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luveline · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

You want to see the floating lights. Steve wants his satchel back. You come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial… sorta. tangled!au

10k words, reader insert, fem!reader, medieval times (ish!), begrudging allies, fake dating/marriage, lots of changes from tangled movie but it’s got the spirit, I tried to be inclusive of all hair types but it is magical and floor length nonetheless, magical realism, TW for abusive mother + narcissism, mother is awful, steve is gonna show her the world is a good place!! allies to friends to lovers, pining

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Steve's hands are bleeding by the time he works his way into the tower, raw from the rough grit of old hewn stone. He hisses with every handhold he finds, adrenaline staving off the worst of the pain as his eyes scrabble for the next ledge.

Five feet, three. His hand slaps into the dark wood of a window ledge and he heaves himself up, the joints of his arms screaming in protest. Were it not for the rumbling of horse hooves like an earthquake outside of the grotto he might've given up, hoped for a soft landing.

The threat of being caught propels him forward.

He lands on the tiled flooring of the main atrium of the tower with an audible plop of fabric, his satchel clunking hard by his hip.

"Stars," he says. He breathes hard, trying and failing to slow his heart now he's found sanctuary.

He lifts his cheek from the mosaic beneath and peers around the room. He gawps.

It's mostly dark, and still he can make out the intricate, masterful artwork decorating the curved wall. Flowers made up of a thousand colours, petals dripping with dew, their anthers heavy with pollen. A field of every flower he's ever seen and a hundred others he's not familiar with. He has really, truly, never seen anything like it. Not even the spectacle of the Palace could hold a candle to what he sees before him. No books he'd read growing up had ever conjured an image as sharply magical as this.

He pushes up onto his elbows. Sunlight drips into the room from the wooden shutters he’d crawled through, illuminating the feet of each cabinet, a washing basin, and the brick oven under a staircase that ascends into the tower. He sniffs and finds the stick of coal dust heavy in the air; somebody lives here.

Steve's quickly proven right when you swing from behind an alcove near the kitchenette.

He startles backward and away from you as you advance, a cast iron pan held aloft in delicate hands and wielded with an intimidating confidence.

"Holy- Wait! Wait, please," he cries, holding his hands palm out in surrender.

Steve doesn't suppose you'd been expecting such a feeble intruder. He'd feel a strike against his dignity if it hadn't worked — you slow in the centre of the room, your breath coming in quick pants as the iron pan in your grip shakes.

You're scared.

You're beautiful.

"What do you want?" you ask, a pleading sort of twist to your question. "I don't have anything. I don't have anything worth taking."

"Please," he says loudly. "I don't want anything. Sanctuary for the night, nothing else."

Your chest rises. Steve feels smarmy, but he finds his eyes drawn to the valley of your chest, the bodice of your dress. A soft and buttery orange sewn with the palest pink and lilac embroidery. It's a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, lovely enough that he wonders briefly if you're of royal descent, but the dress itself is a peasant's gown.

His eyes rise back to your unhappy face. Your brows are pulled up at the starts, a delicate display that betrays your fear.

You glare at him.

"You can't stay here," you assert.

"One night." Steve pulls his satchel into his lap to procure a small coin purse. He'd love to say it was his coin purse. He cannot. "I have silvers. I can pay you."

He will not be paying you anything. He won't rob you, though. He's not a total miscreant.

"You can't stay," you say again, raising your iron pan higher above your shoulder. He sees a flash of something at your hip. "My mother–"

"Holy stars, is that your hair?"

You seize up, making an almost inaudible sound of dejection. "No."

"Are you sure? It looks very much like hair."

Steve anchors his hand to the floor and leans downward to get a better look. You turn with him, attempting to shield your long hair from view and only helping him along. It sways with your movements, the ends near long enough to dance over the floor.

"You have to leave. Leave!"

Steve bites the inside of his lip. A rainbow of light arcs through the air and caresses your cheek, and the wind chime hanging in the window tinkles softly with a warm summer breeze. The tower echoes with your huffing breath. The pan is too heavy for you to hold any longer and you let it drop with a wrist-tugging defeat.

"I'm not trying to scare you. But I really can't leave. I won't harm a hair on your head," he adds with a smile, eyebrows slightly raised in wait of your laughter.

You don't laugh, nor do you smile.

"My mother, she'll come home any minute now," you say unconvincingly.

He tips his head to one side. "Then I'll speak with your mother and get her permission to stay."

"She won't give it."

You're really too handsome to be frowning as you are. Steve wants to do as he does with all pretty people and make you smile, but the task feels insurmountable. You want him to leave. He can't.

"If I leave, I'll be killed," he says. While it's not a lie in its entirety, neither is it a truth.

Your grip tightens around the handle of your pan. "What?" you ask worriedly.

He feels guilty for garnering your concern though it's exactly what he'd been aiming for, nodding his head gravely.

"I'm being pursued by ruffians. For days now. I only need to hide here for the night while they clear the forest. They'll look for me elsewhere, after."

His storytelling voice is clear. Admittedly much too dramatic and yet you eat it up like a child devours spun sugar. Your hands press to your chest, frying pan held in your palm like the pommel of a sword.

"Ruffians?" you repeat.

He swoops in. "Not to worry. They didn't see me scale the tower, or even enter the valley." He gives you a commending smile. "You're very well hidden."

"Not well enough, clearly."

"I got lucky."

You back away from him. You don't turn your back to him, smart girl, only widen the gap between your two bodies with a fluttering unease.

"I wish I could help you," you whisper urgently, "I wish I could. But my mother, if she finds you here, I- I'm not sure what she'll do."

Steve blinks dazedly. "She would kill me?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then whatever it is will be a kinder fate."

That shatters the very last of your resolve. You visually err on what to do next, how to handle his being here. Steve’s head races with thoughts of the palace guards, of Thomas and Carol, and of you — your skin lit by the sun, and your long, long hair.

"Do you want some water?" you ask quietly.

The relief he conjures is as authentic as it comes. "Yes. More than anything."

—

Your mysterious stranger sits at one end of the table in Mother's seat while you sit across from him, a small clay drinking cup encapsulated by his large hand. You're making no effort to hide how closely you're watching him, though if he's under the impression it's for safety's sake then that's best.

He's very, very fine.

You haven't seen a man in person before, and if they all look like this you might wish you'd ventured out of the tower sooner. He wears a worn brown tunic that shows evidence of numerous careful darnings, its top button popped open to reveal a tiniest hint of curled hair disappearing downward.

The hair on his head and tucked behind his ears is comely as corn silk but much darker. It shines in the descending sunlight now flooding the room. There's a golden tinge to everything at this time that leaves no inch of his person unscathed; his eyes glow with it, his irises a melting brown that reminds you of rare, thick honey.

"The flowers," he says after an aching pause. "Are they painted? They must have been a huge expense."

You follow his gaze, surprised at his question in two ways. That he would ask, and that he would think somebody else did them.

"They're how I spend my summers."

"Looking at them?"

You laugh from the pure joy of the complement he's implying, unused to his awed reaction. Mother usually nods or hums at a new unveiling, and one time you'd earned a, "That's wonderful, darling."

You're not sure she'd actually been looking at the time.

"I painted them myself."

The stranger's jaw drops. "A little thing like you?" he asks.

"I'm hardly little," you deny, neither of stature nor burden.

"You're young, aren't you? You can't be more than twenty summers."

"What a funny way of speaking," you murmur, more to yourself than him. "I'm twenty. I'll be one and twenty, in a few days."

His eyes narrow. "Well, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You aren't married?"

You try not to be offended and fail spectacularly. "Most don't get married until they're nearing five and twenty!"

"Most," he agrees. "But a girl as pretty as you? Who can paint like this? Don't tell me you've been hiding from every man in the kingdom."

You turn your face from him in case he can tell how flustered you are. Two complements in one day is unprecedented. Your heart bump-bump-bumps.

"Are you married?" you ask swiftly, hoping to redirect this line of conversation away from something as treacherous as your own isolation. Any answer would expose you.

"I am, actually. She has the most gorgeous shine to her face, and her laugh is melodic and sweet as anything, a tinkling sound. She's bronze-skinned, a slight thing, but she's worth her weight in gold."

He grins. You can't help but smile in response, infected by his endearing affection.

"What's her name?" you ask, voice near a coo.

"Argento."

You stare at him. His smile gets so big it looks like it could bruise his cheeks.

"You're talking about money."

"She's a brilliant bedfellow, isn't she? She keeps me warm and fed every night. She's a good girl." He sighs and crosses his arms behind his head. His attempt at nonchalance is ruined when he cringes in pain and drops them gracelessly back into his lap.

You cover your mouth and laugh. He's funny. Mother doesn't make half as many jokes.

Mother. As if the mere thought of her is enough to summon her presence, a shrill call echoes from the bottom of the tower.

"Y/N, darling, throw down the rope for your mother!"

You jump to your feet, slippers sliding against the mosaic floor in a hurried scratch. "You have to hide," you whisper harshly.

The stranger pouts at you. "Seriously, let me talk to her, I–"

You shake your head voraciously at his loud volume and press your finger to your lips, eyes begging with him to be quiet.

"Please," you whisper, "hide. I'll hide you 'til tomorrow, when she leaves in the morning."

He doesn't move.

"Y/N? I don't have all day!" The irritation in her voice is obvious.

"Please," you whisper again.

He gets up with a mild eye roll. You rush to the window and look down at your mother where she stands at the bottom, looking impossibly small.

"There you are! What are you waiting for? I'm not very happy with you, darling."

You lick your lips. "Sorry!" you call, turning to the rope spooled to the right of the window. You throw the rope over the hook at the top of the frame, pausing when you see the stranger lingering in your peripheral vision at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing? Go!" you whisper.

He nods toward your hands. "Couldn't have thrown that down to me, could you?"

You shoo him away, his easy laughter doing nothing to assuage your racing heart as you drop the length of looped rope down to your mother. You wait until she's secured her foot in the loop before you start to walk backwards, lifting her weight.

It doesn't get any less laborious as you grow up. By the time she's reached the top of the tower you can hardly breathe. You cough so hard you feel nauseous.

"Holy stars, you sound ghastly. And it's completely unbecoming to cough like that without covering your mouth. You know that."

"Sorry, mother."

She hums. You can't decipher what it means, but it likely isn't something forgiving.

"I hope you had some time to think about our argument."

You hold your clasped hands behind your back, hair tickling your knuckles. "I did… I'm sorry, mother."

She stares at you for a moment from under dark eyebrows before her face lifts, the wrinkles in her soft forehead appearing more prominently as she says, "Darling, why do you do this? Why do you insist on making me angry?" She raises her hands to your neck, long fingernails weaving seamlessly into the mass of hair she finds there. "You know I'm only trying to protect you."

"I know," you say, tears burning hot behind your eyes. You will them away. Crying will make it worse, it always does.

She toys with your hair, eyes on your shoulder. You have the peculiar feeling that though she's looking at you she isn't truly looking at you, but through you. Her eyes are distant, unfocused.

Her finger wraps into your hair, twisting a strand behind your ear over, and over, and over. You shift uncomfortably at the tugging feeling at the back of your scalp but don't protest to her touches — any touch at all feels like a gift. Mother isn't generous with her affections.

"Maybe I've been too hard on you," she murmurs.

You loose a pained breath as she takes her hand from your hair and brings it to your face instead. She draws a line from the corner of your eye outwards, a kind, soft petting that gives you goosebumps.

"No, mother. I'm grateful for everything I have. I was being unreasonable, I don't need anything else. I… shouldn't have asked about the stars."

"No, you shouldn't have."

She moves from you to hang her robe up on the hanger. You tamp down your frowning because mother hates when you make her feel guilty and try to decide how it is you're going to escape to your bedroom for the night. You have lots of questions you want to ask the stranger.

You spot something out of the corner of your eye as your mother flits to the kitchen. There, on the table, sits two clay cups half empty and at opposite ends. You side eye your mother and find she's distracted herself with putting a wooden log into the oven's belly, grumbling about how you've neglected your afternoon chores.

You throw yourself in front of the table with a thud.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, disgruntled.

"Nothing! I mean, I'm cleaning up. I forgot to empty these cups of paint after I finished."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

The thing about mother is that most of the things she says are neutral. Anybody else might think she was being light-hearted or blasé. She phrases everything so meticulously.

But she is not kind.

You laugh breathily and turn to the cups. Your heart leaps into your throat when you find the cup isn't the worst of what might give you away. Hooked over the back of the chair is the stranger's leather satchel, a ratty old thing sagging with the weight of its contents.

You take it. The zipper snags and the cause of the weight reveals itself in a clinking upheaval, a flash of light across the floor. You throw yourself over the chair to grab for it, a mindless scrambling, silver and gems cool and sharp under your hand. You shove it back in the satchel, no clue what it is. You've never seen anything like it.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, her voice occluded by the soft bubbling of the cooking pot.

"It's dusty down here!" you call.

"Yes, well… it's to be expected when all you do is paint all day, darling."

"You're right," you say quietly. "Of course you are, mother."

Steve hadn't suspected your room would look as plain as it does. You've a simple bed with a modest quilt and one tired looking pillow, though it's been made with neat folded corners. A stuffed rabbit sits at the bottom, lavender velveteen with a pink button nose. He doesn't touch it, though he'd like to. He's not sure he's ever touched a stuffed animal before.

He can hear you talking to your mother, or rather your mother talking at you. He must say, she doesn't sound like the easiest woman to get along with. But Steve's never had a mother, so maybe that's just what they're like.

You have a small table to one corner covered in small trinkets. Shells, stones, papers loose and bound. He flips open the soft cover of a book and finds it filled with pencil sketches, corner to corner of every page.

You've drawn the most mundane things in remarkable colour and detail. The cooking pot over the stove top, the washing basin, the wooden table. Your slippers, your hair brush. Ordinary things in extraordinary detail, and extraordinary colour.

He pauses at a loose leaf of brown paper tucked toward the end of the book. It's a bird on the window ledge, a fruit dove. The face and beak are in great detail, white feathers made corporeal by the smudge of hard pastel. The wings are rough, white and pale pinks and greens unrendered.

Footsteps sound up the stairs.

Shit, Steve thinks. They're a hurried sound. He's been sussed. He turns on his heel to find a place to hide.

"Shit," he says, climbing the circular platform that holds your bed and collapsing to the floor, wriggling on his back until he's hidden underneath the bed and sheets completely.

He holds his breath as the door creaks open.

"Um… mister… uh, stranger man?"

He waves his hand from under the bed.

"Oh, right. Move over," you say, and then you're getting under the bed to join him.

Steve moves over and suddenly you're there beside him, the two of you pressed arm to arm under your bed. Your smell is impossible to ignore, the fruity fragrance of jasmine and milk-soap. He stares at your face as you settle, your eyelashes fluttering, your subtle smile.

You turn your head to his. The two of you flinch in tandem, eyes flying away from each other to the underside of the bed.

Oh, Steve thinks. Holy stars.

You've painted lanterns on every slat. Purple paper lanterns that glow orange and yellow in their centres, tens of them in different sizes. It's as breathtaking as your field of flowers downstairs despite the major decrease in scale.

"Wow," he says, on impulse, "these are amazing."

You inhale happily. "Thank you. The floating lights are my favourite thing. They always come out-" You cut yourself off with a cough. "Well. I love them."

"'Floating lights,'" he quotes. You're strange.

"I wanted to go see them, but…"

"But mother said no?"

"No," you murmur weakly. He takes it for yes. "She doesn't believe they're not stars."

He can hear each individual breath you take this close and suspects that you can hear his own. It's a funny thing to be this close to you when he doesn't know you beyond your painting and your too-long hair. He can see a lot more of your details, your tiny bumps and fine hairs.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly.

"I'm Y/N." You lay your ear against the wooden floor to look at him. "What's your name?"

"Steven. Steve will do just fine."

"Steve," you say, like you're testing it out. "Steve, you lied to me."

His eyes widen.

"Did I?" he asks, trying to disarm you with a smile and failing yet again.

"You lied," you whisper. "What's in the satchel, Steve?"

"It's not what you think."

"I think it's exactly what I think."

You're giving him a hard stare. He smiles and smiles and smiles, his facade cracking the longer you look at him. His breath all falls out in a rush, blowing the hair from his eyes as he sighs. "Alright, fine. I lied about the ruffians. In my defence, there isn't a big difference between those fools from the palace and true ruffians."

You sit up and wack your head on the bed slats above. Steve reaches out to help though there's nothing to do.

You push his hand away. "Palace guards?" you ask in an urgent whisper, hand held to the top of your head.

"Obviously. They don't just let you walk out of there without a fight… Wait, why are you surprised?" He measures your sheepish face. "You conniving, deceitful gir!"

"I might not know what it is, but I can tell it's not the kind of thing someone like you would have on his person," you say, grumbling at his insults.

His injustice at having been tricked drops away. "You don't know what it is? You've never seen a tiara?”

Your embarrassment is adorable. You change the subject deftly. “You lied to me, let’s not forget. You’re in danger because of the consequences of your own actions. Can’t believe I fell for your sob story. I should tell my mother exactly what kind of man I have hiding under my bed.”

“Who you’re hiding under your bed with.”

You climb out from under the bed with an irritated harrumph. Steve untangles a length of your hair that’s gotten wrapped around one of the beds feet before you can yank your own head back and follows you out.

“Don’t be mad,” he says.

“You’re a criminal,” you say angrily.

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Your furious whispers pause when your mother starts to sing downstairs. Steve can see the debate on your face. Yes, he’s a liar, yes, he’s a criminal, and yes, you should churn him back out into the valley. Send his untrustworthy self on his sorry way and wipe your hands of him entirely.

To do so would mean admitting to your mother that he’s here.

“Just… don’t talk to me. And don’t steal anything.”

He grins. “As you wish, my lady.”

—

“Y/N?” a voice asks in the dark.

It’s impossible to relax with him here. You’re worried he’s going to slit your throat while you sleep. You’re doubly worried he’ll see your unattractive resting face. Warped priorities aside, you can’t make yourself sleep.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“The floating lights?”

Your eyes fly open. You get the disorienting feeling of blindness and blink in the dark until you can make out the faintest glow of moonlight under the door. “Yeah?”

“Those are called lanterns.”

You swallow a rough breath. “Lanterns.”

“Mm-hm. They’re made of paper. You light them and send them up with the breeze. The ones you’ve been seeing, they’re probably for the lost princess.”

“The lost princess?”

“Yeah. The entire kingdom floods into the town and each person lights a lantern for her. It’s more of a festival these days, but… They're supposed to help her find her way home. If she’s really lost, that is.”

You hum something, an attempt to reply, but you're too distracted to say anything else. Floating paper. A lost princess. You close your eyes and clouds of purple, pink and orange burn against your eyelids.

—

"You want me to what?"

"I want you to take me to see the lanterns."

Steve's back aches from sleeping flat on the floor all night long, and his shoulders scream every time he moves from climbing, and his hands are gross and sore with scabs, and he truthfully doesn't have the patience for this conversation.

"No."

"Fine. Don't take me, and I will keep the tiara as an innkeeper's fee."

"There's usually breakfast at an inn," he says.

You slap a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him. You've drizzled the surface with honey and placed red berries over the top to form a smiling face. The heat of the porridge has melted the berries into blobs that break from their skin when he pokes them with a spoon.

"Oh," he says. Nice.

He looks up to find you dressed in a different gown than yesterday, this one made up of a green bodice with white sleeves and a white skirt. The bottom hem is sewn with dainty yellow flowers, the bodice with vines in a darker shade of green. It's a very sweet dress on an otherwise sweet looking girl, if you ignore the formidable twist of your brow.

Fine, he'll bite. Your frown is sweet too.

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he says, about to scoop up a bite of porridge. He's starving.

You pull the bowl away from him, his spoon diving straight into the gnarled wooden table.

"You'll take me, or I'll tell the first palacemen that I find who you are and where you were."

"This isn't how you negotiate."

"Good thing I'm not negotiating."

He tries to intimidate you. Steve is not very intimidating. He frowns and he looks unhappy rather than angry, the worst he dips into is a pestered annoyance. His stomach gurgles in the ensuing silence.

"Why do you need someone to take you? Your mother left just this morning by herself."

You raise your eyebrows.

Steve sighs. "And if I did take you… then what? I suppose you'll want safe passage home, as well?"

You slide his porridge a little bit closer to his outstretched hand.

"You'll be coming back this way anyhow."

