

A closed door should not be so daunting. Your hand hovers over the handle, steadily turning it, flinching as the locks click open. Low light floods in from the hallway and your eyes adjust to the darkness between blinks, the shape of a figure under the covers sharpening into view. Katsuki is laid on his back, hand disappearing under the pillow beneath his head where your bunched up pelt resides. 

Hesitant, you shut the door and kick off your dirty shoes. You tiptoe around the frame and climb into bed. You try to alleviate your weight, balanced between your hands and knees so the mattress won’t dip, yet it is futile. “I’m sorry, Katsuki,” you whisper, feeling fragile as you lower into the linens. He’s awake, you can tell despite his efforts to appear otherwise, because you feel him stroking your sealskin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“…Shouldn’t have done that,” his cadence is unsettlingly calm; gently sheathing the sharp words. “We’ve been getting too comfortable, letting shit influence us. It was just the magic talking”. 

What? 

“It’s not—”

“Go to sleep,” the volume raises in momentary frustration, but as quick as it came, anger dissipating. Dropping his head into the pillows he looks as defeated as you feel. He closes his eyes. “I won’t fuckin’ do anything to you so just. Sleep”. 

You try, fitfully. The atmosphere is unbearable, keeping you glued to the far side of the bed lest you accidentally touch one another. Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you remember. You ache. You stare into the shadows and wonder at what point did the intentions become so crossed. 

Katsuki valued the right to choose above all else. You liked that about him. He respected and surrounded himself with people who steered their own destiny, marching to the beat of his own drum; a rhythm you had fortuitously interrupted. In his mind he’d given into a temptation, and that act of indulgence was somehow the same as losing in battle. 

Katsuki viewed your relationship as an infliction he needed to fight against. 

That knowledge hurts you in ways you hadn’t expected. The words “we’re getting too comfortable” reverberated around your skull. Perhaps he was right. Somewhere along the lines you forgot that these truly were temporary circumstances, childishly wishing that maybe he’d come to love you, that you could simply accept this reality and grow into each other like a child into new shoes. 

You blink. Linens rise and fall with his shallow breath. Katsuki’s mouth is open, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. His lips smack together as he bundles you closer. Unconscious, yet still seeking you out. He’s devastating even when he’s not trying to be. 

Sleep feels impossible. 

Then you wake. 

Morning spills her dewy light throughout the room. Katsuki’s side of the bed is empty— made up and tucked at the corners. Cold. You are suddenly a distance apart and scrambling to make it all better again.

You push up into a sitting position. The bedsheets shift and pool around your hips, creasing the perfect slate Katsuki left. You rummage for the pelt hidden behind the pillows, dragging it out and around your shoulders, ducking your nose into the dark fur for comfort before tying it to your midriff. 

Judging by the sun’s position you would guess it is still quite early. Sluggish movement can be heard through the thin walls, indicating that others are awake. Knowing Katsuki he would want to set off early to find Uraraka, especially after last night.

Another figure joins you in the hallway. Kaminari remains unaware of your presence as he fiddles clumsily with the key, squawking when it almost slips between his fingers. He’s dishevelled, shirt half tucked into his belt, cuffs undone and hung off his wrists; there’s still an impression of his pillow printed on his left cheek. 

Having finally turned the lock, Kaminari spins on his heel with a happy hum. The tune escalates into a shriek as he notices you standing a few feet away. “Holy—! Warn a guy, would ya?” he clutches at his chest, exhaling harshly. “I think my heart just stopped”. 

“Sorry Kaminari,” amused by his shrill intonation and melodramatics, you smile for the first time that morning. It exaggerates the bags under your eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” he falls into step with you, knocking your elbows together on your way out into the stairwell. “I don’t think you can say the same, though,” his mouth twists into a smirk, “did Kacchan keep you up all night?” 

Normally the teasing wouldn’t bother you. In many ways you saw it as a sign of acceptance into the group. Now you wince like somebody had carelessly pressed a bruise on your body. Kaminari, for all his obliviousness, knows when to drop the masquerade. 

Your smile tightens uncomfortably as his fingers circle your wrist. In daylight you are left feeling exposed, unable to temper the regret written so plainly across your face. His mouth opens and shuts, searching fruitlessly for the right words, only to be interrupted by a callous shout from below. 

Katsuki’s voice is incredibly distinct. He’s yelling, which is nothing new, but now it is with genuine frustration. Kirishima, Mina and Sero are there alongside him, speaking in low tones as you would to an untamed animal. 

Kaminari tugs at your sleeve and gives you a meaningful glance, gently coaxing you to the bottom of the stairs. He must’ve at least connected Katsuki’s poor mood with your own.  “Kacchan, my man. It is too early for all this shouting,” he implored, settling back into his jovial self. 

You collect yourself, trying to retain shape and rationality as Kaminari draws Katsuki’s ire. Those vermillion eyes rove over you, head to toe, before flickering to the man on your right. Fast, like he’s afraid to look too long. Nostrils flare. The warm puff of air from his nose is visible in the cool air. 

“It’s late enough. What took you so long?” Katsuki snarled, poking a finger harshly between Kaminari’s eyebrows. “The keep told me cheeks is planning on leaving today, so all of you get moving”. 

Kaminari pouts, rubbing at the spot. The pale skin turns slightly pink. Unheeding of the wary scrutiny he is receiving, Katsuki charges onwards in expectation that everyone will follow. Kirishima raises a brow at his shape verbiage but doesn’t comment. He takes you under his arm in a half hug, sharing a look of understanding with Mina and the others. 

Sero recounts their findings. According to the townspeople, Uraraka, the occultist, landed her abode miles outside of their bounds and set up wards in the valley to confuse strangers. It steered them in opposing directions and sent them in circles, practically making her impossible to find. You’re worried clear up until your group crests the precipice of a steep hill several hours later.

You take in the gentle undulations of earth and fauna. Grass tall enough to brush your shoulders, wildflowers and weeds hugging the barely worn path, sparingly tended nature left to flourish. The magic becomes apparent with proximity. It hangs in the air like humidity, an unnatural sheen muddying your vision. Katsuki continued with brass-bound determination; weaving skilfully through the runes, barrier fracturing under the pressure of his explosive palms. 

There’s a quaint cottage in the middle of the glen, done up with a sweet ivy on the walls, latticed strips of wood around the windows, and a cobbled chimney towering from the pink tiled roof. Each windowsill appeared to have a different unidentifiable herb growing on it. A small, circular stained glass window in the door refracted the afternoon light, a knocker below it. Hanging by the door frame is a wind chime, shells tied to strings producing delicate crisp sounds in the breeze; in the effort to knock, Katsuki shoulders it carelessly, and the tune turns sour. 

His fist comes down with hard momentum, stopped midway by another. “Be careful,” Kirishima gently chides. Katsuki shoves his hand off, sparing him an incredulous glare, which the shifter subjugates with a pointed reminder: “She won't help you if you bust her door down, bro. Play nice”. 

Katsuki grunted his understanding, jaw clenched. He raps his knuckles on the wood. The sound is dull, and you stare down at your scuffed boots as an unpleasant pang of anxiety knocks around your chest. A voice shouts from inside, somebody scurrying around, then the door is pulled open. 

“Can I—Bakugo?!”

“Uraraka,” Katsuki greets bluntly, giving a short nod. It is the first time you’ve ever heard him say her name. His hands flex at his sides, restless. Through gritted teeth he adds, “Deku sent me. I need your help with something”. 

“Oh,” Uraraka exhales in disbelief. She steps back, pink slippered feet in your periphery. “Come in, then. I haven’t seen you guys in forever…”

Their voices fade into the background. All at once subconscious acts like breathing and blinking become tiresome. Hearing him let go of his pride felt so final. You fall away, stuck in a cold fog. Your gait is uneven as you remind yourself to put one foot in front of the other, incognisant to the worried looks thrown your way. 

You remember being seated on a plush feather-pillowed sofa. Hands running over your shoulders, grounding you. You reach for your pelt, sinking fingers into the downy fur, and find no comfort in it. Now you’re here it feels more like a husk, leaden and hollow, ready for you to be stuffed into. 

“You married a selkie by accident?” Uraraka blanched, her volume rousing you from your haze. “You know, Bakugo, for someone so smart your ignorance is truly astounding”. 

“Can you fucking reverse it or not?” 

“Reverse it. Are you kidding? You’re not. Gods, Bakugo—breaking a soul bond isn’t common,” Uraraka snaps, rubbing roughly at her eyelids as she loses patience. You feel a pang of guilt, that which worsens as it unearths the hope that perhaps she wouldn’t be able to separate you from him. “Most of the methods are based on myth. You realise it will be incredibly painful, and possibly for nothing?”

You take in the surroundings while they continue to bicker. The cottage is modest. A small foyer leads to the living space, rugs of various shapes and colours laid to insulate a path through the house, runes and scrawls carved into the hardwood walls. Logs presumably for fuelling the hearth monopolise much of the space, spilling out from the nook in which they’re stacked. There is nothing particularly otherworldly, at least not where you can see it. Uraraka obviously lives within her means, a humble and frugal person despite wielding magic of her calibre. 

“I do have something I can try, ” she sighs with a sidelong glance. The skin on her lip breaks between her teeth. Your prolonged silence has likely done nothing to reassure her. You try to feign interest, to smile and express gratitude, but she grimaces. 

“What do we have to do?”

“Essentially I can sever the bond at the stem but not the root,” the group is quiet, tense as they listen. Mina’s grip is bruising, as though making sure you were still there. “The dissolution of your marriage will only be complete when the selkie returns to the sea. Within a day or two they’ll… forget you”.  

You sense the atmosphere darken. Katsuki shifts his weight in your periphery. Neither one of you can look at the other. Whether he’s threatened by your feelings or ashamed of them you can’t be sure, but what you know is that they are real, sown and tended in the weeks you spent together. 

Kirishima exhales a shuddered breath. His big body crouches before you, warm hand resting on your knee. Kaminari and Sero linger on either side, watching over the scene, wearing grief plainly on their faces. A broken part of you wants to laugh. They are acting as if this is your wake. 

“Are you sure about this?” he implores, discreet and unintentionally cruel. If you were to say no, what of you then? Nothing to do but follow them on their journey, dragging along like the hide of some shorn animal. Stuck waiting for Katsuki to resent you over an incredibly frustrating and misplaced presumption that he played a part in fabricating your thoughts and feelings.  

Uraraka’s method may well cleave the ties created in your accidental matrimony. You trust in her capabilities because Katsuki clearly respects them. You’ll say yes. And after it all, when your soul has been excavated, when you’ve gone home crying to your mother, rocked to sleep in her gentle undertow, you will still stubbornly want him. 

The thought comes unbidden, a sudden clarity that overcomes you. At that point he would have no room to question your will. “I’m sure,” you say, still breathless with the realisation. “You can go ahead with it, Uraraka”. 

Hesitating in her movement, Uraraka considers you for a moment longer before disappearing down the hall. When she returns she pulls seven tear shaped crystals from a velvet satchel. Dread churns in your stomach, sensing the energy emanating from them. 

She begins to recite machinations beyond your comprehension. Opalescent rays of light burst from within her enclosed fist where it pressed against her mouth, dappling sentient shadows across her face, now taut with concentration. Her features ripple and distort, not unlike a reflection on the ocean's surface, then fades into obscurity as the spell settles into its conduit. 

Uraraka hands the lustre of the stone to you, knuckles pale as she squeezes the magic out into your cupped palms. As a pup you would try to drink sunlight, specks chased across the seabed as the clouds shifted, caught like a cat to a mouse only to remain empty handed. Light was not made up of solid matter— it was intangible. To be felt, seen, but not touched. 

Yet it is swirling in your hands like that lovely warm wine from the night before, slipping through the thin cracks in your fingers. “Drink it,” she coaxes gently. 

You look at Katsuki. His eyes flicker up to meet your own. There’s an awful urgency coursing through your body, frozen like a fawn, something inside willing you to stop. Begging him to speak up. He lowers his gaze, expression pinched and inwardly furious. 

Heel to chin, you tip your head back as if drinking from a cup. Her magic is entirely flavourless, waning with your own imagination as if it were allowing you to choose the taste yourself. The consistency is like steam; inhaled rather than swallowed, and hot on the roof of your mouth. 

Elemental magic was external in the way it bursts forth from the user, often causing flesh wounds or dramatic change in the terrain. You think of Katsuki, the calamity at his fingertips, juxtaposed by the tender manner in which he would always touch you, cauterising your fear. Uraraka’s magic is unforgiving and uniquely invasive. It is so much worse than being burned. 

It spreads through your sinuses like searing wildfire, pressure balloons behind your eye sockets, undoing the seams that make up the very fabric of your being. Waves of nausea engulf you, throat tight and constricted. Breathing laboured and irregular, you fight against the urge to retch it all up. 

It’s too much. The incorporeal spell pierces through your mind, tearing at the bond, more overwhelming than anything you’ve ever been dealt. Knife-like pain persists after her chanting stops. You wince and cradle your head, weeping as it passes. Left in its wake is a muted soreness throbbing across your brain. 

“Hi,” Uraraka is before you, ducking to examine for any injury. Careful, her fingers encircle your wrists and pry your hands away. “You’re okay. Can you look at me?”

You squint, reluctant to blink and irritate the soreness around your eyes. “How’s your vision?” she asked, sotto voce. Her touch is deliberate and gentle, slightly pulling down your bottom eyelids, petting over your jaw and down the nape of your neck, feeling for something. “Does anything feel wrong, or out of place?”

Wrong? your mind echoes. Out of place? Cold is creeping into your muscles, gritty and dense like wet sand. You’re unnerved by the veil of apathy that settles around you. “I don’t think I’m injured. The light is more intense. Hurts,” you admit, voice breaking. 

Everything that remains the same yet is somehow more drab, lacking colour and difficult to look at. Your friends, clinging to each other. Your Katsuki, staring back at you. “But I can still see everything”. 

“Good,” she breathes, relief entirely palpable. If this is success then you wonder what the worst outcome might’ve been. “That’s good. If you reach for the bond, is it there?” 

You’re not sure what she means. Seeking connection you clutch your sealskin to your front, kneading at the familiar fur. It’s minor but it’s back— the voice belonging to the tide, beckoning you to shift again. “I don’t think so,” you reply. 

“Then there’s only one thing left to do,” Uraraka smiles and covers your hands with her own. You sense the tips of her fingers ever so slightly across your collar where they brush the pelt bunched in your fists. “You’re free now. You can go back home”. 

Her soothing countenance might as well be dry grass to your precipitous anger. “Right,” you deadpan, voice entirely devoid of emotion. Best kept that way, lest you release all your bubbling frustrations onto a woman that only wanted to help you; in her eyes—and the rest—you were just another trapped, useless selkie. 

That anger carries you to your feet. You want to cry but the tears don’t come. When you exit the cottage with a curt bow and a ‘thank you’ you find yourself in the lead for once, marching ahead of the group. They remain a few feet behind, muttering amongst each other. Without the view of Katsuki’s back you feel lonely. Even so you keep your hurried pace, too afraid to turn around and be inundated with questions. 

The journey back passes in a blur. Hours, surely, because you’re ready to pass out from the exertion. Loose dirt and geosmin clings to your clothes.  Shadows stretch across the emptying streets as dark cloud cover canopies the town, sparse instances of light rainfall that stick to your skin. There's a chill in the air now, a bite to it that rattles your bones and quickens your breath. It’s damp, imbued with the scent of sea salt. 

You don’t stop, not when the desperate calls of your name begin. Further up the dock is lit golden, lanterns lining cobbled roads and emitting a warm orange glow. You trudge through the quieting bustle, workers scurrying to shelter, while enduring a pervasive sense of wrongness. 

You don’t know what to do with this freedom, this precipice, so joyless and empty. Slowing to descend weather-worn steps onto the beach there’s a presence at your heel. “Shit. Would you slow—!” Katsuki moves to stop you. His fingers flex, start to close around your wrist. Then they hesitate and fall away, clenching at his side until all the blood recedes from his knuckles. “You don’t need to immediately run off into the damn water”. 

“It’s easier this way,” and quicker, you think. 

“What?”

Listening to the sea sings an ancient litany, you let your anger wash away with the oncoming tide. The whiplash is intense. Your lips tremble, pulling into a tearful smile, laughter bubbling up through your chest, choked by the swell in your throat. “I think I understand why you’re always yelling now,” cumulus clouds pass overhead and bring with them a curtain of rain.  “Being human is very melodramatic”. 

Katsuki clearly hadn’t expected that, of all things. His expression softens in his surprise. The short hairs by his temples are laid flat, braid swinging in the breeze, the fur around his cloak dark and saturated. “That’s what this is? Baby’s first tantrum?” his tone is mean, and your hackles would rise if he were not visibly deflating. Katsuki reacts to vulnerability like a wounded dog. He laughs despite himself and scratches at his neck, “Fuck. I thought you’d be happy, or something close to it”. 

Standing a few feet behind him, Kirishima, Sero, Mina and Kaminari are linked together, waiting to approach. They remain in your line of sight as you consider the barbarian in front of you. A cold shock billows through his cloak, a wave crashing onto the shore. He shivers, but remains stubbornly rooted to the steps. 

“I’m not happy,” you lamented. “I’m going to miss you. You are an impossible man, Katsuki. Impossible to forget. I wish you’d believe that”. 

Katsuki’s mouth opens and shuts. Silence falls once again, and he can’t find the words to fill it. Your fingers work at the belt keeping your hide secure, tugging it loose and letting the sealskin unfurl, blanketing the length of your body. 

Mina takes this as an indication that you are leaving. She rushes ahead, stumbling past a stunned Katsuki, gathering you into her arms. The pelt is trapped between your bodies as you curl into the embrace. You feel yourself warm up, the wet winds rolling off the sea obstructed by three larger figures trailing right behind her, encasing you in a group hug. 

Constricted from all sides, the arms around your waist tighten. Mina’s nails dig in, and she shakes you gently in an attempt to scold you, “Don’t go leaving us without a proper goodbye”. 

Kirishima is at your back. He must be. The height, the rough skin, the hard spikes in his hair poking at your nape where he inhales deeply, memorising your scent. Sero flanks your left, resting his head on the shifter's shoulder as dark eyes watch you. Kaminari bears down his weight, slumping against your right, a sour metallic taste at the back of your throat as the grip on his magic loosens with emotion. 

It feels wrong without Katsuki. You crane your neck and look for him. The sight of him dithering off to the side, alone and wearing a visage of muted guilt, makes your insides twist. Your hand bursts through a crevice in the huddle, coaxing him over. 

He comes. Mina drags him into the middle without fanfare, and enclose around you in a last ditch effort to keep you together. “This is the worst,” Kaminari snivelled. “It’s like my parents are divorcing all over again”. 

Katsuki weakens to it. Gives a quiet, choked laugh and it blows warm across your temple. You’d know his hands anywhere. Hesitant, they rest on your hips. You close your eyes and centre yourself in the present, tilting your head to rest on his collar. The motion drags your lips up to his jugular and you kiss the words against the damp skin, thicker than intended, “I’m—really, so happy I met you all”. 

The briny air greets you when they finally step away. Mina rubs harshly at her eyes as your feet sink into the sand. There are stragglers by the port but nobody along the beach, so they trail after you to the shore, equal parts unwilling to leave and curious about your selkie form.  

You’re pointedly aware of their presence as you shake out your fur. You hold it to your face for a moment, blocking out the wind, the light and the rain with how insulated it is, before setting it on the sand. Kaminari coughs, the group spinning on their heels when you begin to undress. Katsuki does not. 

Kicking off your boots as you fiddle with your shirt strings, you consider the barbarian, impressing his appearance behind your eyes for a final time. “What will you do after this?” 

Broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. Looks up to the sky, frowning, a blush on his cheeks. “Go further inland to one of the bigger cities to find something to pay back Deku, I guess. Circle around, head back, and then home”. 

Shirt discarded, you unbutton your pants, letting them fall down your thighs, and step out of them. “How long will you be in the city?”

Shrugging, he grunts, “A week at most”. 

That’s good. Long enough to wait out the final stages and prove his place in your memory. You nod, spine straightening with determination. “When you circle back I want you to stop here again. Just for a day”. 

That half lidded gaze slides over to you, squinting. Pointedly kept above the shoulders. Searching. “Why?” 

The tide crawls further ashore. A wave breaks around your ankles. Your toes wiggle in the sand, sinking as it is displaced, a small smile curling at your lips. You bend to grab the pelt and slide it around your shoulders like a coat. It’s comforting, familiar. Energy thrums at the surface of your skin, ready to pull. But you wait. 

“In a week. Promise me?” you say without explanation. 

Katsuki swallows. Eyes boring into yours. His jaw shifts. Then he nods, tersely. Reassured by this you hold the coat tighter, chin tucked as you steady your breathing. Consciously, you reach inward, drawing upon the pelt.

And you change. Falling to your knees, cold water biting at your thighs, you crumple in the sand, body shrinking as flesh and fur meld together. It’s painful after so long, unsettling to be snapped back abruptly into your hindbrain, but the discomfort eases quickly, like stretching a muscle. 

You lift your upper body, nose flat and wide and twitching, scenting the air. The sand sifts under bootstrapped feet. A human approaches, beautiful and familiar, lowering into a crouch as you freeze. Forearms resting on his knees, he holds out his fingers. Faintly smoky, a mix of spice and earth. 

The way in which this man appraises your form is uncomfortably solemn. Vacuous expression betrayed by the gentle light in his eyes. He smiles ruefully and readies himself to speak. Alight with a bitterness that is vaguely accusatory in the oncoming darkness he says, “Already forgot us, didn’t you?”

It steals the breath right from your lungs. Recognition strikes through you. Bakugo Katsuki. The thought is alarmingly fleeting, almost evading your grasp. Nostrils flaring, you drag your body forward to wipe the look of self-deprecation from his face. You nudge your snout into his hand, not shying away from the fierce elemental energy radiating from his palms. You unhinge your jaw, canines gently indenting the heel, as if to scold him. 

He laughs, disbelief bleeding into the sound. It beckons his pod, more humans— one not so human. “Don’t fuckin’ scare them,” Katsuki calls over his shoulder. Not once do his eyes stray from you. 

A thick tang of draconic magic overwhelms your senses as the largest in the group mirrors Katsuki, making himself impossibly small, aware of his magnitude and the imbalance between your species. “Wow…” the shifter, Kirishima, breathes in awe, genuine rather than tainted with greed. “So cute”. 

More people come closer. Their faces filter through your memories in bits and pieces, stitching together into a patchwork timeline. “Yeah…” Mina echoes the sentiment. She gets on her knees, doesn’t care when the waves drench her skirt. “You’re beautiful like this too,” holding her hand an inch away from your skin, she asks, “Can we pet you?” 

Five fingers to your scruff, one hard pull and you could be torn from your rudimentary shell. Human hands are dangerous but not these ones. You give a short tonal whine and hope she interprets it as permission. They do, taking turns tracing the marbled fur and clawed flippers, murmuring awe filled words. 

The tides are high, wrapping around and coaxing you into their arms. You look toward the horizon and the itch grows. A seamless vista of clouded sky. Warm mouths litter the top of your head with kisses, their blunt human teeth behind soft lips, juxtaposed by rough, barely decipherable mutterings of something that sounds mournful. 

Mina sniffles as Kirishima helps her to her feet and they wade backwards toward the port. Katsuki cups your muzzle in his palms, searing where his thumbs swoop beneath your cheekbones, brushing over the whiskers by your nose. “Stay safe out there, yeah? Don’t get eaten by a shark or whatever,” he bends, bringing your foreheads together as if to impress his thoughts onto you. “I won't wait around for a weakling”. 

You can only hope he saw the promise held in your eyes as you stare at his retreating back. The swelling waves pull you into the current, submerged until only your head is above the surface. In the distance your pod breaks into cheers. They line up on the beach, jumping high as their legs will allow, waving their long arms in the air. 

A descending chorus of trills build in your own throat, mellifluous and loud enough to cut through the wind and the waves. Noise becomes muffled as you’re submerged into the dense water. Wrapped up in brine the ambience fills your head. It pushes out rational thought, drawing only instinct to the forefront. 

Your vision adjusts quickly to the dark the further you swim. Stretch your flippers and sweep them down like a dragon's wing, flying through the depths until you tire. Coming to an ocean shelf, there you rest. Cradled by a moving, ever evolving element. Creatures big and small pass by. Fish with vermillion scales haloing wide faces dart in and out of your dreams, shimmering under weak streams of sunlight. 

The shifting tide keeps you cognisant. You linger close to the surface to monitor the sun. Days pass and you are unbearably alone. It is harrowing; this unending, sombre ache. You think of Katsuki. Repeat his name until it sounds foreign. You recall his handsome face, the way his eyes always seemed brighter in the early dawn, how his nose would wrinkle if you stared too long, like he’d tasted something bitter. You miss him. 

Come the week’s end you’ve become something else, something new. Irrevocably changed by love’s hand. You recognise that you exist in two worlds: as a  selkie, tethered to the seabed and embraced by buoyancy, and as a human, struggling against the currents, compelled back to land—

To Katsuki. 

You glide through the waves, riding them as they swell and break onto the shore. Undulating your body, the hitching motion pulls you forward, wriggling up into a cluster of rock pools, safe from any onlookers. You wait there, chin propped on the shoulder of a jagged stone to observe the beach. 

He finds you there beneath an almost oppressive dusk. The approaching footfalls command attention, announcing his arrival. You slink into the shadows for a moment, detailing the subtleties in Katsuki’s expression on his march along the sand, pinching more and more as he casts he searches the beach. The breeze ripples through the notorious red cloak, fur collar tickling his cheeks. Shirtless, wearing his scars proudly. His pants sit low on his hips, adorning various belts and jewels. Warmth curls up in your chest at the sight of him. Giddy. You remember him. 

You lift your head. His focus immediately latches onto the movement. A croon rumbles in your throat as he approaches. He climbs up onto the rock, towering over you, his body obstructing the evening sun. It halos around his golden hair. The braid by his ear falls forward as his head tilts, squinting to get a good look at you. 

The laughter lines by his eyes deepen, brow creasing. Almost slipping as he climbs down, Katsuki frowns at the lack of traction on the surface. You laugh and it comes out like a rough snort. The shallow pools splash loudly under his boots upon landing. He curls his upper lip at you, “Laugh at me and I’ll kill you”. 

You do so again, more deliberate this time. He senses your sarcasm and flicks water at you. Your whiskers twitch, subtly tasting the air. He slumps hard on one of the flatter ridges and clicks his tongue. “This better be you and not some random fuckin’ seal I’m talking to,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

Unwilling to prolong your reunion any longer, you shed your pelt. Joints slot into place, the sealskin receding, your human form unearthing as it loosens and pools around your naked lap. Katsuki watches the air bite at your skin, nipples pebbling as you shiver. 

“Katsuki,” you rest your cheek on his thigh, knelt between his legs. You let him take it all in. Satisfied with his assessment of you his fiery eyes meet yours. 

“Almost didn’t come. Figured you wouldn’t be here,” he intoned gruffly, chin dimpling as he juts his bottom lip. “You were supposed to forget about everything”. 

You nod, mouth curling into a helpless smile. Your fingers flex and you feel the muscles jump underneath, “I know”.

Katsuki exhales a long breath, fists clenched tight in his lap with obvious restraint. “Why didn’t you?” his eyes track the movements of your hands. “It worked, I know it did. Cheeks doesn’t do shit halfway. I felt when… So what the hell are you doing back here?”

You pause when his words register, suddenly off kilter. There it is again, the displeased wrinkle on the bridge of his nose. You had never considered that he, too, would’ve experienced the connection. Admittedly a naive oversight on your part—but he never mentioned it. You figured it was just a selkie thing. Perhaps, all that time, he had been contending with his own feelings as well as yours. Wondering if he could trust himself, if they were true. 

Vows dissolved, he still chose to come back for you. To bet on that slim chance. Just as you did. 

The knowledge compels you to touch him more, to reassure, to lean further into the clutch of his thighs. The intrusion forces his legs wider and when you reach to cradle either side of his taut jaw he lowers to close the distance. 

“I felt it, you know. Before you offered me my pelt I felt you touching it,” you begin, watching how his expression splits open as your eyes meet. “I knew it was safe with you”. 

“That’s stupid,” he utters, though you can hear that he doesn’t mean it. Embarrassment slowly stains his cheeks pink. You can feel him twitch, smothering the instinctive urge to snap at whatever made him feel so intensely. 

“Maybe,” you pull back a hair's breadth to lightly knock your heads together. “My point is, I was drawn to you before all that, in such a short window. I think… I didn’t forget you because those feelings grew naturally”. 

The more you speak he progressively gets pinker, flustered and mad about it. It births an odd, primal urge to sink your teeth into something. To bite his cheek white, watch the blood retreat under the skin. Instead, you slide your hand lower to rest on his neck and his own cuff your wrists. 

“That first day, you apologised to me because I never had a choice,” there’s a soft grunt in acknowledgment. His pulse dances under your palm. “I’m making one now of my free will. And you—can say no, if you want,” you stutter, then, suddenly realising the real possibility of him rejecting your request altogether. “But I want to be here with you”. 

The last rays of sun stretch across the land, cosseted behind soft clouds as it sheaths. Katsuki considers you quietly. There’s a soft sort of intent in his eyes, wearing the revelry of dusk. You kneel in the rock pool, literally and figuratively bare, heart pounding in your throat as he readies himself to respond. 

“Back at the bathhouse…” he hesitates, promptly clears his throat and struggles to look at you. 

“Nothing was influencing me that night. Except maybe the wine,” you admit timidly, abashed at his sudden demurity. “I’m sorry”. 

That garners a reaction from him. In true Katsuki fashion his tongue clicks behind gritted teeth and applies pressure to your wrists, pulling you up. “Come here,” he tells you. You uncurl your legs and begin to stand moving with all the grace of a newborn fawn. “Oi, don’t—!” jerking his head to the side, he averts his gaze from your naked lower half, glaring at the shoreline. The sea-scented air prickles your skin, heat gathering where he has you held. “Expose yourself to everyone in the fuckin’ country, won’t you? Come here,” and then he’s hooking behind your knees, making them bend, gathering you into his lap in bridal fashion. 

“What’s the problem?” you mutter. Heat creeps up your neck, feeling defensive and distinctly embarrassed by his behaviour. “I don’t see how my nakedness is any different here than it is in the public bathhouse”. 