Well, yeah. He didn't know you knew that. Steve sighs, the most pained and inconvenienced groan he can muster because everything is awful and he's hurting in six different places. You don’t budge.

"Fine. Fine! I'll take you into the city to see the lanterns, and I'll bring you home. And you will give me back my satchel and my- uh, findings."

You push the porridge toward him. "That was easier than I expected."

Steve wishes he could pretend your smugness wasn't sweet, either. Because he isn't going to make this easy for you, not one bit.

He watches you pack your bag from the table and feels very, very sorry for you. For starters, you don't really have a bag, only a sack for potatoes now emptied. You take two clean dresses down from the clothesline they'd been hanging on and fold them before putting them at the bottom of the sack carefully, and then you're clueless.

"It'll be five or six days," he says, "now I've lost my horse."

Lost isn't the right word. His stolen horse had sprinted off into the forest and left him stranded. Another ailment to add to his list — thrown bodily off of a stallion.

"Do you have any better shoes?"

You look down at your pretty slippers and grimace. "No."

"You don't get out much, do you?"

You ignore him and pull a case of things out from under the small counter in the alcove of your kitchen. You drop a roll of linen bandages into the sack and shove the case back under the counter with your foot as you bring out a block of cheese and a box of matches.

Poor girl, he thinks.

"Don't worry too much about it."

"I'm not worried," you say, topping your provisions off with a punnet of fruit and the last of your fresh flatbread covered in a beeswax wrapping. "This will be fun."

—

You're scared enough to feel tears welling in your eyes.

Steve walks ahead of you, shoes hidden by lush green grass as he makes his way toward the valley's exit. You're not sure he's realised you're not behind him, or maybe he has and he refuses to wait. You've finished bricking the secondary entrance to the tower closed again, and while it seems obviously disturbed you have no choice but to hope mother doesn't steer around the back anytime soon.

Your adrenaline has been pumping ever since you jimmied the tile and unlocked the trap door. Your chest physically aches with anxiety, and your breath has begun to feel short and shallow.

"Are you coming?" Steve calls.

You heave the potato sack over your shoulder and take a step forward.

The earth is soft and hard underfoot, an impossible sensation. You rock your heel back and forth and test the uneven ground for purchase. The temptation to reach down and touch it for the first time is high but Steve's still watching you, so you hurry toward him and try not to fall over. You take a huge, calming breath.

It smells gorgeous out here. Despite keeping the window cracked and the tower clean, there's a lived-in smell that can't be escaped. Out here, you can practically taste the earth. The crisp air burns your nose.

Steve keeps a fast pace and neither of you talk. Your companion isn't happy about his predicament and you can't blame him, you've practically taken him hostage. He isn't a poor sport either, and he hasn't been cruel. Quiet, he parts the ivy covering the valley exit and lets you pass.

The world is even bigger from there.

"Stay close, okay? I don't know what kind of vagrants we'll come across this far from town."

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Uh-huh."

You stay likely too close, your arm gracing his own every now and then. Each time you pull away and each time you end up drifting back toward him. The quiet is impenetrable. You don't know what to say to a man. To anybody. Mother's usually the guiding force of every conversation, and her insistence has left you poorly equipped.

Steve seems content to languish in silence.

You walk. You watch the sun move, heat burning your skin by midday. You're not used to walking such long distances or being so exposed to the elements, and by evening you hurt everywhere. Your face shines with perspiration and your shoes chafe your ankles raw, each step a barb.

As if things couldn't get worse, guilt grabs and holds you. Guilt and fear. What will mother think if she finds out you've left? What would she say? How ridiculously naive, darling. I told you, you aren't to leave the tower. Do you seriously think you know better than I do? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm hurt. I'm hurting that you'd think so low of me.

You try to shake the thoughts away. A shiver rushes down your spine.

Steve holds a hand over his eyes, turning his head to the West where the sun approaches the horizon.

"It'll be dark in a few hours,” he says.

You nibble the inside of your cheek, voice hoarse and throat dry from your lack of conversation. "Will we camp for the night?"

He shakes his head, the sun climbing up his neck to paint his brown hair blonde. "If memory serves, there's an inn not far from here." He smiles. "You'll like it."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah."

You kick a small stone. "How do you know where we're going?" You'd been on a dirt path now for an hour or two, or rather two dirt paths, worn by carriage wheels. "Everything looks the same."

"I'm an excellent navigator."

Sure enough, he navigates the two of you toward a pretty little inn snugly hidden between a crop of towering, leafy trees, a shock of beige and brown in an overwhelmingly green landscape.

"Le Vilain Caneton," you read off of the sign, giving him a bright smile. "That sounds nice."

"What did I tell you? You're gonna love this."

—

Steve doesn't feel bad, at first.

He throws open the door. The handle slams hard enough into the wood behind it that he's surprised there isn't a cracking sound. He ushers you inside, finding that the handle hasn't broken a hole in the wall because there's already one there.

It's sleazy, all things considered. Steve has avoided this place pretty much his entire adult life after a trade gone wrong, and while he feels his appearance has changed enough to spare him a skirmish he affects the Steven Harrington manner. Two-timing baby Stevie is nowhere to be seen.

He's still a two-timer. Case in point.

"Isn't it charming?" he murmurs to you, hand held aloft behind your back. Not touching but ready to if you step back.

"Yeah," you say weakly. "Really cute."

Adorable.

Steve takes a step that encourages you forward into the main area of the room. The smell of cheap ale blooms and the floor is sticky with it. He regrets how it will likely ruin your pretty slippers but he isn't a coward, walking you right up to the bar where a scary looking guy stands wiping glasses with a dirty rag.

"Are you the innkeeper?" he asks jovially. "We'd like a room."

Scary guy squints, looks between you and Steve with apprehension.

Steve's trying to scare you, not get caught. He throws his arm over your shoulders. You shrink under his touch. It's too late for him to pull away, guilt softening the grasp he has on your shoulder as he lays down a thick facade.

"My wife's tired as a lamb from walking all day, could we get a hot bath drawn with that?"

Scary guy spits into the cup with a scoff. "Judy?" he calls out gruffly.

Steve beams. You curl into him slowly, a flower turning to the sun, hiding from the cold. You still smell of jasmine milk soap after all these hours of walking, but he doesn't miss how the lengths of your hair have grown dishevelled with sweat and wind. He wonders how long it might take you to brush free the knots and tangles. He wonders if you do it in the bath.

You turn to him with your face shining with a trust he doesn't deserve, like you're seeking his protection.

"Steve, I don't have any money," you whisper.

His hand rests in the nook of your neck. "That's alright. Consider it part of your innkeeper's fee."

"Does this come with breakfast, too?" you ask genuinely.

Judy, a tall, lithely woman who can't be more than thirty takes her station behind the bar and smiles at you before her eyes follow Steve's arm to his body. He freezes at the calculating tilt of her head, the subtle but not invisible squint.

"Breakfast is an additional two silvers."

"And for the room and bath?"

"Ten for the room, five for the bath, two for breakfast." Judy grins. Her hair is like copper, shifting around sharp cheekbones. "Seventeen silvers all together."

Steve frowns but hands over the money.

Judy takes you up the first flight of rickety stairs to your room, and nods toward the bathing room as you pass it. She shows you where you'll be spending the night, a ramshackle room with a bed made of what Steve suspects to be more straw than padding. He's relieved at the thick quilt set and folded at the bottom. It looks clean enough.

"I'll knock when the bath is drawn. Will that be for both of you?"

And so. Steve had feared this, feared the bath in general, and had forgotten to explain this fear to you.

"Both of us," he says, nodding.

You're thankfully smart enough to keep any grievances you have at that to yourself. At least, until the door closes, and you pin him with a look that's a mixture of betrayed and furious. Your eyebrows pinch together.

"Why did you say that?"

"It's what's expected of us."

"By who?" you ask, near belligerent.

He shushes you, a frown of his own taking form. "By everybody. It's what married couples do, they share the water when travelling. And it wouldn't be proper for you to be in the bathing room by yourself, how could your husband protect your honour?"

"You're not my husband."

He shushes you again, this time with a severe expression that finally has you giving pause. Your eyes flash with fear and quickly clear. You take a step back.

He holds a hand out toward you amicably. "Sorry. But it will be much safer for both of us if we can keep our ruse alive. Someone as handsome as you, it isn't right for your reputation to be travelling with me while you're still unmarried, you know? And for me…" He doesn't want to explain the horrible truth to you. If Steve refuses to leave you, to share you, to let men do what men would like to do to you, that might invite a riot.

"I don't have a reputation," you say.

He shrugs. "It is safer for us to be married." He hesitates, remembering why he'd brought you here in the first place. The horrible truth may be unseemly, but it could be enough to get you to bow out. "If we aren't married… Well, it doesn't bear saying."

"What?" you ask, a curious thing. He loves it, and not only because it works to his advantage.

"Men will take anything they find beautiful. And without care."

Your fingers tighten around the mouth of your potato sack bag.

"I see," you say. "Of course. I knew that, mother always says, but."

He winces at the reminder of your cruel mother. He feels cruel himself, suddenly, for scaring you on purpose as your mother likely does, for being another member of the opposition in your life. All you want is to see the Princess' lanterns, so much so you've hidden under your bed and painted their colours painstakingly onto each slat of supporting wood. A hidden wish, and one you'd deigned to share with him. He starts to think, Maybe I should just take her. How much could it possibly cost me?

But Steve's from nothing. He was born from nothing, he grew up with nothing. He is, in the grand scheme of the universe and its many, many stars, nothing. Another orphaned boy destined to waste his life stealing coppers from coin purses and sleeping in doorways.

The sooner he gets that tiara, the better. No more sleeping outside. No more staring up at the wine dark sky and wondering if any of those blistering stars can hear him.

If they can, they aren't listening.

You put your bag down on the floor. It thunks.

"What have you piled in there, sweetness? A mountain?" he asks, momentarily distracted.

"Nothing!" you rush to say, standing in front of your bag like it might hide it from his view.

The door knocks before he can question you further. "The bath!" comes Judy's solid tone.

"Thank you," Steve says, "we'll be right out." He nods at you. "Your change of clothes?"

You search through your bag with your shoulders to him, hunched to shield the mystery.

"You can keep your secrets," he teases lightly. The stars know he keeps his own.

Through the hallway to the bathing room, Judy kicks open the door, points to the bath as though he might not see it otherwise, and then the small weight by the doorway to keep the door closed. There's no steam to the water.

"How conning," Steve mutters, closing the door after Judy's departure.

"What?" you ask, your voice curiously strung.

"The water’s barely hot."

"I've never had a hot bath before."

He looks at you through the corner of his eye. "Never?"

"Sometimes mother would pour warm water through my hair, but no. Does it hurt, when it's too hot?"

He can't help grinning at you. "Some of the time," he concedes. "It's a nice kind of hurting, though, do you know what I mean? You'll feel much better after." He chuckles, sticking his finger into the water. It isn't not hot, but it could be better considering its cost. "Not that this could ever hurt you."

"A nice kind of hurting," you mumble.

"Mm. You should try to be quick, they might want the bath for someone else soon."

You nod, eyes darkening with your remembered predicament. You hug your clean dress to your chest. He thinks, suddenly, that your hair looks very heavy, and that it must hurt your neck.

"I won't look," he says, voice soft with sincerity.

Your shoulders relax.

He sits with his legs stretched out and shoes pressed to the door to stop a potential intruder, listening, trying not to listen, as you peel out of your clothes. Your bare feet sound strange over the wooden floor, a shushing sound. Your dress and corset fall in rustling waves.

You gasp as you step into the water. "Oh," you say, the small sound imbued with a simple, common pleasure.

He feels the tension like fog over the kingdom waters in summer, when the heat is tangible and the nights are short. You look so soft in your clothes. Outside of them, Steve can only imagine.

He tries very hard to push it from his mind, feeling an unwelcome heat rise anyhow. He blames it on the humidity of the room.

You pitter for a moment, in awe of the heat.

"How–" His voice gets caught. He clears his throat, tries a second time, "How do you wash your hair?"

"I lather the soap in my hands and–" You seem to be victim of the same affliction as he is. "Steve, could you pass me my soap? I'm sorry, I've left it on the vanity with my dress."

"If you want me to help you, you need only ask. I've been said to have very hard-working hands."

"I thought you were a thief?"

Steve stands up grudgingly. He usually has much better luck with the ladies, yet all his joking flirtation soars straight over your head. Not that he actually wants it to land, nor does he think he could handle your attention.

He doesn't look at you as he grabs your bar of soap. He unwraps its beeswax covering and hands it to you, looking decidedly at the damp wall opposite. He feels your wet hand touch his. Your skin is so hot it startles him, and the bar of soap slips between your outstretched fingers, slamming and sliding somewhere unknown.

"Shit," he says. "Alright, best cover yourself."

He hears quick movements in the water as he turns to you, throwing his gaze to the floor, only a split flash of your naked skin to be seen. Your soap has rounded the corner of the wooden tub, lying behind your straight back. He kneels to pick it up, scowling at the scum sticking to its underside, and nearly headbutts your forehead as he stands.

He springs back, and he stares. You have water running in rivers down your face, your wet hair framing your shining cheeks, pooling down. It covers the swell of your chest so precisely that Steve bites his tongue, forcing his eyeline back to your waiting face. You have water in your eyes like tears, their lashes turned to triangles, clinging to one another.

You look like one of the women from his storybook. A water nymph. A siren. The room is warm with steam, and his cheeks, hot to begin with, emanate enough heat to warm your tub again as he makes the comparison. Your looks alone might draw him to drowning.

"Steve?" you ask, holding out your hand.

Hair shifts over your body like a dancing shadow, or a beaming light. He isn't sure. There's something about it that feels extraordinary, not just in the length of it.

He passes you your soap. Ridiculous, he thinks. Imbecilic. Your hair is hair and nothing more. While you're achingly pretty and you have a fine hand, that is where your remarkability ends.

"Could you turn around again?" you ask, flustered.

He turns around.

—

"You brought your pan?" Steve asks you, bewildered. He's standing by the small, thin window, metal-wrought panes that filter the last of the sun's rays.

You stand shivering by your potato sack and frown at him, setting the pan on the sheets. "I think we might have a more pressing issue."

"We don't have anything." He seems to appraise your condition. "How do you usually dry your hair?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"How cryptic! I'm afraid you're destined to freeze here, my heart. Or we could take you home, where you may comfortably perform whatever ritual it is that you perform and dry your hair."

"Wasn't there a fireplace downstairs?"

"We aren't going back down there."

"We aren't," you say in agreement, turning his distaste of the collective pronoun back on him. "I'll go by myself."

"That is a horrible, terrible, awful idea."

"I'm not going home. I want to– I’m going to see the paper lanterns."

Steve sighs. After your bath, he'd taken the smaller basin of clean water and washed up, now standing in front of you in his only change of clothes, a darker, navy tunic buttoned to the throat and simple slacks. His shoes are tightly laced even at this hour. You look down at your bare feet and feel majorly abashed by their new blisters and haphazard bandaging. You can't make yourself put your slippers back on.

He continues his sighing as he crosses the room. He's still grumbling when he opens the door.

"Well?" he asks, holding it open.

You pat his arm gently as you pass. "Thank you."

You trek down the stairs, careful with each footstep that you aren't trodding on a misplaced nail or scary splinter. Wood changes to stone flooring, tiles of a terracotta colour that are large and misshapen. You keep your eyes on them as you cross the room to its only source of heat, a blistering hearth just shy of the room's stage and piano. Somebody sits behind it on the piano bench, though they aren't playing the piano at all, but a great wooden instrument you've never seen.

"What is that?" you ask Steve.

He doesn't bend under your attention. He frowns ever so slightly. "What?"

You point to the instrument as conspicuously as you can.

Steve takes your shoulder into his hand and guides you toward the fireplace without malice. He's prompting you along, as you've stopped in the middle of the room.

"You've never seen one of those?" he asks.

"Not in any of my books."

"I guess they're still new. That's a vihuela. It's a… it's a nice sound."

You nod appreciatively, and feel much happier as Steve pulls a nearby chair as close to the hearth as he can without garnering any disgruntled looks from the other patrons. You sneak a peek at their faces. Most are naturally intimidating; there are men with weathered, unkind faces lining the walls with tankards of ale in hand; there are travellers such as yourselves, though they look hardened, sharper than you ever could, coin purses on tables as if daring you to try lifting them; there are women, sparsely, who are sharper in a different way. They remind you of a summer rose, darkly red, a gorgeous head of petals distracting from a thorny stem.

You sit down in your chair and feel the heat of the fireplace greet your chilled skin, and your soaked back. Your dress has soaked up much of your hairs dripping, the kind of unfortunate happenstance that might spiral into your hypothermic death. Steve puts his chair beside yours and turns his entire body toward yours. You like it. It's like he's hiding you from everybody else, replacing their sneering gazes with his fed-up acceptance. You find extreme comfort in this feeling, as though Steve is the only person in the room with you.

"Turn to me."

"What if my hair catches?"

"You aren't close enough for that."

You turn to Steve completely. You look like lovers, you must, worse when he takes your slippers and holds them on top of one of his thighs. He has wide thighs, and they make you feel a feeling you don't understand. Everything you know about men has come from Mother or books. Mother claims them to be evil in their entirety. Of the few books you have, and fewer that talk of men beyond the factual, none have ever mentioned why their legs look like that, and why it will make you feel like you've swallowed something much too hot.

"I'll make sure your hair doesn't go up in flames," he promises grandly, unnecessarily, "consider it one of my guidely duties."

A shy, pleased smile takes your lips. "Thank you."

"Yeah, you're welcome." He closes his eyes and tips his head back. "Stars, I'm hungry."

"I have–"

"We'll buy dinner. They have hunter's stew here, have you ever tried that?"

"No."

He laughs, crossing his arms across his chest. "Of course not. Alright, this will sound gross, but it's really old stew. Years old, maybe decades. They keep adding and adding to the pot with whatever’s in season."

You don't know everything, or anything, really, but you know that sounds like food poisoning in a bowl. "How doesn't it kill you?"

"They keep it really, really hot, all day long."

You like the way he says it, even if he's maybe making fun. He almost sings each word, a melodic cadence to his pronunciation that endears you further.

"And you've had it? What does it taste like?"

"See, you'd think it tastes a bit muddled, right? But it's good. You'll like it."

He makes no move to get up and get the aforementioned soup. You aren't particularly hungry, leaning back just a little so the brutal heat of the flames can warm your damp shoulder. The wetness of your dress is fading, warmed but still undeniably wet, and you wonder if the heat is hurting your hair. Mother always says to keep your hair as far from the hearth as you can at all times, and gets angry when you sit too close.

The soot, darling. The soot will cling to your hair and ruin it. It is, in Mother's opinion, the most beautiful thing about you.

Mother. She shouldn't be back home for days now, and still you're worrying. Mostly about being caught. But if you're caught, and she knows you left…

You have a strange love for your mother. The kind that makes you feel sick in intensity. You want, at all times, to please her. And you know this isn't something she would approve of, Stars, she'd be so disappointed in you for taking this risk.

You stare up at a wooden beam past Steve's head and try not to tear up. Anxiety eats at you until there's nothing left but your skin, your insides a tangled dark whorl of misery. She must know you've left home. She must know how terribly ungrateful you are for everything she's sacrificed. She must know–

"Are you okay?"

You blink hurriedly and face Steve, hoping this will dispel the quick-welling tears clouding your vision. It doesn't work: blinking can’t erase years of pent up worry. You wipe your eyes before they can roll down your cheeks and humiliate you further.

"I'm okay," you say.

Steve frowns again. He's a frowny guy.

"What's wrong?" He takes your elbow into his hand.

"Nothing. Uh…" You smile through your embarrassment. "We don't light the hearth at home, often, and uh, I think the smoke is irritating my eyes." You nod for emphasis.

Steve does not believe you, clearly, but he squeezes your elbow and nods back.

He looks at your face until you're uneasy.

"I'll go get that stew,” he says, patting your arm.

You feel strange once he’s gone. It's nice to be by yourself for a moment. You've spent the majority of your adult life alone while mother goes here, there, and everywhere. You're never allowed to go with her, too stupid for the outside world and all its challenges.

You look around the room now and wonder if this is really the world she means. Sure, it's foreign, and it's unsettling, and without Steve by your side you might not be left alone as you have been, but you'd expected more. Where are all the insects that make you sick, and the men with cutlasses and shackles?

Your eyes drift to the vihuela player. He's moved to sit at the opposite side of the fire. He strums lackadaisically at his instrument, his shoulders against the wall and a cup of mead at his feet. It's obvious nobody's given him any coin in a while.

Behind him sits the piano, glimmering with the flickering firelight. You've read about them, you've even seen drawings of harpsichords, but never heard one played. You wonder what it sounds like. Any music at all is amazing to you. All you've ever heard is singing. One song.

Steve returns with two bowls of hunter's stew. You're scared to try it but horrified that you might look like a coward in front of him. Again. Your tears had been bad enough.

You swallow a spoonful and your eyes water unbidden. "Oh, wow."

"Good, huh?"

You try not to cough. "It's rich."

"I guess you haven't had stuff like this before, huh?" He forks through his bowl and pulls out a big pale vegetable roughly cubed. "You like potato?"

"Yeah," you say, and before you've finished he's pushing the potato against the lip of your bowl and pulling the tines of his fork free. It falls into your stew with a small splash. "Oh. Thank you."

You try to eat as much of it as you can but start to feel sick somewhere in the middle. You set your bowl aside and Steve, bowl emptied, drops his next to it, wiping his hands together and standing.

You look up, puzzled.

"Come on."

Your hair isn't quite dry, a tugging weight for your neck as Steve slides his hand over your warm shoulder. You worry it might never full dry again, not without a helping hand.

He leads you up the small platform to the piano.

You look to him inquisitively.

"It's alright. I asked them if you could try it. Just try not to play too loudly and disrupt the bard."

"How do you adjust how loud it is?"

He pushes down on your shoulders until you're sitting on the bench. "You play softly. It's going to be a little loud no matter what. Don't smash the keys."

"Are they fragile?" you ask worriedly, holding your tensed fingertips above the white and pitch keys.

"No," he says, laughing without any judgement, "move over, I'll show you."

He sits on the bench beside you. There's not a whole lot of room, and his arm presses hot to yours. He places his hand above the keys like he knows what he's doing, and presses down. He plays a line of notes, the sounds a plinking rising melody that has you gasping in awe.

"Don't," —he presses down a huge chunk of keys, and the sound is awful— "do this."

You look up to see if anybody's glaring. Then you burst into giggles, face pressed to his shoulder on automatic as you try to smother the sound. He laughs warmly near your ear.

You probe curiously at the keys and try to make a song. You don't know how, don't know one note from another, you can't fathom how someone might make this into anything more than the bard's lazy fingerings.

"Do you know anything?" Steve asks.

Do you know anything? Mother demands. Darling, I've told you a million times…

"No. Sorry," you say.

His voice is sincerely sweet, like he's confused you'd ever be sorry, "For what? I can play you something. Choose a song."

"I only know the one."

He blinks at you. You shrink into yourself as he averts his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. How useless you are.

The song starts slowly. Steve taps one key, and then another. It lends and lists into music suddenly, the repetition of a simple melody. He doesn't sing, just speaks the words as he plays.

"She sends me a flower to hold me," he says, an echo of song in his tone. "She sends me a flower to– night." He moves his hands up to a higher sound. "She loves me too much, so she's told me. But if she loved me, oh loved me, she might… Come to see me, oh sweetheart, come to see me, oh lover, come to see me, oh darling." He smiles at you. "Come to see me to– night." He clears his throat, hand stilling. "You'd sing the bridge again, but I think I'll spare your ears."

"Is that yours?" you ask him.

He drops his hand into his lap. "No. Steve Harrington doesn't pen love poems, I'm afraid."

"Only plays them."

His smile turns to a smirk, so sticky it's catching.

"You're not the mouse I'd thought you were," he says.

"Was this realisation before or after I tried to maim you with a cast iron pan?"

He's about to answer, a spark behind his eyes, when the door opens wide enough to split its hinges. The origin of the hole in the wall is clear, and he waltzes in with a band of men behind him, grinning.

"Oh, for Stars’ sake," Steve mutters.

"What?" you ask.

The man at the front of the group of men — or, as they step into the light and reveal themselves, boys — sets his one un-patched eye on you and Steve, smiles like the devil, and croons, "Stevie!"

Steve's smile is gone.

"Eddie," he says tiredly.

"You're back!" Eddie looks you up and down, and his expression turns to one of complete surprise. "With a wife? My, my, we have been busy."

Steve stands, and Eddie, in all his darkness, dark hair and eyes and tunic, his grin turns mean. You hide behind one of Steve's thighs, hesitant. He drops his hand against the top of your head.

"Why's it matter?" Steve asks.

"It doesn't." This Eddie sounds all too cheerful. "What does matter, I'm afraid, is the debt between us."

"I don't owe you anything."

You watch with widened eyes as Eddie unsheathes his sword. The scabbard has a mottling of shiny reds and blacks, and the blade glows silver to white in the light. It's sharp.

Steve pulls a small knife from his hip. You hadn't realised he was carrying a weapon.

Eddie takes a step forward, his shoes like a thunderclap across the wooden floor.

"I'm afraid my Sweetheart here doesn't agree."

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

eddie isn’t a bad guy he’s just confrontational <3 thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider reblogging i promise it makes a huge difference <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #tangled!au

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hajoon-iz-won · 2 months

Text

Best First Time Ever!

PAIRINGS: non-idol Heeseung x reader

SUMMARY: Y/N, a twenty-year-old girl, was determined to have her best first time ever at a club. She had grown up in a small town with conservative parents who didn't seem to care about her dating life or losing her virginity. Now, she thought it was easier to find someone to feel good with for a night at a club than trying to maintain an actual relationship.

WARNINGS:

smut, fluff, 18+ mdni

Dom!Heeseung, Sub!reader, gentle domHeeseung, fingering, size kink, breeding kink, reader loses her virginity, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, pet names(baby, sweetheart, angel), creampie, aftercare

Word Count: 6.1k

Today would have been the day. Y/N was resolved that today would have been the day. It wasn't like she did this kind of thing frequently — no, she was undeniably more calm concentrating on in her dorm than in clearly clubs and hitting the dance floor with outsiders. In any case, she'd had enough of being prodded by her friends and roommate. "Twenty years of age, you're truly still a virgin? ” She had recently never felt like it made a difference, and zeroing in on her examinations had forever been the need. Among that and working, she hadn't actually had a lot of chance to zero in on dating, considerably less losing her virginity. In any case, presently… ?

Indeed, she guessed it was far more straightforward to simply track down somebody to feel quite a bit better with for a night at a club than need to disrupt her timetable by attempting to keep a genuine relationship. Indeed, even still, she was somewhat anxious. "Goodness, come on, you will be fine. You look perfect; it'll benefit you to get out for an evening!" Her closest friend offered her a smile and an energetic wink, the blonde lady throwing a simple arm around the more youthful young lady's shoulder. "I endeavored to make you look this great; I'll be cursed assuming I let you back down of flaunting my craftsmanship," Gaeun prodded, directing Y/N towards the entry of the club. "Plus, would you say you are truly having the college experience in the event that you don't look at a club no less than once? I'd prefer not to see my dearest friend denied of such a significant encounter! “ A low moan got away from Y/N, a hand moving upwards to card through dull dark red locks, emerald eyes looking at her companions faces. "I'm here, right? I'm not going to chicken out. I just. Do you have a peculiar outlook on being here? I don't actually have the foggiest idea acceptable behavior in places like this," she conceded. Not that that was actually her issue; she'd be quick to concede that she had grown up extraordinarily protected. Regardless, she realized she was the cliché illustration of that modest community young lady, having experienced childhood with a little ranch with her conservative mother and father.

It wasn't so much that they had been purposefully attempting to conceal the world from her possibly; she just questioned they had a lot of interest in cooperating with such things themselves, so how could they teach their sweet young lady on it? Also, sex? God, sex was, obviously, not discussed. Sex was marriage, and marriage alone, they had demanded, and she would have no need to be familiar with it up to that point. No doubt, as though. Culture shock was likely the most ideal way to depict what she had felt after leaving that modest community interestingly. Her college was situated in a major city, all things considered, many miles from the solace of her home and family. Furthermore, things were… So unique here.

Indeed, even now, two years in the wake of disappearing for school, she still now and again winds up attempting to change. This, however, wanted to beat a major wall for her. "I guarantee we'll have a great time," Gaeun guaranteed, snatching her hand and pulling her inside. "This is my #1 club in the city. It generally has the best music, the beverages are modest, and there aren't a lot of wet blankets." The principal thing Y/N saw as they moved toward the entryways and she was accordingly pulled inside was the music. It was difficult to make out what it was precisely at the volume it was at, however there was a profound, beating bass that appeared to vibrate through her, resonating in a consistent heartbeat she'd up until recently never experienced. Emerald eyes went wide in shock at it, however it was nowhere near unsavory. “See? I told you, it's great, right? Come on." Another little pull, and Y/N wound up moving no sweat, energetic expectation and fervor for something new and exciting getting comfortable her bones, far offsetting her anxiety. The lights were darkened, countered by brilliant hued strobes that illuminated the room in dynamic, moving examples, creating weird shaded areas on bodies moving and moving together to the beat on the dance floor. The music droned, stronger now than when they'd originally entered, and she wound up more charmed than she suspected it would be. In the event that she could just allow herself to unwind… All things considered, this really seemed to be loads of tomfoolery.

After an hour, Y/N had concluded she most certainly owed Gaeun for hauling her out. She was having a great time, body influencing against others to the profound, thundering bass of the music generally around her, liquor in her veins, and disposing of any excess uneasiness. Gaeun had vanished into the group some time prior, immovably pulling on the hand of a man she had met at the bar while getting them drinks, leaving Y/N all alone to partake in the music. Her head felt light even as she advanced toward the bar, rapidly requesting another fruity beverage. They were delightful, and she was satisfied that she could scarcely taste the nibble of liquor in them, something she'd been watchful about. The pleasantness of peach moved on her tongue as she roosted at the bar, tasting at her beverage joyfully.

“You might want to slow down there, sweetheart.” The voice was deep and rumbling, amusement coloring its tone as a large man moved to slide onto the stool beside her. “You don’t look like you frequent places like this, not if the way you’re drinking is any indication. That’ll hit you like a truck—it tastes good, but it’s dangerous as hell if you aren’t looking to get completely drunk.” The stranger hummed, chocolate eyes glittering with amusement.

The man was certainly older than her; that was the first thing Y/N noticed as hazy green eyes raked over him. Salt and pepper black and gray hair. At least 6 feet tall to her small-statured five foot five. A firm, chiseled jawline that looked like it could have been sculpted by a damned artist. Actually, the rest of him looked like it might have been too—the tight black t-shirt and denim jeans did nothing to hide broad shoulders and a muscular chest.

For a moment, her mouth damn near watered. God, he was handsome. How it was that the other women here weren’t flocking around him, she would never understand. But she certainly wasn’t going to complain, even if she made a face at him, sticking out her tongue. “Is it really that obvious? “

“Absurdly so. Might as well be written on your face.” He chuckled. “So, I know it’s cliché, but I gotta ask. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone at the bar? It seems you should be with someone, dancing and having a good time.”

A giggle escaped her, covering her pink, freckled cheeks with a hand to hide it. “You’re right, that definitely was cliché. Lucky you, you’re right about me being new to all this, so I haven’t heard it a thousand times. I’m with my friend. She’s…” A vague wave of her hand towards the crowd of bodies. “Somewhere in there? She made a new “friend,” and they’re dancing. I just wanted another one of these,” she explained, holding up her drink. “And what about you? A handsome man like yourself, you didn’t come here with someone? What did little old me do to get attention?”

She immediately wanted to cringe and groan. Way to go, Y/N; that was definitely not smooth. He’s going to think you’re an idiot. And I mean, you came here looking for a good time. Well, here’s a guy way out of your league who might just be interested if you could play it cool for half a second.

The stranger laughed, a deep rumbling sound that reverberated through her almost as easily as the music did, the pink on her cheeks deepening. “Nah, I came alone. Name’s Heeseung. And when you’re done with that drink, I’d love to take you out on the floor for a dance, if you wanted mind.” He rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Come on now, sweetheart. Surely you know how pretty you are, huh? I got eyes in my head. Was a little amazed you weren’t surrounded by men. Clear down the block.”

“Y/N.” She returned, offering her hand, before raising a brow. “Well, aren’t you a sweet talker? Hmmm. You know what they say, Heeseung, flattery will get you everywhere.” She teased, finishing up her drink before standing, wibbling only slightly. “A dance sounds great.”

He didn't hesitate to reach out and steady her, curling her hand within his much larger one as he led her towards the dance floor. “Well damn, it looks like a lucky night for chivalry.” He teased her back, drawing her against that broad chest as they began to sway. “So, Miss Y/N, what would you normally be doing on a night like tonight, if not being too pretty for words at a dingy bar?”

She couldn’t resist snorting in amusement, rolling her eyes up at him. “Silly. I’d typically be in my dorm studying, I suppose. I’m a student at the university. Biology major, nothing too interesting, I’m afraid.” A rueful smile settled on her lips, even as she melted into him, one arm draping around his neck. God, she felt so damned tiny against him, something deep and primal screaming at her about how safe and strong being in his arms felt. Yes, he was definitely perfect for her intended foray into adventure.

“Nothing too interesting, she says, like understanding science isn’t an incredible feat,” he shot back, a playful smile on his lips. “I ain’t anything so clever or fancy. I’m a firefighter. It is tough, dirty work, but it needs to be done. At the very least, I get to come home each night feeling like I’ve made some kind of difference,” he admitted, even as he drew her closer. “Have to admit, this isn’t my usual kind of scene either; the loud noise bothers me sometimes. But tonight? Well, damn, tonight I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad I did too,” she admitted, her free hand settling on his chest. “Handsome and a firefighter? Gotta say, you’re ticking my boxes left and right here.” Y/N teased, leaning up on her toes to brush her lips along his jaw, the alcohol thrumming in her veins long since waving goodbye to any inhibitions she might have. He was strong, gorgeous, and seemingly kind. She wanted him to take her apart. She wasn’t even fully sure of what that meant, but God, her body knew on instinct alone that it had to be him.

“Glad to hear it, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “How many more boxes do you think it would take for me to check off before you let me kiss you?” Heeseung questioned, already cupping her jaw and guiding her gaze upwards to meet his own.

“Not even one.” It was all the warning she gave before she was leaning up on her toes, capturing his lips with her own. At least she knew how to do it—she’d kissed boys in high school and shared fleeting things with guys back home behind her family’s barn. Kissing Heeseung, though… It felt different and sent sparks of electricity rushing through her in a way the guys back home never had.

He didn't even question it. Immediately, he was drawing her closer, one hand sliding under her rear to lift her towards him as he leaned to meet her in kind. His tongue brushed along her lower lip, a silent bid for entry before he was pressing inside to taste her. Fuck, she tasted so sweet, like the peach and mango from the drink she had been sipping only moments before, with the slightest bite of vodka still on her tongue. He guided her slowly into the kiss and showed her how to move against him. He was all too happy to deepen it, to take the time to explore every inch of her, guiding her hips against his own from his hold on her. “Well, thank God, sweetheart.” He groaned against her lips. “Because I thought I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get to do that soon.”

A soft moan escaped her, her”lips parting without hesitation as he deepened the kiss. It was as though she were running on autopilot, her body knowing exactly what it was that she was aching for, even if she herself didn’t, and it sought it out readily.

Why hadn’t she been allowing herself these delights sooner?

“Heeseung…” she mewled, her fingers tangling in raven locks and tugging as she melted into him, pressing against him more completely. “Please… It feels so good,” she admitted breathlessly, chasing his lips with her own the moment he drew back for breath, greedy for another. “If I asked really nicely, would you take me home and kiss me until I can’t think straight?” She questioned, her voice soft and needy. “Because I’d really like to be able to feel a little more than is appropriate for a dance floor in a dingy club.”

Heeseung raised a brow at her, her lips curving upward in amusement. Forward little thing, wasn’t she? “I think we can certainly arrange that, sweetheart. Why don’t we get your things? You can text your friend; I’ll even give you my address to give her so she knows your safe,” he offered, leaning down to nuzzle into her throat teasingly, suckling at smooth caramel skin until violet began to blossom beneath his touch. “Because frankly, I think I’d like to do a lot more than a dance floor allows for too.”

“Deal.” She agreed, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the coat check. A moment later, she was typing out a text to Gaeun with the details of where she’d be and not to worry, letting Heeseung draw her into his side all too contentedly. He was strong, he was warm, and he was broad. It was as though she fit perfectly against him, as though she had been made to be there.

“I called us a cab while you were texting your friend,” he told her, brushing a kiss on her head and waving down the taxi when it appeared.

Ten minutes later, he was helping her out of the car, leading her to the front step of a cozy-looking white house. She wobbled slightly on her feet, leaning against him for support, even as she clutched at his sleeve. Maybe he was right, and that last drink was a mistake, she mused, all too happy to let him guide her inside.

She wasted no time in pouncing, pressing his larger frame to the door with renewed fervor once it had closed, stealing his lips with her own in a greedy kiss. “Fuck….. can’t tell you how good kissing you feels.” She admitted, her arms winding around his neck, her body pressing against him once more. “Girl could get addicted if she’s not careful.”

Heeseung growled low against her lips, shifting them until her back pressed to the wall, legs under her thighs lifting her, and guiding her legs around his hips as he met each kiss in kind. “You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Such a sweet little thing, you have no idea.” His tongue once more invaded her mouth, taking control with ease, even as she rolled her hips against him feverishly, instinctively telling her to seek out the sweet friction she was missing out on currently. Her head felt hot; it felt like the world was spinning, like she was burning alive in the best way possible, like she couldn’t get a grip on anything.

Y/N woke up in a strange room, nestled down in a bed that was far too comfortable to be her dorm bed. The blankets were soft on her skin, and early morning light cast rays against the bottom of the bed as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. Just what in the hell happened last night? Emerald eyes glanced down, widening in surprise. Okay, so the shirt she was in definitely wasn’t hers. For a moment, panic welled up inside of her, glancing around her surroundings frantically until she noticed what lay on the nightstand—a glass of water, two painkillers, and a note.

Morning Sweetheart;

First off, don’t worry. We didn’t go past kissing last night. That last drink of yours hit you pretty fast, and I wasn’t about to take advantage. Here are some painkillers. I imagine your head is hurting. Your clothes are washed and folded on the dresser. When you’re ready, come on downstairs, darlin’. I should have breakfast ready for you by then.

-Heeseung

All at once, it came rushing back to her. The loud, thudding music. She had strong hands on her and a broad waist beneath her legs. Lips met hers feverishly as she stole kiss after kiss. She had suddenly been dizzy and exhausted, barely even able to keep her eyes open. He’d carried her to his room, given her a shirt to wear, and tucked her in for the night.

Well, fuck, that was embarrassing! What was he going to think of her now that she had gotten too drunk off a few fruity drinks to even stay awake? Goddammit… There went her chance to get rid of that stupid virginity too. Gratefully, she reached for the pills and water, popping them back with ease, even as she made a promise to herself to never drink again. It wasn’t worth it if the way her head was feeling right now was anything to go by.

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face and setting the cup back on the nightstand. Okay, time to evaluate—she had options here. She could get dressed, sneak downstairs, and pretend like nothing had ever happened. Or she could stay burrowed in his shirt, go down to see what the breakfast he’d mentioned was, and see if he’d still let her try again. If she were being honest with herself, she would have preferred the second option. He was handsome, kind, and apparently caring enough to tuck a strange girl in his bed because she’d drank too much. She definitely wanted her first time to be with him.

Well. That settled it, then.

She slid out of bed, moving towards the dresser mirror long enough to run her fingers through her hair, making sure crimson curls at least looked presentable before padding down the hallway and a large staircase. The scent of bacon and eggs hit her immediately, making her mouth water as she followed it to where she presumed the kitchen to be. Silently, she walked up behind him, sliding slender arms around his waist from behind, burying her face in the broad expanse of uncovered, muscled back.

“Well, good morning to you too, baby.” He chuckled, glancing over his shoulder at her. “I’m guessing you found the note and painkillers, huh? Poor baby, I bet your head is pounding. Go sit down and get comfy. Breakfast just needs to be plated up. Bacon and eggs will get rid of any hangover you might have, I promise.”