He holds you closer, voice vibrating through his chest as he roughly insists, “It’s different”. 

Your pout softens into a small pleased smile, letting him manhandle you until he’s satisfied with his grip. He bends, incidentally baring his throat stretching for the pelt discarded by the rocks. Tucking your nose to the underside of his jaw you revel in how his arm tightens around your lower back. 

Katsuki draws the pelt into your lap, covering your modesty. You laugh at how sweet and boyish it seems. “Laughin’ at me again, huh?” two fingers pinch at your cheek, pulling until you whine. “Got a death wish?”

Kneading at the sealskin coat your affections roar into existence once more with an intensity. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” you grin, and he abandons the pinch to stretch his big hand across your face. Thumb on your left cheek, fingers on your right, he squeezes together until your mouth is misshapen and pursed. 

“Sure about that?” he warns, tone steeped in fondness. It is exhilarating to have him touch you again, more freely than he ever had before; it is as close to ‘I believe you’ as you think you’ll get. 

You smile with your eyes, locked with his. Close enough to count every fine eyelash. Your words come garbled as you say, “You still haven’t given me an answer”. 

Katsuki exhales shallowly through his nose. His throat contracts as he swallows. The pressure releases. His hand cups your face, flexing with uncertainty. You shudder when he dips to press your lips together. You’re kissed without hurry, besotted by his firm but cautious movements. He relaxes as you lean into the rhythm, humming proudly. The soft, wet sounds of your mouths meeting again and again echo over the crawling waves. 

Katsuki pulls away first, eyes still closed but smiling to himself. He licks his lips and rasps, “I guess you can come along with us,” as though that was all the answer he needed to give. 

Alight with excitement you squirm in his lap, earning a quick slap to your hip. Katsuki ignored your grumbling and set to covering your body entirely. “Hold onto the corners,” he says, draping the hide over your shoulders, comforting warmth enveloping you as you obediently take the corners. “Put your arms around my neck. Do not drop it”. 

You do, curtaining both of your bodies with the pelt in the process, fingers interlocking at Katsuki’s nape. Your faces remain a whisper away. It feeds a skin hunger that plagued you for days. Satisfied, he then unties his cloak to slide it over-top, layering the two to keep you covered. 

Your stomach swoops as Katsuki pushes to his feet, carrying you in his arms with no sign of exertion and much better balance than before. His bicep bulges, fingers flexing under your thighs. “Where are we going?” 

Sand and broken shells crunch under his boots, gait leaden like wading through mud. Mariners whistle suggestively in your direction as he climbs the steps to the dock, making his teeth grind. “Taking you back to our room,” he grunts.  

You flush with heat at the implication. “You still have the key…?” 

Without disrupting his pace, Katsuki’s nose nudges along your temple to press a kiss there. “Said my shitty wife left something behind,” you feel his mouth pull into a smirk, “so they gave me it to go take a look”. 

A pleasant sensation erupts in your stomach. Fluttering like butterflies. “And the others?”

Darkness covers you when he ducks into a narrow alley. Katsuki meanders along the winding path with unfettered confidence. “I sent them on ahead. Said I’d catch up on foot,” he explains, eyes darting over the surroundings, striding back out into a familiar road leading to the tavern. “Wanted to be alone”. 

You’re carried up the stairwell despite the stern assertion that you would be just fine on your feet. In that same vein, Katsuki is clearly just fine taking all of your weight— proud of it, you think. Unwilling to put you down.  

He shoulders into the room and kicks the door shut. It is as you remember. Dim and homely, accented by a lamp that casts a soft yellow glow over the bed. Heavy footsteps take you forward, and you are swiftly deposited on the mattress. You bounce a fraction, losing purchase on the pelt and cloak. Both layers peel away, rumpled under your back, leaving you splayed out and bare. 

Katsuki stands next to the bed, watching the rise and fall of your chest. His features are tender in the light, smoothing his hard edges. It flickers in his irises. Gaze hungry, restless. 

Your body can’t help but react to Katsuki’s silent observation. The ardent stroke of his eyes across every part of you like it were his hands themselves. Heat races through you and coils between your legs. Feeling exposed, you try to close your thighs. 

There’s a hand on your knee, stopping the movement, firm but gentle as he pries them back open. Katsuki moves closer and kicks off his boots. The mattress dips under his weight. One knee on the bed, your legs part further to make space for the intrusion, wrapping around his waist without second thought. 

“This okay?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. You exhale shakily, hands roving along the thick of his arms to clutch at his shoulders. The buckles on his pants bite into the back of your thighs. You can feel his arousal swelling through the fabric. 

Rocking your hips, your feet cross at his lower back. “Yeah. I want…” his eyes flutter, almost rolling up into his skull, pupils dilated. You chase the phantom feeling of his lips with your tongue and he tracks the movement. “Kiss me again”. 

“Thank fuck,” Katsuki groaned, the sound dwindling into a low chuckle. His forearms settle either side of your head, pressing all his weight down, pinning you to the bed. Taking up your vision until only he is in your orbit. The braid by his ear hangs loosely, the bead cold where it brushes your jaw. You tremble, fingers threading into his hair to scratch gently at his scalp. 

Your mouths slot together and he kisses you full, nibbling your lips until they part. Pushing deeper, tongues sliding over teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs. He handles you with indecision. Careful kisses followed by rough ones; grabbing at the soft parts of your body a little too hard, smoothing the flesh with his thumb in apology. 

It’s overwhelming how much he wants you. And you try to return the fervour, arms sliding around his back to keep him close, undulating your hips to feel the tremors wrack through him. 

The talons strung around his neck graze over your chest as he descends. Kisses left on the corner of your mouth, cheek, jugular. He takes your pulse between his jaws and you whine, clenching at his waist. Katsuki moves away, laving his tongue along your throat. 

“Wanna touch you,” he says. Goosebumps break out across your skin as he blows cool air over the wet stripe left behind. “S’all I could think about. You’re fucking distracting”. 

“Yes. Please,” your eyelids flutter, leaning back to hear your throat. “Please”. 

“Needy,” he mumbles, a satisfied lilt to his tone. His hand slides down to your ass, grabbing one cheek and filling his palm with it as he spreads you open. “Bein’ too quiet. I like it when you say my name,” he rasps. “Gonna let me hear it?” 

Fingertips brush against your sex. Heat flushes under your skin, anticipation and understanding unfurled within you. “Katsuki,” you sigh into his mouth. 

Katsuki flashes a predatory grin. Pleased, and pink all the way to his ears. Breath puffing over your lips he says, “Again”. 

“Katsuk—ah,” his thumb circles over your swollen clit, sparks zipping up your spine. Your breath hitches. You chase the touch, his four fingers splayed low on your navel; the other cups the back of your knee to keep you spread as he descends from throat to chest, forging a path of wet kisses, stopping intermittently to softly suck at the flesh and coax blood to the surface. 

You’re wet. Wet enough, warm enough, that the still air feels cold on your skin. His lips wrap around your nipple and you arch up into the sensation as he slowly sinks a finger inside of you. You take him to the knuckle, and he waits, gradually pulling out until you’re clenching around a fingertip. 

Again and again he fucks you on his fingers, adding another, curling them up mid stroke to brush the most sensitive part of you, spreading them to work you open. You mewl, steeped in pleasure as it diffuses through your belly, pooling between your thighs. 

Katsuki watches you, peering up through heavy eyes, mouth full of your breast. He flicks his tongue over the pert nipple, coming up and switching to the other, lavishing you in attention. You exhale, tremors wracking your body. Cradle the back of his head, grip tightening reflexively when he hits that sweet spot, and the groan rumbling in his throat prickles under your skin. 

Satisfied, he continues lower. Throws your legs over his broad shoulders, laid flat along the bed. The mattress jerks when he ruts into the sheets, still confined in his pants. You hold his gaze as his cheeks hollow. Saliva pools into his mouth and he tucks his chin, spitting it on your clit, massaging it over with his thumb. 

You shudder, hips canting. “Shit, look at you,” he pants, voice so thick and supple you want to wrap yourself in it. “Keep your eyes on me, yeah?” he litters kisses across your inner thigh, pressing praise into the sensitive skin there. Your heels dig into the thick muscle at his back when he dips to kiss your clit, licking in and around his fingers. “I wanna see your face when you cum”.

You’re pulsing around him, frantically chasing the feeling. It’s— overwhelming, like you can’t breathe through it, and every string in your body has been pulled taut, wavering on the precipice. You reach to grasp his forearm. The muscles flex under your palms, pave unrelenting, and tears begin to sting behind your eyes. 

“Fuck, Katsuki,” you gasp, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Feels so good, I can’t… Katsuki I can’t—”

A broken sound reverberates throughout the room the moment he stops, pulling back and leaving you empty. You can barely believe that it came from you, squeezing your eyes shut in shame. But then he’s right there, crowding into your space, caging your body with his own. “Oi,” he softly takes your jaw, “What did I say? Look at me”. 

You squint up at him. You take in his swollen lips, lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, hair matted to his forehead, arousal and spit coating his chin. For the first time you think you might understand, just a fraction, the greed of those who kept you. Because now you desire to be the one to take. To keep. To stow away his shamelessness and be the only one to see it. 

“You hurt?” 

“No,” you whisper, blinking away the haze. Katsuki tucks his knees up higher against your middle, tops of his thighs shelving your splayed legs. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, empty. “I’m sorry”. 

“Don’t fuckin’ apologise,” he tucks his nose against your temple, indifferent to the sheen of sweat. You inhale his musky scent and slide your arms around his shoulders. “Got too in your head, huh?”

His cock twitches in his pants, still hard and pressed to your thigh. Gathering your bearings you subtly rock your hips into his lap. You shiver at the sharp hiss by your ear, the drag of his soft lips over the shell. He nips at it in warning. 

“You want to keep going?” 

You nod, playing with the thin hair at his nape. He rumbles and it feels like a purr, pushing up only to pull at the belt buckles around his waist. Impatient, you reach to help, pulling the leather out from the loops, fingers trembling. 

Katsuki frees his hands and lets you work at the buttons. He wears a small, crooked smile on his face as he watches, chest rising and falling with every anticipatory breath. You pull them down his hips, a trail of light hair leading from his bellybutton to his cock. He shifts, hooking into the waistband and pushing them down his legs, kicking them off the bed. 

In your impatience your fingers wrap around his length, playing with the soft skin. You circle the blushing tip, smearing pre with your thumb. He throbs, abdomen clenching with a guttural moan that shoots straight to your own. 

“So impatient,” he cups your jaw and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Get me nice and wet?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, detailing how his pupils expand as you slide his cock through your folds. The corner of his mouth twitches. He grins as he dips to kiss you. It is more chaste than the last, a kiss for the sake of kissing. 

Then the grip on your jaw tightens. Firm and unyielding. Katsuki’s big hand engulfs yours, squeezing his dick, teasing the tip at your entrance. “Gonna make you cum on my cock. But you’ve got to listen to me and relax. Okay?” 

You desperately want to dig your heels into his lower back, to drag him inside and fill up that awful emptiness, to take him to the hilt and keep him there. Instead you acquiesce, forcing yourself pliant; rewarded with a soft kiss, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Take a deep breath for me,” he tells you. You inhale, ribs expanding as your lungs bloat. Slowly, Katsuki pushes his tip past your entrance, and begins to sink his cock into you. His expression shutters, eyes rolling shut as his face scrunches up. Strained, he says, “Breathe out, baby. Slow”. 

You exhale, ending on a long moan as skin meets skin. He settles in the cradle of your hips. “Good,” his voice is gravelly, strained. His nails bite at your waist, “And in”. 

Repeating the motions your muscles clench around him as he pulls out, as though your body couldn’t be without him. He huffs through his nose and you feel it hot on your cheek. It continues like that. He fucks you slow and deliberate, pinned to the bed like a butterfly, guiding your breathing. You cannot look away from him. He’s devastating. He’s yours. Wild spikes are tousled around a flushed face, mouth kiss-bitten and slack with awe. “Katsuki,” you whisper, each more frantic than the last. 

The earlier intensity does not return, rather, it accumulates inside of you with every inhale, suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. The pressure has you bursting at the seams, undone by the indelible drag of his cock, how his pelvis pressed so perfectly against your clit, little incantations of your name murmured into your hair. 

“Ah, fuck. Katsuki, I’m—” your thighs seize either side of his waist, toes curling as the words catch in your throat. “M’gonna…”

“I’ve got you,” he fucks you a little deeper, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his neck flex with exertion. “In and out, baby. I’ve got you”. 

Those practised breaths quickly stagger into uneven whines as you’re tipped over the edge. Ley lines erupt behind your eyelids. You arch back into the sheets—pelt and cloak rumpled beneath—as the pleasure quakes through you. 

Katsuki fucks you into your orgasm and then beyond it. You cradle him to your chest when his rhythm stutters, releasing a long groan as he spills into you. 

Together you collapse back on the mattress, rolling onto your sides. He slides his arm beneath your head and hooks your knee over his hip, keeping himself nestled inside you for a while longer. You lie there until the fog recedes, leaving a sated contentment in its wake. 

In that instance you can no longer tell where the line of your own body ends and where Katsuki’s begins. You feel warm, comfortable against him. All the fears and hypotheticals that sought to fill the hole in your chest have faded. You realise in those intimate few minutes that home is what you choose it to be. A place, a concept, a person. Home is the ocean, said to cover more than half of the earth, fissuring inland and stretching further than the eye can see; it is a current that will always run in your veins. But humans, too, are made of the sea. Water, minerals and tissue. Home is in the blood that rushes to Katsuki’s cheeks when you kiss him. 

This is where you belong. 

Eventually Katsuki decides he needs to get up. Your objections go ignored, silenced when he returns dressed with a damp cloth to wipe you down. Once he's done he pulls up the bed covers and manhandles you under them, declaring that he needs to go downstairs and pay ‘that woman’ for the room. 

“Won’t be long. Don’t even think about getting up. I’ll need to buy you some clothes tomorrow…”

Grin hidden under the blankets, you call out to him before he goes. He stops in the doorway, softened by the lamp light. Feigning innocence, you jokingly ask, “Before you go, could you pass me my pelt?” 

Your heart races when he reflexively goes to do so, only for him to halt halfway. His eyes narrow, lips thinning into a smirk:

“Real fuckin’ funny”. 

[eupheme]

— been too long

Rated E - 1.2k

Tags: QZ-era (slightly possessive) Joel, angst, kissing, memories and references to explicit encounters (PiV & oral), feelings, multiple pov

a/n: just a little fic about QZ!Joel and kissing and the feelings that he definitely pretends he doesn’t have

He’s too used to talking. It’s all he’s done, all he’s known for so long.

But when he’s with you, he wants to give. He tries - as much as he can, with what pieces he has left. They’re yours, pricking your fingers as you try to fit the slivers of himself back together.

Joel rarely kisses you.

Well, you shouldn’t say that. He kisses you back.

But he rarely initiates.

That part is on you. The “good morning’s”. The “goodnight’s”. The “I missed you’s” - words unspoken, but woven into the desperate press of your lips, the fingers that curl into his jacket. Anchoring him to you for just a second longer.

Where his muscles used to string tight, for the briefest moment. Not used to this - a soft touch, your touch - until he’s exhaling, relaxing just a little. That hesitance eroding with time, until it only flickers with his tentative fingers.

Letting you set the pace. Sweet or hungry, waiting for the scrape of your teeth, the sweep of a tongue. Only after does he lean into it, as if you’ve granted some kind of permission.

With how hard he seems, in your hands - he’s so soft. Grey-flecked curls twisting in your fingers, that stern mouth pliant against yours. The quiet exhale of breath that he’s been holding, as he melts.

As if he’s been waiting to be allowed to touch you. As if you haven’t been his, only his, since you first laid eyes on him.

Captivated ever since you noticed just how much of himself he allows to flickers across his expressions. Settling in his mouth.

The pull of his lips over teeth with a rare smile.

The plush curve of a smirk.

Thinned with anger, twisted with a snarl.

How they part with a soft pant, a throaty groan.

You’ve seen each one, time and time again.

The first stolen from him in a moment of selfishness. After weeks of wondering.

After you’ve already known what it feels to have the weight of him inside you. The low husk of his voice as he groaned, tenderness twisting into his words as he spilled into you.

The beat-up recliner had groaned with your combined weight. His fingers pinched where they bit into your hips. Guiding you, hushing your cries when he speared himself deep - saving you from the thin walls of your apartment.

Your eyes had wandered. To the pretty part of his lips. To how his eyes watched you so hungrily. It has you wanting, wishing, the words coming without thoughts.

Joel. Can I?

Please, let me-

His chin tipped up. Something like permission in the way his eyes dropped to your mouth, the small jerk of his head.

You had taken.

It has you thinking now, that you would never mind if he stole one from you. Not at all.

You think about it often, actually - just how good he is at it. Probably not even realizing how it makes you melt. The way you shiver in his arms, how it only makes you crave him more.

Treasuring those moments when he finally lets go. A broad hand that cups your jaw as he’s bent over you - tipping you face up to reach his, as he takes you from behind. Still waiting, but putting you within reach to take what you want.

A mimicry of what you crave, when he’s between your thighs. Nudging them apart - spread wide so he shoulders can fit between them. The dip of his head and the flick of his tongue, those eyes fixed on yours until you fall apart. A kiss so intimate that it makes you ache, when you remember it later.

It has you wishing so often that he just would.

But… he doesn’t.

It’s been two weeks since Joel has seen you.

Not that he’s keeping track.

Heard you got a cold, stuck inside your shithole of an apartment for a week. Part of him feels like he should have been there with you. Festering, together.

Instead, he had stayed away. Not wanting to examine the drop in his stomach, when Tess mentioned you were sick.

The sweet wash of relief after, when it wasn’t the sickness he now knew well.

He could have stopped by. Brought over food, left it outside your door. Cans of soup keep, and he’s not like he didn’t have some stashed away.

But he couldn’t do that either. His legs like lead - leaving him tethered to the broken, cobblestone street outside your building.

If you had looked outside, how many days would you have seen him? Just standing there?

He used to be able to fix things. Build them, make them.

Furniture. Homes. Memories.

A painted-white bassinet, the twin bed that came after. The pine stained in his garage, done by his own hand.

But for the last twenty years, he’s only seemed to ruin. Everything denting and breaking beneath his grip, twisted beyond recognition.

A different kind of stain. One he can’t scrub off his hands, no matter how hard he’s tried.

He can’t shake the thought that if he reaches out, that you’ll crumple like the rest.

A part of him shattered that day, never to be repaired. He’s had to make do with what was left. Start all over.

So, he stayed away. Waiting for you to come to him, like you always did.

But without meaning to - he finds you first.

Joel can tell himself he hasn’t been looking. That he doesn’t leave a few minutes early, walking past your favorite haunts on his way to his work detail.

Just looking for a glimpse. Content with even a shadow. Some sort of evidence that your light was shining again.

It’s been a week of nothing. Tacked on to the week of your illness, and it adds to his restlessness, his unease.

This morning, he still takes the same path. Through the alleys between the tall, silent building.

Almost missing you.

A flip in his guts when he doubles back, seeing how you bend - fingers fixing the laces of your boot, propped up on a pile of broken milk crates.

Listening idly to the boy that chatters in front of you. Someone that shared your shift with you - you’ve told him his name but Joel never bothered to remember.

All he knew was that it was someone that wasn’t yours.

They see him before you so. Idle gossip dying on his tongue as Joel’s shadow stretches. The crunch of his boots against the asphalt. Worn brick scraping Joel’s wrist, as his arm braces on the wall, just above your head.

Your companion slips away just as your head turns - as you brighten.

Smiling, just for him.

He’s too used to taking.

It’s all he’s done, all he’s known for so long.

But when he’s with you, he wants to give. He tries - as much as he can, with what pieces he has left. They’re yours, pricking your fingers as you try to fit the slivers of himself back together.

And seeing you now makes him think that maybe - just this once - he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

His hand is rough and warm against your jaw. A perfect fit as he cups it, angling your face up to his.

Joel’s mouth meets yours first.

A fierce thing, swallowing your little gasp that bleeds into a groan. Noses brushing as he leans into it, hungry. Lips parting to slip his tongue against yours, licking into mouth as his fingers press into your skin - where you gently mold around his touch.

Never realizing how much tension he’s been carrying, until it slips away under the brush of your fingers. Foreheads pressing together, as you break the kiss to inhale a ragged breath.

“Been too long.” He husks, his voice low - rough, in the early morning.

Allowing his lips to brush against yours again. Eyes closing, as he comes back into himself again.

Letting himself feel you smiling - as you pull him back in for another.

Thank you so much for reading 💖

[thefuseoftemptation]

TO BE ONE

finnick odair x fem!reader/ finnick odair x tribute!reader

warning(s): cussing, pre-established relationship, angst, the use of y/n, character death. lmk if there are more!

a/n: dk why I’m like this

—

“Finn?”

It was whispered out, head still held up, staring at the one person who you always looked for in times of reassurance, much like now. Your hand at your stomach.

It went through.

The tip of it sticking out from your back as the end of it—at the front— staring them in the eyes before you were removing it and lowering yourself, unable to stand anymore.

“No!” Finnick had caught you just before you could settle onto the sand, arm around your back just under your shoulders as the other was hovering over where the spear had been located— shaking as he saw the extent of its entry.

“Hey, hey, hey- look at me.” While you had been the whole time, never once removing your eyes away from his, it was more so to keep you up. Something said to keep you from thinking about what was going on. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay. We’re going to be okay, you hear me?”

Finnick was shaking, trembling even, as he held you— trying to comprehend where it took a turn.

You guys heard it before you saw it, the gasp, only to lookover and see Gloss holding Wiress. It all happened suddenly, nonetheless you reacted as the rest had. Like you were taught- trained. Katniss had gone after the other career tributes, you not far behind. And it wasn’t until Finnick looked up from where he was that he saw you had left, not taking a second to follow while he called out your names. 

There was never a time when his eyes weren’t on you, and if there was, they were always looking to make sure you were in his line of sight at least. So to know you weren’t, and not even in arms reach sent his stomach turning, even more so knowing where you guys were at of all places.

You had kept your eyes on Katniss as she kept hers on Brutus, all the while Finnick had been trying to recover from the sudden swipe he received from the former’s bow. It was too much to keep up with, too much to look after and knowing the way Katniss was, and how you also were– it didn’t ease Finnick’s job at trying to keep you all safe. 

He had caught up, swiftly moving himself in front of you, when Brutus had thrown his weapon. Finnick had avoided it, throwing his trident just as Katniss shot an arrow, neither of them knowing that it hadn’t been the same for you.

“Y/N, look at me, look at me.” Your eyes were glassy, as you stared up at him. He could see you, feel you, slipping through his fingers.

“We’re going to get out of here, okay? We’re going to get out of here.” Finnick repeated, most likely as a reassurance to himself. “I’ll-” he swallowed, “I’ll take you out when we get back, how’s that sound?” Finnick said, desperate to get something out of you. “We’ll go to the pier—you’ve always liked going there. ‘Member? It’s where we first met.” 

Your mouth had stretched up a little as you heard his words, tears leaving your eyes as you nodded along, as if it was going to be like that. Like it was going to happen.

Finnick pursed his lips, trying to hold back a sob as he watched you, not because he didn’t want the others to see, but because he didn’t want you to see. The grasp he had on your body, tightened, as if it was going to keep you there. One of his hands came up to your face, turning, as his knuckles grazed along the side of it.

He leaned down, your foreheads pressed to one another– his nose resting on top of yours. 

“I’ll be one-”

Finnick pulled away when he heard you, trying to speak. “I’ll be- I’ll be one of them.” You choked out. 

His brows furrowed, unsure of what you were referring to and like always, you knew what was going through his mind when you looked at him. Your head shifting, eyes now on the water. Finnick followed your line of sight, watching the water move– the waves. It was then that Finnick released a sob, nodding his head when he finally got what you were trying to say.

It had been around the time when you first met, ways ago, the both of you on the pier looking out.

While Finnick made sure to hold himself up right, it hadn’t meant it was always like that for him. Nevertheless, even after all that he had been through, he was still so truthful to himself. It's why you liked him, why you found it so easy to tell him things you never told anyone else before.

“If there was ever a time where I’d have to go back there” Finnick’s ears twitched at your words, understanding where that was. “I think I’d just let them get to me- I wouldn't try.” You whispered, your eyes still on the view in front of you. 

His head turned at what you said, waiting for you to go on knowing there was more.

“You know why?” You asked, not even giving him the chance to answer before you were speaking again. “Because I wouldn’t have to go on with knowing what I’ve done. It’d be over for me and I’d get to come back as one of those.” Your head nodded towards the waves.

“Nothing could ever get to me then.”

Finnick felt himself shaking his head, not at the thought but rather because he could understand. He could see it. And it was in the last few words you spoke that had him making a promise to not only you, but to himself. He’d never let anything get to you, no matter what.

“A wave, huh?” He said, letting out a breath. You finally looked at him, resting your cheek on your knee that was pulled into your chest. “Guess we’ll still be seeing a lot of each other.” He grinned, the meaning behind his sentence making your eyes water.

You knew there was no other place Finnick spent so much time at than the sea, and with your newly confessed thoughts, it had you grasping onto what you guys were to each other. 

Finnick kept calling you, hand on your neck as he turned your head to look at him. But when you hadn’t reacted to his movements, his stomach dropped further than where it already was. Then the canon went off.

"No, no, no!" It was frantic, falling from his lips as he tried to keep your head up.

“Hey,” your chin held between his fingers, “look at me.” Your eyes were staring up, still open, but no longer glowing. Their usual light was now gone as you laid there in his arms, unmoving. 

"Don't- Don't do this to me. Please, don't."

Finnick could hear his name being called, forgetting there were others. Still, he refused to listen, refused to pull his eyes away from you. Because look where it got him when he had.

"Finnick...."

He let out another sob, pulling you close and into his chest. “Not you- please not you.”

He promised. He promised to be there for you, to not let anything get to you like they had. After everything you’d been through, everything you’d done, it still wasn’t enough because in the end- it still left you where you had begun. Whether favored by the capitol or not.

His cries were harrowing to see and listen too.

“Finnick.” Johanna put her hand on his shoulder.

“We have to go.” She said, not liking having to be the one to tell him that, but they had to leave. They couldn’t stay there. 

“Y/N isn’t coming back.”

She’s said a lot of things in her years, but never had she ever thought she’d be saying that. You weren't just an ally- you were her friend, something she had very few of. If any at all. “She’s not coming back, Finnick.” 

She hadn’t wanted to say it and he hadn’t wanted to hear it. “We have to go.”

He knew she was right. It’s why it pained him so much more.

Finnick held you tighter, pressing his forehead to yours one last time before he was letting you go. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” It was like a mantra falling from his lips as he got up, pushing your body away and into the water. 

Peeta handed Finnick’s trident back, the latter taking it into his hold as he nodded his head– knuckles whitening as he gripped it.

As the others began to leave, Finnick stayed behind to watch the waves carry you further away. 

I want to be one of them.

'A wave, huh?'

A single tear falling from his eye as he stared out, seeing your face as he remembered your words that day.

And you were.

—

[auspicioustidings]

Military Operation

Summary: Soap finds out Ghost has never celebrated Valentine's Day before and it all goes a little tits up. This is part of @bunnyreaper's Valentine's Day exchange and is for @juvenillia <3 (I signed up for this before I went into an absolute depressive fugue state so I can only apologise that it is not my best writing)

Words: 3k

“I’m naw fucking around, this needs tae be efficient and ruthless. Get in, get out, dinnae take any chances.”

“Yes sir.”

You try to hold in a laugh, eyes watering as Gaz catches your eye and is finding it equally as hilarious to have the Captain refer to Soap as sir. It’s ridiculous and Price knows it, but with how worked up Soap is he’s clearly feeling indulgent. Only all mirth dies and leaves your throat tight when Soap sets his eyes on you, looking wounded.

You had not realised until right this moment how much this meant to him. It seemed silly to you that he was treating Valentine’s Day as a military operation after Ghost let slip that he had never celebrated it, but it definitely wasn’t silly to Soap. Ah shit. Now you felt dreadful. 

“Ok Sergeant, what can we do?”

He softened a bit at your sincerity and as he went over all of his planning you couldn’t help but feel the dread bubble up. You had been on this team for long enough now to know when John MacTavish was spiralling, and right now he was spiralling. It had been a while since his last episode when Gaz had gotten shot on mission and he had spent the next month completely burning himself out in his desperation to look after him. It was how he was, once he cared about you, he would completely self-destruct if it meant he could be of some service to you. It had been Ghost who brought him back that time and honestly you had not a fucking clue how.

You were paired up with Price to get the pool ready as per Soap’s instructions while he handled the rec room decorations and Gaz was sent to deal with food. It was pretty overboard as far as a Valentine’s Day went. Soap’s plan was to give Ghost a card telling him to go to the rec room after a romantic breakfast where there would be a note to lead him to the next location. It would be sweet if poor Soap wasn’t liable to give himself a stress induced heart attack before the end of the day.

“Captain…”

“I know kid” Price sighed with a press of his lips to your cheek. “If we can just get through today then we'll see what can be done. If we try stop him it’ll make him worse.”

You knew he was right even if you didn’t like it. Honestly the relationship the 5 of you had was tenuous at best. You were a unit, you worked well together in the field. You couldn’t really pinpoint when you had become something more than that. It happened slowly. It wasn’t some big confession or conversation, it was affectionate touches turning to something more between all of you. You thought that was perfect, but you wondered sometimes if for someone like Soap who was a romantic at heart and never could hide his feelings, the lack of definition as to what this all was stung.

“None of that corporal. If I have to be up sneaking around at 2am on Valentine’s Day putting bloody rose petals in a swimming pool then at the very least I’m going to take what enjoyment I can from it.”

“Is there any enjoyment you can get from this?”

“Hmm, battle plans are your specialisation.”

“That right?”

“Better come up with a plan for us to somehow take some enjoyment from being here all alone at this time.”

“That an order Captain?”

“Only because I know how much you like taking orders from me.”

You had to give it to Price, he had a way of taking your mind off things and then making you completely lose it. Slowly. Decadently. Several delicious times in a row. 

–

You sleepily speared one of your pancakes and plopped it on Gaz’s plate who just as sleepily nuzzled a thank you into your hair before tucking in. Soap was sharp eyed given that none of you had bloody slept trying to make everything absolutely perfect for his plans. His leg was bouncing under the table as Price and Ghost joined you all at the table. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he blurted out.