Y/N found herself reluctant to let go, brushing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades before forcing herself to take a step back. “I did. Thank you so much for that, by the way. I’m so sorry I fell asleep; you must think me such an idiot.” She groaned, dragging a tired hand down her face, even as she obediently perched in one of the kitchen chairs. “I promise, I really did want to come home with you. I wanted you. Want you.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that we’re at least still on the same page, princess.” He hummed, plating up her food and setting it in front of her, kissing her head tenderly before taking a seat opposite the girl. “Nah, I don’t think you’re an idiot. You already told me it was your first time out like that. I’m guessing it was your first time drinking too?” A little laugh escaped him at the glum nod of her head, the crimson dancing along freckled caramel cheeks. “It’s alright, baby. You eat up, and if you still want me after you have some food in your stomach, well…The corner of his lips tilted upwards in an amused little smirk. “I’m sure we can figure out what to do about that.”

She paused, her emerald eyes widening and her hand pausing with the fork mid-air as her gaze shot up to meet his. “Really? Even after all that, you still want me?” She questioned, shy hesitation creeping into her voice.

“Mmm. Maybe you just look too good in my shirt, sweetheart. Maybe I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you, feeling you under my hands. Maybe I dreamed about how pretty you’d look coming undone.” Heeseung hummed calmly, as though the admission were nothing at all, though mischief twinkled in his eyes as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips, taking a long sip. “First things first, though. Eat. I promise it’ll make you feel much better.” He cajoled softly.

“Alright, alright.” She agreed, though the crimson on her cheeks remained. Admittedly….. The bacon and eggs looked and smelled utterly delicious. And when she had finished moments later, she had to admit it was already helping her feel a little bit better, her migraine finally beginning to let up.

Y/N paused for a moment before she was sliding out of her seat, padding around the table to slip onto his lap, straddling him carefully, and draping her arms around her neck. Was it far bolder than she normally was? Yes, but God, she ached for this man. Had been aching. “I should probably warn you,” she admitted, even as she instinctively rolled her hips down against him. “I’ve never done this before, so I may not know exactly what I’m doing.”

A low groan escaped him as she rocked against him, the shirt doing little to act as a barrier between them. “Hey, that’s completely okay, sweetheart. I know more than enough for both of us, okay? All I need you to do is tell me if anything is too much.” He dipped his head, lips brushing along her throat, leaving a scatter of dark marks in their wake. God, she looked beautiful with his marks, and he couldn't help but commit each little mewl that fell from her lips to memory.

“Tell you what, baby. Why don’t we start nice and easy, huh? I’ll pick you up, real safe and sound, and carry you upstairs. We can take a nice, hot shower together. I’ll kiss the ever-loving hell out of you and get you feeling nice and relaxed for me, hmm? I promise, I’ll take such good care of you.” He kissed his way back up her jaw, cupping her face as he stole her lips with his own. He could get drunk off kissing her; he knew he could.

“Fuck…” she moaned, tipping her head to grant him access to her throat, her fingers tangling in dark locks and clutching on tightly. “Heeseung, please~! “She mewled, unsure of what exactly it was she was asking for. All she knew was that she needed more, needed everything this man could show her, could give her. It was as though some deep, primal part of her had now awoken and was aching only for him.

She met the kiss in kind, heat pooling once more in her stomach, blinding and hot as it coiled and uncoiled, slick already pooling between her thighs, dampening the soft lace that lay between her legs. Even though this had her delirious from pleasure, how much better would it be when she had him touching her? “Shower sounds good.” She agreed breathlessly. “God, yeah, I want that. I want you to touch me so badly. I want you to teach me. Please, Heeseung? ”

“How on earth can I say no to that?” He picked her up with ease, guiding her legs back around his hips as he made quick work of carrying her up to the bathroom, settling her onto the counter with another feverish kiss. “Good girl. Not much longer now, I promise I’ll give you everything you need. Just be a good girl and wait just a moment longer for me.” He ordered softly, reluctantly drawing back. He set to work, turning on the shower, adjusting the temperature until it was just right before kicking off his own sleep pants and turning back to her.

Her mouth goddamn near watered at the sight of him. Firm, muscled thighs to match the rest of him, and… Oh God, he was already so hard. Surely not all of that would be able to fit inside of her! She took a breath, licking her lips in anticipation, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him just yet.

“Come here, beautiful,” he cajoled, helping her back off the counter before his fingers hooked in the hem of his shirt, tugging soft cotton up and over her head. “So gorgeous. You make me want to absolutely ravish you, baby. Cover you in my marks so no man can touch you but me.” A low, possessive growl escaped him as he drew her close, dipping his head to nip along her collarbone, even as his once large, calloused hand lifted to gently cradle her breast. “So perfect for me, I bet you’ll be an angel coming undone.”

A moan left her as his thumb brushed along her nipple teasingly, pressing her hips against him. The feeling of his cock pressing against her was all at once terrifying and thrilling. Shy fingers moved until they could slide between their bodies, curling around him curiously.

Heeseung couldn’t help but moan, tipping his head against her shoulder and nipping at the soft caramel skin once more. “Fuck….. feels good, baby.” Reluctantly, he drew away from her, kissing her head. “Into the shower, sweetheart. I promise I’ll keep touching you, but at this rate, we’ll never make it in.”

His fingers hooked In the hem of her pants, letting them slide down her thighs, before he caught her hand in his own, guiding her under the hot spray carefully, just to step in behind her. It was no hard task to tug her back to his chest, running his hands smoothly over her skin beneath the hot spray. One hand cupped a supple breast once more, the other sneaking it’s way down over her stomach. “Remember, if anything doesn’t feel good, I need you to tell me, okay? ”

The hand continued Its journey downward, drawing needy whines and mewls from her lips as they slid between her thighs, stroking over slick folds. “You’re already so hot and wet for me, aren’t you, Y/N? ”He groaned, the digits easing inside to stroke over the delicate little nub above her entrance, teasing it with skillful little twists of his fingertips against her.

Oh. Oh, that felt incredible. Her eyes widened, a sharp and needy whine escaping her lips as she leaned back into him, her hips rocking into his touch. “Heeseung, please! “Y/N gasped, reaching out to clutch at the wall for purchase. “Oh God, don’t stop, please.”

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before—hot and sharp, the heat in her stomach coiling even tighter as his fingers slid lower, two easing inside. Her legs trembled, weak in the knees, as he wrapped a strong arm around her waist to steady her.

There’s a good girl… Fuck, you feel so hot and tight around my fingers, sweetheart. I bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.” He crooned, his voice a husky rumble in her ear before his lips were once again finding her throat. It was as though he couldn’t get enough—something deep and possessive urging him to leave more and more marks until it would be impossible to miss them.

God, he ached to bury himself in her right now. But he had to be patient. He wanted her to be nice and relaxed for him, and he wanted her first time to be good to her. It was something special she was offering up to him, and he would be damned if he wasted that. “Come on, sweetheart.” He moaned low against her throat, beginning to thrust the digits into her. It wouldn’t take much, he imagined, if no one had touched her this way, and he wanted to watch her fall apart on his fingers before he took her to his bed.

Heat bubbled within her, blindingly hot and dizzying, as she rocked into his touch, desperate to meet each thrust of his fingers in kind. It felt strange; it felt foreign, but it felt amazing. Even just the two digits stretched her open more than she’d ever had before, and when he curled his fingertips to drag along slick walls, she swore she’d seen stars.

He was definitely the right choice.

A moment later, she found herself tipping over the edge, unable to hold back, as her first orgasm hit her hard and fast. “Heeseung!” The cry was sharp, bouncing off the tiled walls to echo through the room as he continued rocking the digits within her, helping her ride out her high.

“Good girl. That’s my good girl,” he praised, slowly pulling the digits out. He chuckled at her whine, kissing the top of her head. “I know. I know, sweetheart. But I don’t think my fingers are enough, huh? So I’m going to pick you up and carry you to my bed. I’m going to lay you out pretty beneath me, and I’m going to make sure you scream.

He turned her carefully, scooping her up bridal style, stealing kiss after feverish kiss as he stepped out of the shower, careful not to slip. He didn’t care that they were both soaked; the sheets would dry. No, all that mattered right now was burying himself in her, making this pretty little thing his.

Y/N clutched on tightly as she was carried, brushing soft, needy kisses and nips to his neck and shoulders as he held her close. All her inhibitions and nerves melted away into nothing—no, there was only this handsome man and his skillful touch. She had no idea that it could be like this, and it was dizzying how badly she wanted more.

Heeseung laid her out gently, guiding her legs apart before moving between them and stealing her lips in a feverish kiss. He wasted no time—no, he needed her now. His hand gripped himself tight as he guided his aching cock against her folds, sinking home in one firm thrust, burying himself to the hilt within her.

Her moan was lost against his lips, her sharp gasp swallowed down as his tongue once more invaded her mouth, exploring every crevice it could, claiming it as his own as his cock did the same. It was overwhelming, but not bad. She felt so damn full. The stretch burned just a little, but that did nothing to diminish her desire. If anything, it left her feeling even more sensitive, with her arms draping around his neck and her legs hooking around his waist.

“Heeseung… fuck fuck fuck, please!”

It seemed as though he needed to be told twice. His hands cupped her hips and slid under her rear as he began to set a fast, hard pace, using his grip on her to guide her up into each rough, unforgiving thrust. “Fuck baby, you feel so good. All mine now; you know that, don’t you? I’m going to fill you up, sweetheart; I’m going to fill you up with my cum; I’m going to claim you inside and out.” He was unsure where the words came from; he’d never been the possessive type, but something about her drove him wild. She was just so damn perfect for him. “Going to breed you, baby, going to fill you so good your stomach swells, so good everyone knows you’re off limits.”

She didn’t know why the idea of that got to her the way it did. She’d never been interested in even the idea of having kids, and the notion of actually being kept had always been more viewed as a hindrance to her schooling and her future career plans. And yet, the thought of her stomach swelling up with his child and of him actually wanting to keep her was even more intoxicating to her.

“Do it!” She mewled, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back in for another desperate kiss. “Please, fuck, I want that so badly, Heeseung. I want everyone to know I’m yours! God, I need it, I need to be full, please, please, please. I’ll be so good for you, please.”

It was as though he had awakened something deep within her and left her wanting for him alone. Each sharp, hard thrust stole her breath and had her gasping and mewling as she writhed beneath him, unable to do much more than simply hang on for the ride.

“I’m so close, baby girl. Just a little more, and I’ll fill you up.” He promised, kissing her over and over again. If he had his way, he was never letting her go. She was his now, and he’d do everything in his power to convince her to stay. One last sharp, and he was spilling himself inside of her with a sharp growl, stealing her lips in one last domineering kiss as he pressed deep, let his seed fill her completely.

Her body tightened around him, as though trying to milk him for everything he had, the feeling of hot liquid rushing inside of her sending her over the edge once more. Her fingers found his back, her nails clawing and scratching as she scrabbled for purchase to ride out her moans and sobs of delight escaping her lips.

He fucked her through It hard before finally falling beside her, rolling them until he was comfortably on his back, drawing her to lay atop him in a way that let him stay buried in that slick heat, dragging a comforter up over them.

“Feeling good, baby?” he questioned, carding a gentle hand through her hair even as she snuggled all too contentedly into him. God, she was cute…

“So good,” she agreed, her voice breathless and sleepy as she nuzzled into his chest. “Did you really mean it? About keeping me? ”

“I did,” Heeseung promised, surprised to find just how much he meant that. “I know it might be a little bit backwards considering… but I’d really like to try this with you, sweetheart. I hate the idea of you leaving my arms, of you being too far away. Is that alright, baby? I know you have your studies, and I have work, and both those things can be a little crazy. But if you let me, I promise I’ll do such a good job taking care of you.”

“I…” She hesitated for only a moment, biting her lip nervously. It was supposed to only be a one-night stand, just her taking control to lose her virginity and shut up her friends. But if this handsome, strong man who made her feel so fucking good and so incredibly safe actually wanted her… Who was she to say no?

“Alright,” she agreed softly, brushing kisses along his collarbone sleepily. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good at this; I haven’t really dated very much, and school has always been my priority. But if you really want to try this, we can try.” Y/N agreed, her eyes heavy.

Heeseung couldn’t help a fond chuckle, her hand sliding to caress her back sweetly beneath the blanket. She was so damn cute. “There’s my good girl. I’ll help you learn, okay? We’ll figure it out together as we go. Poor little honey, I think that second orgasm really hit you hard. Why don’t you get some sleep, sweetheart? We can figure it all out when…” He paused, glancing down at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, and her fingers curled against his chest. “Huh. Guess I didn’t need to do much coaxing there.” He murmured to himself, rolling his eyes in amusement.

Content that she was safe and happy, he let his own eyes grow heavy, joining her in sleep a moment later.

#lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #lee heeseung smut #18+ mdni

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gyllenhaalstories · 3 months

Text

FORTUNE COOKIE — DETECTIVE LOKI 🥠

summary: you're in luck! the restaurant did not run out of fortune cookies this time.

warnings:food & eating, smut (hickeys, mirror sex, nipple play, thighjob, mention of edging). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 1785

gif credits: @/elliewilliums (cropped) / divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

notes: happy valentine's day! i'm sending you all so much love. 💝 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You parked your car next to Loki's, although the parking lot was empty at this hour. This sounded like a cute metaphor about how you could have all the space in the world, yet you'd rather stay close to your man. Anyway. You parked your car and struggled with just about everything beyond that point. Your hands were too full to close and lock the door easily and to zip your coat and put its hood over your head. Once you figured it out, you waddled your way to the restaurant. You struggled with the push and pull mechanism, nothing special there, and you especially struggled to look normal while you bee-lined to his usual table.

You were lucky, his back faced the door so he did not catch even the smallest visual glimpse of your shenanigans. Although he could not see you, his face beamed with a smile at the squeaky sound of your shoes and at your clumsy apologies to the waitress for coming in so close to closing hours.

"Surprise." You laughed at how you ruined your own plans. You handed him the precious package you were holding close to your body this whole time.

"What are you doing here?" Loki's eyes glanced up at you, then down at the box you were handing him. Pink wrapping paper, pink ribbon, pink bow, pink everything.

"I just told you, I wanted to surprise you." He emptied your hand so you could pull your phone out of your pocket. "Look, it's after midnight."

He blinked, with an arched brow.

"That means it's Valentine's Day." You smiled from ear to ear.

"I thought we had plans for dinner not... for now."

"Surprise!" You repeated and hopped closer to him, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I know we said no gift. I also know that if I tried to hide the gift, you'd find it. So this is the best plan I came up with!"

He set the box down on the table and attempted to search through the pocket of his black coat, but he stopped to listen to you.

You told him you knew he'd be there to eat before coming back home, so you would not lovingly scold him about not prioritizing his needs. You told him it was no bother, to drive in the middle of the night to meet with him. You told him you planned this all out with love. You also told him how proud you were for surprising him for once, well, kind of.

"I'm proud of you." You smiled when you sat down in front of him. You caught him just in time, too, he had finished his food. He politely asked the waitress for a refill of coffee. He searched his coat again and pulled a gift out of it.

The box was not wrapped up all cutesy like yours, but you could not care less.

"I know we said no presents." The waitress reappeared and placed two fortune cookies between Loki and you. She walked back to the kitchen with the empty coffee pot.

After Loki sipped his coffee, you both agreed to open your presents at the same time.

Loki carefully pulled on the ribbon and peeled the heart patterned paper off the box. He gasped when he opened it and discovered a ring. It resembled the Masonic ring he wore, but it was different. Loki's ring was plain, it suited him. But the one you got for him showed intricate details and complex craftsmanship.

"I don't need to understand it to know it's important for you." You watched his reactions closely while he studied the ring. You explained how you saw an advertisement in the newspaper about people selling vintage knickknacks. It was not too far out of town, it was set up like a yard sale. You found the ring in an old jewellery box, had it cleaned up, and saved it for this special occasion.

"I love it." He closed the box and smiled widely. "Thank you." You could feel how much this gift mattered to him and you were happy with yourself. "It's your turn."

So, you opened your present too. You frowned, confused, when you pulled out a chain that looked exactly like his.

"You like mine so much, figured you wanted your own..." You spoke at the same time. "So we can match."

You insisted on putting it on right away, but Loki decided you should wait until you both got home. The waitress came back to clean your tables and, before you left, you opened your fortune cookies.

Loki was a little superstitious about his cookies, he liked to give them time to work their magic so you did not share what the strip or paper said right away. He paid and tipped the waitress generously and headed outside.

You waved goodbye at the waitress and wished her "Happy Valentine's day!"

*~*~*

Loki hung the towel to dry on the rack, his messy half dry hair looked so different from his usual slicked back look. He looked relaxed, at peace. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while the steam from the shower slowly dissipated.

You handed him the small necklace and he groaned in response, not wanting to leave the embrace just yet. You had waited too long with the ride home in your respective cars and the long steamy shower. You wanted your present.

He obliged, though, and carefully put the chain around your neck. He watched your reflection in the mirror with a corner smile. "You look so beautiful, my love."

You looked at yourself through the mirror too and brought your hand to touch the cold metal of the chain. It was exactly like Loki's, you'd always have a piece of him with you that way.

Loki kissed your cheek and along the side of your neck, where he focused until your brain got too fuzzy to thank him again for the Valentine's day present. He lingered on one spot, sucking a light mark on it that he soothed with gentle licks. His hands caressed your exposed chest.

"I'm guessing you love it as much as I do?" You looked at the mirror again and caught a glimpse of your man smirking against your skin and marking you up some more while his hands were groping your tits.

He grunted, now teasing your nipples until they got hard. He loved to feel you squirm against his naked body, your ass grinding on his hardening cock.

You gasped when he pinched and pulled gently on your nipples.

He had no intention of hurting you, he simply wanted to tease you. His day was long, rough, as it always seemed to be but your surprise at the restaurant put him in a much better mood. Despite wanting to enjoy your body and to explore every inch of it by peppering kisses, his body forced him to pick up the pace.

"Please..." You whispered, begging him to keep touching you.

And he did, without needing you to explain any further. His hands abandoned your breasts and travelled down.

You lost sight of them in the mirror, but your entire body felt like it melted when his fingers touched your pussy.

"So fucking wet for me." He praised you in your ear, before he switched sides and started to mark the rest of your neck with hickeys. He dipped two fingers between your folds.

Instinctively, your legs opened up for him. You gave him enough space for his hand, but also for his cock.

He pushed his cock between your legs and moaned of pleasure when your pussy lips coated him with wetness. Loki helped you close your legs just a bit, so that he could fuck your thighs.

It was not as satisfying as having him buried inside of your pussy or feeling his fingers rub your tingly clit, but this felt so good still.

It felt especially good when Loki grabbed your hips to hold you in place. He fucked himself with your thighs, grunting louder and louder with each thrust. "Fuck," he mumbled, face still in your neck. "Been thinking of your pussy all day."

You reached a hand behind you and put it on the back of his head, holding him close. "Need you inside me, baby."

"Say that again." He demanded, his eyes rolled to the back of his head when you whined loudly as the tip of his cock hit your clit.

You took a deep breath, trying to speak coherently although this seemed next to impossible when Loki was fucking you. "I need your cock so bad. I need you inside me. Please. Please!"

"Good girl." Loki stopped moving, his cock lodged between your thighs and under your wet pussy.

"Why?" You complained, tears began to pool at the corner of your eyes. You needed him to keep going so bad.

His fingers started to rub your clit instead, but it was way too slow for your liking. "Wanna know what my fortune cookie said?"

You put your hand over his, trying to make him speed up and take you closer to your orgasm, but you failed.

His strong hand just kept rubbing small, lazy circles on your sensitive clit. "Answer me. Do you want to know?"

You rolled your eyes and surrendered. "What did it say?"

He wore a proud smile on his face. When you noticed it, you chuckled. "It said to Plan for many pleasures ahead." You rolled your eyes and he insisted. "No, no, no. I'm serious! You don't believe me? You wanna see it?" He gave your pussy a gentle slap to make you quit your attitude.

It succeeded in making your brain short circuit for a second.

"I can prove it to you that this was written on the paper. It's in my coat, I'm gonna go and get it." Loki pulled away from you, his hands, and his cock, leaving your body.

You whined so loud that he laughed.

He was surprised at your reaction, but he was more so aroused at how much you wanted to feel him.

"What is it? You don't want me to go?"

"Absolutely not." You turned around, finally looking at him directly in the eye. "But we're still gonna go somewhere." You erased the distance between your bodies again only to push him out of the bathroom and in direction of the bedroom.

He walked backwards, letting you guide him with a proud smirk.

"I'd rather make the fortune cookie's wish come true."

Loki turned you around and, when you finally got near the bed, he pushed you down on it. "That's my good fucking girl."

#detective loki #detective loki smut #detective loki imagine #detective loki x reader #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfic

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick fic #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick #yandere! john wick #yandere john wick x you #i nerded out so hard on this chapter im soorrryyyyy!!!#jane eyre

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houseofashesif · 11 months

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The mad desire for vengeance burned within you like an uncontrollable wildfire, threatening to consume all thoughts and reason with each passing day. It lashed wildly like fire accumulating within the belly of a dragon, waiting to be unleashed at those who wronged you, and your family.

But you were too weak. Too fragile, like a newborn chick. What could you possibly do in your miserable state?

Every night while the world slept, you would lie awake in your dirty cot, praying endlessly for someone to save you. Be it God or the Devil himself, you begged to be saved. To be given a second chance.

Then, your prayers were answered. Not by God but the Devil.

"I can grant you only one of your wishes, little one. So, tell me, what do you desire?"

There were a million things that you desired. A warm home. A loving family. However none of those could be compared to your life long desire.

"Vengeance."

"Are you sure that is what you desire?" You do not remember what kind of expression he had on, but the amusement was evident in his voice.

"I am." You answer firmly.

"Very well."

He held his hand out for you to grab, a final chance for you to turn back on your world. But a normal life was something you have given up on a long time ago.

You firmly grab his inviting hand, knowing fully well that there was no turning back now.

The Devil smiled wickedly.

genres ; dark, gothic fiction, romance, crime, thriller

setting ; fictional world of Celtica (loosely based on modern Britain from 1900's), Modern (at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution)

Set in the early 19th century, you play as the heir of the powerful aristocratic family of Morrigan. But your true identity is that of a fallen noble from a disgraced house. Once renowned for its art and craftsmanship, your family collapsed after falling into crippling debt following a failed business attempt and accusations of planning a coup against the royal family. At least that's what the public is aware of. However you know better than that. Your family were no traitors, they were victims of a malicious plot woven by none other than the Duke of Sinclair, once an old friend of your family. Following the false accusations your family collapsed in no time and your parents and siblings were executed publicly.

You who were the lone survivor of this massacre changed your identity for fear of being caught and killed as well, living as a coal miner in an old orphanage. You craved vengeance but what could you, a fallen noble from a disgraced house, possibly do against a Duke who is one of the pillars of the great empire and the closest associate of the Empress.

You prayed day and night to the heavenly being that watched your downfall, desperately begging to be given a second chance in life. But all seemed for naught as the days turned to weeks and weeks to years. Just when you had given up all hope for revenge, an opportunity landed before you, appearing in the form of your father and the current head of the Morrigan Duchy, Law Morrigan.

Between the two choices given to you, as to whether you'd seek justice or vengeance against your enemies, you chose vengeance.

For the past 12 years you have been trained to become the perfect killer by your father. Born with the extremely rare phenomenon known only as a 'Miracle' you have been blessed by the Murder Miracle.

Now, young heir, this is your story. Your history to be written. Will continue down your bloody warpath of vengeance and be remembered in history as the punisher of the wicked and upsurer of the monarchy, OR will you let the impartial hands of justice make their judgement to your wrong doers and be remembered as the saint of justice. The choice is yours.

House of Ashes is a dark, interactive work of fiction that takes place in the early 19th century, at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. It follows the story of vengeance in the midst of political chaos, grisly murders and schemes behind the scenes, while you have to choose between morality and desire to achieve what you want and what you believe in.

It is rated 18+ for violence, explicit themes, possible sexual content, and ofcourse, lots of blood and gore.

Customize yout heir from their name, appearance, gender identity, pronouns anf many more. Choose what your heir thinks of their family, their position and their responsibilities.

Choose a weapon and master an ancient martial art of choice. Or don't and become a jack of all trades.

Choose what kind of heir you want them become and how far you're willing to go to protect your title. Will you go for a more diplomatic approach with a case of mutual relationship with your siblings or crush them with your overwhelming strength to show your authority.

Will you choose to give in to your murderous instincts or suppress them.

Get involved in a murder investigation following a serious of gruesome serial killings, and maybe learn that there was more than what meets the eye regarding the downfall of your house.

Indulge in some romance along the way with six different characters with varying backgrounds to choose from. Or just don't.

Choose a pet cat or dog to become your acquaintance. Perhaps if you're feeling a little exotic, a hawk will do?

More features to come

The Crown Prince - Maximilian Windsor Celtica [Male]

The oldest of the Sun Twins, Crown Prince Maximilian is a very reverred personality among the nobles. He is known for his shrewdness and extremely ambitious nature. A very charismatic person, he has a way with his words which often allows others to lower their guard around him. Aiming to become the Emperor of the Celtica Empire one day, having such ambitious goals mean Maximilian is willing to do anything to achieve them. That includes sending assassins after his twin, the Crown Princess. With an analytical mind that allows him to see those inferior than him as mere pawns, falling for him is a doomed endeavor.

He is the holder of the Domination Miracle.

The Crown Princess - Victoria Windsor Celtica [Female]

The youngest of the Sun Twins, Crown Princess Victoria is often compared to her golden brother and frequently referred to as the ugly duckling of the two. An aloof individual, Victoria is a person of very few words and prefers to end things up quickly with sharp jabs and assertive speeches. Although a cold person, she has a kind side to her too, which often sees her donating large portions of her personal wealth to orphanages and charities, making her widely beloved among the citizens of the empire. Due to the frequent assassination attempts on her life, Victoria has chosen to close her heart off towards everyone, preferring to bear all the burdens on her own.

She is the holder of the Conquest Miracle.

The Fated Enemy - Cedric/Cordelia Sinclair [Gender Selectable]

Your mortal enemy. The child of the person responsible for your family's death and your misery. There are many things that you wish to address them as but cannot find the words to. That's how much you despise them. Imagine the surprise when they offered their hand for friendship to you. Contrary to how you imagine them as, like a spoiled young master from a privileged family, they're relatively humble. And also a little stupid. But behind their sunshine happy-go-lucky attitude, something much darker is lurking.

They are the holder of the Shackle Miracle.

The Best Friend - Orion/Ophelia Lancaster [Gender Selectable]

The lone, stoic heir of the righteous Lancaster Duchy, and also your best friend ever since the day you stepped foot into your new home, they are one of the few people that you trust. Although they have some trouble communicating with people regarding their feelings, they're a gentle giant compared to their intimidating features. They're also very open and blunt with their words whenever they speak so people tend to think of them as rude, not you though, you like their honesty. The two of you have stuck through the thick and thin of each other's lives like gum and even promised to do so until the end of your lives. But good things never truly last do they? A small misunderstanding which eventually gew to become a feud between the two oldest families of the empire, you wonder, what went wrong?

They're the holder of the Belief Miracle.

The Dream Demon - [???]

All dreams have a price to be paid. Are you willing to pay yours?

The Ash Demon - [???]

An old fossil, rising from the burnt ashes of your past. Do you remember me? Don't worry if you don't. I do.

DEMO || THE RO'S || THE FOUR FAMILIES || THE MIRACLE

More details on the RO's, their families and the Miracles will be added soon. Until then, i hope you like my poor attempt for an IF 🥲

#if wip #house of ashes #house of ashes if #interactive fiction #cyoa game #interactive if #choice script #dark fantasy #crime thriller #mystery

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astromechs · 9 months

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ok, i did barbenheimer, so here are some assorted thoughts about both films (i am discussing potential "spoilers" for both, so look away if you don't want these):

on paper, and in experience, this is the wildest double feature to do. barbie and oppenheimer could not be two more different films, in terms of tone, aesthetic, and themes; on the one hand, you have a treatise on feminism in the guise of one of the most widely known decades-old ip, and on the other, you have a complicated biopic about the complicated figure who developed the atomic bomb.

and yet, there is a heart and soul linking these two films, and i actually think seeing them in the double feature makes them work: it's care and craftsmanship. these are two films made by people who actually care about cinema as an artform, and it's such a breath of fresh air compared to a lot of the dreck we've been getting out of major studios and wide releases, especially over the past decade.

barbie is not an independent film; you guys are silly, and you need to get that out of your heads. mattell's name is literally on it lol BUT. what this story turns out to be is something pretty unique in terms of today's cinematic landscape. it's a thoughtful treatise on feminism and gender roles on all sides of the equation — the unrealistic expectations put on women, the emptiness that drives men into upholding patriarchy, the absolute absurdity it is on all counts to let ourselves be consumed by this instead of getting to be ourselves and figure out who we actually are. loved every second of it.

also: "i lost interest in patriarchy when i learned it wasn't about horses", like, line of the year.

oppenheimer manages to distinguish itself from the sludge of oscar bait biopics, because, well, because of the craftsmanship of christopher nolan, but also because, in particular, it has such strong thematic focus. it is both a story about oppenheimer, the complicated figure who unleashed something terrible on the world, and the story of the plight of the scientist; just because you can do something, does it mean you should? when you put a dangerous tool into someone else's hands, is it their hands who have the responsibility for how it's used, or is it you, for creating it in the first place?

these are questions that i think the film wrestles with very adeptly, and it doesn't provide easy answers — because there are none. oppenheimer himself spent the remainder of his life wrestling with his own complicated legacy, and the film really captures the spirit of that. the final shot really makes that stick.

both of these films had clear vision for what they wanted to say, clear care and craftsmanship involved, and as someone who genuinely loves cinema and has felt so disheartened seeing shit upon shit being flung into theaters in wide release, i deeply appreciate both of these films, and i don't regret the experience of doing the double feature, because it was really something special — even if, whew, i'm going to need about five business days to process all of this.

#barbenheimer #barbie #oppenheimer #anyway i loved both of them

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ltwilliammowett · 7 months

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So the skeleton certainly didn't die. But the young man it once was, he was probably under 35 years old and his knee-high leather boots were good craftsmanship and probably belonged to a sailor or fisherman from the late 15th or early 16th century. It is most likely that he drowned, but whether he was pushed or fell or killed himself, no one knows.

#naval history #sailor or fisherman #boots #skeleton #15th -16th century #age of sail #poor soul rest in piece my friend

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thebunnyslibrary · 3 months

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Bucky Barnes Valentine's Drabble ❤️

wc. ~1500

pairing. Bucky x Curvy!Reader

summary. Reader is alone and in the gym on Valentine's Day of all days. Until the man of her dreams Bucky Barnes wanders in and offers to be her sparring partner...

an. I had a last minute idea for a drabble......that then morphed into TWO ideas!! Bucky is first up and I have another idea with Loki that I should hope to finish in the next couple of days. (PS I haven't forgotten my last Ficmas fic. I just kind of hit a wall and i'm still struggling to get over it. Maybe this will help.)

Also big shout out to @chasingmidnights for helping inspire me today ❤️

Going to the gym wasn't exactly your first choice of things to start your Valentine’s Day; but here you were. You preferred to come early early, still dark out early, for two reasons. First for being a bit of an early riser yourself. Usually not as early as you were today, but enough that in the summer, you were able to hear the birds sing at breakfast.

The second that there were less people to stare at you. Confident as you were in your curves, the world had not gotten used to the idea of fat people working out in gyms NOT to lose weight add you’d rather not start today, of all days, that way. Valentine’s Day. You had no real hatred for it. But you did get a little jealous sometimes when you walked in the office and saw so many other desks littered with flowers and candies. But you couldn’t recall a time someone had sent you so much as a single rose.

This year, you’d decided to take the self-care route. You’d ordered takeout last night and tucked it away in the fridge for tonight, along with a slice of your favorite cheesecake from the old-fashioned delicatessen down the street (family owned since the days Tony’s father running Stark Industries). You’d chosen not to weep for your singleness but instead use it as a night of rest and recovery. A good meal, a nice book and your favorite vinyl record along with a long soak in the tub were you self-loves tonight…and your now charging vibrator would take care of the other kind too. You just had to make it through the day.

Even though you were a desk jockey, there was a physical exam all SWORD agents had to pass. You weren't extraordinarily physically gifted, but you could kick but in Just Dance when you wanted to. Unfortunately, the virtual reality sparring simulator at the Avengers compound certainly wasn't as fun as silly dance moves to 70s music in your apartment You knew sparring with the examiner wouldn't be like this, but you had no one else to spar with. And that was where Bucky found you.

"If you'd like I can practice with you, agent." He’d startled you as you quickly removed the virtual reality headset and turned to see him standing there. It was amazing how well he fit into modern clothing. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, showing off this metal arm. You’d never seen his arm this closes and you were in awe of the Wakandan craftsmanship. You'd long admired the former assassin, but never thought in a million years he'd notice you. He was the dark contrast to Captain America, the golden boy. Both were incredibly handsome but there was something mysterious about him that drew you to him. You could easily see why he’d been a lady’s man in the 40s. And you were just a desk clerk. You couldn’t compete with the women, all of whom looked like super models, that threw themselves at him.

You looked around, not seeing any one else and turned back to him, standing there and looking at you, a genuine smile on his face. You nodded and quietly responded.

"Uh...yeah. that would be nice."

Sparring with Bucky gave you a much better experience. Being able to actually fight someone who was there instead of just a simulation felt great. Even though you were sure Bucky was taking it easy on you, you were a lot stronger than you thought, not to mention quick. You were able to duck and dodge and lay a few quick jabs to his chest. And that was nothing compared to how confident you felt, and how good Bucky looked. He seemed to be enjoying himself, a smile never leaving his face. Once or twice you’d stared a little too long and he’d gotten a few jabs in, but you recovered quickly.

At one point he had his arms around you in a hold and you were amazed how warm he felt. His chest brushed against your back and you let out a little gasp that you prayed to God he didn't hear. But you saw the smirk play at his lips.

"Sorry, doll. I run a little warm cause of the serum."

"It's alright.” You said, sheepishly. “Your touch actually feels nice." You bit your cheek as you realized how wrong that probably was to say. To your surprise, Bucky didn’t mention it.

"Well the best way to pass a test is with the proper tools. Not with Tony’s toys." He said, rolling his eyes. “And your touch feels good too.” You raised your eyebrows in surprise before he continued “You’ve got a good strong grip.” He shot you a wink and you couldn’t begin to process what he meant when the sparring resumed. Bucky and you trained for a good hour or so and by the end you felt much better about the exam.

Bucky also took the time to show you a few new self-defense maneuvers. He was demonstrating a quick way to hit someone in the gut before raising your hands up to hit them in the face.

"It's one fluid movement." He guided your arms. By now you were CERTAINLY used to his touch. Especially in moments like now where you when his arms where wrapped around you to guide you. You'd never felt more safe and secure.

"Like this...." You jabbed your elbows backwards before swinging are your arms up, hands closed together and you FELT the contact against Bucky’s nose as you'd executed the move perfectly. But your pride turned to panic as Bucky grunted, then started a fit of coughing as you realized what you’d done.

"Holy shit. Oh my God. I mean... oh shit. Uhm. Captain America is gunna kill me.... Sargent Barnes uhm...sir...?? Are you okay??"

Bucky coughed a few more times, before his breathing finally shallowed. His hand was clutch his nose, now paying attention to that and feeling to make sure it wasn't broken before he finally spoke to you.

“Well doll, I certainly didn't expect you to knock the wind out of me twice in one day. But I'll take it. And you can just call me Bucky.” He said and you felt like you were going to faint. Had he just said what you thought he did?

"Wha...what...? Twice?" you said in disbelief.

“Sure doll.” Bucky admitted. “First was when I walked In here today. Though I have to say you've done it a few times before that" he admitted. “Like the other day when I dropped off that paperwork and you looked so beautiful in your blue dress.” He bit his lip, recalling the memory.

“You're not. You're not serious, right?” He couldn’t be.

“Yeah. Uhm. I am doll. I’ve been wanting to say something for a while but I was worried you were scared of me.” Your heart twinged a little and you gently placed your hand on his mechanical arm.

“Not at all Bucky. In fact, I’ve liked you for some time as I just…didn’t think you’d notice me. You could have any girl you want and I’m just a desk clerk.” You said. “Not a supermodel or a superhero. Or anything special."

“Hey listen to me. You’re absolutely gorgeous doll. Why do you think I’m the one that’s always bringing you everyone else’s paperwork.” You thought for a moment before you realized it was true. You’d never noticed it but while you often saw other Avengers dropping off work to someone else, whenever something had to come to you, Bucky was always the one to bring it. “It’s the highlight of my day when I get to see you. His words, full of honesty and admiration made your heart swell. He placed his flesh hand over yours and squeezed it tight. You gazed into the crystal blue pools of his eyes as he broke the moment.

“Besides everyone knows it’s desk clerks that makes the world go round. Trust me, My ma worked as a secretary for a while. The stories she could’ve told.” You both laughed at that and you loved his laugh. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him really laugh before. It wasn’t as deep or boisterous as Thor’s. Rather it pattered and reminded you of summer’s rain on a wooden roof. And you loved the way his shoulders shook, even if it wasn’t that big of a laugh.

“Listen, doll, I know it's super last minute...and if you didn’t already have plans tonight… I We'll never get a reservation anywhere. But you could come back to my place and I could cook you dinner? Maybe we can watch a movie?” Bucky asked. You smiled and happily replied.

“It's a date.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes fic #drabble #Bucky Barnes Drabble #Valentine's Day #Valentines Day #valentine's day fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

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Black Light 12

Warnings: noncon, namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You feel a bit dreamy. Well, you always do. You sit in your bed, freshly made, fragrant with fabric softener, as you cut through the pages of old catalogues. Your fingers are sticky with glue as you arrange the images just so.

You can hear your mom downstairs, the bluetooth speaker playing Hall and Oates to her content. Your dad's outside trying to fix the fence post. You can hear him swearing through the crack of your window.

You hold out the scrapbook. You just need that globe right in that little space. Oh, the leather sofa is perfect.

You leave the book open on your bed to dry so the pages don't stick. You put on your dress with the daisies on white and spin in the mirror. Your yellow beret will go perfect. You put the hat on and a pair of matching clunky maryjanes.

You go downstairs and find your mother scavenging in the tupperware container you left on the counter. You squeal as she quickly closes the lid and covers her mouth guiltily. She backs away and giggles.

“I couldn't resist,” she says through a full mouth.

“Mom!” You stick your tongue out as you snatch up the container of cookies.

“You don't need all those,” she accuses.

“They're not for you.”

“I know, so… who are they for?” She tilts her head coyly.

“Someone,” you roll your eyes.

“A boy.”

You harrumph, “he's too old to be a boy.”

“Oh my gosh! That's so cute! Do we get to meet him?”

“No,” you pout and turn your chin up, “it's new.”

“Well, be safe. Don't get into too much trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you drag your feet and stop in the doorway, “mom, can you not tell dad?”

She laughs again, “sure, sweetie, our little secret.”

You smile, cheeks twitching. You don't need your parents nosing around. You're still figuring this all out.

🍪

You wait outside the club. It's almost seven. You thought he'd be there by now. The other bouncer is. Lee, that's his name.

You're not weird or anything. You've just been watching from across the street for an hour or two. Not your fault he didn't leave his number.

You cross the road as you see Lee come back out. He sees you and smiles. He's so friendly, you wish August would try that.

“Hi,” you hop over the curb, “is Auggy here yet?”

“Auggy? Nah, he's taking his time,” he eyes the container in your hands, “what's this?”

“Oh, just a surprise. You want one?”

“Depends. What's the surprise?”

You balance the container against the scrapbook beneath it and pop the corner of the lid up. You offer him one of the jelly cookies. They took you hours as you baked and waited to cool before adding the layer of jam and custard.

“Wow, you're a big baker,” he muses.

“Sometimes,” you preen.

He takes one and admires your craftsmanship, “my wife ain't so good about it. But she tries, bless her heart.”

“Oh, you have a wife?”

“Sweetest gal in the world,” he grins, “she's at home with the baby.”

“Baby?”

“Ah, just a cat, but she treats him like a child,” he chortles and takes a bite, letting out a hum.

“Ooh, I love kitties! What's his name?”

He swallows, “Hickory. He likes her better'n me.”

“Aw, adorable.”

“Maybe you can come meet em one day. You and Auggy. Like a double date?”

“Really!?” You snap the lid shut, “oh, I'd love that so much.”

You hear grumbles and the tramp of soles as a shadowy figure appears from the alley. Lee turns and throws a hand put derisively, “bout time.”