Ghost only responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment before Soap put the envelope on the table causing a tilt of Ghost’s head in question.

“Open it LT!”

You would really like to be invested in this, but as with Gaz beside you the two of you were more concerned about how Soap would cope with today. Honestly this could all go completely off without a hitch and he’d probably still be a mess at the end of the day thinking he had fucked everything up. Only it did not go off without a hitch as Ghost started to speak whilst opening the card that would kick off a day of in your face Valentine’s Day fun.

“S’not that I don’t appreciate it Johnny. February 14th is an anniversary.”

Oh no. 

“Not really up for big celebrations the way you lot probably are. Seems wrong to on the day they were murdered.”

Oh no. It was too late. He was reading it. He was reading the card telling him to go to the rec room after he had eaten breakfast. The rec room that was smothered in fucking heart balloons and bunting and flowers. Gaz choked down his pancakes at breakneck speed.

“Totally understandable. Don’t worry about it, we really only had low key stuff planned but maybe it’d be nice to get off base instead” you said with what you hoped was a very believable smile.

“Oh! Aye! A wee off base trip would be good!”

“Hey” Ghost said, his big hand going to rest on top of Soap’s still bouncing leg to stop it. “Stop flapping Johnny. Low key is fine, just let me get breakfast and I’ll come to the rec room.”

Maybe God would be merciful and a nuclear war would start before he got the chance and save you all from being revealed as the most callous assholes in the world who were shoving love in Simon Riley’s face on the anniversary his family were fucking murdered. But since you couldn’t rely on that, you, Gaz and Soap were up and snatching your plates off the table in record time. 

“Sounds good! You and Cap take your time, it’s really nothing big so no rush!” Gaz said with forced brightness and a mega watt smile to Price that in no uncertain terms said ‘please keep him here for as long as possible while we try to do damage control’.

“Aye, dinnae rush! Enjoy yer pancakes!” Soap added, choking on the last word as his eyes bulged out of his head. 

Fuck. The pancakes. The fucking stupid heart pancakes that were sitting ready on the counter for Ghost to take. Only when he stood to go grab his plate, Gaz beat him to it and grabbed the full stack in his hand before shoving them into his mouth. Everyone froze in total shock as Soap sprung into action to help push the rest of the mess into Gaz’s face as he struggled to breathe while trying to swallow. 

“Ah ha, totally forgot Gaz is carb loading! For that marathon thing. Yeah he’s totally carb loading right now, just eating all the carbs in sight.”

Gaz tried to back you up on that around a mouthful of stupid fucking pancakes only resulting in him nearly choking on powdered sugar and syrup while Soap started to frantically steer him out of the room. None of you noticed Price sneaking a photo of the whole scene.

“Aye, carb loading! Cannae help himself! Bonnie can make ye pancakes, they’re the best at them since they always take their time cooking. And then ye can all meet us.”

“Yes! I can do that. Totally. I can make pancakes. Slow cooked pancakes since Gaz ate your portion. Because he is carb loading.”

Soap pressed a frantic parting kiss to your forehead, leaving one on Ghost’s mask and the last on Price’s lips before carting Gaz out of there still coughing and sputtering and covered with syrup. Yeah, totally chill and normal behaviour. If you were anything but in a blind panic maybe it would have been suspicious that Ghost didn’t ask questions, only taking your hips to pull your back against his chest and scrape his teeth against your throat. 

“Better get to making those pancakes before the Lieutenant skips right to dessert luv.”

–

“Jesus what are these made of fucking kevlar?” Gaz hissed, trying to pop one of the heart balloons with his teeth because his panicked fingers couldn’t get the bloody thing untied.

On an empty bloody base and neither of them had so much as a fucking pin for popping balloons after sprinting from the mess to try and get rid of the evidence of a very ill conceived attempt at romance. Eventually he took his teeth to the knot and got the stupid thing undone only to get a mouth full of helium while Soap frantically stuffed bunting behind the sofa.

“This is a pure shitemare.”

“I’m sorry, a shitemare?”

There was a pause before the two of them burst into wild laughter. Gaz from the word shitemare, Soap from Gaz saying the word shitemare with his voice high from the helium. Fuck it felt good. It felt like a release after the last 20 minutes of absolute blind fear driving them to try and sort this fuck up out. 

Honestly Gaz hadn’t seen Soap laugh since Ghost had said about never having celebrated Valentine’s Day a week ago and he missed it. He missed the way his boy’s eyes crinkled and how he carded his hands through his hair and messed it up while trying to catch his breath. He missed how everything felt alright when John MacTavish smiled at him.

He really couldn’t help going and kissing him when he collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa after they had both laughed themselves silly and finished brutally murdering the rest of the balloons and squirrelling away the bunting. Soap had been his first kiss in the team and even now he liked kissing him most. You always teased him about it, knowing it didn’t take away from what you two had. After all, you would readily agree that Soap was the best kisser. 

They still had to get rid of the flowers, but maybe staying here a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

–

“Leave them be sweetheart, they’re cute.”

You were at least relieved that the majority of the decorations seemed to have vanished even if there were still a few vases of flowers around the place, although the bigger relief was seeing your Sergeants tangled up snoozing on the sofa. When was the last time Soap had properly rested? It felt like he hadn’t at all this week. And Ghost was right, they certainly were cute like that. Price took a bunch of photos to prove it. 

You felt thoroughly exhausted as well as you fell onto the other sofa, Ghost following and tucking you into his side. 

“Did nobody sleep last night?”

You stuttered trying to come up with an excuse as to why you were all so tired.

“Could have at least invited me if there was an orgy happening.”

That turned you into a complete flustering mess which only made him and Price laugh.

“Come on sweetheart, get some rest in.”

Well since they had gotten rid of the note in this room about going to the pool next the whole crisis had been averted. And you always loved cuddling with Ghost. A nap couldn’t hurt.

–

“I like the flowers.”

Soap and Gaz shared a relieved look. They had meant to get rid of them but had passed out, only waking up a few hours later to find Ghost on the other sofa scrolling through his phone with you gently snoring tucked into his side. It was a really nice scene to wake up to actually. You weren’t tiny, but Ghost was huge enough to make you look that way. There was something that just made Soap’s chest warm seeing two people he knew went through hell out on the field both relaxed and gentle and happy. His quiet musing was interrupted by Gaz’s soft snort.

“You look broody as hell.”

“Want me to fuck a baby into you Gaz?”

“Not until you put a ring on it, no child of mine will be born in sin!”

Ghost’s laugh woke you but you were cosy right where you were and just listened to the three of them banter away.

“Having Johnny involved makes it a sin baby regardless of who he puts it in.”

“LT! I cannae believe ye’d say such a thing tae me! I’m a good Catholic boy!”

“Hmm, Catholicism does famously love a man sleeping with his entire unit” you quipped, earning a blown raspberry from Soap.

“Ye think my friend JC wasn’t balls deep in Judas and Mary at the very least?”

“Plus we bunk next to one another and they really make a whole big thing about loving thy neighbour so if anything we are simply following the good word.”

“See now Gaz gets it, that’s why he’s the one tae carry my child!”

“Congratulations on the pregnancy?” said Price in amusement as he came into the rec room, only catching the last line of the conversation.

“Thanks Cap” Gaz answered solemnly with a hand to his belly while you just rolled your eyes and smiled at how stupid these idiots were. 

“Can’t wait for the baby shower. Thanks for the flowers, think I’m going to go a swim before lunch.”

It was a miracle Ghost did not feel how you tensed next to him (he did). The pool was still positively smothered in rose petals. Gaz and Soap must have realised at the same time you did, both of them leaping to their feet. Fuck.

“I’ll join you, but let’s swing by my office first.”

You wanted to kiss the Captain for his fast thinking. You just had to get to the pool and fish out the petals while Price kept Ghost busy and it would be absolutely fine.

–

“Where the fuck is it?!” 

You could not believe this. The pool net was missing, the thing you needed to scoop out these stupid petals. The three of you had torn the place apart looking for it but it had yet to materialise. You felt like you were about to burst a blood vessel when Soap started laughing.

“I’m sorry, is something about this funny to you?” you hissed at him.

“Aye, ye look like a feisty wee cat when ye get all angry like that” he laughed.

God Soap loved seeing you angry. Not the angry you got on the battlefield, all blood and violence and vengeance. The angry you got just for them, when you were just normal people having a disaster of a Valentine’s Day and you went a shade darker with your eyes wild, arms crossed and foot tapping a grumpy little rhythm. 

Gaz loved it too, but for different reasons. He knew when you got like this that either Soap or Ghost would start winding you up and it was always entertaining to watch the carnage that came of it. It had only been a week and he had already forgotten how much he liked seeing the two of you like this, having fun.

“Come on, Captain can’t distract him forever.”

Soap’s eye slid to Gaz, hearing the undercurrent of mischief just a beat too late as he was tackled into the pool with a yelp. You really had not seen that coming at all and as Soap broke the surface and shook out his hair you winched at how he switched from the brat you knew and loved to looking genuinely upset. You held a hand out to help him like an idiot only for him to drop his little facade and pull you in with a laugh.

“You fucking dick! I’m going to kill you!”

“At least start gathering petals while you do!” Gaz laughed as you went for Soap.

Only all that did was have you and Soap looking at one another and then to Gaz. He was the one who had started it. And he was going to fucking get it. 

–

Price could not help but laugh at his team. Bunch of kids really. 

“Pretty diabolical stealing the pool net old man.”

“Pretty sick lying about the date your family was brutally murdered.”

Ghost grinned under his mask with a shrug. Tommy would absolutely have done the same, and he could almost hear Beth’s outraged laugh about it. It’s not like he didn’t know what was going on, he had been happy to watch you getting your back blown out that morning at the pool by Price, but he could also see Johnny was going to that place that made him hurt himself. He needed to get out of his head, and nothing got him out of his head like you and Gaz.

“You going to join them?”

Ghost pushed off his mask and Price ruffled his hair, stealing a kiss.

“Well it is Valentine’s Day, so I suppose we’d better spend it with our better fifths no?” Simon replied, going to dive into the pool and join the chaos with his Captain close behind after getting a few more photos.

He’d show them to everyone later that evening since he had been taking them all day. Gaz sleepily nuzzling you in thanks at breakfast. Soap shoving pancakes into Gaz’s mouth. Ghost trying to distract you from making him pancakes. His napping Sergeants and his snoring Corporal. And his brilliant team all crashing through petal filled water laughing and having fun. As far as Valentine’s Day went, he didn’t think it could have been anymore perfect.

[wanderingsorcerer]

APPALACHIAN FOLKLORE 101

Appalachia has a rich history in the united states, which goes farther back than most tend to give it credit for. The Appalachian mountains are millions of years old, and humans have only lived in the region for 16,000 years or so, which means the mountains are bound to hold some mysteries and legends.

Many of these stories, and folk practices originate from the Native Americans, specifically Cherokee, and are mixed in with the superstitions brought over from the old world specifically English, Irish, and Scottish. As well as the practices brought over from the African Continent During the Slave Trade. The Native population assisted the early settlers in Appalachia with ways to survive the area, grow food, and even forage for one of Appalachia's staple foods, RAMPS!!!

Let's delve into the history of Appalachian Folklore and the origins of everyone's favorite stories.

Cryptids and Myths

This is one of the most famous aspects of Appalachian folklore and one which outsiders know the most about, Appalachian Myths and their Cryptids that follow. Below I will go over a few of the more famous ones, which many have learned about, either second-hand or through living in the area.

The Moon-Eyed People

There was a group of humanoids called the Moon-Eyed People, who were short, bearded, and had pale skin with large, bright eyes. They were completely nocturnal due to their eyes being extremely sensitive to light. Although not mythical, they were considered a separate race of people by some. The tribes viewed them as a threat and forced them out of their caves on a full moon night. They were said to have scattered to other parts of Appalachia as the moon’s light was too bright for their eyes. There are some early structures that are believed to be related to the Moon-Eyed People, dating back to 400 BCE. Some theories suggest that they were early European settlers who arrived much before Columbus discovered the Americas. Other theories suggest they were people who had Albanism.

Image of The Moon Eyed People Statues in Murphy, North Carolina

Spearfinger

Spearfinger is a Cherokee legend of a shapeshifting, stone-skinned witch with a long knife in place of one of her fingers. She often was described as an old woman, which she would take the form of to convince Cherokee children that she was their grandmother. She would sit with them, brush their hair until they fell asleep, and then kill them with her “spear finger.” She had a love of human livers which she would extract from the bodies of those she killed. It was said she left no visible scars on her victims. She carried her own heart in her hand to protect it, as it was her one weakness. As the legend goes, she was captured and defeated with the help of several birds that carried the information to defeat her. Though she has been destroyed, sometimes you can hear her cackles and songs throughout the mountains. 

Image of SpearFinger Cherokee Legend

W*ndigo

This spirit is said to go to where its name is called allowed so since most of us already know the name I won't be writing it out in completion. So out of respect for some of our native readers, it will remain censored

The W*ndigo is a creature, sometimes referred to as an evil spirit, that is said to be 15 feet tall with a body that is thin, with skin pulled so tight that its bones are visible. Many native legends view it as a spirit of greed, gluttony, and insatiable hunger. It is a flesh-eating beast that is considered most active during the colder months, and its presence is easily felt and smelt. It has been described as having a distinct smell of rot and decay due to its skin being ripped and unclean. It produces an overwhelming urge of greed and insatiable want. Most notably, it is not one to chase or seek after its prey; instead, it uses its terrifying mimicry skill. It often mimics human voices, screams, loved ones, or anything that might entice its victim to come to it. In some cases, it is believed the W*ndigo is a spirit that can possess other humans and fill them with greed and selfishness, turning them into W*ndigos as well.  

Appalachian Folk Practices

Many of the common Appalachian folk practices stem from things the Native Americans and Enslaved Africans taught them mixed in with cultural practices from Europe. Here I will go over some of the most common practices done by the Appalachian people

Water Dowsing

water dowsing is a practice that has been done for hundreds of years in many different cultures. This practice was brought over by the European settlers and was how many people of the time found where to dig for their water. The practice itself is simple in nature, you take a forked branch from a tree and hold it in both hands and walk around once the stick points down due to the electromagnetic current that's where you dig your well.

this isn't exactly the best way to find water but many people still do it to this day.

Image of Someone Using A Dowsing Rod

Bottle Trees

This practice originated in the Congo area of Africa, in the 9th century A.D. brought to America by the slave trade, in the 17th century. Bottle Trees, were popular in the American South and up into Appalachia, the spirits are said to be attracted to the blue color of the bottles, and captured at night, then when the sun rises it destroys the evil spirits.

This is still practiced in the modern era by many Appalachian Folk Practitioners

Image Of Bottle Trees

SIN EATING

This practice originates from the Ancient Greeks and Egyptians, it branched to many different cultures and has been practiced since antiquity by many Christian and Catholic tribes. And later making its way to America via immigration. The process was once a profession in Appalachia, in which food was placed on or near the deceased and a person dressed in all black would eat the food absolving the dead of all of their earthly sins. This essentially cemented their ability to get into heaven. The practice while sparsely done any more as a profession, it can still be found in many peoples funeral services to this day around the world.

Many cultures still do this practice and the sin eaters usually choose to hide their identity as the practice is seen as taboo to this day.

Popular Herbs To Forage In Appalachia Folk Practices

Wild Leeks or RAMPS!!!

Allium tricoccum, are a species of wild onion native to North America. They are a delicacy, and hold a special place in the hearts of many Appalachians. Native Americans such as the Cherokee ate the plant and used it medicinally for a variety of purposes including as a spring tonic. Early European settlers learned how to Forage from the Indigenous People and continued to eat and use ramps medicinally. Ramps provide many nutrients and minerals and historically have been used to nourish people after harsh winters.

*RAMPS poisoness Look Alike

False hellebore (Veratrum) is a highly poisonous plant that can be mistaken for a prized wild edible, the wild leek, or ramp (Allium tricoccum)

Chicken of the Woods

Laetiporus sulphureus. Chicken of the woods is a sulphur-yellow bracket fungus of trees in woods, parks and gardens. They are delicious and are loved by many foragers, Native Americans, and Appalachians alike. The Native Americans taught the early settlers that these were edible and have been a favorite ever since. Chicken of the Woods is most likely to be found from August through October, but it can be found as early as May and up to December depending on where you live.

*These have a poisoness look alike, Jack O Lantern mushrooms

The Jack-o'-lantern mushroom should not be eaten because it is poisonous to humans. It contains toxic chemicals that can cause severe stomach upset accompanied by vomiting, diarrhea and headache

PawPaws

The Pawpaw Asimina triloba, is well loved by Appalachian locals as a native fruit with a tropical taste. Pawpaw fruit is the largest tree fruit native to the United States, and its custard-like flesh has been said to taste like a combination of banana, pineapple, and Mango. The pawpaw has been used by Native Americans for centuries for both its fruit and its medicinal properties. Many tribes, including the Osage and Sioux, ate the fruit; the Iroquois used the mashed fruit to make small dried cakes to reconstitute later for cooking. PawPaw season is late summer, look for the smell of rotting fruit, eat the ones that are squishy to the touch.

*They resemble mangos on the trees, many options to eat the ones that are on the floor already as they usually have ripened, but you can also ripen them at home.

Appalachia has a rich and beautiful history filled with magic and delicious food. But the only real way to learn about Appalachia is to visit it. Go and speak with locals, learn about the history, their delicious foods, and powerful Grandma magic, and you too will fall in love with Appalachia.

Thank you for sitting down and having Tea with me on the Other side of the Great Divide

[delusional-mushroom]

Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Autism creature reader ii

Apparently you all like this? Sorry about the long wait, school’s been kicking my ass lately.

Anyway, here’s part 2, Bon appétit

Part i | Part ii

You fell.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

All you remember was waking up to Speckle slithering on your face and- HOLY CRAP YOUR WING SHOULD NOT BEND LIKE THAT

After about 10 minutes of wallowing in your pain, you slowly got up.

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow

You took a moment to take in the situation. Your clothes, as well as the ground beneath you, we’re stained in gold. It was hard to miss the golden blood trailing behind you too.

There was also a crater in the ground where you fell.

You see the Hazbin hotel in the distance and with the obvious attitude of “What could go wrong?” You sauntered towards the looming building

Speckle took over sight duty on the way tho. The Bright sign posts and the occasional dumpster fires rubbing salt on the metaphorical wound of your approaching melt down.

When you finally got there, you uncovered your eyes and stood outside for a few minutes before finally gathering up the courage to knock on the door.

Luckily for you, it’s Charlie who opens the door.

You exchange awkward greetings, Charlie beating around the bush of asking you the casual question of you know, why the fuck you’re in hell?

After a few seconds of staring at each other, you nervously fiddle with your thumbs

“So Uhm, I uh, fell, I guess.”

After the initial shock, concern, and confusion, Charlie welcomed you with open arms

At first, the hotel residents didn’t know what to make of you

Vaggie was pretty neutral with you, you seemed alright enough in heaven and if you weren’t gonna make a fuss neither would she.

That is, until she found you making yourself a cup of cocoa at two in the morning.

“Had a nightmare,” you mumbled when she questioned you, hand stretched towards you as if she held her spear to you throat. Did she sleep with the thing? Who knows.

She dropped her arm and took in your disheveled appearance. That seemed to check out. It seemed tonight wasn’t good for you either. “What about you?” She heard you ask drowsily.

“Nightmare.” She said. It was cold and blunt as she turned on the kettle and carelessly threw a teabag inside of a mug. ‘Best girlfriend ever’ it read in black. A gift from charlie, she smiled at the thought.

“Wanna talk about it?” You tested. This situation was more awkward than you wanted to deal with. At least the noise of the kettle in the background filled up the silence.

Vaggie turned to you, the ghost of a smile lingering on her face. Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad.

And since then you and her talked about what was bothering you. Or not. Sometimes you just sit next to each other, a cup of cocoa in both of your hands and enjoy each other’s company.

Angel found you funny

Fat nuggets 🤝 you.

Whenever Angel has to go to the studio, he leaves Fat Nuggets with you.

Whether its for you to watch the pig, or the pig to watch you, well… thats up to you.

He probably won’t open up to you about Valentino

But if he does, the stupid bald moth asshole can expect a lot of passive aggressive [special interest] themed notes that come seemingly nowhere.

Sir Pentious didn’t know what to make of you at first.

To him, you were some random child that showed up one day and could go from staring into someones soul for minutes on end without blinking, to looking like you were on the brink of tears if you hands brushed against a nope texture.

Eventually though, you ask about his inventions.

Bro had a whole “your asking about my theories? I’ve waited years for someone to ask me about my theories!” Moment.

(If you get that reference I love you)

You become hyper-fixation buddies.

You and Nifty don’t get along too well…

“YOU LEAVE THE ROACHES ALONE!” You shriek, holding two bugs high above you hear as the short little menace tries to get to them, knife brandished.

“NEVER!” She laughed back a crazed look in her eye.

…that wasn’t fun. Rest in piece Sir Bob and dame Jane.

Whenever you zone out in front of Husk, he pours a glass of apple juice and gently places it in front of you, eyeing you every now and then, a concerned look in his eyes.

Alastor finds you amusing.

He tried making a deal with you on your first day.

Now Vaggie won’t let him within a 3 meter radius of you.

When you meet Lucifer, he takes one look at you, Speckle coiled around your neck and a bottle of apple juice in your hands and just immediately goes “🫠”

He’s your father now. There’s no getting out of it. Why would even you want to tho?

Hyper-fixation buddy #2

You both rant about your special interests to each other

Be prepared to be bombarded with rubber ducks.

Meanwhile, in heaven…

Everyone: wHeRe iS tHe cHiLd?

[jungkookschin]

demigod trials: fates intertwined

synopsis: you met jungkook at camp half-blood when you were 10 years old. since then, your fates have been infinitely intertwined.

word count: 20k

pairing: son of ares!jungkook x daughter of hephaestus!reader

genre: camp half blood au, percy jackson au, demigod au, childhood friends to lovers, exes to lovers , enemies to lovers, jungkook is sooo in love, jungkook is emotionally constipated, THEY FALL INTO TARTARUS TOGETHERR, jk and y/n are supposed to be reminiscent of percabeth, y/n can wield fire 😳 , ANGSTYY, taehyung as a son of poseidon, namjoon son of athena, mingyu son of jupiter, mina daughter of venus,

warnings: death, angst, blood, kinda gruesome, SMUT (not explicit at all- it's told more in a poetic way), v card loss, many percy jackson references, character death (she comes back to life)

author's note

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 3.5 | chapter four

“Missed me, inferno princess?” 

Jungkook stands in the entranceway of your hotel room, soft strands of fringe falling into his piercing brown eyes like the delicate curtains of a war chariot. He stares at you smugly, the most classic Jungkook smile etched across his lips. 

Jungkook is a demigod, meaning that one of his parents is a Greek god while the other is a mortal. In Jungkook’s case, his celestial father is Ares, the god of war- also associated with brutality and chaos. 

Those vaguely familiar with Jungkook would argue that he is the poster child for everything his father represents:

A ruthless warrior on the battlefield, his every step echoes the thunderous march of Ares, causing monsters and enemies alike to flee like waves of the Red Sea. Thick and muscular biceps you can’t even wrap both hands around, a sleeve of tattoos running around the circumference of his arm, and natural affinity to any weapon- effortless wielding a spatha, spear, javelin, or knife with precision and ease.

Jungkook also rides a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and has had the occasional fling with a daughter of Aphrodite- all echoing behaviors of his father. 

You beg to differ. 

To you, Jungkook is love. Jungkook is your spring solace after a grueling winter, Jungkook churns the gears in your brain and heart that stop functioning. Jungkook is your serenity after war- countless wars by which you both narrowly escaped the clutches of death. 

His presence fills your heart with the warmest, most nostalgic sensation. Endorphins fill the hotel hallway, and suddenly you’re 14, savoring the fragrance of  strawberry fields with Jungkook’s large hands on your waist as you soar on a pegasus over the harbor of Long Island.

You met Jungkook at Camp Half-Blood when you were ten years old. After your fifth grade volleyball coach turned into a giant cyclops and tried to eat you, you found yourself at Camp Half-Blood, a summer camp for children of Greek gods and goddesses. 

Nestled within Camp Half-Blood's grounds are the children of around 20 Greek gods, including the 12 Olympians and various minor deities. The enchanting aroma of strawberry fields wafts through the entire camp. As you explore, you'll find an amphitheater, Pegasus stables, a sword-fighting arena, and even magical cups and plates that intuitively read your mind, materializing the food of your desires. Don't forget the ever-so thrilling challenge of scaling the lava wall, which almost killed you, like, ten times.

It took you a while to adjust to the bustling life in Camp Half-Blood. 

Despite being a volleyball player, your athleticism waned in comparison to the other demigods. You sucked at archery, struggled with sparring, and could barely stand under the weight of armor. 

However, you quickly discovered that you excelled in the forge. 

Before Hephaestus even claimed you as his, you spent hours cooped up in the forge, constructing jewelry, engineering random gadgets and gizmos, and printing 3-D sculptures of your favorite anime characters. 

One day, when you were scaling up the climbing/lava wall, your left foot slipped from one of the ledges and a wave of lava washed over you. Gasps ripple through the crowd of demigods,  and you swore you heard the Hades kids sigh because they had the unfortunate obligation of preparing burials for campers.

Once the wave washed over, absolutely nothing happened. You were still hanging onto the climbing wall with both hands, and your feet found solace back on the stone ledges.

You heard more gasps, and everybody began pointing at something above your head. When you looked up you saw a red fiery hammer, the symbol of Hephaestus, the god of metalworking, volcanoes, and fire. 

Jungkook was only ten years old, but his voice resonated louder than anybody else’s. 

“By the blade of Ares,” Jungkook muttered, an awestruck look morphing into an amused grin gracing his lips, “our little warrior is Hephaestus’s kid!” 

Before inferno princess, he coined the nickname little warrior when you failed to even lift a Celestial Bronze sword. At ten years old, Jungkook always teased you and found the best ways to get under your skin.

You have a stupid theory that you’re genetically inclined to dislike Jungkook. After all, his father was one half of a millenia long affair with Hephaestus’s wife and your stepmom (?) Aphrodite. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, might actually be genetically predisposed to picking on you for how easily his dad bitched yours.

Anyways, what made you even more special was that you wielded the ability to control fire. 

The last child of Hephaestus who had the ability to do so died in the 1700s, meaning that you were a prodigy, an anomaly.  You immediately met with the camp director Chiron to discuss your special abilities, placing you in elite training classes with none other than the Ares cabin and your favorite person Jungkook. 

The head counselor in the Hephaestus cabin, Atticus Gonzales (he is dead now),  personally trained you in the forge, instructing you to engineer and construct contraptions that were lightyears above the proficiency of a ten-year-old. 

One morning, as you get out of bed, you spot a toolbelt resting on your bedside.

From H 

A gift from your father. 

Ten year old you marveled at the toolbelt before wrapping it around your waist. You quickly discovered its celestial magic, capable of summoning any tool you desired or envisioned. However, it had its constraints. It couldn't magically produce enchanted weapons; its abilities were limited to mortal tools like screwdrivers and mallets.

Your first task was to forge a Celestial Bronze knife for none other than the boy who miffed you like no other, Jungkook. 

Celestial bronze is a special metal forged on Mount Olympus, the home of the gods. According to Greek mythology, it is the one of the only metals that is capable of vanquishing monsters, meaning that demigods would have to wield Celestial Bronze weapons.

As a ten year old, forging a Celestial Bronze knife was not an easy feat, and it was even more painful with a ten year old Jungkook over your shoulder the entire time. You wanted to strangle him the entire time.

You first had to invoke the blessing of Hephaestus, offering a sacrifice to your father to guide you through the forging process. Getting Jungkook to just sit still was a quest on its own; he wouldn’t stop bouncing around the forge and you were horrified that he would knock something over or set the place on fire. 

Next, you had to heat and melt the celestial bronze, a task you were instructed to complete with your own fire. 

Though it was established that you wielded flame manipulation, it was difficult to spark your own flame without the assistance of gas or a lighter. You must have sat in the forge for an entire day, grunting and groaning as you willed yourself to spark a flame from your fingers. 

Jungkook was absolutely no help at all.  He was the least encouraging person and kept asking to place the Celestial Bronze in a preheated fire. 

Eventually, you willed yourself to ignite a spark, and the fire spread over the entire sheet of metal. You and Jungkook were so thrilled that you actually hugged before staring at each other uncomfortably and backing away. 

Next, you shaped and formed the blade in accordance with Jungkook's wishes, which wasn’t so easy because he kept changing his mind about the shape of the blade. Afterwards, you quenched the blade in water before enchanting the knife with a protective spell. 

15 years later, three wars, countless battles, a plethora of dead monsters, and yours and Jungkook’s lives are still forever intertwined. 

-

You and Jungkook are 25, and you have been to hell and back together, literally. 

The answer is yes. You did miss Jungkook and your face dissolves with utter relief as you run into his arms and melt into the safety of his embrace. 

You hadn’t seen Jungkook in an entire year. Last year, your father Hephaestus asked if you wanted to spend a year with him in the forge of Mount Olympus, working on a top secret engineering project. 

You had just returned, requesting that your father open a direct portal to Camp Jupiter, the camp for Roman demigods. 

Camp Jupiter stands as a training ground for Roman demigods on the West Coast, offering a structured and disciplined environment akin to the Roman legions. Adjacent to this formidable camp, New Rome emerges as a concealed city, a testament to ancient Roman architecture combined with modern amenities. 

Camp Jupiter differs from Camp Half-Blood because New Rome is a fully operational city where former members of the Roman legion, upon completing their service, could choose to reside. Graduated members of the Roman legion had the options of going to university, building a family, and seeking employment within the city, which also provided a barrier against Roman monsters. 

Currently, you and Jungkook are in Camp Jupiter for a special gathering with fellow demigods in your generation and the Praetors of the Roman Legion. The Praetors Mina and Mingyu are essentially the commanders of the Roman army, overseeing operations and making crucial decisions for the camp's well-being.

Yours and Jungkook’s generation of demigods is deemed particularly special because yours is the first generation of demigods to live beyond your teens.  Typically, demigods were monster bait and were either eaten or murdered before they reached their 20’s. 

Yours and Jungkook’s generation changed the tide, with almost 100 demigods reaching their mid 20’s, dubbing this the beginning of the Golden Era of the Demigods.