August stops short as he looks between you and Lee, his expression limned in the early hue of evening. His brows draw together as he coughs. He crosses his arms and glowers.

“What is she doin’ here?”

“Ask her,” Lee says before he tosses back the rest of the cookie and turns on his heel.

He pulls open the front door and disappears as you stand watching August. He drops his arms and marches towards you, past you as he goes to follow his fellow bouncer. You quickly get between him and the door.

“Sweetie, I brought you cookies!”

“What?” He reaches past you as you put your back to the door.

“I haven't heard from you in…. Like three days.”

He glares at you. You open the container and show your wares. He only pulls on the door, jarring you but not dislodging you.

“I got work–”

“And I brought you a surprise! So eat a cookie.”

He narrows his eyes. You stay locked in a stalemate as he tries to pull the door again. You lean into it and plant your heels.

“I'm being real nice here, sweetie, so take a damn cookie,” you feel a surge in your chest.

“Can't you take a hint?”

“Can't you?”

“What– look, I told you, this isn't a relationship or whatever you think it is.”

“I'm not stupid. This is real,” you insist, “get it? Me and you, Auggy Bear, together forever.”

“What are you–”

“Here,” you shove the container at him.

He doesn't move but you jam it into his chest and he finally relents and supports it.

You slide the book from beneath it and open it up, “this is our future. You see? Our home,” you show him the little touches of colour amid the neutral hues, a perfect melding of your personalities, “and our honeymoon. I'm open to change but I was thinking a cottage–”

“Are you insane?” He breathes scratchily.

“Insane?” You repeat and bat your lashes, “don't call me that.”

“We fucked. Once. There's nothing else between us–”

“There is!” You holler and slam the book shut, “and you know it. You would never have followed me home if you didn't mean it–”

“Shhh, shhh,” he waves you down, “hey, lower your voice.”

“That's what you did. You stalked me, sir, so… you want me too. You want me or you wouldn't have done what you did.”

“Please, just… calm down.”

“You won't even eat a cookie!” You accuse.

“Be quiet,” he hisses.

“Eat a cookie!”

“Would you listen, girl?”

“No! No, you will eat a cookie. I spent all day making them and– and– I'm not crazy. I'm not,” you clutch the book tight.

He sighs, his blue eyes gleaming as he slowly lifts the lid. He takes out a cookie, showing it to you before he takes a nibble. He swallows without chewing.

“There, happy? Now go home.”

You scrunch your nose at him, frustrated, “you could at least tell me you love me.”

“Love you?!?” He chokes and nearly drops the cookie.

“Yes, I know you do, because I would never give my virginity to someone who doesn't love me.”

He blanches and glimpses down at the cookie. His throat bobs. He raises his eyes and takes another deep breath, “I didn't realise…”

“That you love me, right?” You sneer as you step closer, “say it.”

“If I do, will you go?” He growls.

You nod and smile up at him, “I'll do whatever you want, pookie.”

‘Pookie… jesus, alright, I love you. Go home.” He nudges you out of his way and grabs the door with his free hand.

“Don't eat those all at once,” you call as you turn to peek inside the club, “oh, and you have crumbs in your mustache–”

The door slams between you and you pout, “love ya too…” you trail off. It's okay, it seems like it's new for him too.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #au #the club #series #drabble #mission impossible: fallout #black light

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indiatrendzs · 1 month

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Artistic Mindful Home Decor & Accents

Artistic Mindful Decor——————- Maintaining a serene atmosphere in your home depends on organizing and displaying your furniture in an artistic yet mindful way. This is due to the fact that one of the most crucial aspects of mindful decor is that everything has a purpose. Old door sideboard & armoires, handmade from vintage woods with carvings inspired from nature, bring in the calmness and…

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haihaihaitani · 5 days

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Happy Wife, Happy Life ~ *Shuji Hanma*

Summary: Shuji loves you so much he would do anything for you. And that means not bleeding on your freshly cleaned carpets.

Pairing: Shuji Hanma X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Oneshot

Word Count: 1429

Warning: Swearing, mentions blood

Masterlist

When you first met Shuji, you fell in love hard and fast. He was wild, crazy, and completely free. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you. He treated you like you were the only girl in the world for him. And sure you may have catered to his every whim, but he paid you back in kind, making you feel loved and wanted.

When he asked you to marry him a couple years later, there was no doubt in your mind regarding your decision. You said yes without the slightest hint of hesitation. It was an extravagant and beautiful affair, with all of Bonten in attendance. You said your vows a few feet off the floor and enjoyed the party of the century with the rest of your friends.

Now, you may not be the best wife in the world, you certainly did try. You were attentive and loving, doing everything in your power to make sure the days went by smoothly. It was easier said than done, considering how high up in Bonten Shuji was. He was either coming home bloody and bruised or he wasn't coming home at all. His temper and wild ways often got the better of him, and you found yourself having to pull him back from the edge too many times to count. Still, you wouldn't trade the life you built together for the world.

Gang life never scared you. In fact, you embraced it, if not for Shuji's sake, but also because you were both feared and respected. You took the role of a vice executive's wife very seriously. You made connections with other high ranking women in the underworld that served as useful links for Bonten. You even managed to get them a loophole with the police and judicial system, through subtle bribes of food and high class trinkets. In return for lending a helping hand with your charm, they gave you a hefty allowance to use for whatever you desired and protection from any and all enemies. You were truly living your best life.

Your pride and joy, besides Shuji, had to be your estate. When you both were pulling in over a million per payload, you asked Shuji to move out of the city. He agreed as long as the two of you still had a penthouse in case things became dicey and the estate needed to be forfeited. You also asked if you could be the one who built and decorated the place, which he also agreed to. Every step of creating the mansion of your dreams was carefully executed with excruciating detail. But you loved every second of it. The estate served as a physical monument of the life you and Shuji made for yourselves. It had to be perfect. And it was absolutely perfect in your eyes when you completed it. You were also more than pleased when Shuji told you how much he loved what you did with the place. The night you both moved in, each room was christened at the insistence of your husband, and who were you to deny him?

From then on, if you were doing work in the city, you were at the estate. Sure, Shuji hired staff to help with the upkeep, but you also pitched in to make sure everything was in tip top shape. At least once a week you hosted Bonten and their relations at the estate to show it off. You were truly proud of all the craftsmanship and love you poured into this estate and no one was going to ruin it or take it away from you.

One day, you were surveying a new shipment of furniture for the sunroom, as spring was almost here. Every other year, Shuji gave you a stipend to change out the furniture so you could keep up with the trends. It was at your insistence that you donated the old furniture, which took some convincing but he eventually conceded. As you helped move the last couch and end table into the sunroom, you heard the boisterous voice of your husband of five years bounce down the hall.

"Shuji? Are you home?" You called out to him.

"Doll! Where are you?" He yelled back. You rolled your eyes before finding him in the front room.

You smiled and walked into his open arms. He peppered your face with questions as you said, "You're home early."

"Not really. I have to head out soon with the guys." It was then that you realized Sanzu, the Haitani brothers, and Hajime were standing behind him.

Flashing them a sweet smile, you nodded. "Hello boys. How have you been?"

"Honestly, we've been better." Ran scowled. "We got some punks who are encroaching on our territory and we're going to go teach them a lesson tonight."

You frowned at his words and pulled away from Shuji's relentless kisses. You fixed him with a harsh glare. "What do you mean you're going to teach them a lesson? Are you doing something you shouldn't tonight, Shuji?"

He winced as you used his name. "Ah, c'mon, doll. It's nothing that serious. We're just going to rough them up a little, remind them who they're messing with. It'll be a quick little operation. In and out. I'll be back before you're asleep and then the two of us can have a little fun tonight..."

You rolled your eyes and slapped his shoulder. "Leave the innuendos for when we're alone, got it?"

"Whatever you say, doll."

You then turned back to the other members of Bonten. "Is what my dear husband telling me true? Did Mikey order this little operation?"

Sanzu gave a wicked grin as he nodded. "Yep! It was on Mikey's orders that we carry this intimidation operation out. It's going to be so much fun! I haven't gotten to fight anyone in like forever!"

"You fought with some of the new hires last week." Rindou muttered.

"Yeah, but I had to hold back with them, or else they'd be no use to us. This time, I get to really let loose! And if someone dies, well, it's their fault for being so weak."

Your eyes widened and you ripped yourself out of Shuji's grasp, earning a pathetic whine from him. You pointed an accusing finger at him. "You are not going to murder anyone tonight! I just got the carpets clean! Plus I have new furniture in the sunroom! If any of you get so much as a speck of blood on anything in my house, I swear I will kill you all myself with your own guns and make it look like a suicide!"

Shuji didn't even flinch at your threat. Instead, he gave a wide, adoring grin. He glanced over his shoulders at the other members of Bonten. "Alright men, you heard the wife. No murder tonight."

"Ah what?" Sanzu whined. "But I really want to!"

He lazily shook his head. "Nope. Not tonight. Besides, I also don't want any blood in this house either. It's too messy and a bitch to clean up."

"You didn't seem that concerned two months ago." Hajime gave a smirk, knowing he said something that was going to get Shuji in trouble.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You harshly grabbed your husband's tie. "Did you get blood in my house when I wasn't here two weeks ago? I swear if you did-"

"Jeez woman." His smooth voice stopped you, as he continued to grin at you. "I thought you said to keep the innuendos for when we're alone. Keep this up and you're going to make me-"

You release his tie with a scowl. "You're disgusting."

"And you're sexy as hell when you're angry." He shook his head. "Oh, we are so having fun when I get home tonight."

You scoffed and folded your arms over your chest. You refused to show him how hot and bothered you were getting. "You have your mission from Mikey to carry out. You all should be heading out. Get out of my house and don't come back if you're all covered in blood."

"Will do, boss lady." Ran gave you a mock salute before ushering the other members out of the estate.

Shuji, on the other hand, lingered for a moment. He gave you a seductive wink. "Since I can't be covered in blood when I get back, I want you in that little red number I love when I get back."

"We'll see." You snapped, though you already knew what you were changing into when he left.

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piglii · 3 months

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thinking about the time I was around 9 years old and I'd decided I was sure Santa Claus didn't exist because I'd had this nefarious scheme - on my Christmas List for that year I'd added a thing I knew Santa could not reasonably provide - a creature I'd made up in one of my drawing books. I don't recall at all what the name I used for it back then was, but for the sake of convenience now let's call it a "Squirg."

"Squirg's" looked like this (artist's recreation)

(It was kind of just a little ball with and had a bird beak, and a very long tail it could use to coil up and shoot like a spring, bouncing around from place to place)

So on my Christmas Wishlist when I was 9 years old, I'd added that I wanted a real, live Squirg. And what's more - I didn't include this wish in my actual full wishlist for that year - I'd detached it. I'd hidden a small bit of this torn writing above a piece of tall, wooden furniture, figuring that if Santa was as real as my parents were claiming, surely he'd simply be able to find this hidden addition to my wishlist and deliver it to me. At 9 years old my doubt had really begun to grow as to whether Santa Claus was real. I considered this my personal Ace in the Hole for figuring out that question, and once I'd had definitive proof that it was just as I thought, I could set my mind at ease. In my mind, seeing that Santa couldn't do this thing for me was the shattering of the illusion. I'm sure Christmas went really well that year and I got all sorts of things that made me happy, but the realization that Santa Claus was a make believe thing definitely dampened my spirits at the time.

It'd be months later, (perhaps for my birthday but I'm not sure), that my step-grandmother showed up with something which at the time I didn't think very much of.

She'd stitched together a whole recreation of a Squirg by hand and given it to me as a present. Now at the time I was just 9 turning 10 or so and I was at exactly the age where I didn't want to be given stuffed animals as a present. I didn't appreciate the time put into it or the love to do something like that. It wasn't something I concerned myself with when I was a kid, but looking back on it my parents must've handed her the drawing and the little scribbled wish to Santa Claus, and she still gave her best possible human effort to give me that wish as best she knew how.

Of course, she couldn't have known that I wanted a real, live cute animal companion that I'd made up. Little kid me at the time was not very satisfied with the Squirg plush and ended up stuffing it away in my closet for years. At some point unknown to me it became completely lost, probably when my family was moving from house to house.

I wish I still had it. It was a really nice gift, not even taking into account the excellent craftsmanship. I was just very struck today by what a sweet gesture that was. To be a grandparent seeing her grandkid be disappointed by the world and trying to give me what she thought I wanted, even though I was an imaginative little kid who wanted impossible things.

it was a gesture made with a lot of love and even though the plush itself has been gone for a long time, there's a bit of Squirg-shaped love out there for me.

#my posts #I'm having a category 5 mushrooms event right now and experiencing shrimp emotions I think.#this is not a made up story btw this is to the best of my recollection. I wish i still had the Squirg.

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jungkookschin · 2 months

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demigod trials: achilles’ heel | four

synopsis: you’re a roman, he’s a greek. his father is poseidon, your mom is minerva.

taehyung rules the waters, is friends with sea nymphs, hippocampi, and mermaids- but you? you're deathly afraid of water; consider it your achilles' heel.

he’s annoying, disrespectful, and rude but you need his help especially when the oracle sends you on a quest to the sea

word count: 9.5k

pairings: son of poseidon!taehyung x daugher of minerva!reader

genre: ENEMIES TO LOVERSS, slowburn, bantering, SMUT (non explicit bc idk)

warnings: death, sacrifices, swordfighting, smut (non explicit), broken friendships, obvious use of ai to rewrite entences LOL

author's note: i dont think this could be read as a stand alone. maybe it could, but u would probably need to read the other chapters for context. also yes this is a whole new OC, and this one is kinda spicy. not crazy explicit, but it's spicy. the more i elaborate on it the spicier itll get idk. thank

demigod trials masterlist

When you were five years old, your mother, the Roman goddess Minerva, bestowed you with a dream you are still unable to interpret.

In the dream, you were on the Santa Monica beach, frantically chasing after an owl, your little feet clumsily trekking across the sand.

The blue sky stretches endlessly, a serene canvas painted with the vibrant hues of tranquility.

Silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, the owl gracefully soars, its wings outstretched, as the sun casts a warm glow through its feathers.

As the owl glides above the ocean, you ineptly run into the ocean, unaware of your impending plunge into the waves, frustration permeating your system as the majestic bird leads you farther into the water.

Panic grips you as the weight of realization sinks in—unable to catch the elusive owl, you find yourself engulfed by the ocean's depths, struggling against the water.

Desperation takes hold as you thrash against the water, limbs flailing in a frantic attempt to resurface.

Overwhelmed by the relentless embrace of the ocean, you succumb to its depths, your desperate gasps for air silenced by the water's cold grip.

From the unseen shadows, a boy with blue hair dives into the water, pulling you from the drowning abyss.

The boy with blue hair swims elegantly to the shore, his little arms exerting strength to conquer the ocean’s unforgiving waves before he lays you on the shore and dives back into the sea.

Minerva, the Roman goddess and counterpart of Athena, embodies the essence of wisdom, strategic prowess, and artistic patronage, symbolized by the owl and the tools of war and craftsmanship.

Minerva, as a virgin goddess, signifies a commitment to celibacy and purity; she didn't undergo a conventional pregnancy.

Instead, she formed a connection with a man, your father, valuing his intellect, and she bestowed you as a unique gift, birthing you from her mind.

Yup, you were literally birthed from her mind and your little fetus self physically emerged from her forehead.

You don’t know what it looks like- to birth someone from a forehead- and quite frankly you don’t want to visualize that image.

Embracing your heritage as a daughter of Minerva, the Roman counterpart to Athena, you took on the position of Tribunus Laticlavius.

In your role as Tribunus Laticlavius of the Roman Legion, you hold the position of second-in-command to the Praetors, Mina and Mingyu.

You embodied the wisdom and strategic prowess associated with your mother, guiding the legion with a keen intellect and maintaining discipline among the ranks.

You, Mina, and Mingyu share a strong bond that originated from your upbringing in New Rome.

New Rome is a hidden city founded by demigods (children of gods and mortals) who sought a safe haven from monsters and the challenges faced by demigods in the mortal world.

Modeled after ancient Rome, it serves as a sanctuary for those with divine heritage.

Playing hopscotch besides the Panthenon, indulging in the Roman-esque public baths, and leaving sacrifices in your parents’ respective temples, your connections have endured over time and have played a significant role in shaping your leadership roles within the Roman Legion.

It’s all thanks to your mother. The intellect and wisdom inherited from your mother is what has garnered you success- but right now, you’re not sure what to do because these days, you’re starting to question Mina’s sanity.

You can tell by the way she angrily paces around the room, and you can’t do anything but exchange concerned glances with Mingyu.

Mina, the daughter of Venus, and one of your best friends has often struggled with how she is perceived as Praetor of the Roman Legion.

Praetors, as the highest-ranking members of the Legion, command fearlessly and are to be taken seriously.

Being the first female Praetor, Mina has had a tough time getting soldiers- especially men- to take her seriously. Her authority is often challenged- and people often question if she is strong-minded enough to assume the role.

Furthermore, Mina is also the first child of Venus, the Roman counterpart of Aphrodite, to assume the role of Praetor.

Love, beauty, sex?

Everything associated with Venus directly contradicts the traits of a Praetor. And some assholes within the legion even coined the nickname the Gilded Dove- directly insinuating she is as weak as a dove and as superficial as gilding.

“Mina, there could have been another way,” Mingyu urges, leaning against the wall of Mina’s office in the Praetorium.

The Praetorium is the official residence or headquarters of a Praetor, including living quarters and spaces for administrative and official duties.

You nod your head in concurrence with Mingyu. “When the son of Ares and the daughter of Hephaestus return tonight, we can reconvene and plan for something else. We need to collaborate with the Greeks to defeat Tartarus,” you urge, desperation clouding your eyes as you stare into the soul of your best friend.

Mina shakes her head, landing in her office chair, elbows planted to the desk as she shoves her face into her palms. “Are you not making these suggestions because they’re our friends?” she asks between gritted teeth.

“Think about the people in danger,” she continues, “If Tartarus ascends through Camp Jupiter, we’ll all die. Kids will die. Elderly will die. Innocent people will be dead. The very foundations of our camp will be over- done.”

Mingyu sighs, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter that they’re our friends. It matters because they’re people,” he steps forward. “Think about the message it sends: the Praetors willingly sacrificing innocent people to an evil god means that the Romans are tyrants-”

Mina slams her first on the table. “I don’t care what people think of us. I care that people are safe! The sacrifice of two is worth the lives of millions!”

Now, you’re sure you and Mina can really get into the moral and philosophical implications of sacrificing two innocent demigods in exchange for the safety of New Rome, but you keep silent.

In the silence that follows, Mingyu groans and flicks his head against the wall, creating a thud.

Mina inhales, “Proceeding the sacrificial ceremony, we will reconvene with the high ranking officers to devise a plan to defeat Tartarus. Hopefully the sacrifice will appease him for the time being. We don’t need Camp Half-Blood’s assistance.”

“Mina,” you reason, voice becoming soft to placate the tense atmosphere, “We need the Greeks to defeat him. The Greeks will refuse to collaborate with us if we even attempt to sacrifice their best demigods.”

Mina rubs her temples, features morphing into frustration. “As long as my people, the Romans, are safe, that is fine.”

She swivels her office chair around, gazing at the landscape of New Rome. You know Mina. You’re sure she’s becoming emotional gazing at the architectural intricacies of New Rome: the temples, the public baths, the Colloseum, the Senate House- all of it embodies Rome.

All of it embodies home.

Neither you nor Mingyu say a word.

“You are now dismissed,” Mina simmers, pure exhaustion imbued in her words.

You exhale, acquiescing as you and Mingyu exit the office.

If Mingyu were still the highest ranking Praetor, this entire situation could have been avoided.

A year ago, he royally fucked up when he used the chariot (reserved solely for wars) for pizza deliveries, paving the way for Mina to take his place.

The thought is so idiotic that you have to stop yourself from strangling him.

It's becoming clearer to you why some criticize Mina. Perhaps she isn’t strong minded enough to the Praetor, especially considering her inclination towards the most drastic decision.

But as frustrated with her as you are, you know you can’t disobey the highest ranking Praetor. You have no right to challenge her.

You and Mingyu stride across the hallways until he enters his office.

You almost flinch when Mingyu slams his head against the wall. “Gods, everything is going to shit!” he seethes, leaning his forearms against the wall.

You bite your lip. “It’ll be okay.”