For you and your friends to be called to a meeting with the Praetors- it concerned you slightly. But after all you had been through, nothing seemed to scare you. Instead, all you’re thinking about is how much you missed Jeon Jungkook.

You haven’t seen Jungkook in a year, and you take a moment to relish the man who’s been to Tartarus and back with you. 

Jungkook’s in ripped jeans, combat boots, and a seemingly brand new orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. He looks the same, except a little leaner, and maybe a little taller. 

“Missed you a lot, Jungkook the Relentless,” you muse in return. 

Jungkook’s features crumble in disgust, before he, in his dramatic nature, theatrically flicks his head back, soft and wispy strands falling back onto his head to reveal his handsome forehead. 

“Inferno princess is cute,” he claims, a grin peeking from the frown he just could never maintain around you, “Whatever you said,” he pauses, “It lacks creativity, it’s not clever, it’s not smart. I give it an F.”

You scoff amusedly, nudging his chest with your left shoulder before marching past him. 

“Whatever, stupid.”

“Wait up, inferno princess,” he calls from behind, speedily catching up in a single stride, “Why didn’t you answer any of my Iris messages? Didn’t miss me at all over the past year?”

You shrug, pressing the down button on the elevator as you and Jungkook step in. “My dad probably blocked you from calling. You know how he feels about you.” 

Muzak fills the elevator, and Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Just say you didn’t want to see me, inferno princess. Hephaestus loves me, personally thanked me for keeping you safe all these years.” 

The noise that leaves your mouth falls in between a scoff and a gag. “You? Kept me safe? You would’ve been dead in seventh grade if it weren’t for me,” you tease.

“Gotta give it to you there, inferno princess. This knife has killed more monsters than you’ve ever seen in your life,” he teases, unsheathing the Celestial Bronze knife you forged for him when you were ten years old. He always keeps it on him, and it makes you happy because it means he still cares

You lean against the elevator railing and raise a brow at him. “Is that so?”

He smiles smugly at you, the same stupid Jungkook smile that never changed after all these years. “It definitely is so.” 

He smiles at you, toying with his lip as his eyes shamelessly glaze over you. His features fall into a pout. He opens his arms again, and you waddle over for another hug. “Gods inferno princess, I missed you,” he whispers,” You ignored me for a year-”

The elevator door swings open, and you’re greeted by a greatly amused Namjoon and Taehyung. 

Taehyung whistles. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

You gently shove Jungkook away with your forearm and greet Taehyung and Namjoon with a huge hug, each arm encircling one of their necks.

Just as it’s been a year since you’ve seen Jungkook, it’s also been a year since you’ve seen Taehyung and Namjoon. You met Taehyung, son of Poseidon, when you were 12 years old and he stumbled into Camp Half-Blood after single handedly bringing down the Minotaur. 

Namjoon, son of Athena, came to Camp Half-Blood a couple years after Jungkook. After devising the strategy to defeat Kronos in the Battle of Manhattan, he was given the honor of redesigning Mount Olympus in accordance to his architectural preferences. 

Being in Olympus for a year, you really were able to relish in Namjoon’s creations. The Greek-style temples maintained their traditional charm with innovative twists. You had the opportunity to walk through the most beautiful of gardens, special flowers bred by Namjoon specifically for Mount Olympus. 

You’ve known them for so long that they’re practically your brothers. Both are wearing Camp Half-Blood shirts- Namjoon’s is a little tight and tattered so you reckon it’s the same shirt he adorned in high school. 

Everyone’s back together. A warm wave of nostalgia washes over you, and you feel at home.

“So little Ms. Olympus is finally back to the mortal world?” Taehyung teases, meandering around playfully as he lazily swings an arm around your shoulder. 

“Oh? What about Mr. Olympus over here? I ran into him all the time up there,” you gesticulate towards Namjoon who scoffs playfully and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You worked with Namjoon occasionally on Mount Olympus to construct his architectural plans for the godly city, so it hadn’t been that long since you’ve run into him.

“Didn’t get the chance to live there like you did. Gods, was I envious of you when I heard you were moving! The gods all know I would be the better option.”

You shoot Namjoon a theatrically annoyed glance, rolling your eyes the same way Jungkook does. 

“I’m kidding,” Namjoon asserts, “I’m infinitely proud of you and all your accomplishments.”

You smile, pressing the friendliest of kisses on Namjoon’s cheeks. “Thanks Joon, love you the most.”

“Yea, well,” Taehyung begins, “You’re bearing witness to the only demigod to ever take up residence in Tartarus and Mount Olympus, so you better put some respect on her name.”

You grin, rolling your eyes as you press another kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the warm welcome, Tae.” 

You momentarily pause, shifting your gaze from Namjoon and Taehyung to Jungkook. “What? You guys aren’t gonna say hi to him?”

Taehyung makes a psh sound with his lips, “I see this guy everyday.” He skips over to Jungkook, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You want a kiss too?” Taehyung teases, about  to press a kiss to his cheeks to which Jungkook pushes Taehyung away with his infinite strength.“Gross, dude.”

Taehyung smiles, his combat boots skipping against the gravel of New Rome. “Gods, I feel like we’re 17 again- discovering all this Camp Jupiter shit, meeting the Romans- doesn’t it all bring you nostalgia?” Taehyung continues, carelessly skipping through the gravel with you. 

“Remember when we were 14?” you add, “And you, me, and Joon had to go through that Labyrinth?” you recall, chills running down your spine at the very memory. 

“Gods, that was the worst,” Namjoon adds, “And you broke your ankle so I had to carry you through the labyrinth? Yea, I remember that.”

“Hey, at least, you got the laptop of Daedalus,” you add, “I mean, that thing even had an international credit card programmed onto it, and gods remember the fake ID’s? We got so drunk on your 18th birthday- the party ponies came and everything. That was ridiculous.”

Jungkook cheekily smiles at the memory, and Taehyung detects it immediately. “What, Jeon? Smiling because you remember how shitfaced you were? You could’ve gotten a DUI on a pegasus if it weren’t for me.”

Jungkook can’t help but smile, “Gods Taehyung, you’re dumb.”

Taehyung shrugs, “But I’m your favorite.”

Reunited with your friends, you’re home.

-

Over the years, you’ve observed the multifaceted aspects of Jungkook’s character. 

There were special occasions by which he became rigidly serious- his pupils morphing into flames, a feature he clearly adopted from his father. 

You witnessed this firsthand when you were 13 when you and Jungkook were on a quest now dubbed the Quest of the Eternal Night. 

Los Angeles, the city of Angels home to all the glittering allure of Hollywood became shrouded in darkness. The mortals all assumed the famine was attributed to an extended solar eclipse when in reality it was the Greek monster Lamia who intended to conceal the entire world with darkness, starting with Los Angeles.

Once a beloved queen of Zeus, Lamia’s life went to shit when Hera, out of jealousy, mercilessly murdered Lamia’s children. Overwhelmed with grief, Lamia transformed into a child-devouring monster with a snake-like lower body. From the waist up, Lamia was the most beautiful woman you’ve ever encountered. Lamia resembled the little mermaid, her long orange hair reminiscent of warmth from the sun, perfectly framing her face and enhancing her mesmerizing glow. 

At the time, nobody in Camp Half-Blood  was aware of the true nature of the threat, just that it was most likely a monster.

Given the prevailing uncertainty, the Oracle presented herself at the daily campfire, revealing the prophecy to the entirety of Camp Half-Blood:

In shadows' grasp, the forge's child shall dance,

Beside the warrior, fire's fierce advance.

Through the endless night, a tandem in step they weave as one,

A celestial key, by blood begun.

Within shadows, echoes of a tragic tale,

Redemption blooms as darkness lifts its veil

In an instant, everyone's gaze shifted to you.

“In shadows' grasp, the forge's child shall dance,

Beside the warrior, fire's fierce advance.”

Not a single camper could contest that this was about you. Forge’s daughter, fire’s fierce advance- it dawned on you that the weight was on your shoulders, and you may be heading towards your impending doom.

A fight broke out between Jungkook, Namjoon, and Jinyoung son of Hermes over who would accompany you on the quest. Beside the warrior, fire’s fierce advance, indicating that the quest called for a warrior to your side.

Through the endless night, a tandem in step they weave as one,

What made you feel especially at unease was that the prophecy explicitly called for two demigods as opposed to three. In Greek mythology, the number three was associated with balance and completeness. Three celestial spheres governed the world- Zeus ruled the sky, Poseidon ruled the sea, and Hades presided over the underworld. There were three fates that determined the destinies of mortals and deities. The guard dog of the underworld Cerberus, had three heads. 

Three was a lucky number in Greek mythology, so why did this quest call for two?

“You fucking kidding me?” Jungkook mocked, crossing his arms as he stared at Jinyoung in disdain. He pointed at Jinyoung, singling him out in front of the entire camp. “This guy is a candidate for the quest? He’s a son of Hermes. All he does is send letters and shit.”

Thirteen year old Jungkook was a menace to society. 

Chiron, the camp activities director who was also a centaur (horse from the waist down and human from the waist up), cleared his throat and cast Jungkook a look that screamed boy, sit down. 

Jungkook clenched his jaw, acquiescing nonetheless, sitting on a log while glaring bitterly into the campfire. 

The night sky stretched above, adorned with a myriad of constellations depicting Greek heroes such as Hercules, Perseus, and Achilles. It was like the stars were mocking him, casting doubt that he would be selected for this quest. 

But he had to be chosen. He was positive he was the only demigod equipped with the skills to keep you safe on your quest. Jinyoung and Namjoon didn’t hold a candle to him.

The prophecy called for a warrior, and he was a warrior. He was the most talented offspring of his father, the literal god of warriors. It had to be him. 

Namjoon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “With all due respect,” he begins, “We’re not going to send Jungkook’s dumbass on a quest alone with Y/N. He’d get both of them killed with his recklessness.”

Jungkook didn’t take that well. “I won’t,” he sneers, gesticulating with his hands dramatically, “None of you guys know Y/N like I do. I’m a warrior, and I’m going to protect her.” he states matter-a-factly.

Namjoon was probably one of the only demigods unphased by Jungkook’s abrasion. 

“Jeon, you might be a warrior, but there’s absolutely nothing in that head of yours. Sure, the prophecy calls for a warrior, but not a complete imbecile like you,” Namjoon spits, rising to his feet. “This quest needs someone with the capacity for strategic warfare, which my mother is the goddess of,” he declares, “The city is covered in darkness, so we’ll have to move around strategically. Your dumbass would walk straight to the enemy.” 

Jungkook stands at that, immediately squaring Namjoon up, hardened pupils daring Namjoon to back up his words with action. 

“He’s right, Jungkook,” Jinyoung adds, “You want to go on the quest because you want to protect Y/N. I want to go on this quest because I know our assets are compatible and that we work well together.”

“Y/N and I have the best chemistry out of everyone in the camp.” A bold claim by Jungkook, eliciting a few gasps from the gallery, and you tilt your head because you don’t believe that to necessarily be true.   

Jinyoung stands, “You know what Jeon? You think you’re the shit because your dad’s the god of war. Even as a Hermes kid, I guarantee I can beat you in sword to sword combat,” Jinyoung unsheathes his Celestial Bronze sword, and Jungkook’s pupils glitter against its shine.

“Winner goes on the quest,” Jungkook obliges, unsheathing his own Celestial Bronze sword, a wave of conviction clouding his aura. 

Chiron stomps his hooves on the terrain, demanding the attention of the camp. 

“That’s enough,” he declares sternly, “There will be no fighting. It will be Y/N’s choice. She gets to choose.”

All eyes drift towards you, putting you on the spot. 

You open and close your mouth repeatedly like a dying fish, not having a single clue how to respond. You wish Chiron would decide for you. You see yourself being fine with all three candidates, but you don’t even have the courage to consider making a decision. 

Jungkook cuts you off.

“I swear on the River Styx that I will complete this quest successfully, protect Y/N, and return safely.”

Jungkook’s sudden declaration elicits a collective gasp from the campers. 

Swearing on the River Styx meant making a promise so serious  it couldn't be broken. The River Styx was a sacred river in the Underworld, considered to be a boundary between the world of the living and the realm of the dead. Oaths sworn by the river were binding and unbreakable.

Swearing on the River Styx was incredibly wreckless of Jungkook, and he suffered severe reprimanding from Chiron for doing something so callous. 

And that was basically it. Jungkook already swore on the River Styx so he had to go through with the quest. That made your choice a lot easier, since you were pretty much indifferent to choosing your partner. 

Jungkook didn’t lie. He most certainly kept his binding oath.

After navigating through the mazes of Los Angeles, scaling the Hollywood sign, and coursing through the animatronics of Disneyland, you and Jungkook encountered your final foe, Lamia.

Lamia had the ability to psychologically torture her victims, eventually revealing that Jungkook was the perfect candidate for the quest because the psychological torture had no effect on him.

You liked to joke that it was because he didn’t have a brain.

Lamia cast a curse upon you, plunging you into a trance of your most haunting memories. You were transported into the scene of your mother's murder the previous year, forced to relive the moment a million times over. 

The flame you sparked from your fingers as a makeshift torch immediately went out, and you were rendered a screaming crying mess as you rolled on the floor with your fingernails scraping against the pavement.

The only light you perceived was the light reflected off Jungkook’s Celestial Bronze knife, the same one you forged years before when you were ten years old. 

Seeing you like that, Jungkook became so angry, his pupils exploded into flames and he immediately decapitated Lamia, returning light to sunny Los Angeles and sending Lamia into the depths of Tartarus.

-

When you were 19, the Earth mother Gaia, a primordial deity and the very essence of the Earth awakened from her slumber. Her goal was to overthrow the gods, wipe out humanity, and destroy Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood so that she and her offspring, the giants and monsters, would reign over the world.

Obviously, that wasn’t good so you and six other demigods ventured on a quest to the homelands Rome and Greece to incapacitate Gaia. You were responsible for engineering a flying magical warship to transport said  group of seven demigods to Rome and Greece- and it was arguably the largest project you’ve ever taken on.

You still remember when the Oracle presented herself and read the prophecy aloud to the entire camp. 

"In realms of ancient twilight, seven shall heed the call,

To storm or fire, the Earth shall fall.

Forge’s armor, a shield against fate,

Through the ancient homelands, they navigate.

A choice profound, in shadows deep,

To banish Gaia's wrath in fiery sweep.

In storm's embrace or fire's light,

Seven demigods shall rewrite the ancient night."

After the Oracle announced the prophecy, you felt personally victimized and were ready to throw the towel in to drown yourself in the Atlantic Ocean.

To storm or fire the Earth shall fall?

Nothing was definitive, but that basically meant a child of Zeus or Hephaestus would be designated to vanquish Gaia, and since you’re the only child of Hephaestus who can wield fire, you were left in a sheer state of terror. 

Forge’s armor? 

There was no doubt in your mind that it had something to do with you- and your intuition was accurate. 

You would soon be embarking solo into the depths of the Hephaestion (temple of Hephaestus) to recover the armor your father forged for the Olympians in the original war against the Titans. You needed this armor to defeat Gaia’s offspring, the giants, because the armor bestowed its wearer with the divine capabilities of their demigod parent. 

That was great and all, but you didn’t understand why you had to travel solo to retrieve it.  You didn’t know what perils lay ahead, and to your luck, there was another prophecy- just for you. The fates consistently chose you for perilous quests- you were obviously their favorite.

"In forge's embrace, beneath Hephaestion's grace,

A child of fire seeks the lost, a sacred trace.

Through tunnels deep, where riddles guard the way,

Guardians forged in flame demand a price to pay.

The armor forged for gods, in shadows it lay.

Alone she tread, the quest's weight to bear,

A solitary journey through trials and despair."

A solitary journey through trials and despair- how exciting! 

You wanted nothing more than to be with Namjoon, Taehyung, Jungkook, and all your friends. If you had it your way, you would bring the other six demigods with you, but the prophecy made it clear: Alone she tread, the quest’s weight to bear.

Your final moments may very well be under the ruins of the Hephaestion, and no matter how you screamed and cried, there would be nobody to save you, just miles and miles of dirt and terrain. 

By this time, it had been a year since Jungkook started riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle. 

The motorcycle was a gift from his father, and was presented to Jungkook in the form of a Rolex watch. With a press of a button, the watch unfurled and morphed into a sleek Harley Davidson motorcycle.

Jungkook was a talented rider, maneuvering swiftly through the hills and slopes of Athens, gripping the handles so tightly that his knuckles became white and the wounds on his hands reopened.

You clung tightly to his waist, finding solace as you rested your cheek against the back of his leather jacket, reveling in the warmth of his body while you had the chance.

You were scared out of your mind.

Jungkook evidently feels the same way, the look of apprehension on his face something you will never forget. He grimaces, utter trepidation enveloping his features as his eyebrows furrow and his eyes reflect a sense of unease. His hands, once steady, now betray a subtle tremor, and the air seems to thicken with the weight of his anxiety.

Braking abruptly at the entrance of the Hephaestion, the motorcycle veers sharply, casting dirt onto the ancient ruins. It's his way of telling Hephaestus to go fuk himself for having his nineteen-year-old daughter tread through the temple’s ruins to her potential doom. With a spiteful glare at the ruins, he mounts his vehicle and helps you off the motorcycle, watching as it folds back into a Rolex watch on his wrist.

His heart melts when he sees how glossy your eyes are. Jungkook hates the gods- nothing but deadbeat parents who fucked and reproduced like animals. He hates this stupid quest. 

For a very brief moment, Jungkook dares to imagine life as a normal person. A luxury he would never experience in his life: normalcy, and he knows it’s pointless to covet for what he doesn’t have but he can’t help but desperately delude himself into thinking that he’s dropping you off at class, your first day of work, to hang out with your friends, and not on a dangerous quest. 

In an alternative universe, University Y/N and Jungkook would be a campus couple. Gods, if the circumstances were different he would have confessed years ago. He just hasn’t because the very act of loving is selfish when you’re a demigod. 

Jungkook can’t confess to you and then die the very next day. And assuming that you do feel the same way and choose to become his girlfriend- he just doesn’t know if he’ll randomly drop off the face of the Earth and he can’t bear to think of you just waiting for him, sobbing on your knees by the barriers of Camp Half-Blood. 

Perhaps he’s projecting his deep-rooted fears onto you. If Jungkook ever gets a taste of you then loses you- he knows he would never be the same.

Gods, it’s cynical, but it’s true. 

He pulls himself out of his little trance.

“Y/N.”

Jungkook looks at you, sees that you’re trembling- scared shitless. 

“Take this.” He slides off wristwatch and puts it onto yours. 

The gesture has you tearing up, and once a single tear falls from your lashes, Jungkook’s brows furrow thoroughly. “Y/N. You’re one of the strongest demigods I’ve ever fucking met. You’re going to make it through. You’re going to find the armor, and once you’re done, we’re going to take care of it.”

Jungkook sounds confident in his conviction, and it almost rubs off on you. 

You pout. “I-I I have to fight too.”

“No. No you don’t. I’m going to fight for you. Look. If you’re not safe, take the watch off. It’ll magically appear on my wrist, so I’m going to assume that you’re not okay and go in there if it comes back to me.”

“Except you can’t do that,” Namjoon points out from above. A glorious, beautiful white pegasus lands adjacent to you, neighing and rearing on its hind legs. Its two passengers dismount the pegasus and intervene between you and Jungkook.

“You can’t interfere with the prophecy, Jungkook. That’s going to make things worse.”

Jungkook’s body uncomfortably stiffens, and his jaw clenches. “So you’re going to let Y/N in there alone? We have to do something about it.”

Taehyung sighs, joining the conversation. “Kook, if something happens, we’ll know. We’ll sense if something happens to her. You’re going to make things worse if you follow her. You can’t.”

You nod in agreement. “I’m gonna keep the watch. It’s the same thing as bringing a weapon in there. It’s fine- and who knows- I might have to ride the motorcycle over a volcano or some stupid shit like that,” you mutter, “But Jungkook, you can’t come after me. If I die, then it’ll be by the gods’ will, but I swear on the River Styx that I’l get you that armor, even if that means my life is at risk.”

Jungkook’s expression hardens at that. 

“Don’t say that,” Namjoon mutters, “You’re going to jinx it.”

Taehyung sighs, pulling you in for a hug. He rests his head against your neck, and you can feel his hot breath tickling your skin. “Good luck Y/N. You got this. You’re the most capable demigod I know. You got your tool belt?” He asks, pulling away and checking your waist. 

Sure enough, your tool belt was wrapped securely around your hips, just like it always was. You nod. 

“Then you’re going to succeed,” Taehyung declares, “You got that thing strapped on you? Nobody can do shit to you,” his gentle smirk comforts you. 

Namjoon hugs you next, pulling away to place his glasses on the bridge of your nose. Namjoon’s glasses, a gift from his mother that allows the user to see the most successful strategy for any situation.

You scowl. “Aren’t you going to need this?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I have my brain and that’s all I need. You need this.”

You smile and face Jungkook. No words could convey the emotions on his face. He approaches you and hugs you tightly, eyes squeezing shut in anxiety and anguish once you melt in his embrace. “You got this, inferno princess. Let’s give hell to those stupid giants.”

You nod at them, running off into the ruins of the temple of Hephaestus.

-

You face countless trials, mechanical automatrons, and fire obstacles that only you could have ever survived. And you were right- you did have to ride Jungkook’s motorcycle over a volcano. Crazy.

With the armor in your hands, you throw off the wristwatch, knowing that Jungkook would appear in minutes. Since the quest was complete, you had every right to call on your friends, and you knew they would arrive without fail. 

Anyway, had you known that just beneath the thin layer of dirt lay a pit straight to Tartarus, you wouldn't have called for him. The magical warship you engineered appears above you, and Jungkook plummets onto the dirt like a meteor. 

Mingyu son of Jupiter, Mina daughter of Venus, Rose daughter of Apollo, Namjoon, and Taehyung secure the armor and load it onto the ship. Its celestial glow was nearly too much for the interior of the warship to handle. 

Although the armor was safely loaded onto the ship, you weren't as fortunate.

The ground underneath you cracked, and you plummeted into a pit that led straight to Tartarus, the deepest pit of the Underworld where monsters, titans, and giants are imprisoned.  Jungkook almost immediately jumps in after you, prompting  the others to meet you guys at the Doors of Death.

You both fell for what seemed like hours, Jungkook’s strong arms securely wrapped around you, holding you tightly. You don’t know if it was days or hours, but you plummeted for what felt like forever. 

He refuses to let you go no matter how weak his arms become, and despite how fast you plummet, Jungkook tells you that it’s going to be okay every 1000 feet of your rapid descent. 

The atmosphere in Tartarus is noxious, causing boils to erupt on your skin, burns to sear, and intense headaches to course through your body- even before you slam into the terrain of Tartarus. 

Given that you survive falling into an infinity high pit, you and Jungkook are likely to die from the toxicity in the air. 

After what feels like a millenia, you perceive the ground from thousands of feet in the air.  

“Jungkook!” you scream, “Wrap your arms around my waist!”

He obliges, maneuvering your body so your back is pressed against his chest. 

Then, you get the work. 

Retrieving nylon fabric and sturdy rope from your toolbelt, you intertwine the rope around the fabric, fashioning the parachute's framework with the added support of metal tubing. Handing Jungkook a specially crafted two-person harness, he allows you to slip into the loops before he follows suit. 

You attach the harness to the metal framework and deploy the parachute,allowing you and Jungkook to drift to the ground.  

Upon landing, you stumble on your knees, hyperventilating as the adrenaline courses through your body. Jungkook joins you, also dropping to his knees as he gently cradles your face. He appears just as disoriented, resting his forehead against yours. “You good?” he asks, chest rising up and down. 

You nod before you fall into his arms, sobbing. 

“Thank gods I’m with you,” he murmurs into your skin.Jungkook embraces you tightly, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. Once you've calmed down, he assists you in getting back on your feet. “We’ll be okay,” he states, holding you by the crook of your arm. “I’m here. I got you.”

Tartarus is an ominous realm with a combination of shadowy chasms and rugged terrains. Heavy clouds loom overhead, casting a dark veil across the landscape. The ground is uneven, marked by deep crevices that seemingly stretch into infinity. Unsettling sounds permeate the air, forming an eerie symphony of the cries and moans of monsters.  

You and Jungkook quickly fall ill to the noxious atmosphere in Tartarus. 

Jungkook’s handsome face erects boils, and he appears more ill with each passing moment. 

“Kook,” you nudge him with your body, “You alright?”

He nods, gulping. “‘m good, inferno princess. Worry about yourself.”

You pause. “You’re clearly not okay.” On cue, Jungkook stumbles to his knees, and you fall to yours as he rests his head on your shoulder. You’re not sure why you’re not as affected, but you always knew that it was relative to your immunity to fire. 

Suddenly, an idea appears in your head. 

The River Phlegethon. 

The River Phlegethon is a river coursing through Tartarus, made entirely of molten lava.

It is said to consist of healing properties that keep monsters alive. It may work on demigods too. 

You rush to the River Phlegethon, submerging your metal water bottle beneath its fiery surface before rushing back to Jungkook. “Drink this.”

“What the fuck-”

You force it to his lips and down his throat. He gazes at you with despondency, like you’ve betrayed him horribly. He clutches his throat, retching and coughing at the sensation of molten lava down his throat. You eye him back like an insane person, bringing the bottle to your lips before you gulp down the rest of the lava. 

The only way to describe drinking molten lava is painful, excruciatingly horribly painful, even with your immunity to fire. But after a moment of torture, you feel good as new. 

It must have had the same effect on Jungkook because the boils vanish, and the familiar youthful glow returns to his face. 

“Gods inferno princess. Thought you were trying to kill me,” Jungkook jokes. 

“Holy shit. I can’t believe it actually worked!” you exclaim to which Jungkook scowls. “So you shoved that down my throat when you weren’t even sure-”

“Well, well, well. Demigods in Tartarus. Now that’s a sight I didn’t think I’d ever see. And it just so happens to be the same demigods who banished me down to this pit.”

You and Jungkook whip your heads to the direction of the voice. Lamia, the same monster you encountered on the Quest of the Eternal Night.

 Seeing Lamia again for the first time in years makes your knees buckle. There was no doubt in your mind that her abilities would be enhanced within the depths of Tartarus. 

She still adopts the appearance of a monster with the grotesque combination of human and serpent, her coiled, snake-like body merging seamlessly with a distorted human upper torso. 

Jungkook, reckless as ever, doesn’t hold back. “Lamia, you tried to kill Y/N! You committed a sin, and you’re reaping the consequences! Now leave, or I’ll kill you again!” Jungkook roars, causing Lamia to scoff as she slithers.

“A grandson of Zeus,” she sneers, “Just like your grandfather. Stupid. Reckless. Selfish.  Demigods are no different from gods. Hera murdered my children, and I will murder every single one of her descendants in return.”

Jungkook grimaces, instinctively stepping in front of you to shield you with his larger frame.  “Then take it out on her. Believe me when I say I’m not the biggest fan of Hera either. We are not her allies. Just go on your way, and we won’t have a problem.”

Jungkook is especially talented at bluffing. He knows he doesn’t have the advantage on Lamia’s home court, and you can tell how terrified he is by the way his body trembles. 

Lamia cackles, a Grinch-like smirk spreading across her lips as she goes for Jungkook’s weak spot: You.

Her red eyes look straight into yours and you begin trembling uncontrollably. 

She compels your mind with millions of

distressing and heart-wrenching visions, flooding your hippocampus with agonizing memories that aren’t even yours. The overload is so intense, and  you feel the barriers of your brain expanding, threatening to implode. 

The intensified influence of Tartarus seems to be amplifying Lamia's powers. 

She no longer simply wield the ability to psychologically torture with the victim’s own memories, she can harness the most agonizing memories of the history of the world to lead you to your demise.  

Gruesome visions from World War 2 relentlessly flow into your mind.  

Your brain synchronizes its rhythm with your heartbeat – thump, thump, thump. Each beat sends a jolt through your body, and your breath hitches in your throat when your mind drifts to a vision of the Allied and Axis Powers marching towards one another. 

The memories relentlessly infiltrate your mind, and you find yourself understanding the ruthless mindset of soldiers who were not merely bent on killing but also on torturing and annihilating- annihilating everything. 

Victims of chemical warfare desperately tear at their skin, their heads exploded by gunshots. Gradually, you start feeling the effects of chemical warfare creeping over you, prompting an agonizing scream as you instinctively claw at your own face.

Suddenly, a gun magically materializes itself a few yards from you. 

With tears relentlessly running down your face and hives protruding from your skin, you crawl towards it, not minding that your fingernails are digging into poisonous terrain because you’re hellbent on ending this agony.  

Jungkook quickly engages Lamia in combat with his sword. Jungkook bitterly laughsl in amusement when Lamia unfurls wings from her sides, soaring around him. Of course she can fly.

Flying around Jungkook, Lamia claws and slashes, leaving a deep cut on his bicep. Grimacing in pain, he falls to his knees, clutching the wound. His expression contorts into agony, the pain becoming so excruciating that sensation from his arm starts slipping away. He tries to wiggle his fingers, but he can’t. 

His ears ring, prompting a groan as he bites his lip, striving to mentally overcome the pain. Lamia's maniacal laughter echoes in his mind, but the throbbing in Jungkook's arm drowns it into a dull background noise.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you in the midst of your psychological torment, crawling towards a nearby gun. 

His face falls when he realizes the scenario Lamia is attempting to placate.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, immediately rising to his knees and kicking the gun into the River Phlegethon. 

Regret immediately washes over him as he watches the gun fall into the depths of the River Phlegethon. Your hysterical trance may actually compel you to jump into the river to go after it.  

You were immune to fire, but Jungkook isn’t so sure that you’ll survive a bath in the river of fire.

He winces, trying to mentally overcome the intensifying throbbing in his arm so he can finally finish things.

Jungkook hurts so much seeing you like this: sobbing, ripping your hair out, writhing in agony at Lamia’s infliction.

Lamia had already taken a part of you when you were 14, leaving you shivering and trembling in the eternal darkness of Los Angeles. Jungkook would be damned if he let it happen again.

When Jungkook was 14 years old, he sent Lamia to Tartarus by decapitating her. He thinks  this time, he’ll get rid of her for good by shredding her into dust, leaving no mercy.

He’ll make her death the most painful one he’s ever inflicted.