Your voice is calm, and all you can do is offer him a sweet, comforting smile. “Mina does have one point,” you reason, “We need to keep everybody here safe. If anyone leaves the camp, the monsters will most likely get to them.”

And it’s true. Romans reside in Camp Jupiter for a reason- for its magical borders shielding demigods and descendants of demigods from monsters.

You step forward, placing a reassuring hand on Mingyu's shoulder.

Mingyu turns his head to look at you, and his eyes soften. “You’re right Y/N,” He sighs, flopping onto the plush loveseat in his office. He puts a hand on his chin, gathering his thoughts before he expresses what’s on his mind.

“It’s just- the son of Ares and the daughter of Hephaestus- they’re my best friends. I mean- you remember Jungkook, right?” He asks, eyebrows creasing as he nervously plucks at the threads of the loveseat.

Of course you remember Jungkook. Having spent an entire year at Camp Jupiter as Assistant Commander to the Roman Legion, he left an impression with his cold, hardworking, and rigidly serious demeanor—so much so that one might mistake him for a Roman instead of a soft Graecus.

Once, a harpy attacked the camp grounds, and Jungkook swiftly eliminated the threat with a single, decisive slice.

You did not want to make an enemy out of him.

But here you are, willingly sacrificing him to Tartarus.

The daughter of Hephaestus wasn’t someone you were familiar with. All you knew about her was that she fell into Tartarus with Jungkook, and that she died before coming back to life with the Physician’s Cure.

“The daughter of Hephaestus and the son of Ares,” you begin… trailing off slightly, “Mingyu, I think they’ll survive. They’ve been in Tartarus once; they can certainly do it again.”

Mingyu’s eyes turn serious as he nods. “I hope so. They’re tough. Jungkook is…” Mingyu pauses to collect his thoughts, “Jungkook is probably the strongest demigod alive right now.”

At that, you scoff amusedly. “So you’re willingly admitting he’s stronger than you?”

A smile graces his lips and he shrugs. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

You laugh, plopping down on the loveseat and leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’m just happy you’re still the same you. I’m worried about Mina,” you express to which Mingyu nods and throws an arm around you.

“I know,” he agrees, “But it’s our job to follow her and protect her. If she isn’t going to budge on this then we must ensure everything else proceeds smoothly.”

You meet his eyes, trying to read between the lines. You narrow your eyes before you verbally express what you think he may be thinking.

“There’s nothing stopping us from helping them survive Tartarus… right? Maybe we can gift them resources.”

A smile grows on his lips and Mingyu snaps his fingers. “Bingo. Let’s head to the Limenarium.”

The Limenarium is the designated underground storage for all the top secret weapons and supplies of Camp Jupiter.

Access to the Limenarium is restricted to high-ranking officers, and the only way to get there is by taking a secret elevator beneath the ground, whirling through an underground tunnel.

After thirty minutes of travel, you arrive at the entrance of the Limenarium, coming across a very exhausted Yoongi.

Yoongi, the son of Pluto, the Roman counterpart of Hades, yawns while holding a golden staff. He stands guard in front of the Limenarium.

There’s really nothing to stand guard for because the Limenarium is hidden for the public, but it’s within protocol to assign a guard in front of the warehouse at all times.

He nods in acknowledgement when he sees you two approach. “Sup, guys. Where’s Mina?”

You and Mingyu are great at concealing any signs of trouble.

Even if you find her decisions perplexing, maintaining a façade of unwavering respect and honor for Mina in public is essential for the sake of the Roman Legion.

Mingyu shrugs, “She’s in a meeting with the Centurion- sent us down here to test some prototypes out.”

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn’t have a reason to question the Praetor so he doesn’t, pressing in a code to grant you and Mingyu entrance.

On one side, weapons are systematically arranged, ranging from traditional Roman weaponry like gladii and pila to more advanced armaments. Each item is cataloged and labeled for easy retrieval.

Adjacent to the weapons, designated zones contain carefully stacked supplies—armor, shields, medical provisions, and other essentials.

At the heart of the Limenarium is a central command area, featuring a console with intricate displays monitoring the inventory. High-ranking officers like you and Mingyu can access detailed information about the stored assets from this central hub.

You and Mingyu survey the interior of the command area until Mingyu finally pulls out what he’s looking for.

“Here it is,” Mingyu announces, pulling out the emblem of the golden eagle.

The emblem of the golden eagle represents the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, a powerful Roman demigod military unit in New Rome. This legion is closely associated with Jupiter, the Roman counterpart of Zeus, and Mingyu’s father.

The golden eagle serves as a symbol of divine protection and the legion’s connection to the gods.

The emblem embodies the strength, authority, and divine favor that the legion believes it possesses.

If wielded properly, tendrils of lightning will surge from the eagle’s beak and electrocute the wielder’s enemies to death in a single instance.

“You’re giving it to Jungkook?” you question, to which Mingyu nods.

“Anything to salvage our relationship,” he shrugs.

You stand in front of the podium, fully armored and steadily observing the Greeks who walk into the Senate House. They stroll along the golden carpet, flanked by Roman Legion soldiers securing its every edge.

You quickly notice Rose, a childhood friend, and lately, it seems she identifies more with the Greeks at Camp Half-Blood than with the Romans, often spending more time there than with you.

You see Taehyung son of Poseidon, Namjoon son of Athena, and the sacrifices for Tartarus: Jungkook son of Ares and (OC) daughter of Hephaestus.

The tension becomes palpable, the air charged with electricity, as you instinctively glance around to see if Mingyu is subtly demonstrating his son of Jupiter abilities.

The Greeks are a direct juxtaposition to the Romans. The Legion is equipped with full body armor while the Greeks are comfortably dressed in Camp Half-Blood T-Shirts.

Your eyes narrow in on Taehyung, a son of Poseidon who is adorned in an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt, sweatshorts, and sandals.

Had you not been sacrificing his friends you would have reprimanded him wearing such sleazy attire.

The Greeks leisurely traverse the expanse of the golden carpet, their steps echoing in the grand hall, until they finally arrive at the imposing podium.

Positioned steadfastly by the podium, you assume your post, with the Praetors standing in a composed formation behind you, forming a united front to address the impending proceedings.

Taehyung approaches, shielding his friends, and his face becomes dangerously close to yours. His face exudes cockiness, a smug smirk gracing his lips as he tilts his head, rummaging in his pockets for a pen.

He holds it up, almost taunting you as he arrogantly bites his lips.

Riptide or Anaklusmos- the name of his sword.

You are fully cognizant of the pen's true nature. By pressing its base, the pen undergoes a transformation, morphing into a Celestial Bronze sword.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Put the weapon away.”

Taehyung amusedly scoffs. “So you guys are allowed to be dressed up in full body armor, but we can’t pull up with weapons for self defense?” he mocks, “And you guys are the ones sacrificing our people too. The Romans are heartless,” he muses, placing a faux hand over his heart.

You sigh.

“Troops! Fall back!” you yell, acquiescing to Taehyung’s very valid point.

He tilts his head provocatively, pressing on the end of the pen to unveil his blade. “You know what they say, when in Rome…” His eyes glaze over his blade, admiring its beauty before he redirects his gaze towards your face.

It looks bad- a Greek unsheathing his sword directly in front of the Tribunus Laticlavius was a clear sign of a threat. The soldiers around you assume offensive stances and you put your hand up, ordering them to fall back.

“Taehyung- we don’t want to do this. If you don’t put the weapon away, we’re going to have to kick you out,” you reason, pulling off your helmet. Perhaps showing him your face would allow him to sense your humanity- your sincerity.

You know that Taehyung has every right to be upset, and you’re trying to show him the right amount of respect without offending the Roman Legion.

Your hair falls back against your armor, and you attempt to offer him a tight-lipped smile to build some sort of camaraderie during this extremely difficult situation.

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you before tapping on the sword to turn it back into a pen. He turns back to his friends. “Nothing to worry about here! It’s just a kid of Minerva!” he announces- loudly, before returning to his friends.

Your eye twitches, but you refuse to fall in your composure.

Typical of a son of Poseidon, you sneer in your mind.

Your mother’s Greek counterpart Athena and Poseidon were known to have hated each other for centuries. Athena and Poseidon's rivalry stems from a competition over patronage of the city of Athens, with Athena's practical and beneficial gift of the olive tree winning over Poseidon's more destructive and less useful gift of a salty spring.

Poseidon was a sore loser. He was salty that his niece beat him in a competition over the patronage of Athens and has held a grudge since. Since then, family reunions have been painfully awkward- with passive aggressive comments and strained silences filling the air.

Men. They’re the worst. Talk about a sleazy uncle! Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree! Nonetheless, you digress.

Taehyung walks up the stairs of the Senate House to directly address the Praetors Mina and Mingyu.

“We’re giving you guys one last chance to reconsider- and look- we’ll sacrifice (OC) and Jungkook to prevent war with Camp Jupiter but afterwards we request that you leave us alone. Camp Half-Blood wants nothing to do with Camp Jupiter.”

You remain rigid, staring at the wall in front of you instead of directly looking at Taehyung.

Mingyu sighs, “Dude, don’t do this. You know we’re just trying to protect the camp,” he reasons.

Taehyung creases his brows, “You’re killing innocent people. Jungkook and (OC) did nothing wrong, and you know that,” he seethes. “I mean- what happened to us? I thought we were friends? Mina’s not gonna fuck you if you follow her every order like a dog.”

Scandalous gasps echo throughout the room before a looming silence lulls over the Senate House. The silence is so oppressive that you could hear a pin drop.

You wince, anticipating Mina’s response before Mingyu cuts her off.

“Alright, fair,” Mingyu relents, “You can talk your shit so long as you comply with the Legion’s orders.”

A smirk decorates Taehyung’s lips. “Oh I will talk my shit. The Romans are pathetic. You guys are scared shitless of Tartarus but us Greeks are gladly willing to plummet straight into his domain.”

Mina clears her throat, “And we applaud you for your courage. This sacrifice will not be undermined by the Roman Legion. We will do anything to keep our sacred city safe. If you wish to cut ties with Camp Jupiter, so be it.”

Her words are decisive and you can’t fathom Taehyung coming up with another snarky response - but he does.

His eyes become rigidly serious, and with a commanding gesture, he manipulates his palms. Silence falls over the onlookers as Taehyung effortlessly conures tendrils of water into the Senate House, the liquid dancing within Taehyung’s predetermined boundaries.

The water coils around Mingyu’s neck and torso, ensnaring him like ethereal ropes. You realize that the water is from the Little Tiber, a river miles away from the Senate HOuse.

You can’t even imagine the extent to which Taehyung can manipulate water.

“Let it be known,” Taehyung seethes, tightening his fists to further suffocate Mingyu within his tendrils of water, “that the Greeks are doing this out of their own free will,” he declares.

“You did not force us to do anything, and we are doing this for the sake of peace. Understand?”

Mingyu’s face turns an ungodly shade of red and Taehyung narrows his eyes at his former friend, tightening his fist even further.

Nobody is intervening, and you reckon that you ought to stop Taehyung from suffocating Mingyu so you momentarily consider stepping in- until Rose places a hand on his bicep.

He lets go of his fist, and the tendrils of water splash onto the ground of the Senate House.

Mingyu remains stoic, inhaling heavily. Despite near suffocation, he remains his composure, standing mightily like a Roman statue.

You shift uncomfortably, and Mina makes an announcement. “The Legion is dismissed! Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter will reconvene in the Praetorium in thirty minutes!”

With a swish of her cape, she marches away, with Mingyu following in her stead.

You remain in class, saluting the Praetors whilst you wait for the Senate House to clear out.

Once the Legion has cleared from the Senate House, you clear your throat and immediately shed yourself of your armor.

You approach the Greeks. “I need you guys to follow me,” you implore.

Camp Half-Blood (and Rose) slowly turn their heads towards you.

Taehyung blinks. “Why would we do that?”

You sigh, though you already anticipated pushback, and redirect your attention to Rose. “Look. Mingyu and I tried to talk Mina out of it but you know we can’t do anything against the highest ranking Praetor.”

Rose’s expression softens, “Gods Mina has lost her shit! You can’t just sacrifice innocent people to Tartarus!”

You nod in concurrence- politically savvy enough not to explicitly express any opinion.

“I get why you’re mad,” you continue, “the very least I can do is offer help,” you whisper, to which everybody’s expressions become enveloped in curiosity.

You clear your throat. “Mingyu wants to give you the Golden Eagle of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata,” you explain, to which Rose’s eyes widen.

“Seriously? That was gifted to the Legion by Jupiter himself,” she elicits.

You nod. “I know what Camp Jupiter is doing is awful- but at the very least I can tell you that I personally am not your enemy.”

You redirect your attention to Jungkook and (OC). “You guys survived Tartarus once, and you can do it again,” you encourage, “I’ll be doing everything above ground to eliminate the threat and ensure that you remain safe.”

Taehyung snaps his fingers in your face. “Hey, no addressing the sacrifices directly. You gotta talk to me. I’m the spokesperson here.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Okay,” you comply. “So do you want the eagle or not?”

Namjoon and Taehyung exchange glances.

“Yea, we’re in.”

You take Camp Half-Blood directly to the Limenarium- moving underground to stay out of sight to the other Roman citizens.

Skirting underground, Taehyung addresses you. “Don’t you think your military system is impractical?” he questions, probably with genuine intent but his tone is condescending, “If you can’t stop Mina from doing stupid shit then you might as well consider Rome a tyranny.”

“Yes,” you respond, somewhat irritated, “But Mina has the backing of the emperor. If the emperor is in on it, then there’s nothing we can do. They had to conspire to murder Caesar for a reason.”

Taehyung’s features envelop in distaste. “Don’t you feel belittled? You’re a high ranking officer but you have no freedom.”

You don’t give him a response.

A teasing smile graces his lips, “Did I hit a nerve, princess?”

You blink at him irritatedly.

You’d happily oblige to discuss the impracticalities of the Roman military system, but Taehyung is simply insufferable.

You decide that it’d be wise to keep quiet.

As you skirt through the underground tunnels of the Limenarium, you’re suddenly stopped by a ginormous basin of water. It’s so deep that when you peer over the ledge, you aren’t able to perceive the bottom.

All eyes flicker towards you.

“Since when did Camp Jupiter have an underground pool?” Rose asks.

You shrug. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Taehyung can carry us over on a wave or we can swim.”

At that, you tense, and you meet eyes with Rose. Rose, another one of your childhood friends, is ineptly aware of your biggest and only fear: water.

Taehyung nonchalantly shrugs, effortlessly lifting his shirt with a casual demeanor - after all, why would he be phased? As a son of Poseidon, water poses no threat. "Meh. I don't feel like exerting any energy right now."

A sudden confession escapes your lips, breaking the silence of the tunnels. "Wait- I can't swim."

The stillness that follows feels almost tangible, and you can't help but blush, baring your own vulnerability.

Taehyung blinks, his gaze fixed on you. "Wait, you're the head of the Roman Legion, but you can't swim?"

Namjoon elbows Taehyung, prompting him to clear his throat. "No, it's not a bad thing. I was a little taken aback," he explains. "I can carry you over if you're comfortable with that."

Your cheeks flush deeper as you rub your biceps nervously. "Y-yeah. If that's alright."

With a confident yet gentle motion, Taehyung lifts you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. Your eyes meet his, and you awkwardly clear your throat before looking away.

He does the same, gaze uncomfortably flickering around the underground tunnel.

A subtle but undeniable tension lingers in the air. The closeness and the rhythmic beating of your heart mix with the soft echoes of the underground tunnels.

“Hold on tight, wise girl,” Taehyung instructs.

“I know-”

A sudden wave rushes forward, freezing in place as if offering Taehyung a seat on his throne.

He leisurely steps onto the wave and allows it to gently carry you towards the other side. He doesn’t appear to be smug as he usually is- walking on water is a normal thing for this son of Poseidon.

As the wave approaches the other side of the basin, a rumble echoes through the tavern.

“What the-”

The wave crashes, and with a splash, you and Taehyung tumble into the water below. The serene water basin transforms into tumultuous currents, hurling you against its surface as you cry for air.

Panicked, you thrash about in the water, desperately trying to stay afloat.

You hate water. If you were Greek, you'd have no doubt that water would be your Achilles' heel. Arguably, you were good at everything else- having a keen sense of strategy, arguably great sword fighting skills- but water is just something you could never conquer.

Physically, your lungs burn as they strain for oxygen. Your limbs are heavy and sluggish as you struggle against the water’s resistance and every movement becomes a battle against the suffocating pressure.

“Taehyung!” you scream, thrashing against the water as you strain for air.

"It's okay, I've got you," he reassures, his voice calm yet firm above the sound of rushing water. "Just hold onto me."

He appears beside you and you cling onto him as he uses his mind to calm the currents, gently treading to the other side. You hyperventilate intensely, squeezing your eyes shut while you hold onto him- convincing yourself that everything would be okay.

He makes it to the other side of the basin, willing the water to lift you onto the ground before he jumps on the surface.

You sit on the gravel- clothes wet, body trembling as you catch your breath and attempt to calm yourself from drowning.

Rose sits beside you and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, before she full on embraces you. “Gods Y/N, are you alright?” She turns towards Taehyung, “Tae- what the fuck was that? Did you do that on purpose?”

You look up, and Taehyung’s expression looks rigidly serious. “That hasn’t happened to me in like ten years,” he mumbles. He looks around the tunnel apprehensively, “I have no clue.”

Another thing you note is that Taehyung is completely dry. After being submerged under waves and currents, he appears like he’s ready to go for a leisure stroll in the park.

Namjoon finishes his swim from the other side and climbs onto the ground. “Maybe you got nervous,” he shrugs, ringing the water from his socks.

“Nervous from what?” Taehyung retorts, “Nervous because of the Tribunal Prostate-us?,” he mocks, pointing at you with his thumb, “Yea, definitely not.”

“Taehyung!” Rose scolds.

You gawk- there was no absolute no way he just referred to you as a prostate. “I’m the Tribunus Laticlavus,” you clarify through gritted teeth.

“Well, princess- that doesn’t sound any cooler,” Taehyung retorts. “A thank you for saving your life would suffice. Thank you very much.”

You’re fuming from your ears. “Your father is the literal god of the Sea and you couldn’t control a ten foot wave across still waters. It would have been your fault if anything happened to me!”

“I said I don’t know what happened! You Romans probably did something to manipulate the water!”

“I didn’t even know that we had a random swimming pool in here! How would I do that?” you reason.

“Then don’t expect me to know everything either,” Taehyung responds with a roll of his eyes, “Now lead the way princess. We need that eagle.” And with that he dramatically marches past- he might as well have flipped his hair in your face.

Rose gives you an empathetic look, mouthing Sorry Y/N.

After supplying the Greeks with weapons necessary to survive a plummet in Tartarus, you reconvene with Mina and Mingyu at the Praetorium.

Mina scans her finger before the ten of you enter the elevator, and the elevator descends swiftly to a secret underground location that you’ve only frequented once before.

Mina guides your group to a secret underground pit- a pit that leads straight to Tartarus.

Jungkook and (OC) stand at the edge of the pit, their expressions resolute despite the gravity of the situation. The darkness of Tartarus yawns below them, an abyss that seems to swallow all light and hope.

(OC) takes a deep breath, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She casts a fleeting glance at Jungkook, her eyes filled with determination. "We can do this," she murmurs, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart

Jungkook nods in agreement, his jaw set with determination. "Together," he affirms, his voice carrying a note of reassurance.

With a shared nod, they step forward, their bodies silhouetted against the inky darkness below. For a moment, they stand on the precipice, their resolve steeling them against the fear that threatens to consume them.

And then, without hesitation, they leap into the void, their figures disappearing into the blackness of Tartarus.

You exhale shakily- and you can’t help but wonder if you just played a part in sending two innocent people to their doom.

As they vanish from sight, a heavy silence descends upon the onlookers, the weight of their sacrifice hanging in the air like a shroud.

For a long moment, no one speaks, each lost in their own thoughts and emotions.

Then, Mingyu breaks the silence, his voice low but firm. "They've made their sacrifice," he says, his words echoing in the stillness of the underground chamber. "Now it's up to us to honor it."

With a solemn nod, Mina steps forward, her gaze unwavering. "Agreed," she says, her voice carrying the weight of command. "Let us return to Camp Jupiter and prepare for what lies ahead. Tartarus may have claimed its toll, but we will not falter in our duty to protect our home."

Taehyung fights the urge to roll his eyes, “How heroic,” he unemotionally states, gesticulating mockingly. “You just banished your two friends to Tartarus- how does that make you feel?” he challenges, glaring spathas into Mina and Mingyu.