With flames in his pupils, he charges towards Lamia, slashing up with his sword to cut off the bottom of her snake tail. Before it hits the ground, he slashes it for what must have been a hundred times, cutting her tail into such tiny pieces that the wind carries her remains away.

She howls in pain and Jungkook takes that as an opportunity to leap up and tackle her to the ground. He holds her down with his good arm, his strength easily overpowering hers. 

He starts by cutting off her arms, shredding her arms into nothing but dust. He finishes the job, leaving nothing but her head. It’s bloody and gruesome, but it’s everything Jungkook is used to. 

He makes sure to slice off her fangs as he picks her up from her long orange hair. 

Practically drenched in Lamia’s blood, Jungkook turns his head and sees you lying like a dead sack of potatoes by the River Phlegethon. The tips of your fingers are lying in the river, meaning he killed Lamia just in time.

He runs over to you and immediately fishes a canteen of nectar from his backpack, setting your head on his thigh as he puts the nectar to your lips, feeling thankful as you respond by weakly sipping on it.

Putting a hand on your forehead, he feels that you’re absolutely burning up. After weakly sipping  on the nectar, you gasp like you’ve breathed your first breath.

Jungkook immediately pulls you into his embrace, his eyes full of so much relief. “Gods, inferno princess. I’m so happy that you’re okay.”

You sob into his shirt. “I was so useless, I’m sorry. You saved me. Thank you so much.”

Jungkook holds you even tighter, allowing you to sob into his shirt as he savors the sensation of having you in his arms, alive and okay. 

Jungkook pulls back, fingers combing through your hair and tucking a strand behind your ear. He hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs wiping your tears away, until he realizes that he actually smeared Lamia’s blood on your face. 

“Oops- sorry, I got blood on you,” he sheepishly mutters, biting his lip. 

You giggle at that, wiping the blood away with your sleeve before your eyes drift towards that large gash on Jungkook’s arm.

“Gods Jungkook!” you exclaim, reaching into your magic toolbelt to pull out some healing properties. Your magic toolbelt always materializes what you need just in time.  

“Oh this?” Jungkook looks down at the gash on his arm that is now foaming, bloody, and turning a shade of green, “This papercut? Don’t even worry about it.”

You scoff, quickly cleaning the wound and wrapping his arm in bandages. Jungkook always pretends like he doesn’t feel any pain, but you don’t miss the way he winces in pain when you begin to apply pressure on his wound.

Once the task is complete, your gaze shifts to the decapitated head of Lamia. Her eyes are void of life and color. Without a doubt, Jungkook had completed his duty successfully.

You narrow your eyes, examining her head, devoid of the snake's lower body, claws, and fangs. 

Your chest aches as you exhale shakily. 

Lamia was the most strikingly beautiful being you’ve ever encountered. You’ve met the goddess of beauty Aphrodite multiple times, and you dare to entertain the idea that Lamia surpasses her beauty.

Aphrodite has the kind of beauty that was glamorous and attention-commanding.  

Lamia, on the other hand, was naturally radiant. Her look could not be easily imitated by artificial means. She was a sculpture, a form of art that would never be replicated.

No wonder the queen of the gods was so envious. No wonder the king of the gods was so utterly obsessed and smitten with her. 

Her beauty is a reminder that at her core, Lamia was a human being. A tragic soul whose children met a ruthless end by none other than the gods you served. Her long, soft, and luscious orange hair cascaded across Tartarus's harsh terrain, comfortingly beautiful against its vile surroundings. 

You wanted to cry. You wanted to weep for her as much as you wanted to kill her.

Eyes lifting towards Jungkook, you force a slight smile. “Ready to finish the deal?”

Jungkook looks at you and nods, unsheathing the knife on his waist, offering you the very celestial bronze knife you forged for him when you were ten years old. 

You find yourself torn between tears and laughter. For some reason he always kept that stupid knife with him. You would never tell him, but it made you so emotional- like the knife was a symbol for yours and his unbreakable bond. 

“You got this, inferno princess.”

You nod, gulping nervously as your fingertips brush against his, your fist closing over the handle of the knife. 

You’re on the verge of bringing Jungkook’s knife down on her head, your features harden as you prepare to end Lamia for good, seeking retribution for the torment she’s inflicted and the lives she’s taken. 

With a scream you will yourself to bring the knife down. 

Until you don’t. 

Your features soften, and the celestial knife falls with a thud.

You cast a glance at Jungkook, and he responds with a nod, seemingly grasping your thoughts.

His right hand entwines with your left, and he closes his eyes. "Oh gods, I implore your mercy upon her soul. May the fates consider her past, the loss of her children, and the wrath from the queen of the gods. I offer her head as a solemn sacrifice." 

As he speaks, your fingers tighten around his, clinging onto his every word, sobbing in relief that he shares your sentiments of grief for her poor soul, even after she tried to kill you both.

With a shaky exhale, you continue. “Kindly extend your compassion to her spirit and reunite her with her offspring in the Fields of Asphodel. Anywhere but the Fields of Punishment would suffice. Please, shower your mercy upon her.”

And with that, you hold the celestial bronze knife up and bring her millenia long suffering to an end.

-

Following your encounter with Lamia, you and Jungkook continue your journey, navigating through the rugged terrain, weaving between jagged rocks and hiding in concealed potholes.  

Unfortunately, monsters are literally built to sense demigods so it isn’t long until you encounter another monster.

The next monster you encountered is Cheimarrhus. Cheimarrhus is less of a monster and more of an elemental force: the essence of coldness in Tartarus. 

When she assumes humanoid form, her skin becomes icy blue with silver hues. Her hair cascades like frozen tendrils, and her eyes gleam with an otherworldly coldness. 

The aura surrounding her is so frozen cold that your flame is nothing but a mere candle.

You aren’t able to construct anything with your tool belt because Cheimarrhus simply morphed into an elemental force when you attacked. What is a hammer going to do against a snowflake?

It isn’t just that. Her  mere presence is enough to extinguish your flames, physically weakening you to your knees.

On the earthly realm, Khione is the goddess of snow and winter. Cheimarrhus seems to be the Tartarus version over her.

After hours of treading away from Lamia, you and Jungkook sit in a concealed pothole, warming yourselves with a makeshift fire sparked by your finger. Jungkook sits closely by you, wrapping an arm around you while you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you Jungkook,” you murmur, “Thank you for saving me from Lamia. Gods, I was about to jump in the River Phlegethon- I could have died.” You burn your eyes into the lively flame, finding solace in its orange and red hues. 

Jungkook looks at you incredulously. “Inferno princess,” he expresses dumbfoundedly, “We’re in this together. We’re a team. I would give my life for you to survive. You’re key to defeating Gaia. The others can’t do it without you.”

Your gaze remains fixed on the fire. You shake your head. “Don’t talk about losing your life so easily. I would give my life for you to survive, Kook. I already played my part by retrieving the armor from the Hephaestion. I’m not needed anymore.” 

Your declaration is solemn, but you truly do mean it. You’ve played your role in accordance with the prophecy. Jungkook, Mingyu, Rose, Mina, Taehyung, and Namjoon would fare well without you.

Jungkook’s features harden. “Then I’ll make sure we both make it.”

A smile adorns your lips, and Jungkook thinks that the loveliness of your smile would bring life to flowers even in the heart of Tartarus. You nudge him softly with your body. “That’s true. We’re both going to make it.”

“That’s right, inferno princess. Atta girl. None of this death talk anymore. It’s depressing.”

You snuggle into the warmth of Jungkook’s body, enjoying the brevity of peace in the deepest pit of hell- until something feels off. You immediately jerk away from him, eliciting a look of concern from Jungkook. 

“Would she mind that we’re -like- cuddling right now?” you ask.

Jungkook frowns. “Who?”

“Seraphina. I mean- you haven’t mentioned her once this entire time. Don’t you miss her?”

Seraphina is Jungkook’s special friend, or talking stage, or something like that. In your opinion, she’s easily the most beautiful girl at camp, even amongst her siblings in the Aphrodite cabin. 

Before you left on the voyage to Greece, you’d seen Jungkook and Seraphina meandering around camp, holding hands, making out behind the Ares cabin. 

He blinks at you with a sense of disbelief. “Inferno princess,” he deadpans, “We’re literally freezing our asses off in Tartarus. She’ll be fine.”

You shake your head. “Even in Tartarus, it doesn’t feel right. Seraphina’s my friend-”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jungkook cuts you off.

“But I saw you-”

Jungkook shakes his head. “We’re just messing around. She’s about to break things off with me anyways. It’s a rite of passage in the Aphrodite cabin- breaking a boy’s heart. Bonus points if it’s an Ares kid. She thinks she’s playing me but I’m playing her.”

You frown. “Oh.”

Typical of an Aphrodite kid. Aphrodite cheated on your dad with Jungkook’s dad, and you can’t help but feel scorn for her. You thought Seraphina was better than that.

Jungkook playing along with it is kinda icky too. You decide to call him out for it once you return to the mortal world. 

As a Hephaestus kid, it’s definitely in your nature to judge the antics of Ares and Aphrodite kids.

“Are you sure you’re not just bringing it up because of Jaehyun?” he raises a brow at you and pulls you from your judgemental trance. 

You scoff. “Seriously? How much longer are you going to bring that up?”

Last summer, you kissed Jaehyun, son of Apollo after the daily campfire ceremony. He had just returned on a quest to retrieve the Pythian bow. The Pythian bow is a golden bow with arrows that never miss their mark. The very existence of the Pythian bow guaranteed the precision and accuracy of all archers.

When news came out that it was stolen, Jaehyun, Namjoon, and Nayeon, a hunter of Artemis, were sent on a quest to Yellowstone National Park to get it back.

When they returned, Jaehyun announced that the Pythian bow was stolen by a giant and offspring of Gaia, Tityos.

Tityos was said to have lusted after Leto, Artemis and Apollo’s mother, and attempted to violate Leto during her pregnancy. Apollo and Artemis who were still in their mother’s womb were not pleased by this and slew Tityos with their arrows once they were born. 

When Jaehyun announced to the camp that Tityos, the offspring of Gaia, had returned from Tartarus, a bone chilling unease dispersed through the assembly of demigod campers. With hindsight, you realize that this was only the beginning of Gaia’s revival. 

Back then, you were so relieved to see that he returned safely so you ran into his arms and kissed his cheek. It was a heat-in-the-moment thing, and when Jaehyun turned his head- well, that was your first kiss. 

The  weight of it settled uncomfortably in your stomach when you realized that Jaehyun was all in for you. Letting him down was heart-wrenching,  and you still feel terrible for breaking the guy’s heart.

Crazily enough, Jungkook witnessed the entire thing during a walk back from the woods. Once you pulled away from Jaehyun, Jungkook approached you both, slow-clapping like an evil villain. Jaehyun glared intensely at Jungkook, who scoffed in disdain before sauntering back to the Ares cabin. 

He made you feel like shit and you were still pissed about it.

“Gods Y/N, I had to bleach my eyes out after witnessing that. I deserve to be compensated,” he sasses.

You shake your head in disbelief. “That was my first kiss, Kook. And now I have to think of my first kiss with your deplorable face in mind.”

Jungkook’s lips curl smugly. “Good.”

You glare at him. “Is that all you have to say? Asshole.”

He shrugs. “Just give me a hug, inferno princess. We should get back on our feet soon.” He opens his arms, prompting a disdainful expression from you.

Your eyes drift towards the bandaged wound on his bicep, and your features soften. “Does it still hurt?”

Just looking at the thing made your arm throb. Disgusting shades of green and purple peeked through the sheer bandages. “Hold up, let me clean it.”

You reach into your tool belt, the materials in mind magically appearing. 

As you undo his bandages, Jungkook’s features curl in agony, wincing at the re-exposure. You use sterile gauze to wipe the wound before dabbing it with petroleum jelly. 

Jungkook’s arms are thick, but you treat his skin as if it’s the most delicate substance. Gently cleaning the wound with an antiseptic solution, you rewrap it with a sterile bandage, ensuring a snug fit.  

“It should have been me.”

You lift your head, staring at him with a look of curiosity, your eyes flickering around his features to detect any insincerity. 

You  know what he’s talking about, but you still feel the need to ask. “What?”

“Your first kiss,” he replies, flexing and extending his arm in comfort now that it was freshly bandaged. “It should have been me.”

He looks right at you, his expression hardened- perhaps to mask his vulnerability or to convey the sincerity of his confession. 

With his features so stoic, you take a second to admire how handsome he is. 

Even with his face battered and bloody, he resembles a sculpture. Every feature aligns to create the most handsome person you've ever seen. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. 

He relents on his stoic expression, a subtle warmth enveloping his features as he releases a light-hearted laughter. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know,” he looks around and rubs the nape of his neck, “Tartarus isn’t the best place to make a confession, eh?”

You laugh in disbelief, “That was very Jungkook of you,” you comment, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He smiles, dusting his pants off to stand up, offering you a hand. You take his hand, standing, and at that moment, your makeshift fire extinguishes. The temperature plummets, and the night becomes impossibly dark.

Jungkook immediately unsheathes his celestial bronze knife, assuming defensive stance as he conducts a 360 degree scan of his surroundings. 

There is a clear threat, but he can’t detect any presence. 

You stand back to back with Jungkook, hair rapidly whipping against the fierce winds. The plummeting temperature sends chills through your skin, nearly freezing you solid.

 You will yourself to blaze a fire from your fingertips, but to no avail. You exert more magical energy into at least sparking a flame, but the force of the frigid winds snuffs your flame out every time.

Suddenly, an evil cackle echoes throughout the atmosphere.

“Foolish demigods, entering Tartarus unprepared," the voice resonates with an eerie chill. "In the realm of perpetual cold, your feeble flames are but futile flickers. These days, Tartarus really likes cooling down." The freezing air intensifies, making it harder for you to even draw breath.

You attempt once more to summon a flame from your fingertips, determined to defy the numbing cold. However, the frigid winds persistently resist your efforts, extinguishing any spark you manage to conjure.

“Reveal yourself,” Jungkook utters lowly. 

“Isn’t the cold to your liking?” As she speaks, she becomes  louder, her voice ringing in your ears and making you wince. 

Particles of snow begin whirling around in tornado formation ahead of you, the tornado becoming thinner and thinner until it morphs  into humanoid form. The woman who appears has icy blue skin, hair cascading in frozen tendrils, and a glacial aura that crystallizes the air within a three foot vicinity. 

Taking in her humanoid form, you finally realize who she is, and you gasp. “Cheimarrhus.” 

You don’t realize how much your lips are trembling until you hear your own voice- the way you said her name sounded nothing more than a chatter. 

She smirks. “Well done, young demigod. I applaud you for recognizing me. The power-hungry Olympians have practically wiped my name from existence. The gods all know that Khione is threatened by me.”

The face of Khione, the goddess of snow and winter on the earthly realm appears in your mind. 

Jungkook eyes you before lying straight through his teeth. “That’s not true. You’re in our curriculum at Camp Half-Blood: Tartarus Monsters 202. They don’t even teach you in 101 because you’re too advanced and powerful.”

Cheimarrhus seems to be pleased by that, satisfaction enveloping her features before she sneers. “The giants must be the center of the 101 course. I swear they get all the attention.”

You nod in agreement. “Of course. But you understand that’s standard, right? They don’t dare let the younger demigods know about you because they would have too many nightmares.”

Cheimarrhus cackles, licking her lips.

 You and Jungkook eye each other, awkwardly laughing along with her to hopefully appease the blizzard. 

“SILENCE.”

You flinch, taking a step back, Jungkook reaching for your hand to stabilize you. 

“Do you take me for a fool? You demigods and your lies. Typical,” she spits, her anger causing the temperature to plummet even more. “Now demigods, suffer. I will win Tartarus’s favor by freezing you to death.”

“Hey! We were just trying to be nice!-”

Her body morphs into snow particles, whirling around before it disperses throughout the atmosphere. 

You look at Jungkook, ice crystallizing around strands of his hair, his skin an unhealthy hue of blue, and his lips trembling. You’re sure you don’t look much better because his features morph into horror when he looks at you. 

“Y-Y/N. L-let’s take the motorcycle and get the outta here.”

“What about th-the monsters?” 

“Fuck that, we’ll freeze to death first.”

You nod in agreement, and Jungkook presses a button on his watch, watching as it unfolds into a Celestial Bronze Harley Davidson motorcycle. You zoom off on the motorcycle, arms locked around Jungkook’s waist. Gods, getting on the motorcycle was probably a worse idea, the frigid air rushing against your face as the motorcycle accelerated. 

Cheimarrhus is relentless, trailing on you as rapidly as she matches the motorcycle’s speed. 

“Jungkook!” You call out, “This isn’t working!”

The motorcycle comes to an abrupt stop and you both tumble onto the ground as the watch returns to Jungkook’s wrist. 

You crawl around the ground, sobbing and looking for Jungkook. “Jungkook, where are you? Please Jungkook, please!”

You hear him shuffle towards you before he helps you up from both armpits. You both tread to a nearby pothole, settling into it while you cling onto each other, desperately clinging to each other’s body heat.

The side effects of frostbite can be fatal. In highly severe instances, the freezing cold penetrates human tissue, causing body parts like toes, fingers, and noses to freeze and eventually fall off. 

You close your eyes, nestling in Jungkook’s embrace as you prepare to welcome your final moments. 

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

“I had a crush on you from -like- 12 to 15. I thought I should let you know in case, you know.”

“Gods inferno princess, didn’t we agree to not talk about death? It’s just an average day for us demigods. Frostbite, freezing to death? What does that even mean? It would never happen to us,” he muses, blue lips curling up into a teasing smile. 

You push your face into the now sopping fabric of Jungkook’s shirt, laughing. Who would even laugh in a situation like this? 

“So what’d I do to make you stop liking me?” he asks, looking down at you. 

“Nothing, you just didn’t like me back,” you shrug, your shoulders barely moving in the freezing cold. 

“That’s not true. I liked you the moment I laid eyes on you. That’s why I was such an asshole. It was the only way 10-year-old me knew how to flirt.”

You cease your motions, your frosty eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “You always had a thing for Aphrodite girls. I didn’t know.”

“It was only because you never batted an eye at me. Had me heartbroken.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Gods, I think that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, even in Tartarus.” 

“What do you say? Do you have it in your heart to give me another chance? I want you for real. I want us for real.”

After the incident last summer, you swore you wouldn’t ever make any spur-in-the-moment decisions, until your frosty fingers cup Jungkook’s cheeks, and you kiss him. 

Jungkook seems a bit taken aback, but reciprocates your kiss with equal fervor, placing his hands on the small of your back to stabilize you. The ice on your lips melts, and at that moment, everything seems okay. 

Gods, you feel so warm on the inside that the temperature outside seems to gradually rise.

You pull back, eyes flickering around your surroundings. The blizzard is gone. Cheimarrhus is gone. Somehow the warmth returned, making even Tartarus feel like a tropical paradise. 

In relief, you pull Jungkook in for another kiss. He holds your cheeks with his rugged palms, practically drinking from your lips in reprieve. 

The sound of thundering footsteps pull you away from each other. 

Yours and Jungkook’s heads whip towards the sounds of the footsteps, and there stands a thirty foot giant. 

The giant is colossal in stature, the stony texture of his skin giving him an appearance as if built from the very rocks that surrounded him. The monster has a horrifying and booming presence, its malevolent aura casting an ominous feeling in your gut.

The giant blinks at you and Jungkook, the most nonchalant look cloaking his rugged features. 

Momentarily, you consider the idea that the giant might not see you- but no he does- because he dismisses your mere existence with a wave before sauntering back to a hut a kilometer away. 

“Holy shit,” Jungkook mutters. 

Every footstep the giant takes induces vibrations through the terrain, making yours and Jungkook’s teeth chatter just as much as Cheimarrhus’s blizzard did.��

“Sir! Excuse me, sir! Can you help us?!” Jungkook’s voice echoes throughout the atmosphere and your heart drops into your ass. 

Giants were the direct offspring of Gaia, the Earthmother you were on a quest to kill. 

If Cheimarrhus didn’t kill you, then this giant would surely be the one to finish the deal. 

The giant slowly turns around, eyes narrowing at you like you’re the scum of the Earth. You shudder in anticipation.

“Follow me to my hut,” is all he says, turning back around and walking steadily towards his hut.

You and Jungkook quickly scramble to your feet, fingers intertwined as you trail behind the giant, leaving a few meters in between you and the giant. 

The giant turns around again, and it’s like the whole earth rumbles. “What are you doing? Hurry up!” You and Jungkook cast questionable glances at each other, but nonetheless scramble to the giant’s side. 

After a few odd moments of walking,  the giant speaks up. “So, how’d you two get to Tartarus? I’ve never seen any demigods around here before.”

A giant starting a casual conversation with you in Tartarus was not on your bingo card for this year. 

Jungkook told the giant the entire story eliciting a deep sigh from the monster. “That’s my mother, always insistent on wreaking havoc. She banished me and disowned me, her son for the same reason- because I refused to fight your father.” He looks right at Jungkook, and at that moment, a lightbulb appears above your head.

The giant you were addressing was Damasen.

Damasen was originally a giant created by the Earth goddess Gaea to serve her in her plans to overthrow the Olympian gods.

 He was designed to be the bane of Ares, Jungkook’s father. Damasen was quite literally created to embody the antithesis of the war god’s essence, the only being designed to incapacitate Ares. 

Ultimately, this backfired on Gaia.  While many giants were naturally hostile towards the gods, Damasen differed in nature. Damasen rejected war, with a gentle heart that rejected the brutality often associated with Ares. 

“You’re Damasen” you exhale breathlessly. 

“Correct, daughter of Hephaestus. Come in my hut and have soup, then I’ll send you both on your way.”

Damasen the Friendly poured you and Jungkook bowls of drakon soup, chunks of drakon meat floating in the broth.

“What about you, Mr. Damasen? Why don’t you tell us your story?” you implore, heartily sipping down the soup.

Damasen smiles. “It’s just as I said. I rejected war, resulting in abandonment from my mother. Instead, I chose to live a peaceful life on Earth as a farmer. I befriended other mortal farmers, and we lived in harmony planting wheat and barley,” he shrugs, lifting his mug in a fatherly way as he takes a sip of hot water.

You and Jungkook exchange dumbfounded glances. A giant living peacefully among mortals was absolutely unheard of.

“It was a peaceful millenia,” he continues, “Until a drakon escaped into the mortal realm and began ravaging all the farms. I couldn’t let it be. I slayed it. My mother banished me to Tartarus, cursing me to slay the drakon everyday for the rest of my life.”

On cue, a drakon roar reverberates between the walls. Damasen casts a dark look to the outside of the hut and immediately springs into action.

You and Jungkook watch dumbfoundedly as Damasen slays the enormous creature and walks to the hut like returning from a walk in the park.

“Damasen, you’re amazing,” you express in awe, to which Damasen shrugs.

“You demigods may rest on the hammock. You both look awful. We can continue this conversation once you wake,” he says, pointing towards a hammock made from drakon skin in the corner. 

Jungkook wants to protest, feeling unsafe about sleeping vulnerable in the presence of a giant, but he’s too tired to process anything. 

He plops onto the hammock, welcoming you with open arms as you both sink into the sheets, falling into a restful slumber after the most difficult hours of your life.

Jungkook wakes first, eyes blinking groggily as his eyes venture towards you, sleeping peacefully in the crook of his armpit. Careful not to wake you up, he gently lifts your head with his palm and gently places it against a pillow before standing from the hammock.

Damasen sits on the kitchen table, structured from Drakon bone, reading a Guide to the Underworld by Persephone and Demeter, a book that must have blown into the pit of Tartarus.

He takes a seat by Damasen. “Sir, we need you to lead us towards the Doors of Death.”

The Doors of Death stood as the sole gateway to the mortal realm. Gaia and her giants had seized control of these doors, enabling monsters to surge back into the mortal world with alarming speed. You and Jungkook had to enter the mortal realm through the Doors of Death, sealing it off from Tartarus’s side while the rest of the crew would work on closing the doors from the Earthly side.  

Damasen shakes his head, and Jungkook becomes slightly intimidated. This giant was designed to kill his father, the most fierce warrior amongst the Olympians. Though Damasen claimed a life of peace, what  if he changed his mind? Damasen could crush Jungkook with his bare fists. 

 “Son of Ares, I already told you that I chose to leave a life of peace. I do not wish to involve myself with pointless affairs.”

Jungkook grimaces, taking a knee on the concrete floor, a sign of respect for the Greeks “Sir, please. I’d do anything. We won’t survive without your guidance.”

Damasen lifts his gaze from the book to Jungkook, seemingly trapped in intense contemplation. “There is one thing you can do.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll try my best to do it for you,” Jungkook implores.

“My pocket knife,” Damasen responds, “It was the only belonging I carried from the mortal realm. The drakon knocked it into the River Phlegethon, and it’s been sitting at the bottom since. The child of Hephaestus can retrieve it for me.”

“No-”

“I’ll do it,” you declare, sitting up from the hammock.

Jungkook cuts you off immediately. “Sir, is there anything else I can do? I don’t want to put her in danger.”

Damasen shrugs, “That’s all I can think of. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything else.”

You shake your head, joining Jungkook and Damasen at the kitchen table, sitting on one of the drakon bone chairs. “I can do it. I’m immune to fire.”

Jungkook glares at you, and you respond with an even more fierce glare. Damasen, studying the dynamic between you and Jungkook, releases a sigh. “Child, does your father know about your relationship with this son of Ares? I imagine Hephaestus won’t find that very favorable.”

You stick out your hand, partially ignoring Damasen’s comment about Jungkook. Damasen uses his pointer finger and thumb to shake your hand. 

“Call me Y/N. If I retrieve the pocket knife from the River Phlegethon, join us on our quest. You can return to the mortal world and work as a farmer on Camp Half-Blood. We’re looking for a manager for our strawberry fields.”

Damasen shakes his head, “Your efforts would be futile. Even if I tried to leave, we would walk endlessly until returning to this hut.”

“Damasen,” you implore, “You deserve so much more than this. You deserve to see the stars, the sky, the moon. We need you.”

“If you retrieve the knife, I will guide you towards the Doors of Death. I will not be able to provide assistance beyond that,” he stubbornly responds, refusing to change his stance. 

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you exhale. “Okay. Where’s the knife?”

Jungkook scowls deeply at you. “Y/N. It’s dangerous. We can do this a different way.” He redirects his attention towards Damasen. “Anything else. Just let me know, anything that a son of Ares can do, I will do.”

“You already killed Lamia. At the very least, I can do this. I’m immune to fire, I’ll be able to survive at least 5 minutes in the river, and I can come back up to the surface if I need to.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. You’re not doing it.”

You frown deeply at him. “What, so you think I’m too weak to contribute to the quest?”

“What? No- that’s not what I’m saying. I just want you to be safe.”

You place both palms on his shoulders, looking at him straight in the eyes. “Jungkook,” you declare firmly, “Drop the Prince Charming complex. We’re in Tartarus. I wouldn’t try if I knew I couldn’t do it.”

Leaving him dumbfounded, you face Damasen. “Lead the way. I’m ready to jump in when you are.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “Damasen, give us a moment to discuss. Please.” He pulls you by your wrist to a corner of the drakon bone hut. You’re not necessarily secluded and Damasen catches heed to every word. 

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably. “You’re sure you can do it? You’ve never walked into a fire, let alone swam in one.”

You dismiss the notion with a wave. “I have. I saved some mortals from a house fire last summer. At the very least I can do five minutes- maybe ten if I try hard enough.”

Jungkook eyes you suspiciously, but you refuse to relent on your stoicism. Of course, you’re lying, but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” Jungkook relents, “But you’re making a silicone harness, with a fire-proof string, and I’m pulling you out after three minutes,” he compromises, features hardening. 

That’s all you’re getting, and you are going to take it if it means getting this over with more quickly.

“Damasen, if you give us a minute, I’m going to construct a makeshift breathing apparatus. Jungkook, I won’t make a harness, but I can tie a string around my waist. Pull me out after three minutes.”

You begin pulling things from your toolbelt, leaving Damasen to marvel at it. “Hephaestus technology, huh?” he beckons, “Your father must love you a lot to provide you with something like this.”

You shrug, “I guess. Man doesn’t talk to me much. It’s whatever,” you respond, quickly brushing off the topic as your hands quickly assemble a makeshift breathing apparatus from titanium alloys, ceramic composites, and rubber seals. 

-

Anyways, without delving too much into the details of yours and Jungkook’s excursion to Tartarus, you can safely claim you and Jungkook soundly escaped Tartarus.

Damasen was not so lucky.

That didn’t mean, however, that you and Jungkook weren’t on the brink of death when you narrowly escaped Tartarus through the Doors of Death.

Writhing on the floor, you vaguely remember Taehyung whisking you in his arms, willing the water from the surrounding lakes to form a wave, carrying himself back to the ship. 

Meanwhile,  Mingyu, son of Jupiter, soared through the air carrying an unconscious Jungkook from the crooks of his armpits.

You and Jungkook must have laid idle for quite a while in the ship’s corridors, and your friends, in their infinitely loyal nature, sat by your bedside for the entire time. 

Rose, daughter of Apollo and one of the demigods on the quest, remained by your side throughout, using her most powerful healing properties to save you from returning to the Underworld as a dead spirit. 

Her voice was the very first thing you heard when you woke up.

“Gods Taehyung, you fucking idiot, don’t pour more than half of a cup of nectar into the canteen! It needs to stay refrigerated!”

“Damn doctor- I’m trying my best here!”

You blink groggily, closing your eyes shut at the sunlight seeping through your eyelids like you have a sun allergy.

“Rosie?” you breathlessly express.

Rose drops nearly spills the canteen of nectar onto her pretty dress and whips her head towards you.

“Praise the gods, Y/N!” she squeals, reaching out to embrace you before she rapidly recoils her arms, “Oh shit, I don’t want to hurt you, but Gods Y/N, I’m so fucking happy you’re awake!”

You shake your head, sitting up on the bed, allowing Rose to cup your cheeks and rest her forehead on yours. 

“‘m fine Rosie, I feel brand new,” you mumble, and she finally reaches her arms out to tightly embrace you, tears of relief streaming down her face, soiling the fabric of your T-shirt.

“Gods Rosie, are you crying?” you express, a teasing giggle leaving your lips.

She playfully swats at your shoulder, “Yes Y/N, I’m fucking crying! I was worried sick! You fell into freaking Tartarus for Gods’ sake! We were so worried that you wouldn’t make it back, and to just-to just- to just see that you and Jungkook are okay- Gods, I’m so happy!”

The sounds of more cries echo across the walls, and you lift your head from Rose’s shoulder, blinking like you might be hallucinating because  Taehyung is sobbing, like actual tears streaming down his face.

You don’t think you’ve seen him cry since you were 14, during the Battle of the Labyrinth.

And as much as you want to make a teasing comment, you know you shouldn’t encourage his toxic masculinity any further.

He’s using his large palms to wipe the snot seeping out of his nostrils, and you and Rose simply look at each other, not knowing what to do or say. 

Should you comfort him? Should you say something? 

“I need to pee,” is all you muster in response. 

Rose laughs, rising up, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Want me to come along?”

“Duh.”

At that moment, you feel a large palm wrap around the circumference of your wrist. 

“Don’t go,” is all Jungkook mumbles, resting his forearm on his eyes to shield himself from the sun. He opens a single eye, and you feel your heart skip a beat- the sun is perfectly reflecting off Jungkook’s skin, making his brown irises appear the prettiest shade of hazel, and he’s looking at you so needily you wish you could  stay with him forever.

He tightens his hold on your wrist, pulling you towards him- you resist slightly so he doesn’t pull you on top of him in front of everyone. “Shit baby, we made it. It’s you and me inferno princess, the only demigods to survive Tartarus.”

And with that, the hand on your wrist moves to the back of your head, and he pulls your lips toward his, kissing you deeply like you were made of the sweetest nectar. You’re a bit taken aback, but you kiss him back just as passionately, eyes shutting in relief because Jungkook is okay.

He almost died several times in Tartarus protecting you. He laid his life down to save yours, and Gods, you hate to admit it but Jungkook is your handsome warrior, your Prince Charming, your man.

You would do anything for him.

You only pull away from each other when the sound of a canteen clatters on the floor. 

“Apollo’s Arrows!” Rosie backs away, nearly toppling over a nearby chair, a palm clasped over her mouth, “What happened in Tartarus?”

“What the fuck, Jeon!!” Mingyu gasps. 

Your head whips to your left, and the rest of the crew is standing in the doorway. Namjoon, Mina, and Mingyu are gaping at you, meaning that the entire crew witnessed the kiss. 

“Surprise..?” you squeak.

Mina, daughter of the Roman goddess Venus, quite literally leaps onto the bed, enveloping you in the tightest hug she’s ever bestowed. “I knew it! I swear, my mom told me you two were designed for each other in a dream! Gods, is Jungkook the first guy you didn’t reject?”

Your cheeks flush at that. 

The goddess of love herself claimed that you and Jungkook were designed for each other? Did the fates also weave this into their tapestries?

Jungkook raises a brow. “How many other guys did you reject?”

Mina squeals, “Jeon you wouldn’t believe it- I’ve got a whole list right here, lemme just pull it out-”

Namjoon walks over, placing a soft hand on Mina’s back. He looks up, addressing you and Jungkook. “I’m happy for you lovebirds, but if you’re all healed, we need you guys back up on the deck. We’re sailing into the Sea of Monsters.”

Taehyung stands,  the sclera of his eyes fading from a bloodshot red to a crimson pink. He and Jungkook exchange knowing glances, and Taehyung approaches, offering Jungkook a handshake, (or a dap?), to which Jungkook obliges before Taehyung reaches into his pocket for his pen. 

He puts it on display, holding it between his pointer and thumb, biting his lower lip in jubilation, a smirk spreading across his lips. 

He pushes past everybody, shoots up the stairs, leaving the rest of the crew to only perceive the sound of Taehyung’s pen clicking and transforming into a sexy Celestial Bronze sword. 

Jungkook stands, twisting his neck around to ease tension before he leans down to place a brief, but sweet kiss on your lips. “Gotta go babe, get some more rest.”

And with that, Jungkook disappears into the corridors, Namjoon following his lead. 

Mina and Rose join you on the bed, the three of you sitting in bestie formation. 

“Firstly,” Mina begins, “Are you okay? Gods Y/N, you survived fucking Tartarus.”

You nod, recalling everything that had happened in the pit, from your experiences with Lamia to deep diving into the River Phlegethon. “It hasn’t hit me yet,” you murmur, “but I guess that’ll have to wait until after we finally get rid of Gaia.”

Rose and Mina wrap you in a hug, their love and friendship seeping into you, and the feeling is tangible, so you allow yourself to melt into their embrace. A hug. A hug from your best girl friends is all you need right now.

They pull away, and with a giggle, Rose asks “So what happened with you and Jeon? Don’t tell me you lost your virginity in Tartarus-”

The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts Rosie off, and the three of you immediately whip your heads towards Mingyu, son of Jupiter, who had apparently been there the entire time. 

He’s leaning against the doorway, the hilt of his Imperial Gold sword sticking up from the scabbard hooked to his belt.

“He’s been here the whole time?” Mina deadpans to which Mingyu scoffs and shakes his head, taking a seat on the wheely chair by the bed. 

“Daughters of Venus, Apollo, and Hephaestus, and none of you could detect the presence of another demigod?” he teases. 

“Ugh whatever,” Mina muses, “It’s just because your energy is too weak. Not much to detect anyways”.

Looks like it’s just Mingyu and the girlies.

Or one Greek demigod with three Roman demigods, 

Or just four distant relatives through their godly parents just hanging around (except godly DNA wasn’t really a thing).

Mingyu dismisses her claim with a wave of his hand before rolling over to give you a side hug, “I’m glad you’re safe Y/N, and I’m happy you and Jungkook found each other. At least one good thing came from this.”

You blush, thanking Mingyu.

“That guy is like head over heels for you, he looks like he could take a giant on by himself for you,” he teases, to which Mina nods enthusiastically. 

“Oh yea Y/N, anybody could tell that Jungkook had a thing for you- you were probably the only  one who didn’t know,” Rose agrees.

That makes you redden. You rewind all your previous interactions with Jungkook like a cassette, regurgitating anything that could possibly be interpreted as romantic, but nope, nothing arises. 

You pause, thinking back to your quest with Lamia at 14. 

Jungkook was so adamant to go on that quest, and you always assumed it was because of his obsession with winning. He wanted to claim the fame and glory that came with completing a quest. He had the time of his life killing ferocious monsters and he could make his dad proud while stroking his own ego. 

Quite honestly, it never occurred to you that he accompanied you on all these quests because he liked you. 

You open your mouth to say something, but the wretched growls and howls of a sea monster cut you off. The upper deck shakes, rubble from the roof falling onto the ground.

You four give each other knowing looks and bolt up the stairs. 

-

The next two weeks on ships were the most cathartic weeks of Jungkook’s life. 

He takes every chance he can  romance you, savoring what could have been the past five years. Needless to say, Jungkook  is madly in love.

It was the middle of the night, and the sound of your alarm blared in your ears. That meant you were needed for duty on the upper deck.

All members of the crew took turns guarding the upper deck to protect the ship against sea monsters, wind spirits, and any other murder-inducing apparatuses. With a yawn you stumble towards the bathroom, quickling washing up before heading towards the stairs. 

Mingyu and Namjoon are leaning against the railings of the ship, appearing like literal death after being on guard for eight hours. You nod at both of them and Namjoon gives you a brief hug before disappearing down the stairs.

You head towards the figurehead, peering at the endless sea and the large crescent moon as you let the wind blow in your face like Rose from Titanic. 

Lost in your thoughts, you squeal when a hoodie-clad Jungkook sneaks up behind you and snakes his arms around your waist. He rests his head in the crook of your neck, making the gesture to sniff deeply, which gets him an elbow in the abs. 

“Such a barbarian, Kook,” you murmur. 

“What? I love your B.O,” he teases. 

Disgusting. He’s so gross. So disgusting, and you are disgustingly in love with him. 

You swirl around, leaning on the edge of the ship to face him so you can cup his face and sweetly kiss him. You love the texture of his tan skin- much more keratinized than yours- the calluses on his hands and the rough texture on his face somehow makes you feel safe in a weird dermatologist way. 

This time, Jungkook doesn’t kiss back, just keeps his eyes open so he can admire you, laughing a bit when you pull away from him.

You bite your lip, crimsoning to the shade of Cupid’s bum. “What?” you pout. 

Jungkook shrugs, eyes never averting from yours. “Nothing,” he replies nonchalantly, “You’re particularly lovely tonight.” And he means it. 

Under the moonlight, you become more mesmerizing. The night sky and chilly breeze sets the ambiance perfectly. If Jungkook could, he would park the ship by a nearby island and take you on a picnic date by the shore. 

You don’t feel lovely- you’re exhausted and quite honestly you kinda want to die but Jungkook never fails to see the beauty in your impurities. 

“You should get some rest. You were on guard for like eight hours today” you respond softly. His eyes, though filled with love, are tired with dark circles beneath, and you immediately become concerned for the well being of the man.

He grins, his pupils following your every movement and you don’t realize that Jungkook is slowly inching towards you. You look worried out of your mind and he can’t even take you seriously, thinking you’re the most precious thing in the world. “Did you even sleep? And you’re on guard next,” you beckon.

He looks at you like you’re crazy, scoffing playfully with a hand on his heart. “Babygirl thinks I can’t handle being up for more than twenty four hours? ‘m not a boy anymore, I’m a grown ass man.”

“A grown ass man that needs to sleep,” you point out, gaze hardening. 

Jungkook pouts at that, arms sneaking around you as he pulls you closer. “I wanna be with my girl. Send me back to Tartarus if that’s so evil.”

You rake your fingertips through his hair, shaking your head while you laugh at his comment. “And I want my handsome boyfriend to get sleep so he can be his best when he’s on guard duty.”

He lowers his head and whines into the crook of your neck, nibbling on the skin in retaliation. 

“After your guard duty today,” you whisper, “Come by my room. We can spend the night together,” your voice in itself makes Jungkook freeze. You sound so alluring, and Jungkook can’t help but fall victim to your seduction. 

Greek heroes were known to have fatal flaws: tragic downfalls that led to their bitter demise in all the classics. Hercules’ fatal flaw was impulsivity. Achilles' fatal flaw was his arrogance. Jungkook thinks that his fatal flaw is you. He’d burn the whole world if it meant you were okay.

He pulls away, somewhat surprised while he scans your face for any hint of unseriousness. “Okay,” Jungkook acquiesces, “But call me if you need anything.” With another brief kiss, he turns around and stalks back to his cabin.

-

For the past five minutes, you’ve been sitting at your desk. A sewing machine from your tool belt is placed in front of you, and you must be out of your mind because you’re actually sewing black lace lingerie. 

Of course a daughter of Hephaestus can engineer and sew.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you compare the fabric with your body to ensure the lingerie looks as appealing as possible. 

You think you look good but you can’t help the self conscious thoughts seeping into your mind, and thus you resist the urge to smash your head into the sewing machine. 

You briefly consider throwing the scraps of fabric into the trash can and pretending this never happened, but at the very least, you should see the lingerie through before deciding to go through with it. 

You don’t know what it is, but you are aware that you have some twisted fantasy in the deepest trenches of your heart about seducing your man, a sultry look in your eyes as you beckon him towards you before smothering your body in every crevice of his. 

You want him to be enamored with you; you want him to be mesmerized beyond comprehension, and you want to give yourself to him completely. 

Gods, this was a dark thought but you and Jungkook were on a dangerous, life-threatening quest. Who knows when either of you will meet your treacherous demise? You might as well adopt the whole fuck it, we’re going to die anyway philosophy and carry out the little silly adventures you’ve dreamt of, especially while you’re alive. 

You slide the lingerie and look at yourself in the mirror- you don’t even recognize yourself. 

You must be out of your mind.

-

Jungkook suffers through a long eight hours of waiting around on the upper deck, slaughtering sea monsters, negotiating with Greek guardians, and killing the occasional goddess.

He knows he shouldn’t be distracted during a quest, but he can’t help but visualize your face every time he closes his eyes. Jungkook’s had a crush on you ever since you were 10 and a decade later it stubbornly refused to fade.

He is alright with that.

If anything, he should be thanking Aphrodite for finally letting you and him happen because he has more of a reason to fight- more of a reason to conquer.

For you. It was all for you.

He’s pulled from his trance by the footsteps of Mina and Taehyung, meaning that it was their turn for guard duty and his shift was up. Jungkook bites his lips to hide the smile of ecstasy threatening to swallow his  entire face, and he realizes he must be ass at hiding his expression because Mina eyes him with pure suspicion.

He doesn’t care.

He zooms down the stairs, whizzing through the hallways before stopping at your door. He takes a deep breath, wiping off the dust from his clothes. He probably smells, but that’s okay. What nerd even has time to shower on a quest to save the world? 

Opening the door, the softest gasp leaves his lips.

His hands fumble the Celestial Bronze knife in his grasp, and it falls to the ground with a clack clack clack. 

Jungkook is starstruck, and he inhales shakily before he kicks the celestial knife to the side before swiveling around, ensuring no one was peering through the cracks before he closes the door behind him.

The room is decorated with candles, and no matter how the ship heaves and hoes, the candles remain in place, their flames still shining brightly and swaying with the movement of the shop.

Thank gods he’s dating a Hephaestus girl who can do freaky things like mechanically engineer non-flammable, non-movable candles that still retain the sultry ambiance of a normal candle.

He licks his lips.

In the middle of the bed, surrounded by rose petals sits you, in sheer black lace lingerie, staring at him innocently like you haven’t a clue how you’re twisting and turning his insides.

The lingerie fits you perfectly, accentuating every line and curve on your body and Jungkook truly truly thinks that you’re more beautiful than Aphrodite herself.

“Hey, Kook,” you whisper and Jungkook thinks he’s going to have a heart attack because he’s heard your voice millions of times but still thinks it sounds so sweet, beckoning him over to you.

He gulps. 

What a woman you are.

“And before you ask, I engineered the door to only open for you,” you giggle, watching Jungkook as his fingers tousle with the upper hem of his shirt, throwing it off to reveal his Greek-god build. Before he gets to the bed, he tumbles out of his sweatpants, leaving them on the floor- not even thinking. His mind is only on you.

He doesn’t say anything, and he knows damn well that a stupid door isn’t what he’s thinking about. He reaches the bed, crawls to you, and with his knees on the bed, he lifts you like you’re nothing as he holds your body from your waist as he kisses you.

He kiss kisses you, his tongue in your mouth, moaning because you taste sweeter than you usually do- and he’s not sure if it’s because of the show you’ve put on for him, or because he’s falling more in love with you everyday. 

The skin to skin contact is more real than ever. You’re so close that there isn’t a gap between your stomachs. All he can feel is you and the texture of your lace lingerie, and he absolutely melts into the feeling of you. 

He groans.

That night, he gives himself to you completely because he belongs to you.

He remembers the whole thing so vividly. 

On top of you, his eyes were lidded and his vision was blurred from the pleasure seeping throughout his body, sending chills down his spine, but he still refused to look away from you.

He remembers how beautiful you were underneath him, moaning his name and telling him you loved him.

With every thrust of his hips, his vision became more blurred- perhaps from the pleasure or because he was crying, vision clouded by tears because he’s so in love, and he never wants to lose you. The fire from the candles seems to burn more intensely, and when he reaches climax, the dreamy haze of you- your body and face- beneath the glow of the candles is all he sees. 

While the fire from that night set his heart ablaze, it was also your very flames that charred his heart to a crisp, leaving Jungkook as nothing but an empty shell of his former self. 

Exactly one week later, you died.

You, Jungkook, and Mingyu soared thousands of feet above Camp Half-Blood. The claws of your mechanical dragon Pulchra tousled with the physical form of the evil Earth mother herself: Gaia. You sat on your dragon, directing her to ascend higher and higher.

Mingyu, son of Jupiter, who was equipped with handy dandy flying skills, held Jungkook as he followed in pursuit of your dragon. As he darted through the clouds, Jungkook delivered fatal blows to the Earth mother.  

Since Jungkook returned from Tartarus, he and Mingyu had been preparing a strategy to kill Gaia for good. 

Gaia was the mother of the Earth, so taking away from her playing field and to the skies provided Jungkook and Mingyu with an advantage. 

Mingyu, harnessing the power of the tempests, would conjure a storm, disorienting Gaia with lightning and wind. Jungkook would deliver the final blow with the spear of Ares- the same spear you retrieved from the Hephaestion, and the same spear Ares used to kill Alcyeoneus in the original Titan war. 

But before Mingyu had the chance to summon a gust of wind, you used your flame manipulation to morph into a ball of fire to incinerate Gaia to death, engulfing Gaia and yourself in fire before blasting away like a meteor, leaving a trail of fiery residue in your wake. 

That marked the final glimpse Jungkook saw of you.

Gaia’s death meant the successful completion of the quest, and Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter erupted into cheers at the demise of the evil Earth mother. Mingyu and Jungkook, on the other hand, were in shock as they remained stagnant in the atmosphere, watching the fiery residue simmer into nothingness. 

Mingyu touches down softly on the earth,  and Jungkook stumbles on the ground, falling to his knees.  Campers from both Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter roar with excitement, welcoming both men with jubilation.

Jungkook is unable to move, palms and knees still planted onto the ground, grappling with the weight of what he just witnessed. The cheers seem distant, drowned out by the echo of your fiery departure. Jungkook, typically fierce and resilient, allows panic to infiltrate his being, and it isn’t until Rose pushes past the crowd and falls to her knees, her palms desperately shaking Jungkook’s shoulders. “Where’s Y/N? Jungkook?! Where the fuck is Y/N?”

Unable to conjure a response, Jungkook opens and closes his mouth, desperately scanning Rosie’s face for a hint of jest- like Oh! Just kidding! Y/N is right here!- but she’s not kidding, her hardened features indicative that nothing could ever be more serious. 

Jungkook's agony manifests in a heart-wrenching scream, tears streaming down his face as he  bangs his fists into the ground. 

Rosie’s face drops and she clasps a palm over her lips. At that moment, Taehyung, Mina, and Namjoon push through the crowd, frantically scanning through the waves of people for you. Taehyung’s face turns grim at the sight of Jungkook sobbing into the ground, and Namjoon starts crying. 

The cheers from the campers dwindle into silence. 

"Legions, to the West! Each camper is to conduct a thorough search for Y/N. Mobilize all pegasi, airplanes, and flying apparatuses immediately!" Mingyu roars, and the camps erupt into a panic, fleeing into different directions to prepare for a comprehensive search. 

After 24 hours of hunting, you never appear. 

Jennie, daughter of Hades, confirms your death, and Jungkook’s heart plummets to his stomach. 

-

The atmosphere at Camp Half-Blood is heavy with sorrow as campers of both Roman and Greek gather at the foot of Half-Blood Hill.

In the center of a clearing, a makeshift altar is erected, adorned with offerings and mementos that speak of the adventures and camaraderie you share with the camp. Symbols are scattered for each quest you successfully complete. Copies of your favorite books litter the ground, along with your favorite foods, figurines of your favorite anime characters, and prototypes of weapons and trinkets you engineer.

Each camper is presented a red bead adorned with the emblem of a flame to celebrate the daughter of Hephaestus that shines so brightly. The bead is intended to be threaded onto the necklaces worn by all Camp Half-Blood members, each bead representing a year spent at camp.

“Today, we gather not only to mourn the loss of a brave demigod but to celebrate a hero whose legacy will forever echo through the boundaries of this camp,” Chiron’s voice resonates with a mix of sadness and reverence.

As Chiron speaks, campers take turns sharing anecdotes of your courage, weaving a tapestry of memories that paint a vivid impact you have on those around you.

In Mingyu's embrace, Rose weeps openly, her tears flowing freely as Mina recollects the adventures the three girls embarked upon the quest to defeat Gaia. Tales unfold—of mastering swordplay, battling sea monsters, concocting healing potions, and dedicating free time to handcraft makeup and serums.

Mingyu is next, clearing his throat before he awkwardly retells stories of meeting you for the first time. Mingyu, son of the Roman god Jupiter, appeared at Camp Half-Blood randomly after having his memory wiped.

Most approached Mingyu with hostility while you and Namjoon welcomed him with kindness, showing him around camp and becoming his friend. Mingyu shares the tale of your and his encounter with Hercules on an island before entering Greece—a confrontation that angered Hercules and ended with him buried under a mound of macaroni (a lengthy tale). Mingyu sheds a tear before closing off, and to be quite honest, he still bears the weight of witnessing your death and not intervening. It would haunt him forever.

Jaehyun, son of Apollo and your first kiss, is up next. In a heartfelt moment, he openly declares his love for you in front of everyone, and while he has every right to mourn and grieve in a way that works for him, the few that know about you and Jungkook shift in discomfort.

No one utters a word about your blooming relationship with Jungkook, and unless Jungkook explicitly tells them to, their lips remain sealed.

Love is a beautiful thing. At times, some find themselves so enamored with another that they become compelled to openly declare and proclaim their love to the whole world. Arguably, an intimate, more private love is even more ideal. Loving someone discreetly creates an intimate connection known only to someone and their love, completely unburdened by the need for external validation, and that’s the type of love Jungkook intends to share with you.

Once Jaehyun sits down, the echo of Taehyung’s stomp captures the attention of all the campers.

“Y/N’s not dead,” Taehyung claims, “and I know she’s not.”

Namjoon eyes his friend with daggers in his pupils, but Taehyung refuses to relent.

“I’ve been best friends with Y/N since we were 12,” he seethes, “I would sense it if she were dead- so respectfully, we need to stop moping around and we have to find her.”

“Tae,” Jennie, daughter of Hades, rises and places a soothing hand on his back, “I sensed her death. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”

Taehyung shakes his head and brushes Jennie’s hand away. “I don’t give a fuck. Y/N is alive.”

In a rage of anger, Namjoon stands up and strikes Taehyung in the face. “Taehyung! Sit down. You’re tarnishing Y/N’s image and causing more pain for everyone here with your delusions. Y/N is in Elysium, and she’s at peace. Let her rest in peace.”

Chiron clears his throat and approaches the boys. “That’s true. She served well. Y/N has been on quests since she was 11. She was a diligent soldier. She deserves rest.”

Taehyung, clutching his face where Namjoon hit him, remains calm and shakes his head. “I would agree if she were actually dead, but she’s not. Isn’t that right Jungkook? Don’t you feel it?”

Jungkook, who has maintained a solemn silence until this moment, lifts his head from his hands. His gaze sweeps over the assembly of campers, then shifts to the shrine erected in your memory, finally locking eyes with Taehyung. Despite his swollen and puffy eyes, Jungkook stands, drawing his sword. "One hour. In sixty minutes, I’m leaving on a quest to find Y/N. Join me if you want or stay if you genuinely believe she's gone. We'll reconvene here. Pack your shit. This journey may take a while."

And you would think that a quest involving the strongest Roman and Greek demigods would lead to something, but it was like you never existed- every trace of you was gone. 

The crew had a small glimmer of hope when they came across a piece of scrap metal from your mechanical dragon, Pulchra, drifting in the Atlantic ocean, but it led to nothing. 

Jungkook scoured the entire world, yet you were gone, gone without a trace.

-

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Jungkook secludes himself, grappling with the guilt and pain of not being able to save you.

He leaves Camp Half-Blood for good, moving halfway across the world to Korea to live with his mother and pursue mortal education.

Typically, the whole mantra is Demigods have to stay in Camp Half-Blood to protect themselves from monsters!1!! But Jungkook, 20 years old and the strongest Greek demigod alive, doesn’t have any issue with that. Without a moment's hesitation, he ruthlessly eliminates any monster, adversary, or demon that dares to approach him.

Once, while Jungkook is hanging up his mother’s wet clothes on a clothing line, a hydra approaches the granny neighbors living below him. He doesn’t know what the mortals see - maybe a gigantic husky - but his granny neighbors living below him are scared nonetheless, screaming while the hydra squares them up.

Jungkook encountered a hydra on the quest of the Eternal Night when he was 14 - the key was to not cut off any of the hydra’s heads because it would only grow more. Instead, he hopped down a whole story and used his celestial bronze knife, the same one you crafted, to cut the hydra from its lower calf, causing the monster to crumble into dust.

Following that incident, his granny neighbors were likely even more frightened of him than the hydra, but he truly, truly could not bring himself to care.

He no longer even enjoys killing monsters; his fiery soul and obsession with combat faded into nothing but emptiness.

Jungkook is empty. So, so empty. He hates the gods and refuses to speak to his father, despite countless attempts from Ares to reach out to him.

Instead, he immerses himself in a hedonistic mortal lifestyle. His Harley-Davidson motorcycle is still a familiar sight, roaring through the streets to bars in Seoul, clubs in Itaewon, and occasionally cruising along the coastal beaches of Busan.

It takes him some time to fully embrace the hookup culture, but one drunken night at a bar leads him down the path of one-night-stands and sneaking away in the middle of the night. The first girl, whose name he can't recall, is attractive and makes the first move. With nothing to lose, and alcohol in his system, he goes to hers.

It's okay. It isn’t anything special, but he finds himself unable to finish, and on the journey home, a sense of self-disgust washes over him.

On a chilly December night, Jungkook finds himself at Cakeshop, a nightclub in Itaewon. Around winter, Mina, who is visiting family in Japan, decides to pay Jungkook a visit and accompanies him to the club for a few drinks and a night out.

Of course, Jungkook is delighted to see an old friend, no matter how horrible his condition was the last time he saw her. He takes her out to a few meals and rents out the neighboring flat for her.

Amidst the lively chatter and laughter, the duo enjoys a few drinks, exchanging stories and catching up on the time they spent apart. As the night unfolds, they explore the different sections of the club, from the energetic dance floor to the cozy lounges, where they sit continuing their conversation.

Mina tells Jungkook stories from Camp Jupiter — how she has risen through the ranks and been promoted as Praetor of the Roman legion, and Jungkook is genuinely happy to hear it.

Gasps resonate throughout the lounge, and when Mina and Jungkook turn their heads in the direction of the commotion, their faces drop. The most facially aesthetic woman he’s ever seen gracefully maneuvers through the crowd, prompting the masses to part like the Red Sea.

Her gaze fixes on Mina and Jungkook, and without any invitation, she assertively joins them in the lounge. Seating herself directly across from them, her presence transforms the lounge into an exclusive VIP area. Security personnel, clad in sleek black suits, swiftly cordon off the lounge from public access, blocking away any crazy men and women who try to leap at her.

“Hello Mina, dear. You look lovely tonight,” the woman says, pulling lip gloss from her clutch purse and reapplying it to her lips. Mina sneers at the woman, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care because the woman immediately redirects her attention to Jungkook.

Aphrodite.

“Jungkook, dear, I need to talk to you,” she states, voice becoming rigidly serious.

Jungkook and Mina exchange looks, the disdain in her eyes appearing like she wants to leave and Jungkook nearly obliges because he certainly isn’t the biggest fan of the goddess either.

“You need to talk to your father,” she solicits, not even having the decency to look at Jungkook while she addresses him, her eyes focused on the compact mirror in her manicured hands.

Aphrodite was arguably one of the cruelest goddesses, even more so than Jungkook's father, Ares. Love and war work in tandem, but love is the subtle dagger concealed in a silk glove. Aphrodite's influence wasn't just about the sweet intoxication of romance; it was a weapon, a potent brew of desire that she skillfully wielded to manipulate the hearts of both gods and mortals.

And she won. Jungkook let Aphrodite win because he was so tired, so defeated.She allowed Jungkook to be with his love for three mere weeks before ripping her from him in the most horrific way.

“Respectfully, fuck you.” Jungkook stands, preparing to leave when a piercing glare from Aphrodite halts him in his tracks, instantly enveloping the entire room in an eerie stillness, stopping time. 

“Jungkook, dear,” she repeats, her voice more menacing, "You're well aware of the consequences when demigods show disrespect to gods. It weakens us, and the delicate balance of the world hangs in jeopardy. Considering that your father, a god, is desperately trying to connect with you, you currently hold a position of advantage. I recommend you take a seat and engage in a conversation before that advantage slips away."

Jungkook grimaces, exchanging worried glances with Mina before sitting down and placing his palms on the table. 

“What is it?”

“Your father wants to speak with you,” she begins, “and he’s heartbroken that you won’t give him the chance for a conversation. I can’t deal with a heartbroken boyfriend, it’s affecting our relationship.”

“Mom, that’s selfish,” Mina intervenes, “Jungkook’s been through enough, and you came all the way here just for that?”

Aphrodite’s features soften, and she looks at her daughter sadly. “That’s not all. Jungkook needs to return to Camp Half-Blood,” she adds, to which Jungkook shakes his head. 

“I’ll talk to Ares, but I’m not ready to return- not yet,” he grimaces. 

“Jungkook,” Aphrodite places a palm on top of Jungkook’s, “I understand how you feel. I truly do. You loved Y/N, and the way you felt for her- it was of the utmost honor.  But Jungkook, your friends need you. Though Gaia is deceased, the battle isn’t over. Remnants of her children remain, and Flame Warden has overtaken my husband Hephaestus’s forge in Mount Olympus.”

Hephaestus. 

Jungkook inwardly recoils at the mention of your father, Hephaestus, and he cringes that Aphrodite is claiming Hephaestus as her husband, even after her ongoing affair with Jungkook’s own father. 

“Hephaestus,” Jungkook says, “Does he- does he even care that Y/N is dead?” Jungkook whispers, eyes reflecting despondency. 

Aphrodite softens infinitely. “Of course he does, sweetie. As you're aware, it goes beyond the cosmic structure for gods to nurture connections with their demigod offspring. Hephaestus bears numerous regrets, and even rescuing Y/N was beyond his capacity. His disheartenment led to the infiltration of his ember forge- he hasn’t been the same since Y/N died.”

Jungkook glowers at that, pulling his hand from Aphrodite’s. “So the forge you’re referring to- is it the same forge where Celestial Bronze is created?”

Aphrodite nods. “Now that the Ember Forge has been breached, the Hermes Express faces a disruption in delivering celestial bronze to Camp Half-Blood and the Cyclops' forges. The demigods at Camp Half-Blood are currently unable to craft weapons. As we enter the Golden Era of Demigods, celestial bronze is crucial for arming ourselves and defending against the threat of monsters. As you're aware, the collaboration of a god and a demigod is essential to defeating a giant. Jungkook, your assistance is paramount; we need you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow. “The Golden Era of Demigods?”

Aphrodite acknowledges with a nod. "Your generation, my daughter Mina, and your companions are on the brink of their 20s. In Greek and Roman history, this is an extraordinary development. Typically, demigods meet their fate in their teens, yet now, the significant strength of demigods in their 20s is unprecedented. Jungkook, we stand at a unique opportunity to eradicate the menace of monsters once and for all."