“Bro,” Mingyu starts, switching his Praetor off and his Mingyu mode on.

“Don’t bro me,” Taehyung retorts, before redirecting his attention towards Mina.

“When you went to Korea three years ago,” he begins, “Who took you out to Michelin meals? Who rented out a place for you to stay? Jungkook did. And (OC)- (OC) is your friend. I still don’t get how you could just sacrifice them in good faith.”

Mina shifts uncomfortably. “Look. The decision wasn’t easy to make. If you care so much, why don’t you jump in after them?”

The silence that follows is oppressive.

“You bitch!” Rose seethes, tackling Mina towards the edge of the cliff before she holds up her spatha in Mina’s face.

Mina doesn’t resist, her features morphing into insanity, as if imploring Rose to do it.

Rose pushes Mina’s body closer to the edge of the pit, to the point where Mina’s head hangs above the pit. “Do it! Push me in! See where it gets Camp Half-Blood!” she growls.

You almost fall to your knees. You deplore Mina’s words. Rose holds her spatha closer to Mina’s cheek, almost drawing blood from her face.

The structure of the underground room begins to crumble, and debris of gravel begins to rain down on you.

As your eyes fall upon Mina, a wave of unease washes over you. The woman standing before you bears little resemblance to the Mina you once knew. Her features are now twisted with a manic intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The light in her eyes, once a steady foundation of Roman principles, burns with an unsettling hue, almost as if they are fueled by a fire of madness.

It's as if a shadow has fallen over her soul, casting her in a dark and unfamiliar light. The Mina you know would never be so cruel, so callous in her actions. She was always fair, always just, guided by the principles of honor and duty that define the Roman Legion.

But now, her words cut like knives, her actions driven by a ruthless determination that borders on fanaticism. She seems blind to reason, deaf to the voices of those who would counsel restraint and compassion. This isn't the direction the Roman Legion should take, you realize. This isn't what the gods want for Rome.

You glance an apologetic look towards Mingyu before you run to Rose and tug on her arm, urging her to stand. You intertwine your fingers and run to Namjoon and Taehyung.

“Mom!” you scream into the atmosphere, “Mom, if you hear me, take us to Camp Half-Blood! Mom! Please! I never ask for anything! Please!”

The room begins to tremble even further, like an earthquake shaking the foundation of the rooms. The Romanesque pillars begin to tremble and you hear Mina scream “Y/N! If you leave, I will revoke your position in the Roman Legion!”

You look around at yours and the Greek’s arms, and realize that you’re all turning translucent.

Your mom heard your wish.

"I resign!" you exclaim, and with a sudden burst of energy, you, Rose, Namjoon, and Taehyung are transported into the heart of Camp Half-Blood.

As you glance around, you find yourself amidst the cluster of cabins, with a warm hearth the only light illuminating the pitch black sky. The cabins of Athena, Apollo, Ares, and Hephaestus stand tall around you, each emanating a unique aura.

You fall to your knees.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung begins, “What just happened?

The Big House in Camp Half-Blood, with its grand columns and welcoming interior, serves as the central hub for meetings and discussions among the camp's staff and campers, and that is exactly where you meet with Taehyung, Namjoon, Rose, and Chiron the Camp Activities Director.

Chiron is a centaur, meaning that he’s a horse from the waist down and a human from the waist up.

After explaining the situation at hand, Chiron’s expression becomes clouded with empathy.

“That was a very brave thing you did, Y/N,” he expresses. He redirects his attention towards Taehyung, Rose, and Namjoon.

“Kids,” he begins, though the lot can hardly be considered children, “I think Y/N deserves to know. Why don’t you tell her?”

You sharply turn your gaze towards the trio, only to find them whistling nonchalantly as if feigning ignorance. Rose idly twirls a strand of her hair, while Taehyung casually tucks his hands into his pockets.

Namjoon sighs. “That wasn’t Jungkook or (OC) who jumped into Tartarus. It was other demigods that Rose disguised with the Mist.”

“What?” you express shakily.

“The Mist, Y/N,” Rose explains, “Remember how we snuck into the Emperor’s chambers by disguising ourselves as servants with magic? The Greeks call it the Mist, so I disguised Jungkook and (OC’s) little siblings as the Mist to evade capture.”

Taehyung frowns. “Wait, why’d you guys sneak into the Emperor’s chambers-”

You sigh. You aren’t even surprised. The Greeks would never willingly sacrifice their strongest demigods so easily. “So is that why they weren’t saying anything… why you were the ‘spokesperson’?” you ask Taehyung to which he flashes you with a wink.

His mood seems as unpredictable as the shifting waves of the ocean.

But it doesn’t make sense.

“The other demigods you disguised,” you begin, “Wouldn’t they be in equal danger? Jungkook and (OC) have the best chances of surviving Tartarus, so didn’t you just send the others to their doom?”

Namjoon tsks, “Don’t underestimate the Greeks. The kids we sent are just as capable.”

“Kids?” you repeat, before shoving your face into your hands.

What have you done? You should have challenged Mina more aggressively. You might have just condemned two innocent kids to their doom.

“Mina,” you begin, “I think- I think she’s possessed,” you finally elicit, backtracking from the original topic because you can’t fathom what you just witnessed.

“Possessed?” Chiron asks, brows furrowing in pure concern.

“Possessed,” you confirm, “The way she was acting- it just wasn’t her. I have no idea who was in that room with us but it wasn’t her.”

Rose’s expression morphs into one of empathy. “Y/N,” she begins, “Mina isn’t the same girl we grew up with. She’s changed. She’s not possessed, she’s just grown into a bitch. A bitch who somehow has the power of the entire Roman Legion at her fingertips.”

Taehyung bites his lip in contemplation. “She did look a little… insane,” he acknowledges.

“That’s because she is insane!” Rose retorts, “Ever since (OC) came back to life with the Physician’s Cure, she’s turned into a power-hungry, batshit psycho!”

Namjoon exhales, “Look, we can definitely consider that as a possibility, but for now let’s get some rest.”He shoots you an empathetic look, “I’m sure Y/N is tired. We can all reconvene tomorrow morning with Jungkook and (OC).”

You shake your head, though it’s apparent you’re fighting back a yawn. “It’s fine. We have a lot of things we need to figure out. I can still go at it if you guys can.”

“Oh don’t act all tough. You did have a long day, Ex Tribunal Prostate-us,” Taehyung starts.

You shoot him a deadly glare.

“You can stay in the Poseidon cabin with me. There’s no one in there besides me so we have plenty of space,” Taehyung offers, shrugging. “We’ve got a huge pool on the roof. I can even teach you how to swim, y’know, help you overcome your fear of water.”

“Wait,” Namjoon intervenes, “Why would she stay in the Poseidon cabin?”

“Why not?” Taehyung responds, eliciting a suspicious glance from Rose.

“Y/N is technically my sister,” Namjoon reasons, furrowing his brows at Taehyung, “She should stay with me.”

“Oh,” is all Taehyung can conjure.

And Namjoon has a point. Why in Mount Olympus would you ever stay in the Poseidon cabin? You never really considered Namjoon a blood relative, but he is the son of your mother’s Greek form Athena, so technically he is your brother.

“Though it would be most appropriate for Y/N to stay in the Athena cabin,” Chiron instructs, “She is an adult and can decide to stay where she pleases.”

“You could stay with me too,” Rose offers, “But I’m not about to gladiator-fight for a chance to spend the night with you like this one is,” she teases, tilting her head at Taehyung.

Taehyung seems very offended at that, expression morphing into disgust as he crosses his arms in indignation. He scoffs. “Gods forbid I show hospitality to a guest,”

A teasing smile graces Namjoon’s lips. “Why’re you getting so offended? You were just at her throat hours ago,” Namjoon points out to which Rose nods. “Yea, you were being an ass, Taehyung.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenches, and he directs his attention towards you. “Do you want to stay with me or not?”

You blink at him before meeting eyes with Rose.

“Yea, why not?”

On your way to the Poseidon cabin, Rose runs towards you and squeals, almost knocking you over. “Y/N, are you going to fuck him?”

What is it with this girl and assuming her friends are going to fuck everyone?

“What is wrong with you?” you retort, nudging her with your shoulder,

Rose rolls her eyes, “Yea, sure. Don’t think I can’t sense the sexual tension between you two,” she elicits.

“What in Minerva’s name are you on about?” you counter.

“Y/N, he literally wants you so bad! I’ve never seen anybody act like this before- why else would he insist for you to spend the night with him?”

“Maybe because he pities me so much that he feels the need to interject himself into my life to teach me how to swim?”

Rose's eyes narrow, disbelief evident in her expression as she listens to your response. She lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head in frustration.

"Y/N, come on," she urges, her voice tinged with incredulity. "You really think it's just about swimming? Taehyung is practically throwing himself at you."

You scoff, feeling a flush of irritation rising within you. "Oh please, Rose. That's absurd. We're just… acquaintances. Besides, Taehyung is..." You pause, searching for the right words. "Well, he's Taehyung."

Rose raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Exactly. He's Taehyung. And trust me, I know the signs. The way he looks at you, the things he says, it's all there."

You shake your head, “Even if those are his intentions- they’re not mine. I think Taehyung was sent by my mother- as a way to help me overcome my fear of water,” you explain, “I’ve never told anyone but when I was younger I had a dream. I had a dream where I was drowning and some boy saved me. I never understood why my mom sent me that dream but I think he’s the key- the key to helping me overcome my Achilles’ Heel.”

Rose pauses, toying with her lip in contemplation. “Look, I was gonna say something funny like you’re just trying to sleep with him, but I’m happy for you. If you really feel like your mom is calling you to do this, then you should do it.”

With that, she embraces you, and you soften in her embrace. “Maybe also because he’s cute.”

A scandalous gasp leaves her lips, “Y/N!”

On cue, Taehyung appears from behind. “Poseidon cabin’s the opposite direction from the Apollo cabin,” he explains, tilting his head in the direction of his cabin. “Follow me this way.”

Without even asking, he takes the guest backpack Chiron gifted you, containing toiletries and clothing, before he strides up the hill, leaving you to follow in his stead.

You give Rose one last fleeting look who mouths Use Protection!1!

The Poseidon cabin stands as a marvel of innovation (courtesy to the Hephaestus cabin) and aquatic wonder within Camp Half-Blood.

The door frame is fashioned entirely from polished seashells arranged in intricate patterns. Stepping through the doorway, you are greeted by a spacious interior that echoes the vastness of the ocean itself.

In the living room of the Poseidon cabin, a large flat-screen TV stands against one wall, surrounded by plush seating and adorned with nautical-themed decor. There’s a stuffed hippocampus on the blue couch and the walls are painted in soothing shades of blue and green.

“We have lots of rooms. You can choose one out of the ten,” Taehyung shoots you a hospitable smile and you can’t help but laugh.

The hallway in the Poseidon cabin is calm and decorated with ocean themes and soft lights shine on the polished wooden floors.

Pictures of the sea and mythical creatures decorate the walls. There’s a selfie of a few hippocampi with Taehyung’s face in the corner throwing up a peace sign. THere’s another with Taehyung sitting on a rock with like ten mermaids laid around him, and there’s another with Taehyung in swim shorts with who you assume to be a Nereid or Sea Nymph in a bikini.

Each door is marked with a unique symbol representing the occupant's connection to the sea, whether it be a trident, a seashell, or a cresting wave. Perhaps the symbols are chosen randomly, as Taehyung is the only resident in the cabin.

But Taehyung’s symbol- his symbol scares you somewhat. The symbol on his door is a roaring kraken. Krakens are legendary sea monsters, often described as a giant cephalopod resembling a giant octopus or squid.

He throws open all the doors, allowing you to peek around to choose your room of residence for the night.

He grins at you, “You think this is nice? You should see the Hephaestus cabin. There’s like ten stories in there.”

“I like it here,” you offer sweetly, “I’ll take the seashell room.”

“All yours,” Taehyung shrugs, “I’ll take you to the pool in like ten minutes once you’ve gotten settled in.” With that, he sends you one last smile before sauntering off to your room.

You exhale deeply as you take a seat on the bed. With your palms on your thighs, you rewind everything that happened today like a broken record.

All your years of working your way up the ranks of the Roman Legion- it was all for nothing. With Mina’s control over the Legion, you’re sure you’ll be trespassed if you ever decided to step back into Camp Jupiter.

You shake your head at the thought, opening the guest bag Chiron gave you.

There’s three fresh Camp Half-Blood T-shirts, a fresh pack of underwear, three pairs of jeans, and a bag of toiletries.

No bra.

“Taehyung, do you guys have a washing machine?” you call out, and when he appears in the doorway with a toothbrush in his mouth, all he does is shake his head.

“But I can wash whatever you want for you,” he offers with a froth of toothpaste around his mouth.

“Okay give me a second,” you say.

He nods and closes the door, allowing you to do your thing. You step out of your clothes and throw on the Camp Half-Blood T-Shirt, underwear, and shorts. All are a little oversized on you, but it works.

You walk to the door and open it, handing Taehyung a pile of clothes. He looks fresh. No more toothbrush in his mouth and his face is freshly washed. He walks over to the bathroom and places your clothes in the sink. “Watch this.”

With precision, he manipulates the water into a swirling vortex, effectively creating a makeshift washing machine.

“Put your clothes in there,” he directs. You tiptoe around him, plucking up your clothes and throwing it into the vortex, careful to not directly touch the water.

“Okay now pour some detergent in here,” he says, “It’s in the cabinet under the sink.”

You crouch under the vortex, opening the cabinet doors. “Okay, don’t get me wet.”

“I’ll try,” he responds.

Suddenly, Rose’s patronizing face appears in your mind, and you pause, stifling back a laugh.

“Hurry up, princess. We don’t have all day.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pour the detergent into the swirling vortex.

With a deft flick of his wrist, Taehyung adjusts the flow of water within the vortex, ensuring the detergent mixes thoroughly with the clothes.

Once satisfied with the washing process, Taehyung gradually slows the vortex, allowing the soapy water to drain away while leaving the clothes damp but not dripping wet.

With another subtle gesture, he manipulates the surrounding air currents, generating a gentle breeze that wafts through the room, aiding in the drying process.

As the clothes hang suspended in mid-air, supported by invisible currents, Taehyung watches attentively, adjusting the airflow as needed to ensure even drying.

With a satisfied nod, Taehyung releases his hold on the air currents, allowing the clothes to settle onto a nearby drying rack. He turns to you with a grin, his aquamarine eyes sparkling with amusement.

"There you go, all done," he declares, gesturing towards the freshly washed and dried clothes. "See, who needs a washing machine when you've got a son of Poseidon?"

You smile with tight lips. “Thank you, Tae.”

He shrugs. “No problem. Wanna go for a swim now? You look cute in that shirt.”

You don’t know how an innocent swim lesson turned into a hot makeout session in the rooftop pool, but somehow it did.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, and he whispers into your lips, “Hmmm.. didn’t know a high ranking officer of the Roman Legion could loosen up like this.”

You playfully roll your eyes and draw your lips back to his like a magnetic pull. His tongue explores your mouth, groaning into your lips as his hands sneakily move down to your ass, shamelessly grabbing a handful of your butt past the oversized Camp Half-Blood T-shirt.

He flutters his eyes open, watching your every expression as you moan and grind against his abs.

Gods, are you so undeniably gorgeous. Taehyung never thought he would become so enamored with a daughter of Minerva, and a Roman at that, but he so obsessively asked you to stay at his under the guise of teaching you how to swim.

Yea, right.

You clearly didn’t give a fuck about swimming and who cares if he’ll be there to save you from drowning anyways?

Your orange T-shirt is sopping wet, and Taehyung lifts its bottom hem, meeting eyes with you for permission.

You remove your arms from around his neck, ensuring that your fingertips trace over his abs in the process, and he lifts the wet shirt off your body and throws it onto the gravel poolside.

He gulps with your body fully exposed to him. Your bare chest perks up against the cold atmosphere, and Taehyung has to restrain himself from taking you fully right then and there. Your hair is wet, falling against your back, and his eyes look at you with such clarity.

He thinks it’s particularly special that he has you in his own domain: water. Energy surges through his veins, and he feels especially strong and eager with the water splashing against his body.

You look so beautiful under the moonlight, like a celestial goddess descended from the heavens above. Every shimmering reflection in the water only adds to your ethereal glow, and in this moment, he can't help but feel like the luckiest person alive to have you here with him.

Gods, he thought you were such a pretentious princess when he first met you. A pretty, pretentious, princess- at that. But it only took a matter of hours for him to realize that you’re so much more. You're not just a princess; you're a warrior, a survivor, and a force to be reckoned with.

Before you know it, your lips meet in a heated kiss, fueled by a potent mixture of desire and longing. The rush of adrenaline courses through your veins as you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of Taehyung's lips moving against yours, each touch igniting a fiery passion within you.

You pull back. “‘m cold,” you cutely mumble against his neck as you suck a kiss against his skin.

You’re cold? Taehyung thinks he would burn the whole world just to warm you up.

“Sorry about that,” Taehyung grins, carrying you to the poolside before allowing you to sit on the ledge.

You shiver uncontrollably as the cool night air kisses your bare skin, sending goosebumps cascading down your arms and spine.

Sensing your discomfort, Taehyung leaps gracefully from the pool, his movements fluid and agile, and swiftly retrieves a plush towel to cocoon you in its warmth.

Leaning close, he offers you a reassuring smile, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he guides you out of the pool area and down the stairs, each step feeling like a small victory against the biting cold.

Once you reach the hallways, the towel drops, and you end the night in the room with the emblem of a kraken on its door.

The next morning, you wake up and are met with a sleepy Taehyung dozing off beside you.

You inhale, immediately running into the seashell room before you quickly change into an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt and jeans.

You sneak out of the Poseidon cabin and run to the Big House, where you’re met with Rose and Namjoon who are ready to discuss plans.

Rose hands you an orange and you accept it willingly, starting to peel it with your fingertips.

“Where’s Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, to which you just shrug.

“No clue. We went our separate ways after showing me to my room,” you respond, eyes flickering towards Rose who scrutinizes you with an intense look of suspicion. She approaches you and leans over your shoulder. “You should hide the hickey, girl.”

You whip around, feigning ignorance. “What hickey? Huh?”

Rose facepalms. “Just- just- nothing.”

On cue Taehyung walks into the Big House, taking a seat by you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he leans into your shoulder. “Hey, why didn’t you wake me up?” he whispers into your neck, to which you dramatically jerk away.

Taehyung eyes you with a confused look before inching closer.

You look at Rose and Namjoon, who are looking at you weirdly and you can’t help but shoot up, dragging him outside.

“What are you doing?” you whisper yell at him.

“What?” Taehyung releases, “I just thought, y’know, after last night that we…” He rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly.

“No,” you immediately clarify, your voice as stern as ever. “No. That was a one time thing- a stress reliever, a one night stand- whatever you want to call it. We have more important things to worry about now- like how Tartarus wants to kill us all, so get your shit together!”

With that, you leave a dumbfounded Taehyung outside and stomp back into the Big House.

Rose and Namjoon don’t need to ask anything- they might have even heard your conversation from inside but nothing needs to be said.

You hooked up with him, and that was nice, But now, as you come back to your senses, you realize that it was just that - a moment.

It was nice, perhaps even enjoyable, but it doesn't change the reality of your situation. You're not looking for anything serious- there are bigger things to worry about.

Taehyung walks back in, extremely irritable as he takes the seat farthest away from you.

“Oh gods,” Namjoon mumbles.

In a sudden and unexpected moment, the atmosphere shifts, and before you can fully comprehend what's happening, the air crackles with energy. Like a bolt of lightning illuminating the darkness, the oracle materializes before you, its presence both awe-inspiring and chilling.

With eyes glowing an intense shade of green, the oracle's ethereal form seems to pulse with otherworldly power. You feel a sense of unease creeping over you as its voice resonates through the air, echoing with a mystical resonance that sends shivers down your spine.

“In the tumult of tides, destinies entwine,

One born of sea, one of the wise divine.

Amidst the depths where fears reside,

Unity sought, their fears defied.

In the clash of Greeks and Romans, a call resounds,

Together they stand, where unity abounds.

Through waters deep, their fears they'll tame,

In shared resolve, they'll forge their claim”

Oh gods.

#taehyung scenarios #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #demigod!taehyung #demigod!bts #demigod!jungkook

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