Jungkook looks down, his lip caught between his teeth. "You vowed to change your ways. The gods made promises to recognize their children and to at least talk to them," Jungkook seethes, frustration evident. "Mina’s right here, and barely a word has been spoken to her. Progress won't be made unless the gods acknowledge and take responsibility for their shortcomings."

Aphrodite frowns, “Mina doesn’t want to talk to me! Isn’t it good parenting to leave your teenage daughter alone? The gods are trying their best, Jungkook. Your father is trying his best.”

Mina places a soothing hand over Jungkook’s fist.

“Jungkook, you should go,” she expresses gently, “The Ember forge…” she trails off, “Y/N would want you to do this. Her siblings in the Hephaestus cabin need the celestial bronze. Do it for her.”

Her words plunge Jungkook into a whirlwind of memories: the moments you spent forging his Celestial Bronze knife, the way he annoyed you to hide his colossal crush on you, and how he has carried that same Celestial Bronze knife ever since. 

Aphrodite nods in agreement. “Do it for Y/N-”

Jungkook slams his fists on the table. “Don’t speak of her.”

Jungkook knows very well that Aphrodite could have obliterated him on the spot, but she showed mercy by smiling and nodding at Jungkook. 

“Fuck it. I’m doing it. Fuck it,” Jungkook murmurs, much to Aphrodite’s delight and Mina’s satisfaction. 

-

The quest now dubbed the Quest of the Ember Forge was triumphant, and it marked the beginning of Jungkook’s return to Camp Half-Blood. 

He reimmersed himself in the camaraderie of camp life, and now that he and his friends were of age, they spent hours in the Big House drinking, reveling in their newfound adulthood. 

It brought Jungkook so much joy to see Namjoon loosen up, laughing at the stupidest jokes Taehyung made while they downed shots of soju and played Mythomagic, an old card game from their childhood. 

The laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the spirited discussions about the recent quest, reminiscences of past adventures, and plans for the future. They toasted to their victories and shared stories of their individual journeys during the time apart. 

Even Chiron, the wise centaur, couldn't resist joining in the festivities, regaling them with tales of ancient mythology and imparting wisdom in his own humorous way.

The once-burdened weight on Jungkook's shoulders lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and connection. 

For the first time in two years, Jungkook felt at peace, at home, and disallowed the plague of guilt to overwhelm him as he laughed with his friends. 

-

Jungkook resumes sword fighting in the dueling ground, becoming the sword fighting teacher for all the cabins. 

Out of all the campers, there is one kid he absolutely adores: a 13-year-old Jungwon, another sibling of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook finds himself observing Jungwon from a distance, the spark in his eyes reminiscent of a younger Jungkook. Soot covers the younger boy's face, and sweat drips from his armor like he’s been out there for hours.

“Kid!” Jungkook approaches, unsheathing his sword. He tilts his head and grins. “Care for a duel?”

Jungwon grins, raising his brows before licking his lips. If anything, Jungwon 100% emits the fiery, combat-crazed aura Jungkook is renowned for. There is no doubt in Jungkook’s mind that this kid is going to be a beast.

The dueling ground buzzes with anticipation as other campers gather to watch the showdown between the seasoned warrior and his spirited protégé. Jungkook and Jungwon circle each other, their swords catching glints of sunlight. 

With a sudden burst of energy, Jungkook lunges forward, his movements swift and precise. Jungwon, fueled by determination, meets each strike with resilience beyond his years.

In a final, calculated move, Jungkook disarms Jungwon, ending the duel with a victorious flourish. The onlookers erupt into cheers, acknowledging the mastery of their esteemed sword-fighting teacher.

Jungkook stalks over to Jungwon and helps him up before tousling his hair. “They gotta send you on a quest soon. You’re more than ready.”

Jungwon’s eyes sparkle as he addresses Jungkook. “Seriously? Can you put in a good word for me to Chiron?”

Jungkook nods, but a sudden realization overtakes him.

He doesn’t want to send Jungwon on a quest.

Jungkook's not keen on the idea of sending Jungwon on a quest, at all. Quests are rough, life-altering, and there's a chance Jungwon might not make it back in one piece. The thought of putting his younger sibling through all that hardship and potential danger sews seeds of peril into his consciousness.

On one side, there's a deep desire to shield his younger brother from harm - no way in hell would he let any monsters or giants destroy the innocent twinkle in his eyes. On the other hand, he understands that quests are an inevitable part of a demigod’s journey - it’s not like he wants Jungwon to get soft.

While Jungkook is frozen at that dawning realization, he follows Jungwon’s train of vision to a familiar face in the distance.

It's Isabella, a daughter of Hephaestus, casually strolling with her friends near the dueling arena.

He doesn’t miss the twinkle in Jungwon’s eyes and the blush flushing his cheeks as he turns his head to keep his eyes on Isabella.

Jungkook throws up that night.

-

One year later, Jungkook visits Mina, Rose, and Mingyu at Camp Jupiter to aid the Roman legion with dueling lessons. 

There, a budding romance blooms with a descendant of Apollo, Sofia. 

It’s not like Jungkook means for it to happen; he had sworn off love for the rest of his life. Yet, he couldn't ignore the way Sofia's eyes lingered on him. And when she found her way into his hotel room at night, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to ask her to leave.

-

After that trip, Sofia visits Jungkook at Camp Half-Blood. 

Sofia is now Jungkook’s girlfriend and he feels content. 

Night after night, Jungkook pays a visit to the shrine dedicated to you, a ritual of remembrance and honor. Sofia, understanding and respecting his feelings, never presses him to share the details of his relationship with you. 

Over time, as Jungkook finds solace in their growing connection, he starts bringing Sofia to join him in leaving offerings at your shrine. In those moments, a sense of closure and the gentle warmth of moving forward envelops Jungkook's heart. It’s time to move forward.

That is, until he runs into you. 

[kindestegg]

Putting together a timeline for the Collector's backstory

Hi!! For the Future just happened!! It was insane!! Anyway as a Collector superfan, fantasy worldbuilding fanatic, and also Collector's actual chosen dad (real, not fake, he revealed this to me in a dream /j), I decided to try and interpret the crumbs we got both from direct and indirect clues in the new episode, as well as tying back to earlier episodes.

I want to start first with the paintings on the Archive halls, which seem to tell a story. I chose to interpret them, from the first shot we see them in, as chronological from left to right, as that usually tends to be how one would read things (at least in the west, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about manga and all that, but I don't think the crew was following manga rules).

Here is a picture of the hallway I am using for reference. This specific shot seems to only have unique paintings aligning (there is an animation quirk that happens later on that makes it not so but I will get to this later), which is why I have elected to extract the timeline from this. Another reason is that, as we will see, the first three pictures definitely seem to fit in a neat chronological order, which would make it hard to doubt the placement of these paintings as being chronological here.

The first seems to depict our Collector, as the smaller one of his species, and three, bigger collectors. For convenience's sake I am in fact choosing to interpret these paintings as being things that happened to him and part of his memories. It makes sense: there is an emphasis on this smaller figure several times throughout the paintings and I cannot think why Collector would put random pictures of some other child collector's life, as well as we have to imagine the crew wanted to tell a story with these, otherwise they would be as random as the sun and moon paintings on the other side of the hall.

So it seems in this first picture, the bigger collectors, perhaps his family, are observing a planet, maybe even the planet the world of the Demon Realm is on.

Here is where I take a detour to add excerpts from the book Collector had King read to him (I should eventually make an analysis post on why Collector wanted this read to him, but all in its due time):

As the book states, collectors, by nature, observe things and then collect them by keeping them in stasis.

Going back to the painting, all indicates that this would show these particular collectors, likely the family of our younger Collector, were interested in the planet the Boiling Isles is on, and this painting depicts the first stage of their plan, observing this planet.

As a quick aside, I would like to say it is likely collectors do know what families are, and they may even form familial bonds and hierarchies. One such nod to this is of course Collector calling Odalia "Mamadalia", but also, this:

It is barely visible, but in a few quick shots you can see the next page of the book. Not only does it seem to use the words "interdimensional" and "dimension(s)", likely referring to the nature of collectors themselves or their residence, but it also uses the word "Family".

So, to recap, three adult collectors, likely our Collector's family, had their sights set on the planet the Boiling Isles is on.

And one of their first contacts was the Titan Trappers.

We now know that despite the resemblance to titans at first glance, titan trappers only wear their skulls and pelts to look like them, making the hunt easier, as well as to, I imagine, indicate pride in their spoils. The indication we have this is not a titan is primarily the spear utilized here, the fact the fur does not match the rest of the body, and the yellow glowing eyes.

I will discuss this further down through showing evidence with the other paintings, but there seems to be a recurring theme in the paintings that depicts the trappers and collectors as always having yellow eyes, whereas the titans are depicted with red eyes.

As Lilith explains further on, books found in the archive detail that a titan's power can actually cancel out the collectors' powers.

She also goes on to say that this why Collector's predecessors (her words not mine) wiped out all the titans.

If such is the case, then that explains why they chose to ally themselves with the trappers. It's likely they needed an intermediator, otherwise they would have not been able to fight the titans full on. In exchange, they likely shared whatever arcane knowledge they could to help in the fights, powering up the trappers.

This would line up perfectly with the trappers' worship of their Grand Huntsman, who as we all know, derives from the Collector and his entire species in aesthetic and looks.

As for why they did not want to risk peaceful contact with the titans besides the reason of their powers being able to be canceled out by titans, there is also the crossed out passage in the book:

Though our Collector declares he tried to "fix" it, we can still clearly see what was originally written, implying that any creature who attempts to stop their work shall meet a deadly end, and maybe even the entire planet will have all of its life wiped out.

So it is likely the titans were not fond of the collectors attempting to collect things in their planet, and fought back, causing the collectors to learn firsthand of their weakness to a titan's power, and to then ally themselves with the trappers.

Which, leads again, to the second painting, depicting two collectors in front of a trapper. The taller one, which I assume is part of our Collector's family, is trying on a skull.

By their side, I will assume is our Collector, due to the smaller stature, and something curious about the body language placed here for him seems to indicate he is examining the skull before putting it on. This could indicate he had an interest on the titans from early on. This will be important later.

As a quick addendum before we move on, I have come to conclude it's highly likely collectors have the ability to change size. In the first painting, the three adults are larger than the entire planet, with our Collector being only a bit smaller than the planet itself. However, in this second painting, the adult is not even as tall as the trapper depicted here, which, if we assume trappers are common witches and demons simply adorned with pelts and skulls just like the modern ones, were not as giant. Similarly, Collector is also way smaller, hence the theory that they change size.

We have seen our Collector possibly changing sizes in canon as well, both in the Owl Beast dream as their hooded figure form seemed massive, and then when they have just broken out of their prison. It's possible collectors scale down their massive size to fit whatever planet they are on.

Next is the third painting, which depicts a familiar scene...

Indeed, this seems to be an almost one to one recreation of the mural we see in Echoes of the Past inside King's castle. We even receive some extra content to it: We now know the titan depicted here had wing like structures on their arms, as well as was protecting an egg, and was accompanied by a smaller, likely juvenile titan.

Notice also how they both have red eyes, but the trapper has yellow eyes.

This all but confirms that the mural is depicting a trapper smithing a titan (whether it is our Titan we do not know for sure), and that the collectors had a hand in this.

Moving on, we have this painting:

Again, going out of the assumption the smaller figure is our Collector, he seems to be approached by four other adult collectors. These collectors however, are slightly different than three he was earlier with: first of all there are four of them, they have no split faces, and their hats are adorned with celestial bodies on their tips. For the sake of convenience I will refer to these as "The Elders", as their difference from our Collector's supposed family, as well as possible authority denoted by their hats, makes me think they are older and more powerful than our Collector's family.

Anyway, The Elders appear to be satisfied with our Collector, one even extending an open palm to them in a friendly gesture. I confess my interpretation of this is more speculative than the other paintings, simply because of the vagueness of it and how it does not seem to tie well into any other pictures or current lore we have.

But my current understanding is that, since one of The Elders is making such a gesture at Collector, they are maybe giving something to them, offering an opportunity. Their authority would certainly denote power above even Collector and his family, so they would likely be able to call the shots in their hierarchy.

Due to this, and considering the next paintings, I have elected to interpret this as The Elders entrusting Collector full control of watching over and collecting things from the planet he and his family had their eyes on. If this happens chronologically after the deal with the trappers as well, this could indicate the Elders have deemed it safe for our Collector to take over.

It also would explain why he calls himself The Collector, he's the designated collector for that planet, the caretaker of this planet and the one meant to observe and collect from it.

Which makes this next painting all the more interesting.

Collector, is surrounded by what seems to be four baby titans. They have their arms up, reaching for him, running to him. Playing. His expression also indicates happiness, eyes wide, hands on his chin, a little smile.

Recall for a moment that in the painting depicting the first contact with the trappers, our Collector had stopped to examine the titan skull. He was interested in them, he wanted to play.

This would align with Collector's "fixing" of the book, going to the lengths of desecrating what is likely an ancient book that dictates/documents the entire culture of his species to ensure his message of playing and friendship is more important.

If we take this painting and the book addition in conjunction, we can come to the conclusion Collector, once left alone, went out of his way to befriend and play with whatever titan babies were left out there. He was likely happy with this, as nothing about this picture indicates a struggle. And once again, these are definitely titan babies due to their eyes being red.

One may be concerned considering the fact the stars here could indicate they are in space, but there are a few counter arguments to this: Collector does not seem to imagine someone could suffocate in space as he suggests people on the moon could just hold their breaths, so this contradicts the idea he would have had experience with this.

The baby titans also seem to have playful body language rather than showing any anguish. And furthermore, when discussing the painting with my boyfriend he pointed out the blue waves could be an abstraction of the shoreline, indicating they were playing on the beach. In short, it is just the simplest explanation this depicts a peaceful scene rather than one with the babies suffocating, as it would not align with the rest of the story here.

There is also the matter of Collector straight up denouncing "the others", which we can only assume refers to the other collectors. It's no wonder he would feel that way, since they were the reason for his new friends' families being all but wiped out, and were less interested in playing with the creatures they observed and rather only preserving them.

Which only makes the present of the Isles and the state of titans and collectors all the more worrying, as well as concerns us with a last, pretty elusive painting...

This is what I meant by animation quirk: Getting a picture of this painting was so hard because it's the very last one in the timeline line up I showed you in that first screenshot, but when the camera zooms in on King and he runs up to get Hooty and we SHOULD get a proper look at it...

... It's pushed back again and the last two paintings get repeated. Which makes me think this is either an animation error, or they REALLY want to make it hard for us to get it.

BUT! After a bunch of rewatches and looking at some slowed down clips again, I was finally able to find the ONE place it repeated, on the scene where Belos!Raine is walking down the halls ominously.

And it is quite the revelation.

This depicts three adult collectors, likely our Collector's parents, staring down menacingly at a titan... perhaps THE Titan this time? It's worth noting this is not the same titan depicted in the painting with the trapper hunting down one that was protecting their egg, as that one had smaller wings and a skull that covered their entire jaw, whereas this one's skull only goes to the muzzle, just like King's does.

Something interesting is that this titan is accompanied either by other very weird looking titans, or these are other creatures that inhabited the Boiling Isles at the time and were also casualties in the collectors' path.

There is also fire surrounding this picture, which makes me think again of the "clear the earth, scorch the air" verse. It's also odd these collectors are approaching the titan(s) despite the fact titan magic could easily push them back, so it could be that they are betting it all on this and going on to cause massive destruction. But the titan seems to be holding up a hand as if gesturing for them to stop, or wait... they're not fighting back like with the trappers. Why?

Well, if this takes place after the painting with Collector playing the baby titans, it's possible these titans had become accustomed to our Collector and did not expect such an attack. It's likely they may have at first understood that this Collector was a child, one that was more interested in playing and befriending them rather than hurting anyone, and cautiously took them in.

Now, whether it was a misunderstanding with Collector's family thinking they were in danger or they were angered by their refusal to hurt titans... we know how the story ends. The titans were all wiped out, safe for King's egg, and Collector was sealed away by King's dad, likely one of the last things he'd ever do.

Overall I think our Collector's backstory is both horrifying and sad. Horrifying because of what his species is capable of, but also sad because despite his efforts to make peace with the titans, it couldn't save them and cost him his freedom. It's no wonder he was so happy to see a titan again, and latched onto King: this is like his second chance.

[obm-avenquire]

Obey Me! Seven Minutes In Heaven Hell

[I’m honouring my rotten god awful roots from hell. Put up with it. I hope this gives someone whiplash. I am writing this both as a joke and with complete sincerity and i wont be explaining myself if you get it you get it if you dont then i hope youll find it entertaining anyway. I used my own deviantart for 2012 for reference for this]

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Another day, another party in the Devildom. 

You have no idea how any of them have energy for all this - it feels like every week someone will pull some cause for celebration out of thin air and suddenly they’ve hired a catering company and a truckload of helium balloons. Of course, Diavolo - fuelled by his unending fear of missing out and need for enrichment - enables it every time, doing everything he can to get himself and everyone else you know invited. Which is…fine, you like seeing them all. In moderation. At none noisy crowded events. Ah, well. Such is the burden of a dating sim protagonist. Slumber parties at the castle are a little less high maintenance at least.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Asmodeus calls your name, waving you over with Demonus-flushed cheeks before dragging you away from the balcony and back into the big guest room-turned-common-room-sleeping-area. You definitely think there’s a better way to phrase that, but you barely have time to think when Asmo is pushing you to sit down in the collective circle (his strength always surprises you, and he’s maybe just a little too tipsy to regulate it properly), pressing a kiss on your cheeks before running off to herd together the rest of the group.

You look around the circle, giving Satan an affirming but vague nod that he returns with an equally innocuous smile, which you accept as you always do and go back to your usual little headcount. Belphegor was dozing on the sofa, threatening to sprawl over Satan (who was ‘gently’ repositioning him whenever necessary), Mephistopholes (who had invited himself) was preaching his very special gospel to Beelzebub at the snack table while Asmodeus did whatever he could to wrangle the younger away because his plate was basically just a tower of snacks at this point and he could always get more later so if he would just pleeeeaaaaasssee-

You stop paying attention, instead giving Simeon and Raphael a little wave as they walk in.

“Welcome back,” You shuffle over slightly to make space for the two of them, Simeon sitting down next to you as Raphael decides to stand rigidly slightly off to the side just a little behind the sofa, and just…stay there. Well, whatever makes him comfortable, you guess. “Did Luke arrive safe?”

“He did, thankfully,” Simeon smiles, tucking his phone into the pockets of his trousers, “I can’t believe Serun broke all their bones and had to be hospitalised again. I feel awful not being able to visit, but, well…” He sighs, shrugging, “He wanted to go himself, and insisted he could manage, so…You know how he i-”

“What? I only came because I was promised melon cake!” You’re not sure where Thirteen popped up from, but she’s already on the armchair in the corner, kicking her legs over the armrests as she rolls her eyes. “What a waste of time.”

“Oh! Well, he still finished that, actually, so-” There’s a distinctive arcane shink sound that cuts Simeon off mid sentence. “Now, Raphael, put the spear away, you can’t do that here-” Ever the stickler for manners, it seems. Oh well. Not your problem. 

“Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask.” Thirteen raises her eyebrows at your voice, pupils knife-like and theatrically bitchy in the dim candlelight.  “Why are you covered in soot.” 

“Well,” She scoffs, clicking her tongue, “Since someone-” She glares at Solomon from across the room, who smiles very nicely and innocently through his conversation with Barbatos- “Decided to ‘dismantle’-” She does incredibly heavy and repeated air quotes with her fingers, “My special little bomb boy it exploded all wrong!”

“I understand completely. I’m sorry someone would ever do something so awful to you, you don’t deserve that even slightly.” She snorts, balling up the tissue she was using to wipe the ashes off her forearm and throws it at your head. It disintegrates in midair before so much as making contact, and you squint over in the sorcerer's direction. He’s not even looking your way, and Barbatos whispers something you can’t make out to him as Thirteen groans and throws up her hands in frustration, sliding into what must be an incredibly uncomfortable position. It doesn’t seem to bother her, though, and she picks at her nails grumpily. Oh well!

“-Stop complainin’ already, would it really kill ya to join in?” Mammon is doing everything in his power to pull Levi through the door by the collar of his coat, but the younger seems to be trying to retract his own head into his shirt like a turtle to try and get out of it. 

“You’re killing me you’re the worst and I hate youandIhopeeverythingbadeverhappenstoyoua-” 

“Yeah yeah whatever. Shut up and sit.” Mammon slings his arm over Levi’s shoulder, dragging him down into the circle just as Lucifer and Diavolo finally come back from whatever it was they were getting done. 

“Lucifer, don’t make that face!” Diavolo nudges his bestest of friends, who looks particularly miserable, even as Barbartos silently refills his glass before they all, too, sit to join, the prince and his right hand man on the final empty sofa, the butler instead choosing to kneel neatly a little off to the side from Mammon and Levi. Satan adeptly shoves Belphegor upwards at just the right timing for Beelzebub to sit down (his twin slumps right back into his shoulder). Mephistopholes complains that there isn’t a proper place to sit til Mammon trips him and he ungracefully tries to pass it off as deciding to sit on the floor as Thirteen barks a sharp laugh at him.

A pleasant hum of conversation settles through the room, Asmodeus stumbling into hugging Solomon, whispering something between the invocation trio that you can’t quite make out before spinning around and clapping his hands together (cutely. It’s important to emphasise that he did this so so cutely) to get everyone’s attention.

“E---veryone!!!” He waits a few seconds for silence, shooting a glare at whoever dares to continue in the wake of this very very important announcement. “It’s time for a very special game! Have we all heard of 7 minutes in heaven?” He bounces on the tips of his feet in excitement despite the lukewarm reception. “Okay well that’s a mostly no then I guess-  Honestly! I know it’s a human world thing, but really?” He pouts, and you note that Diavolo’s visible excitement has increased exponentially already. 

“Allow me to explain,” Solomon cuts in, confirming your suspicion that he’d been somehow roped into this. “Two or more participants are selected - in our case by drawing lots - to go into a closet or equivalent and do whatever they like for 7 minutes.” Everyone seems a lot more attentive, suddenly. “Ah, of course, we’ll be taking magic precautions to make sure that there’s no cheating, and certainly no one breaking into the closet before time is up,” He grins, clearly enjoying this already. 

“The heck.” Mammon grumbles, oddly fidgety all of a sudden, “There ain’t even a closet in here,” Leviathan nods aggressively. He’s sweating. 

“Hm? Oh! That won’t be a problem, haha! Barbatos was kind enough to offer to help out with that,” The aforementioned butler steps aside to reveal a simple wooden door on the wall that decidedly hadn’t been there earlier. “We even made sure it was sound-proofed! You know, just in case.”

“What a curious game! Shall we start right away?” Diavolo beams, inadvertently cutting off Mephistopholes, who’d just opened his mouth to no doubt complain that this sort of juvenile and inappropriate game had no place at a gathering with the Devildom’s one and only prince. 

“Yes!! Everyone write your name on a piece of paper, okay?” Asmo begins handing out paper and pens to everyone, shushing any complaining he meets. “You don’t have to play! It just means you’re boring and no fun and that you’ll never get a chance like this again.” 

Better write your name, then. You’d hate to miss out. 

You watch as Barbatos collects everyone’s paper slips, dropping them into a glass bowl and shaking periodically to shuffle them well. You immediately lose track of yours, so you figure that it’s worked.  After what feels like a slightly inordinate amount of time, everyone seems to have put their name in the bowl - sure, some were more…begrudging or in need of convincing than others, but that’s normal! Anyways-

“Oooo I’ve been waiting for this all evening!” Asmodeus grabs the bowl, tap-tap-tapping along the rim for effect, perfectly manicured nails making a pleasant ASMR-esque tink noise. “Right, first u-”

“Uhm, how do- how do we know you’re, uh, not rigging this?” Asmo whips his head around to stare open-mouthed at Levi.

“Excuse me? I would never-”

“Mm, there’s no guarantee though, is there?” Asmodeus pouts at Satan, grumbling something about being personally offended and making sure to snitch next time Satan asks him for a favour.

“Fine! Since I’m so untrustworthy and awful-” The smile is switched back on as he saunters over to you, swishing the bowl around carefully before holding it out to you. “Why don’t you pick? No one will complain then, right?” 

The silence in the room means yes, presumably.

“Go on hun! Don’t be nervous-” He winks, and your mouth quirks into a smile to humour him, carefully reaching into the bowl for two slips of paper, pulling them out and carefully unfolding them to reveal-

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

[As is tradition, I'll be uploading the individual 'endings' as I write them :) I'll be putting a poll up on my account for who to write first (within reason, I don't think tumblr will let me put up enough options to cover everyone) so feel free to suggest people in the replies/tags too!! there will be no luke option becuz i dont know how to put hardware destroying malware in clickable links yet sory :( feel free to simulate the experience urself tho!!]

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Leonidas with Yoriichi Tsugikuni!fem!reader platonic headcanons

Warning(s): RoR manga spoilers up to ch. 78, historical references, violence, KNY anime spoilers, established relationship, strong language from Leonidas, ooc.

Collab work with @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @enryegotrip and @themoonisrising for their feedback in the drafting phrase!

Before reading this piece, however, I strongly recommend you read this story, as it acts as a part two. The link will be here.

With that being said guys, sit back, relax, and enjoy the chaos that is about to unfold :)

King Leonidas knew the gods existed and he hated them. Apollo, the arrogant little shit who was worshiped in Delphi all those centuries ago, is the god whom he despised the most. His men knew why but they were wise enough to never speak about the patriot of the arts in front of him. He did not, however, know that demons existed in Valhalla too…until that fateful night. 

He and his men were settling in their campsite, bellies full and ready to resume their training or take the first watch and make sure no one tried to sneak past them…but someone did.  It had been an old man, whimpering and cowering with a large lump on his head and wearing tattered clothes. Just when a soldier barked at him to leave or die where he stood, brandishing a spear in his direction…the old man’s body split in half, then half again until four young men began attacking the campsite. All hell broke loose, and Leonidas had no idea what the fuck was going on or how to kill them.

Guns didn’t work on the winged one because he was too fast in the air, the swords and spears of his men snapped in half when making contact with the bodies of the blue-eyed one before he impaled them with a halberd. The one wearing red robes possessed a staff that could create lightning within a seven foot radius, and the green one used a fan to blow away his men with a single swing. He used his shield when the latter and the winged one attacked, but it could only do so much against a sonic wave attack. 

When shit looked like it was about to go sideways in the worst way possible, she showed up seemingly out of nowhere. She zigzagged across the field, dodging the winged one’s attacks and swiftly decapitating the halberd-wielding bastard, his head flying off and landing in the mud with a ‘thud’. That was when King Leonidas noticed something odd about the opponents…no, it wasn’t odd. These sons of bitches knew who exactly you were and they were afraid. 

The horned demon in red raised his staff in the air, preparing for another lightning strike when she appeared in front of him. She inhaled sharply through her mouth and raised her sword above her head, the blade becoming ignited in crimson flames before striking him down, his body splitting in half. It was after taking this monster down that she addressed him. 

“My lord….there is a fifth demon…heading northeast. That is the demon’s main body. If it is destroyed, then the other four will cease to exist. My comrades…they are on their way. They will be here soon, and provide aid.” She then looked him straight in the eye, calm and level-headed as if this wasn’t the first time she had fought against these things. “Normal weapons cannot penetrate a demon’s body…but seeing that you are carrying firearms, use this.” She pulled out three cartridges of ammunition from her  robes and handed them to him. “Aim for the head. I must go…before the main body gets too far away.” 

She then darted away from the campsite, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. Leonidas is a proud man, but even he knew not to look at a gift in the horse’s mouth. He unclipped the magazine in his pistol and loaded in the new ammo, opening fire but making sure that these bullets would not be wasted. 

Just as the woman said, reinforcements arrived. All wearing robes and carrying swords, moving across the battlefield as if they were dancing and not fighting against these creatures. 

Spartans are bred for battle and will die for battle. Never give up, never surrender. That is in their blood. However, a smart Spartan realizes the difference between an ally and an enemy, and that the flow of time constantly changes in the mortal realm. From politics to fighting techniques, if it can be used to take down an enemy, King Leonidas doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything else. 

When his second magazine was on the last bullet, all of the demons disintegrated into ash. The soldiers shouted in Grecian, raising their bloodied spears in the air and smiling victoriously. Their mysterious comrades either relished in the moment or simply walked away from the battlefield, sheathing their swords with a grimace. A little while later she returned to the campsite, expressionless and covered in blood that was not her own. 

She  bowed deeply to him. “I apologize…my lord. If I had been sooner…there would not have been so much damage…and you would not have lost so many men.” 

Leonidas just shook his head. His men were prepared to die in battle if it meant glory and victory in the name of Sparta, they trained to go up against even the most powerful of opponents. But what he could not stand is not knowing what he and his army are fighting…so what the hell were those monsters? He wanted information, and he wanted it now. 

To his surprise, she was more than compliant to sit and talk with him. One of her associates, a tall brat with a large sword strapped on his back, barked at her, saying that it's against the rules to share confidential information with an ‘outsider’ but the woman replied that he has a right to know. He is the commander of these men; would it not be better to tell him and prevent this situation from happening again? 

Furthermore, she is an unofficial member of the organization, so the rules do not affect her as much as it does to him or the others. When her associate turned away with a scoff, she asked him what he liked to know. 

“Everything.” He snapped. 

She nodded. “Of course.”

As the men cleared the debris and buried their dead, Leonidas fired question after question at the swordswoman, whose name he learned was [First Name] [Last Name]. Demons were nocturnal in nature, and consumed human flesh to gain strength. Their bodies were extremely durable; normal weapons cannot harm them, and they can only be killed by decapitation. Her sword, a nichirin blade, forged from Scarlet Iron Sand and Scarlet Ore, both of which can be found in high mountains that perpetually bathed in sunlight all year around. 

Sunlight was the only thing that could kill a demon for good. The bullets she gave him were created from the same materials, designed for a Hashira that preferred guns to swords.  A Hashira is a very strong Demon Slayer, and she is one herself: the Sun Hashira, which is why her blade ignited upon attacking the demons. The Breathing Style is…difficult to explain and to learn, but it is effective. 

The Demon Slayer Corps had existed for over a thousand years, and it was revived in Valhalla under Lord Hades’ command. Another human soul, Nostradamus, destroyed the Bifrost and demons have been crawling their way into Valhalla ever since. The one he and his men came in contact with is Hantengu, a powerful demon who once served under Muzan Kibutsuji. 

Muzan was the original creator of the demon race, and she had encountered him once many years ago. 

“I wish I could tell you more my lord,” She bowed her head to him. “The only thing I can offer is to give you the name of the person who can create these bullets, though I must ask that you keep his identity a secret. Muzan might have perished all of those years ago, but seeing one of the Upper Moons here in Valhalla and still possess their powers…the possibility that he might have regenerated in Helheim cannot be ruled out. If he still wishes to destroy the Demon Slayers, he will make another attempt to kill the craftsman who creates the weapons that can destroy him and the other Upper Moons under his command.”

Lenoidas nodded. Makes sense, He thought. Keeping a supplier safe is crucial in war. The less an enemy knows who or how their opponent is getting their weapons, the better. Cut off the supplier and supply route, these people wouldn’t have the swords or bullets needed to destroy the demons. Still…

“Is it possible to meet the guy who made these?” He asked, holding up the empty cartridge. “I know that’s asking a lot from a stranger like myself, trust me, but just having the basic info on an opponent won’t help me or my army be prepared if this situation happens again. You said you’re an unofficial member of this organization.”

“...I am. However, to meet the creator of the bullets…I would need to speak to Lord Ubuyashiki first. He is…very protective of us all, like we are his children. The secret location of the swordsmiths had been exposed once before, when the organization had been on the decline in the Taisho era. You may have to speak and present your case to him as to why you wish to know the suppliers.” 

“How soon can that be?”

“When I return to headquarters, I will go straight to him myself…though I am sure no one will want that. He has…not been well as of late.” [First Name] looked to the side, blinking at the large crow perched on her shoulder. “I will send you a message through this little one, should he allow this meeting. Is that acceptable?”

Momentarily surprised that such a large bird suddenly appeared out of nowhere, Leonidas cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. I look forward to hearing from you…through your bird.” 

The Demon Slayer nodded, bowing to him before she left the campsite as quickly as she had appeared, stunning the war general with her agility. Huh…were women soldiers in the Demon Slayer Corps always so sneaky? He’ll have to ask next time. Right now, he had to direct his mind and think about his next move. For now, it seemed going north would be the best choice; there was a Greecian military base there, so his men could rest until they were called to the next war. He’ll also need to let his wife, Gorgo, know what happened as well. 

Gorgo remained Queen of Sparta when he was away at battle, in life and in death. She had just as much authority and political power as he did, so he knew their home in Valhalla would be well-protected in his absence. If he hadn’t known that these demons existed until now…could he truly say that their home is fortified against every single threat? No. And she deserved to be aware of the situation. 

They were husband and wife for fuck’s sake. 

A week flew by until the army reached the base, and another when the messenger crow flew through the window in his study one sunny afternoon, a scroll tied around its neck. Hoisting himself up from his hammock, Lenoidas marked his spot in the book he’d been reading and set it down on the floor. He walked towards the window and untied the rope around the crow’s neck, unfurling the parchment to scan the contents. 

The meeting will take place in four days. A member of the organization, a kakushi, will personally escort him to the lord of the manor on the morning of the meeting. To ensure everyone’s safety, he must wear a blindfold the entire time until he is given permission to remove it. 

Lenoidas’ brow twitched. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. He thought, annoyed, before he sighed deeply. [First Name] had promised him that she will try to persuade the clan head to speak to him in regards to the suppliers. This would be his first and only chance to negotiate peacefully. 

He couldn’t allow the Sun Hashira’s hard work to go to waste…so he’ll play along. 

Time passed quickly as he made the necessary preparations. Before he knew it, a fellow dressed from head to toe in black with a cloth concealing his face waited at the city’s gates. The kakushi  blindfolded the king of Sparta, and then they departed. 

But it wasn’t just one kakushi that escorted him…there were many of them, each with a different voice and mannerisms, switching him off at a designated post. Some were polite, curt. Others were skittish, can’t really blame them honestly. When he’d been granted permission to remove the blindfold, Leonidas was…surprised to see a young man smiling serenely at him, dressed in white and purple robes. He was flanked by two small children, and a woman sat behind him. 

Safe assumption that these were his heirs and wife, but the Spartan general kept his comments to himself as he observed the lord. His eyes were clouded, unfocused. Blind. Probably caused by the rotten skin that’s spreading on his face. 

The man and his family bowed their heads to him. “Welcome to our humble home, Lord Lenoidas of the Spartan Army.” He said softly. “[First Name] has spoken highly of you since her return. A courageous leader who remained calm in such a dire and unexpected situation…though you wish to meet the ones who have supplied my children with the necessary weapons to protect themselves and others from the demons who prowl at night. May I inquire why you wish to have access to our resources? How can I be sure that you will not spread this information to others?”

This was it. One chance to either get the information he seeked…or to lose it all, and his men would go back into battle unprepared. Leonidas inhaled a deep breath, and spoke. 

He didn’t sugarcoat his intentions, plainly and respectfully to Lord Ubuyashiki. To his surprise, this brat didn’t get pissed off or talked down to him. Instead, the young lord understood where he was coming from. There have been more reports of sporadic ruptures in the Bifrost; try as they might, the Demon Slayer Corps cannot be everywhere and protect everyone. Lenoidas’ armies were the largest within the Grecian district, rivaling only that to Chinese militia, so it would be beneficial to supply the war general with the necessary anti-demon artillery, but only to his armies. 

Right now, he was the only human leader outside of the organization who knew about the demons’ existence. As much as he wanted to help everyone, there were too many cons rather than pros to take another gamble with the supplier’s secret location should anyone else be aware that there were weapons that can kill demons. 

As much as Leonidas wanted to protest…the brat had a point. The less people knew, the better. No good in causing a panic among the public. The gods could go fuck themselves, of course. The war general wasn’t too concerned about them so much as his fellow mortal comrades. 

Then the meeting was settled. He along with the Sun Hashira would be escorted to the swordsmans’ village to meet the bullet crafter, and talk about business as needed. Lenoidas thanked the lord for his time…and politely asked to give his regards to [First Name]. 

That was the last time Leonidas saw Ubuyashiki. Within the following week, he and the Sun Hashira embarked on a journey to the suppliers alongside the secretive kakushi.  He saw how the bullets were created, negotiated the amount needed to a fair price, and things propelled from there. 

He also came to enjoy [First Name]’s company. She wasn’t a talkative person, though she had proven herself to be insightful and open-minded when they spoke on the way back to Sparta. She had agreed to go with him and his men on an expedition  under the condition that she would teach them everything she knew about demon extermination. She warned him she was not good at explaining more complex Breathing Styles, and it might not be suitable for his men. There might also be questions that even she cannot answer fully, though she will do her best. 

Leonidas said he was well aware but at this point, he was willing to take a chance with the Sun Hashira; these men were under his command, so he knew them like the back of his hand. Whatever Breathing Styles or demon exterminating techniques she knew and was willingly to teach would be appreciated. Hell, if there was a way to implement it in his army’s battle formations and even his own fighting style, Leonidas will take it for what it’s worth. 

Leonidas grinned as he watched [First Name] training his men from the rim of his book. She had proven early in their journey that she was not to be underestimated or her lessons to be taken for granted. She’d saved their asses, helped them secure a supplier for a fair fee, and showed them how to combat against lower-level demons if they ever came across them at night. Didn’t even complain about the long hours spent walking or hiding up the mountains. 

The only downside to this arrangement is that when it was time to restock their weapons with anti-demon bullets, spears, or shields, Leonidas had to go get everything himself. 

Pain in the ass, but worth it in the end. 

The war general wondered if he should consult Gorgo about adding women who can fight to the army’s ranks would be more beneficial and boost morale, or would just make things worse, when a scout shouted that a god was approaching the campsite. Lenoidas narrowed his eyes, getting himself out of his hammock again because shit was about to go down. Once he grabbed his spear and shield, he darted towards the enemy with [First Name] following close behind. The men were already in the phalanx formation, acting as a barrier around the campsite to prevent the intruder from taking another step further. 

Lenonidas stared at the god. Tall, muscular, couldn’t be more than seven or seven and a half feet tall. Black tank-top with a weird ass rabbit on the front, orange robes tied around his waist and hands. Sunglasses, long blonde hair, light blue orbs…is that a fucking lollipop in his mouth? 

Who is this punk?

“Buddha?” [First Name] said. 

Lenonidas blinked once, then twice before he swiveled his head over his shoulder to glance at the slightly stunned swordswoman. “You know him?” She gave him a brief nod, then looked straight ahead with a confused frown. The war general followed her gaze and saw the son of a bitch standing right in front of him, his shadow almost towering over his own. The god blinked, munching on the lollipop with his oversized canines. 

“Yo. You’re that war general from Sparta, right? Nice to meet ya. Soo…sorry for the sudden visit, but I’m takin’ the Sun Hashira back with me. Ya dig?”

“And what gives you the right to treat her like an object, shithead?” Leonidas growled. “This is why I can’t fuckin’ stand the likes of you or any others in the pantheons.”

The god stared at him. “Old man…I respect that you wanna protect her, but you should know more than anyone that she’s more than capable of defending herself. You’ve seen her in action, right? That’s how she met ya. And why she decided to go with ya on this trip. However, she’s been away from home for far too long.”

Buddha then walked  past him and gathered up the swordswoman in his arms, with one hand under her legs and the other around her shoulders. “C’mon sunshine, we’re headin’ back to paradise.”

[First Name] blinked. “We are? But the men still need more time to be properly trained - ”

“Six months.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t been home in six months, and ya had the guts to leave your husband all alone in a cold bed.” He puffed up his cheeks in annoyance. “I might enjoy hangin’ around the bodhi tree when you’re not around, but I wanna cuddle with my wife more than once before she suddenly heads off on a mission without sayin’ good-bye! You could’ve woken me up before ya left so I know were you’re goin’, you silly rabbit!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ya should be! I almost had to call Kintoki and ask him to track ya down if your crow didn’t drop off a message beforehand! Think things through before you run off into action, darlin’!”

“Okay.”

Lenoidas and the army stared at the pair with slackened jaws at the sight of a god pouting like a child as he scolded the Sun Hashira, who has identified himself as her husband. She was married to a god, and didn’t say anything to them?!? 

[First Name] looked over Buddha’s shoulder, waving her hand at him. “I’ll be going home, Lord Lenonidas. I’m sorry this trip has to be cut short, but feel free to send a message to my residence or Lord Ubuyashiki’s if you have any questions or concerns.” 

The war general felt a headache coming on. “Yeah…sure. Don’t worry about it or the training, we can handle it from here. Just go home to your…husband.” He muttered. “And don’t  be a stranger either, all right? You’re always welcomed in Spartan territory. If any of ‘em give you a hard time, I’ll knock some sense into them.” 

She nodded, offering the barest hint of a smile before she looped her arms around Buddha’s neck. The god looked back at him and inclined his head. In an instant, the pair were gone, returning to wherever it is that they called ‘home’. 

Bonus Content:

Soon as Lenoidas received word that the Sun Hashira had come to pay him and his family a visit as she promised she would, the war general invited her to sit at his table for dinner.

 Gorgo was delighted to finally meet the swordswoman who had earned her husband’s trust and saved the men’s lives. It is rare to meet a skilled warrior who is not a goddess and is humble.

Leonidas received the second shock since meeting [First Name] when she quietly revealed that she is, in fact, a divine being. Well, not exactly. More like a mortal soul who had received the blessing of a god. 

She had met Buddha shortly after ascending to Valhalla. They were good friends for a long time before marrying almost two decades ago, though the enlightened one mentioned he should have done so sooner. 

Something about rivals for her affection? 

When his wife pressed on what [First Name] meant, the swordswoman’s calm face briefly pinched into an uncomfortable expression. Inhaling a deep breath, she answered Gorgo. 

The Grecian representative of the Sun, Apollo, had approached her on the pretense that they were a perfect match because they were affiliated with the same celestial orb: bright, warm, and influential. In his mind, he believed Fate brought them together. [First Name] did not, and politely declined his proposal of a courtship.

Apollo did not give up. He was persistent in the coming days, and Buddha had almost intervened on her behalf. But it had been her own mess. So in the context of Buddha’s “lingo”, she “wiped the floor” with him. 

Leonidas had trouble breathing as he howled in laughter. That fuckin’ shithead had actually gotten his ass beaten by a divine being who used to be a mortal. 

Good. The prick deserved it. 

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[cultofdixon]

You made it, dumbass

Daryl Dixon [ROMANTIC] | Glenn Rhee [PLATONIC] • She/Her Pronouns • Even when the illness was starting to take the lives of those within the prison. These two were keeping it together, even if death tried taking them. • ANGST/SFW • TW: Illness / Anxiety / Hallucinations

Requested by: Anon

The prison was starting to feel like home

Then Patrick started eating people…

“Locking up people like animals. Where have I seen that before” Y/N scoffs as she was being updated by Glenn on the illness situation in the prison fields.

“…We live in a prison. Are you referring to a prison?”

“I don’t think I like what I was implying and you saying an obvious answer”

“There’s more than one??” Glenn looks at his best friend confused watching her deadpan expression burn a hole into him. “Yeah okay so there is. Anyway, we just need to be careful. We’ve already been exposed by taking care of the outbreak. We don’t need another one happening”

“If I get sick it’d be obvious.”

“You are a baby when you’re sick” Glenn states only for Y/N to punch him in the arm making him laugh while she tried hard not to.

The mood changed slightly when Glenn noticed Y/N looking over at Daryl while he talked to Rick. She always knew how to keep a blank expression to avoid people questioning how she felt in the moment through body language. But there was a sadness and worry in her eyes that Glenn always noticed.

“He’s an ox, Y/N. I don’t believe he’ll get sick”

“It’s…never too early to worry for your partner no matter how new the relationship is right?” She frowns looking to Glenn as he shook his head.

“I wasn’t even anything with Maggie yet and I still worried for her.” and that led to Glenn thinking about his wife. They just had a scare. Now there’s this whole new threat.

Both of them thought

If it had to get to them, they’d rather die than have their partners face it.

“You’ve seen Y/N?” Daryl approaches Glenn knowing that she’s either with him or alone but given she wasn’t in her cell, he was the next choice.

“Uhm. Last I checked she was working on the fence since we are overloading again…hey if you run into Maggie can you tell her to meet me in our cell?” He frowns slightly given to how he was currently feeling inside as Daryl nods before letting him go and heading outside.

If I could fight the sun I fucking would right now Y/N frowns leaning against her spear as she gripped it for dear life.

It was a normal hot summer. But to Y/N, she felt like she was experiencing all the different levels of hell.

As she pulled the bandana down from her face hoping to get some air. Y/N’s senses got the best of her resulting in an immediate headache as she currently was fighting the thought of ‘don’t collapse’ over and over again. It felt like a trigger clicked in Daryl’s mind to go check on his girl and when he did, Y/N was on her knees in the gravel trying not to let the weight take her fully.

“Y/N…SUNSHINE!” Daryl yells as he went to a full on sprint over to his girl quickly tossing the spear away and carefully picking her up. “Hey stay awake alright?”

“It’s too hot to…” Y/N groans when she was lifted off the ground, weakly returning the bandana over her nose and mouth to avoid the spread to Daryl.

Not like the man cared as he was currently speed walking to A-Block. Halfway there the two ran into Maggie helping Glenn to the block with one of his arms draped around her shoulders.

The two healthy individuals shared an anxious expression until that anxiety subsided only for a second.

Glenn flinched hearing Y/N cough for like an hour within a few seconds. Sounded like she coughed up a lung and the lung actually ejected from her.

“Holy fuck—Don’t die!”

Y/N immediately glared at the man as they were now walking in a group to A-Block. “Don’t tell me what to do bitch”

Daryl couldn’t help his annoyed groan that escape. “I swear—y’all only have one braincell and it’s shared between yea”

“Seriously” Maggie agreed before being pulled back when Glenn didn’t pay attention to where they were going and slammed himself into one of the prison pillars. “Jesus Christ—-“

The archer tightened his grip on Y/N listening to her laugh at what happened as his anxiety started to get worse thinking this could be the last time he hears that. But the way her expression instantly changed when looking up at him. Oh she always knew when he worried.

Once the two were in the block safely, Maggie and Daryl were kicked out. Given they were healthy still and Hershel didn’t want to risk losing 2 of his kids along with someone he considers family.

Not that their significant others being sick lead to this plan—-but it heavily influenced Hershel’s urgency.

“Maggie”

The worried Rhee quickly turned to Daryl who shared the same level of concern she was enduring. He was about to leave to get the medicine when part of him needed to ask Maggie for a favor. But the words weren’t coming out.

“What is it Daryl?”

“…if she dies, don’t sugarcoat it for me” Daryl spoke through a whole lot of pain he was pushing down into the earth as he didn’t want it to happen. He was afraid the second he leaves something bad would happen.

But with the way Maggie was looking at him. She had the amount of hope to carry them both.

“It won’t happen. I’ll do whatever I can to prevent it from happening” so will Hershel.

The two who were suffering from the illness laid on either side of the conjoined wall. Y/N did her best to keep herself awake even if her body was fighting against her. She felt as if she closed her eyes, that it would be over. Glenn was a bit healthier than her and without exposing her more to the illness he did his best to help.

Just by talking.

“You remember that house that collapsed before we reached the prison?”

“Mhm…”

“Yeah, that was me.” Glenn laughs slightly, holding his ribs because his lungs were straining. “Maggie and I wanted to be alone for a moment while we were house hopping for those months. But the house we were trying to yknow…was on its last legs. That when we left, I shut the door. And the whole thing came crashing down”

“Remind me when we get a house that you ain’t closing the door” Y/N laughs weakly as she listens to Glenn laugh from the other side while she slouches slightly. “When Daryl and I…first got together we were being very sneaky about it around the prison since we technically gotten together at the farm…we were in one of the watch towers minding our business”

“Oh no” Glenn smiles a bit listening to Y/N struggle to laugh and compose herself.

“I was on shift. He wasn’t. Nothing was happening so we thought…yknow. Then time went by and I forgot my shift was over…and good ol Rick came up and wished out loud that he never see what he saw again” Y/N smiles from the other side pressing herself firmly against the wall as she gripped tightly onto her shirt feeling the tears form.

“At least you didn’t have Daryl yelling at you from the yards while you and your girl were…yeah” Glenn laughs remembering that moment fondly, but when he didn’t hear a reply back. His tired overwhelmed body as quick as it could got up from the bed tiredly making his way to Y/N’s.

His anxiety started screaming.

“HERSHEL!” Glenn yells out even if it ended in a coughing fit afterward as he sat on the edge of Y/N’s bed holding her head up shaking her slightly. “You can’t die. You can’t die. You can’t die” he kept repeating until Hershel arrived quickly approaching and checking her pulse.

Weak, but there.

“No!”

“Yer sick too Glenn, and we don’t—-“

“I-I’m not leavin’ Y/N unless I f-fucking have to” Glenn covered his mouth in his elbow coughing up a lung.

“Son, I can’t—-“

“NO!” He snaps through tears not leaving her side despite everything Hershel was telling him. “She was the first person I saved when all hell broke loose…she became my fucking best friend within days. Days! Before the quarry group we would talk about the past and what we feared most…she feared dying. Dying alone and having no one love her. Well she’s my best friend. My family and I love her! And I know Daryl does too even if his stubborn ass won’t say it out loud. I’m not f-fucking leaving her” he sobbed as he was glued to Y/N’s side not budging even with Hershel’s protesting. But Hershel wasn’t leaving either.

________

“You think they’ll find a cure?” Glenn questions Y/N as they were sat on top of the building part of their group was held up in.

“I don’t know. It got out of hand, kind of”

“Mm…”

“But I hope so. Or at least a way to save those who’ve gotten bitten yknow?” Y/N shot Glenn a reassuring smile. “The world has always worked weirdly. Maybe something will happen. Maybe not. Just as long as I’m not facing it alone, I’m good to wait it out”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“Huh?”

“Being alone in this?”

“Who wouldn’t…but I was afraid of that even before the outbreak happened.” Y/N kicked her feet on the edge of the roof looking down at the sea of walkers. “I hate being alone”

“Welp! You got me!” Glenn smiles wrapping his arm around her shoulders getting a laugh out of her. “And maybe even…the guy you like back at the camp?” He teased watching her face turn red. “I’ve seen how he looks at you”

“Glenn Rhee! Shut the fuck up!” Y/N laughs elbowing him gently.

“What! The Dixons scare the fuck out of me but the youngest one always has his eye on yea and…” He leans into his best friend. “Vise versa” and that led to her contemplating pushing him off the building.

At least they were feeling better about it all…

________

At least they were feeling better.

Glenn suddenly woke to a tube down his throat and both Greenes towering over him to get it out. And to also rejoice that he made it through this hell. Daryl’s group returned with the medicine and everything was going fine. Then his anxiety got the best of him making him weakly get up.

“No Glenn—-“

“Son, you’ve gotta lay down and rest”

“You’ve been out cold for a a day—-“

“A day?!” Glenn panicked as he quickly brought his body up, and immediately fell to the floor once he did. His body isn’t caught up with him yet.

The panic coursed through him enough to give him the adrenaline boost to get up off the ground, with some help, and to slowly but quick enough to the other cell. Expecting that since he was in another room…that…the unspeakable happened.

But when Glenn reached the cell with both Maggie and Hershel trailing behind him…all his worry washed away.

Daryl slowly looks up from the woman that comfortably laid in his protective embrace after returning from the medicine run. Y/N tiredly looks over to the three standing at the cell doors giving a weak smile.

“You made it dumbass” Her voice was hoarse from all the coughing she had done while the illness almost took her. “You almost died on me…”

“You almost died on me” Glenn frowns feeling the tears roll off his cheeks as he slowly approaches the two watching Daryl tighten his grasp on her resulting in Rhee holding his hands up slightly to show he wasn’t going to move her. He brought himself to sit on the ground by the bed as Maggie followed suit bringing herself close to her husband. “You didn’t wake up…you stopped talking and it freaked me out”

“Mm…I was just resting” Y/N jokes knowing damn well her body was giving up on her. The joke didn’t sit well with Daryl as his grasp on her made that clear. “I woke up when I needed to” and that brought out a bit of confusion to Glenn.

________

Her unconscious body laid there for what felt like days as Glenn did his best to stay awake even if his lungs were starting to fight him. Inevitably giving out.

The man toppled over and started coughing like a mad man. But he wasn’t coughing up air, it was phlegm and blood. Making him choke on it.

That felt like a trigger for Y/N as she weakly opened her eyes turning toward the display. She did her best to be quick and drag herself out of the bed resulting in a painful thud to the ground…bringing herself close enough to Glenn to roll him on his side so he doesn’t aspirate.

“Hershel!”

Oh thank god. Is what the doc thought initially until he came to the cell to see what was happening.

When he left then came back with the endotracheal tube and bag, Hershel got Glenn intubated and Y/N bagged him up until she couldn’t anymore. Hershel knew Sasha was strong enough to help as he called out for the girl to keep bagging Glenn while he took Y/N to another cell to check her. He was thankful her body would shut down only to protect herself, and not flood her lungs…

Or only one of them would be alive.

________

Thank god they both were

“No more almost dying for the both of yea” Maggie states, more so threatens. Making them both laugh as Daryl couldn’t agree more. “Now come on. You gotta rest too…and preferably on a bed”

Once Maggie helped Glenn up and out of the cell to his own bed. Y/N looked up at Daryl from the position she was in, knowing he’s been awfully quiet ever since she woke up.

“You okay, love?”

Daryl locks eyes with her brushing away the stray hair that covered her face keeping his hand placed on her cheek. Her smile slowly breaking out and always warming his heart.

“I am now”

“You know I’m not going anywhere…”

“Yeah, and I’ll make sure of it”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | part fifteen preview

Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.

Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream. 

"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.

Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.

You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. It's the most beautiful day in a while, and the warmest, too. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles. 

There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.

"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"

Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks. 

“Hey. How’d it go?” The flicker of her eyes to your near-empty hand is answer enough. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."

"There are. I just suck at catching them."

She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh," she chirps. "Ghost was looking for you, by the way."

"He was?"

"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."

The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to regard arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse. 

He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate. 

"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.

Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He looks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."

"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"

He nods. "Only found one, could be others." 

As you drag in a deep breath, you recognize the faint smell he must be referring to.

"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously. 

Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [6 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: The pass takes its toll on the pack.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: i’m having a ridiculous amount of fun with this story, can you tell? as usual, reblogs and feedback are appreciated and always welcome.

The storm rages at your backs as the pack travels west. Wind rips at the furs you have wrapped around yourself, a makeshift shield for the freezing rain. The water stings your hands and face like little needles, and you hunch down over your horse. The rolling hills of the grass sea crest higher and higher until they are hills no longer, but great cliffs that begin to rise darkly in the distance. You swallow a nervous lungful of air, and taste ozone and horse-sweat on your  tongue. 

The Orcs ride close together now, forming a tight shape as they move through the grass sea. What did Carol call it? The zikaegina. Lightning cracks overhead, and for a moment, your eye is drawn to movement—but darkness crashes down too quickly for you to make sense of it. 

A bird? Above the storm? You grip the reins tight, remembering the stag. It’s wild yellow eyes, slavering jaws. 

“The sea is where chaos reigns free, where Halith’s light cannot reach.” That was what they had told you in the chapel. “The further you go, the more godless it becomes.” You shiver. You know only the falsehoods you have been taught by king and country—and the land has been savage, yes, but also beautiful. Halith’s light had never reached you in your father’s house, when you had prayed and begged for it, so why should you care if her indifference cannot reach you here? You look up at the sky, riven into pieces again with a burning bolt—

There are different Gods here, you can feel it. 

The cliffs jut up before you like jagged teeth, spearing the clouds above them. Fog rolls out of the mouth of the pass, so thick you fear you might choke on it. Carol rides up beside you, her back ramrod straight. With one hand she tightly grasps the reins, while the other rests on the pommel of the great-sword at her hip. At the front, Steve silently holds up his hand, forming a tight fist as he slows his horse. The tension is as thick as the fog. You know the horses feel it too as they shift, their ears flicking about nervously. 

I wonder if they hear something we do not. 

“Eyes up, little human. Eyes up.” Carol whispers, her voice barely audible. Though the rain stings your eyes, you do as she says, staring upward into the dark fog. The sounds of wind and rain echo off of the slick rocks, but the air feels eerily still as the storm rages far above you. 

We are not alone here. 

You are reminded of Carol’s warning—other things used it too—and you hunch lower. One of the horses whinnies, the sound echoing up the quiet cliffside. The rider silences it as Steve turns, his hand held up as a sign to stop, to wait. 

The screech echoes all around you, the horrible, piercing noise of it making you clap your hands against our ears to block it out. Trembling, you cast a terrified look at Carol. Slowly, she raises a finger to her lips. Quiet. Above you, somethingskims low through the fog, something dark.

Something big. 

No one moves. The horses stand stock still, and when you look down at your own, his eyes are bright with fear, rolling back and forth in his head. An answering cry pierces the storm, and this time when lightning illuminates the sky, you see it. It clings to an outcropping of rock, crawling silently down the slick stones. It is covered in, dark, wiry fur, with leathery wings that tremble excitedly as it reaches a horrible talon down toward Steve—

Quicker than you’d thought he could move, Steve grabs for his axe, swinging it upward in a clean, bright arc. There is an awful wet, tearing sound as he cleaves the screaming creature in two, black blood spraying his face. His horse whinnies, rearing up as Steve rips the axe clean of the thing’s body. Its carcass falls to the ground, steaming in the cool night air, and for a moment there is silence. 

“Zhut! Ride!” Steve’s bellow trembles in your bones. “Make for the city!”

Chaos erupts around you, but it is as though time has slowed to a crawl. You watch, horrified as more dark shapes drop from the sky above you, descending on the scrambling pack in a flurry of hungry claws and teeth. The rider in front of you loses his head in an instant, the bat-thing slamming into him as its jaws open unnaturally wide. You blink, feeling his warm blood on your own face as it bites down with a sickening crunch, its snout and chest covered in sticky red. It turns those big, hollow eyes to you, a long tongue darting out to lick at the blood staining its face. You have no time to reach for the bow at your back as it lunges for you, talons outstretched—

The beast’s black blood joins that of the Orc rider’s on your skin, stinking and acrid as Carol’s blade lands with a dull thunk. One of its claws lands in your lap, and you scream as it twitches. You sweep it to the ground, and Carol grabs you by the shoulder, shoving a short, curved blade into your shaking, bloody hands. 

“Ride!” She screams the word into your face, pointing forward into the mist. You snap the reins, holding on for dear life as the horse rears back, hooves fiercely pawing at the air. You and Carol take off, with her swinging the sword around your heads, trying to fend off the screaming, hungry swarm. The blade in your hands would be little more than a dagger for Carol, but for you, it is a short sword, light enough for you to wield with a single hand as you cling desperately to the reins. 

Claws clip your cheek, your shoulder, your horse screams—you don’t realize you’re airborne until you hit the ground, the breath knocked out of you. You scramble up to your feet as your head spins. There are three of them, attached to the writhing body of your horse not twenty feet away. Your ears ring with the sounds of battle around you, and the sour tang of blood burns in your nostrils. Others, your own.

“Run! You must run!” Carol beckons you forward, and your thighs burn as you run toward her horse. You can hear another of the creatures behind you, its wings beating against the wind as its claws narrowly miss the skin of your back—it crashes into you, sending you sprawling into the mud for the second time. It lands on top of you, it’s bloody jaws frothing as it snaps at your face. You grab for the sword, straining as its rotting breath rolls across your cheeks—

The creature squawks in pain and then goes still and limp on top of you. Its blood leaks down onto your hands from the hilt, your sword buried in its chest.  Numb and dizzy, you stare up at the seething sky above you. 

“Up, my brave warrior,” Steve replies, rolling the body off of you. He swings you up into his arms, seating you firmly on his horse in front of him. “Eyes forward.” He hands you the reins, brandishing his axe. “I will do the rest.” You do as he says, keeping your eyes focused straight ahead. You don’t stray, not when the axe whistles through the air above your head, or when the narrow pass widens out back out into the grass sea, the creatures screams echoing behind you. 

to be continued…

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